gerard is a truly lovely man and one i remember fondly for many years since meeting him as concierge at the Grosvenor in the 90's. I had the pleasure of his professional, and what felt like real human care and attention that has stayed with me all these years. today i was talking with the concierge at The Landmark and enquired 'did he know where gerard was working these days?' - it was then that i googled gerard and discovered for myself that he had died recently. i am so sorry for your loss; the family. i am sorry for what the hotel industry has lost. and yet this man is clearly 'the family' and 'the industry'. he represents ideas much larger than his personal human life ever could. he is a big man. always was and always will be. in my eyes and it seems in many eyes. he must have had contact with many many people through his life and i wonder just how many remember him. i think it may be a large number. with love samantha London, UK.

Eulogy: From the outset, this will not sum up the man in full. I will undoubtedly have missed out personal stories or thoughts on Gerard that you yourselves may hold close. Perhaps there’s a silver lining in that though: it means we will continue to share untold memories in years to come, allowing his legacy to continue to be present amongst our future daily lives. Gerard Daverat was born on 11th July 1953. He would have turned 68 on Sunday gone. Born in Bayonne, living and working in Anglet, and a keen rugby fan of Biarritz, he really was a man from the South West region of France - the Basque Country. His own father, Hypolite and his mother, Berte, ran the family business which at the time was a fruit and veg shop - une alimentation. My father has shared with us memories of when he would go into the local town to collect new stock. Hypolite had fought and was captured in the Second World War, and never really regained his health. At the age of 7, my father sadly lost his. How can a man who so cruelly never got to experience the love and guidance of his own father turn out to be such an amazing one himself? I often ask myself Now in the early 1960s, the family business soon changed from a grocery store to a bar, and a life of hospitality and entertaining guests soon began. My father has shared many stories about his time helping work the family bar. A particular favourite is how he trained his dog, Tokyo, to collect the bill from customers’ tables when they would settle up. One particular time, an over enthusiastic Tokyo retrieved a customer’s wallet from their own pocket and took it over to the till. My father quickly apologised for that. As he entered his early 20s, and having danced all the halls of Southern France and Northern Spain, including the famous Pixturi, it was time for Gerard to set off and see the world. Two places in particular however hold the most significance: London and Mexico. It took my dad a couple of attempts to settle in London. The first time he arrived, in the mid 1970s, one incident left him so traumatised that he soon returned back to his mother in France. Picture the scene: Victoria Coach Station, midnight, having just travelled a near 24hrs by bus to arrive at England’s capital, and with less English words than money in his pocket he approached a food stall. Coming from such a culinary country as France, he had a worrying confidence in the British gastronomy pre-Delia Smith. He pointed at an item, which the vendor picked up and turned to place in an oven to heat up. Dad, unsure why, and too hungry to wait, insisted it would be fine cold. He took his dinner, and took one bite. One rather repugnant bite of a cold chicken liver pasty, which went straight in the bin. His second attempt, not more than a year or so later, was more successful. This time, he brought his determination and tenacity with him. He was determined to become a concierge. He told me of a story whereby he said he was once told: “Gerard, un metier dans la conciergery, ca s’achete” - “Gerard, a job as a concierge is bought, not earned”. Challenge accepted, he said to himself. He started at the bottom, as a night Porter, at the Kensington Gardens Hotel. Taking double shifts, and attending English lessons, he was near enough working or studying around the clock. A strong working ethic was in dad’s nature. We’ve been astounded by how many former colleagues have told us that they simply wouldn’t be the professionals they are today without dad’s influence when they worked alongside each other - even across different teams. Now comes perhaps the most significant part of dad’s life, the centre of dad’s life. How he met Mary. We’re fortunate enough that dad actually reshared this story only a few weeks ago. In August 1978 fate showed itself. Mum had just returned from a trip to Italy, visiting her good friend Aunty Denise. Power-cuts and missed flights meant she arrived back in London tired and just wanting a night in. A friend persuaded her to just throw some clothes on, and go out for a dance. Reluctantly, she agreed. Dad, however, on his side, needed no such coaxing to go dancing. You can take the man out of France, as they say. At first, mum couldn’t quite believe she’d met a Frenchman. Accused him of being a northerner with a funny accent. So dad’s now got the job, he’s got the language (somewhat) and got the girl. Life’s good. Let’s jump into the unknown again then, he said to himself. Time to hit the hotels of Mexico. Mum and dad have shared so many fun memories of their time in Mexico, living on pennies. Sonny and Cher’s “I got you babe” very much reminds me of their love: having nothing but each other. Mum had to come back to England to earn a bit to bring back to Mexico, and although she was only gone a couple of weeks, his diet of nothing but carrots had turned him orange! For a man who has