In the Lake District. Photograph David Yip

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Concluding David Yip’s memoir

After I cared for my dad for numerous years, he remained in the hospital for some time after falling ill. It was decided that once he was discharged, he would go into a care home to get the help he needed.

I visited him in the hospital most evenings after work. Each time he saw me, he asked if I would take him home. I explained that he needed to stay where he was before going into a home so he could be looked after. He asked why I was throwing him out of my house and why I didn’t want him there anymore. I told him he needed better care than I could give him. I left the hospital each night upset to be leaving him behind.

When my dad was released, he was sent to a short-stay home to be assessed. We filled his room with family photos and bought his favourite treats. The carers told me I had done a great job for my father not to be on any medication at his age. I explained that we had always eaten healthy diets. We were then told that they believed my dad was ill from the damage he suffered when he fell. We asked, “What damage?” as we were never told about this at the time. They explained that my dad had suffered a fractured skull and they believed it may have affected his brain, explaining his rapid decline in health.

Again, I visited most evenings, and each time he tried to stand up from his chair, saying to the carers, “My son is here now; I’m going home.” It took some time for him to realise that he would no longer be coming home with me. I was wracked with guilt.

At work, I decided to leave the Queen’s Head, wanting to step back into a general manager role. One of the positions advertised was for a café in Coniston by the side of the lake. I met the owner, who explained that she and her husband wanted to slow down a bit, which was why they wanted a manager.

I asked about the business and what they would like from me: “Is it front-of-house based, as well as looking at suppliers, GP, etc.?”

She told me it was more about the day-to-day running, supervising staff, and generally helping out. She went on to explain that they didn’t open in the evenings but did get very busy each day.

I replied by saying, “As you can see from my build, I am built for speed, not comfort!”

She laughed. She showed me the kitchen and introduced me to her chef. He asked about my background, and I told him that not too long ago I was in his shoes, having worked as a head chef for many years before I crossed over to the dark side (front-of-house).

He laughed and said, “It will be good to have someone around who understands both sides of the struggle.”

At the end of the interview, she asked if I could return to speak to her daughter, who also worked there and would be taking on a more pivotal role once her mother stepped down. “But,” she added, “as far as I’m concerned, we have the person we are looking for, and I hope you will accept the position.”

My dad settled down in the assessment home and was pleased to discover one of his carers was a Chinese lady with whom he enjoyed talking. He started to put on some weight, and my conscience eased a little. After six weeks, my dad was moved into a permanent care home just a five-minute drive from my house. Once again, we decorated his room with pictures and brought his clothes and personal belongings.

With my dad no longer living with me, I stripped out his old room, throwing everything away. The carpet, bed, and furniture were all taken to the local tip. My mum and sister, Diane, helped before I was left with an empty shell ready to redecorate.

I was contacted by the café owner’s daughter, who told me she didn’t need to meet me, as her mum had told her everything she needed to know. They formally offered me the position and asked if I could get back to them as soon as possible.

At work, I spoke with my boss, Sam, and informed her that I would be handing in my notice. She asked why, and I explained that I had found a new general manager role where I could still spend time with my dad while significantly increasing my wage. She was upset to lose me, but she said she understood my reasons.

I continued to visit my dad. When asking how he was getting on, he said, “Just my memory—I wish I could remember.”

I joked and said, “What, you don’t know who I am?”

He said, “Of course I do—you’re my lad.”

On my day off, I told his home I would be taking him out for the day and asked if they could have him ready. Having purchased a foldable wheelchair that fitted in my car boot, I went to collect him. Settling my dad into the car, he asked where we were going.

I said, “A drive for some lunch with a beer!”

Driving around Barrow, my dad called out the names of the pubs he used to visit and reminisced about his friends.

I said, “I thought you couldn’t remember things?”

He smiled and said, “Not this, though.”

We enjoyed a lovely pub lunch, with him ordering his favourite, scampi, washed down with a small beer. On our way back, my dad asked, “Why are you so good to me?”

I said, “Because you’re my dad and I love you.”

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I returned to work to find my area manager, Simon, waiting to have a chat. He told me he had been informed I was leaving, and I repeated what I had previously told Sam.

