Obituary
Terence George Angus, ‘Terry’, born on 06 May 1945, died peacefully at home in Redcar, surrounded by family, on Saturday, 28th March 2026, after a courageous fight with lung disease. A truly wonderful Husband, Dad, Grandad, Great grandad, Brother, Uncle, Friend, and an overall legend.
A born and bred ‘south banker’, one of seven, born weighing over 13 lbs, double breech arse first to Elsie. He was the favourite brother, providing pocket money, school uniforms and clothes for his younger siblings.
Following completion of his apprenticeship, Terry worked across the country and overseas as a construction engineer. Known for doing handstands on beams thousands of feet in the air, and completing the impossible jobs others couldn’t. He moved to Fawley, Hampshire, for a few years after meeting and marrying the love of his life. After negotiating a return to the north east with the Mrs, Terry settled in Redcar in his 30’s.
Terry was a keen recreational angler from a young age through to his mid-60s, briefly owning a boat.
The kitchen often had a sink full of live crabs or winkles and a fridge full of fish. Most of which he gave away to friends, family or just people down the club (Navy/Workies), the same was said for his former allotment harvest. He certainly enjoyed a pint, Tetley preferably or if not a John Smiths Extra Smooth, jokingly measuring his consumption in gallons. Enjoying a game of snooker or bingo in the club when he wasn’t following the horse racing. He was a horse racing fanatic until the end, still chasing the big win, unable to be disturbed, no matter who was visiting.
Terry would have a go at anything and would always try to help someone out. He was one of the most kindhearted people you could meet, having a sense for what/who was right, and always sticking to his principles.
He loved telling a joke and was a prankster at times; often laughing at his own jokes and the recounting of his former escapades. Because of this, he was well-liked and thought of by many locally.
Terry leaves behind his wife and soulmate, having been courting since 1966, then marrying in 1968. 60 years together with the love of his life, Jill, from when his eyes first saw her, in her green dress – she was his.
Dad to Mark and Donna, their hero and protector. Guided and encouraged both in his own way to be the best they could be. Loving beyond words. Often saying he struck a deal with the devil for a daughter. The apples didn’t fall far from the tree. Terry rejoins Mark and is now reunited with his son.
Terry was very proud of his children and grandchildren and was always eager to discuss their achievements with others, given a chance. But wasn’t the type to give someone direct praise.
He was a very proud grandad to Ellen, Eve and Harvey – the light in his life, always bringing joy. Terry frequently undertook the nursery and school runs to support Donna, but he enjoyed this time, using it to impart humorous rhymes, pearls of wisdom and stories on the kids.
A proud great-grandfather to Adelaide and Aspen, who brought so much joy in the final years, loving the sound of children’s laughter in the house again.
Terry wasn’t one for being overtly sentimental; he loved hard and lived well, and he was generous and kindhearted, showing love often with loyalty and acts of kindness. He shed his tears in private and stood as a solid rock for those around him.
Living for over 80 years, he saw and experienced most of his dreams (all except winning the lottery). Retiring in his mid 40s, he lived a free-spirited lifestyle until old age and illness crept in.
In his final lucid moments, days before his passing, his only concern simply was if Jill was alright, telling the Macmillan Nurse he would see her on the other side, and he would have the beers ready, and there were a couple of people he would be waiting for to punch. He was still as fiery at the end as he was as a young lad.
Rest easy and peacefully, Terry, knowing you will forever be in our hearts and minds. For some of us, a little of us has left with you.
“A limb has fallen from the family tree.
Grieve not for me.
Remember the best times, the laughter, the song,
the good life I lived while I was strong.”
Any donations in honour of Terry should be directed to the McMillan Nurses Charity.
The family would welcome you to add tributes, stories and any photographs you have of Terry to this page. Terry did not wish to have a formal funeral service.
Terry I miss you now and I always will. It won’t be the same walking into your home and not seeing you sat there and saying “ hiya Kath”. As ill as you were you were still concerned about my health and always asked.
You were good to me & Peter when we were young and always had us both coming round to yours every week for our half crown pocket money.
Do you remember selling my sewing machine so you could have a bet on the horses, I was devastated.
You will be sorely missed and I love you xxx
We will look after Jill so don’t you be worrying and when we all get up there we’ll have one big party.
My dad, the best I could ask for, I cannot begin to comprehend life without you- keeping me right – the one I never want to disappoint. As one of your loved ones left behind, I am full of regret – wishing I could have done more and had more time with you.
You leave me with a load of memories to treasure, ones I can look back on and ones I can still chuckle at.
You taught me right from wrong, resilience, respect and a terrible sense of humour that will see me through life.
As a child I’d roll my eyes when you wanted to call me “donkey face” in front of mates so I’d follow up with the “eyore, eyore, he always calls we that” for the laughs. Or when you taught me “ladies and gentlemen, take my advice, pull down your knickers, and slide on the ice” as a nursery rhyme to recount to adults including at a club show- to mums horror.
It made me laugh and think oh god, when you started teaching the kids the same sort of crap when they were younger, the school run with Harvey- teaching him over a number of weeks “two dead cowboys, got up to fight, back to back they faced each other, shot each other, then got on their dead donkeys and rode away”
You were the one I’d always ask as a teenager if I wanted to do something and I knew mum would say no, I’d wait your return from the club on a Sunday afternoon knowing you would be a bit drunk, to use to my advantage.