hosted so many fantastic family meals and feasts, it’s shocking how minimal his actual cooking skills were. Once Spanish was mastered, he returned to England with mum, and as their love continued to grow, on 20th March 1980, mum and dad wed. I’ve enjoyed so much hearing stories of their first few years as a married couple. It seemed to be such a happy time. But soon, disaster struck, as Giselle was born in 1983. Fortunately, I was born a couple of years later and the Daverat family was now complete. Giselle and I can only dream of how fun and exciting these early years would have been for mum and dad. Even though we were there, the memories my parents created for one another must have simply been magical. They have always spoken fondly of these early years. I’ve shared how hardworking and determined our father was. Now is the time to share how strong he was. In 1991 mum was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. It was an illness that shook our parents to the core, and although Giselle and I were young we understood the illness differently, what neither of us understood was what our father was going through. He kept everything together. Like an absolute rock. Work, two kids. He was able to draw on the support of the family around him: Aunty Denise and Aunty Pauline in particular. Mum’s own battle can’t go unmentioned: she was simply fantastic. You can see why my father absolutely and utterly adored her. She has always looked after him, right to the end. My mother’s and father’s love for one another is simply perfection. So now we’re in the mid 1990s, and mum was on the mend, and dad was now at the Hyde Park Hotel, having joined from the Grosvenor House. This is where his career, and legacy, really cemented itself. He absolutely adored his job, and it was a sheer delight to be able to work under him in the early 00s as a page boy and porter. He and mum once again travelled the world during this time, attending various congresses. Above all others, the congress that our father kept dear to his heart is returning to his hometown of Biarritz, this time with the Golden Keys as a Head Concierge, in 2003. He had left this small bar in the 70s, and look at where he had climbed to. His mother, who sadly passed away around 20 years before, would have been so proud of him. Another proud moment for dad was being issued with an Honorary Lifetime Membership of the Golden Keys. It is a special community, and one that he revelled being part of. In his retirement he picked up several various hobbies and interests. One of these was becoming a casting extra for various programmes and films. Being a charismatic, engaging, open and warm person, he very much seemed to enjoy the time in between takes - when he’d chat away with the other extras - more than the work itself. A lovely story from this role is when our cousin Amie, husband Kevin and daughter Lia went to see A Street-Cat Named Bob. As they sat watching the film in a cinema in North London, all of a sudden dad’s face appeared, full screen. Amie and Lia both immediately, and loudly, called out “that’s Tonton!”. Another pastime he picked up was being able to watch various sporting events. Having spent a working lifetime purchasing sporting tickets for guests, it was now his time to enjoy them. He enjoyed his seat at Wembley, and various rugby games home and away. However, the real spectacle was, and where dad and I shared many fond memories, was at QPR. Hard to believe that a bang average, midlevel Championship football team would be where such high esteemed memories would be made. Just goes to show that it didn’t matter where you were, it mattered that he was simply there to create such memories. A typical Saturday would have a couple of pints and a spot of lunch, then a quick punt before the game, and a double round at half time. I’ve omitted the true alcohol intake from this story, out of respect for my mother.... We’ve made some good friends over the years at QPR, and I look forward to sharing those memories as the seasons progress, when the games go a bit dull. That’ll be a lot of talking then, I guess. But what he enjoyed most about his retirement was being able to spend time with mum. How they kept themselves busy each day we’re not quite sure. In a pre-covid time they did go on many holidays, but unfortunately the past year or so restricted that. Playing endless games of Sequence, watching Westerns in the afternoon, or just sitting in the garden, my father was just happy he was doing that with mum. Throughout his illness people have said what a strong fighter he was, that he gave it all a good fight, and that he fought to the end. I have no qualms with that, nor how you wish to remember him. But on a personal note, I feel compelled to say: I don’t see it that way. Dad was never a fighter. Not a bad or angry or fighting bone in his body. Personally, I don’t think he was fighting his illness, he was simply turning to love and faith to keep him with us for as long as he could. Out of pure love for mum, he hung on, to spend as much time with her as possible. He underwent all of the chemos, operations and radiations, simply to have a little more time. When mum, Giselle and I were with him on that Saturday afternoon, he looked up, saw his family - his world - around him, and realised he had done everything he could. He had taught his children everything we needed to know, and he had loved mum as much as could. Dad, guide us that we may live a life that is honest, pure, and loving - just like you did. And that we will one day all be together again. Papa, Au-Revoir. A la prochaine. Je t’aime.

A lovely gentle man, who we met via Philippe, and our mutual love of Rugby on both sides of the Auld Alliance - Sending love and condolences to your family Gerard. May you Rest in Peace