Simon went on to say that he would prefer it if I stayed, adding, “Did you know we need a GM for the Masons at Strawberry Bank? You could have that.”

I was shocked, as the Masons had always been a family favourite. I had dined there many times with my mum, who didn’t live far away. I just never imagined I could one day end up running it!

Simon suggested I go to dine there to look around and introduce myself to the staff. I decided to go with my mum and her partner. Having not visited for a while, I was disappointed to find the place was filthy when we arrived and nowhere near the welcoming establishment we remembered. After purchasing a small hotel group some years earlier (of which the Masons was one of the pubs) Robinsons had tried several managers. However, poor management had taken a heavy toll on the business, leading many customers to stop returning, my mum and me included.

I sent Simon a message informing him of what I had discovered, and we arranged to meet up again to discuss it.

Visiting my dad one afternoon, I was surprised to find that he wasn’t in the residents’ lounge. I went to his room to discover he was lying in bed awake. When I relayed this to my family, they told me it had happened several times. I asked to speak to the person in charge and inquired, “Why is my dad in bed at 1:00 p.m.?”

She told me that he didn’t want to get up. I told her that while he was being assessed, he was up every afternoon and enjoyed talking to other residents, as he had always been a people person. I asked that in the future my dad not be left in his bed all day, but instead be taken to the lounge or out onto the patio if the weather was nice. She assured me this would be passed on to the staff.

During my next chat with Simon, he outlined the salary at the Masons, explaining the personal health benefits and potential bonus earnings should I hit targets. I was undecided on what to do, as the café offered better hours and less stress for practically the same wage. But I have never shied away from a challenge, which I knew the Masons would be!

At the end of our conversation, I shook his hand and told him, “You’ve got a deal. I accept.”

It was decided that I would remain at the Queen’s Head for the festive season and start my new role as general manager at the Masons in January 2024.

The Masons was part of Robinsons’ managed estate rather than their tenanted houses. The difference was that tenanted houses were only required to purchase their drinks from Robinsons. The managed estate purchased drinks from Robinsons while also serving menus devised and costed by head office. They were given full support if any equipment broke, and managers were paid a fixed salary, with bonuses earned by hitting our GP targets.

My first day at the Masons arrived, and several managers from Robinsons were on-site to check that I had everything I needed. I was told my assistant manager had quit with immediate effect, so I was already one staff member down on day one.

Walking into a large storage room attached to the pub, I discovered it was in a terrible state. Hundreds of items, ranging from glasses and cleaning materials to kitchen equipment and front-of-house supplies, were strewn everywhere. I started at the back and reorganised everything into tidy sections. Simon walked by 30 minutes later and said, “Wow! Have you done this already?”

I said, “It just needed organising.”

He said, “Let’s hope it stays this way,” and I replied, “Oh, it will!”

Despite being part of their managed estate, I quickly discovered that the Masons had not been using any of the management systems I had implemented at the previous two sites where I worked. I informed the staff that I would not be working front-of-house until I had set up the office systems we needed to follow.

Within two weeks, both duty managers quit, stating they didn’t like the way I worked. I told them that the days of doing as they pleased were over, so I was happy to see them go. My housekeepers constantly arrived late, so I called them into a meeting and gave them the same message. They replied, “We’ll just quit then,” and again I told them they could leave immediately. On her way out, one of them said, “My wages better be right, because one of the duty managers told us you’re crap at your job.”

I replied, “As if her opinion of me matters. All the best, goodbye.”

I then lost two front-of-house staff members, leaving myself and two others to run the pub and hotel.

My boss, Simon, suggested I offer an olive branch to the duty managers who had quit. I told him I would rather do the work myself, because then at least I knew it was being done correctly.

I worked three months straight without a single day off, on duty from 7:30 a.m. until 10:00 p.m. It was the first time in my life I hated being single; having to return home to cook, clean, wash, and iron my clothes before returning to work each day. Despite my best intentions to cook each evening, I ended up ordering takeaways, and my diet suffered terribly. Because of the gruelling hours, I lost nearly two stone and looked exhausted.

Eventually, I managed to recruit three members of staff who had worked with me previously and who had reached out asking for work, one of whom was Eugen. I was finally able to take regular days off.