You were hard at times- but for good reason- if it wasn’t for your directness and critique, I wouldn’t of pushed and achieved what I have – because most of it really was for you- to make you proud. I love you with all of my heart, and all of my soul. You saved my life – literally- and you often recounted the tale.
To leave it on a lighter note; my brother mark encouraged me to adopt the name “dome head” for dad, and we often referred to our dad as this together. Due his large forehead (cheers because I inherited that)
I recently found out that my dad used to drop most of his allotment veg off at all the bungalows in Dormanstown for free for a while to help the pensioners- anonymously. (he just did loads of random stuff like this to help people -he was a good bloke and didn’t go shouting about it)
I’m still horrified 30 years later from being 14 and dad getting his bollocks stuck in the spring couch on holiday and asking for help that I refused to give, I don’t regret that.
Thanks dad for being there for me and for the kids, you stepped up for me and you were an amazing grandad. me and Harvey, Ellen and Eve are going to miss the stories, like the one where you shot your brother.
Rest in peace, remember- save me a seat at the table. See you on the other side, love you dad xx Love forever from Donna
Terry, I have fond memories of you and Jill. You were my first dinner guests at my flat in Queen St some 20 odd years ago (my cooking’s not improved) and I’ve been telling your old jokes to anyone who’ll listen ever since. Remember the one about the pole vaulter? You introduced me to the bingo at the Workies on a Friday night and on one night I couldn’t go cos I was working, I photographed you coming home and wrote Britain’s most wanted on it which you thought was funny. I remember watching England beat Germany 5-1 with you and going to Reds and the Cleveland Hotel for the karaoke. You took me in the cafe at the South Gare for the first time too, a place I go now just about every weekend. As I look back, it seems like yesterday, the time’s gone in a blink but the memories will last for ever. Rest easy, put your feet up and have a pint or two with Mark. Love Graham
Grandad, I miss you terribly, and the girls do too.
The days aren’t the same anymore. I miss your phone calls, your face lighting up every week when we’d visit, even you pestering me to check your lottery tickets, and the jokes I must’ve heard about a hundred times in the last few years.
Going to your house and you’re not there shatters me. I still think you’re having a nap, but deep down I know you’re not. I’m finding it hard to come to terms with, because I always envisioned you being around.
It feels like you’re gone too soon, even though you’re now forever 80, it still doesn’t feel like long enough. But I’m grateful I got the 23 years I have, not many are as fortunate.
The highlight of my week ever since I can remember was staying with you and nana, and I was so desperate to I’d hide there so I couldn’t go home – I remember you assisting me once hiding me in a chest in the shed then putting potatoes on top… I couldn’t get out 😂
When I was younger, I used to sleep in your bed with nana, so you would sleep in mine, you’d shed like a dog and I’d be furious. You made up for it with a slap up breakfast every week though, so worth it.
I believe you introduced me to my love of nature through the documentaries youd watch around me when I was younger, and I inherited the nickname ‘elephant’.
I’m grateful you had time with my girls. They adored you, and looking back on photos – your eyes full of love and happiness with them – makes me so happy.
Aspen looks for you, she hugs your chair and has been looking at your things. I’ve been looking at photos and videos of you – and for a 1 year old child who does not sit still for much – she has stared at them intensely. You were her buddy. And Adelaide, she misses you and asks for you, asks that we get you a doctor to make you better.
I wish you were still here, there’s things I wanted you to be around for – any other children in the future, or my future wedding. But I know you will be with me in spirit, and I’ll save you a seat.
It breaks me more than I can bare that you’re not here. A piece of me died with you. I will tell my children about you, and the love and care you brought into the world, until the day I join you.
Rest easy grandad, I’m glad you’re not in pain anymore. Watch over and protect my children for me.
Love always, your proud granddaughter, Elephant x
Uncle Terry ,
My fave uncle , always remember when we were little and mam would bring us to visit you and aunty Jill , always making us laugh with your jokes , telling us you had a helicopter and a boat , never ever got to ride on them them tho lol, hope you are sat together with mark maureen and nana Elsie you will be missed x
Our sympathies go out to sister Jill and to Donna for your loss. We here in Canada have fond memories of Terry and thank you for the obituary.
I hadn’t seen Uncle Terry for years but I’ll never forget when he would visit and have the house in chaos. His brother, Jack, my dad didn’t need much encouragement to carry on with him and wind everyone up, then laugh at their own stupid jokes. As for silly names, he was as bad as my dad for that. My dad still called me Pheasant Face until he died and would laugh his head off when I answered to it. Our Michael was the Fire Bobby and our Jacqueline was Rabbit Head.
My mother would be at the end of her tether as he constantly wound her up with his silly sayings. Once, he put our John in a dress and paraded him up and down the house. My mother was furious but we all laughed so much with mother screeching in the background, “don’t encourage him”. But we loved it. I’ve always remembered Uncle Terry as a bit of a character that you just couldn’t take seriously! He was a big eejit! My biggest regret is not making contact again; life kept getting in the way which is no excuse tbh. Life is shorter than you think and we need to stop putting the things we want to do, off. Rest in Peace Uncle Terry. I will never ever forget you xx