Simon was thrilled with the changes I had made. We hit our GP targets each month for wet sales, and the food GP increased significantly. The team consistently beat the budget, and returning guests began telling us, “You’ve put the place back to how it used to be.”

Within six months, we achieved the highest score ever recorded by a Robinsons pub on Reputation (an app that tracks social media and review platform metrics). The corporate benchmark was 900; we peaked at 924—a brilliant team effort.

When visiting my dad, the staff informed me that he wasn’t eating and was starting to lose weight. I asked what the issue was, as he always ate well when I took him out. They told me he had no appetite, but I reminded them that my dad had always been a good eater.

I arrived one day to discover my dad had been left with food placed in front of him without receiving any assistance to eat it. I returned home and called adult social services to explain my concerns about the home. Two days later, the matron in charge of my dad’s unit called me. She explained that social services had paid them a visit and promised to ensure my dad would never be left unattended during mealtimes.

Despite this, my dad continued to lose weight, and two weeks later I received a call from the home informing me that he was being rushed to the hospital with an infection.

At the hospital, the doctor told me my dad had pneumonia. After running tests, they determined his brain was no longer coordinating properly when he swallowed, causing food to enter his lungs and trigger the infection. They informed us that they didn’t expect him to survive the weekend, as they could no longer safely give him food or water. I called Simon to explain that I needed to take immediate leave.

My dad was moved into a private room. My siblings and I stayed by his side 24 hours a day, taking shifts so someone was always present, while my mum visited regularly. After two weeks, the doctor remarked that my dad must have the heart of an ox and said he was gobsmacked by his resilience.

Having been dealing with health issues of my own, the day of my scheduled surgery arrived. Although I didn’t want to leave my dad, my family insisted I go through with it. I told my dad that I loved him and would be back soon, then drove to Preston, an hour away, the following morning.

Waking up from surgery that afternoon, my phone rang. My younger sister, Diane, said, “He’s gone, lovely.”

Drowsy from the anaesthetic, I asked, “Who?”

She replied, “Dad.” I broke down and cried hysterically.

My sisters drove down to collect me since I was unable to drive after the operation, and we returned home. The following day, there was a knock at my front door. I was surprised to see Mike’s sister standing there (whom I had worked with at Clarence House before helping Mike get a job at the Queen’s Head). She immediately burst into tears, and I knew that, aged just 34, Mike had also died. He had lost his battle with cancer. She told me her family would like me to serve as a pallbearer at his funeral. I had no idea how I was going to get through it all.

I stayed off work until both my dad’s and Mike’s funerals had taken place. We chose my dad’s favourite songs for his service and gathered with family and friends to celebrate his life. Two days later, I attended Mike’s funeral. Upon my arrival, former colleagues asked how I was holding up. I replied, “As long as no one talks to me, I’ll be okay.”

When the time came to return to work, I dreaded going back and wondered how I would manage. Surprisingly, I found solace in the routine and threw myself wholeheartedly into the job.

Simon arranged a meeting and informed me that, because we had successfully turned the business around, Robinsons wanted to make a big investment and close the site for an extensive refurbishment.

We closed in January 2026 for six weeks, and the pub was completely transformed. Having worked on the front terrace and garden borders myself, the hundreds of bulbs I had planted the previous year bloomed in the spring, making the exterior look amazing.

I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I feel I’ve done alright for a shy boy who left school with no qualifications. I am eternally thankful to my wonderful family, friends, and the teams I have worked with for their support, guidance, and love. Without them, I would be nothing.

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David Yip’s memoir series in Ars Notoria offers a candid, grounded portrait of a life built through resilience, hard work, and deep family devotion. From his early working-class roots learning the culinary trade in local takeaways and working alongside his father, to his rise as a Head Chef and General Manager driving hospitality turnarounds across Cumbria, and coming out as gay, his narrative pairs sharp professional grit with heartfelt personal reflection. Marked by real dialogue, humility, and an strong commitment to both his staff and his family, Yip’s writing captures the triumphs and emotional meaning of his self-made success, tracing the path of a once-shy schoolboy who has turned challenges into a great legacy of service and dedication.