Mark Atkins was a beloved member of his family and of his County Durham community. His untimely death in 2016 was devastating for his four children and for all those who knew and loved him. It prompted his eldest son John to support research into sepsis and to raise funds in memory of a man that John describes as a ‘true gentleman’ and ‘a confidant’. John shares a moving tribute to Mark here. 

My dad, Mark Atkins, was a true gentleman and a well-known figure in Barnard Castle. He was a wonderful father, best friend, and confidant to me, and meant so much to all his four children, his partner, and so many others. He was a quiet and shy man who didn’t like the spotlight, yet he had a great sense of humour and a cheeky charm about him. 

He was a stonemason through and through — a trade he had loved since the age of sixteen. He was passionate about his craft and would often talk about stonework, proudly pointing out the projects he had completed both locally and nationally — you simply couldn’t get away from it! He owned a stone yard in Barnard Castle, employing local people and supplying dressed stone to builders and architects across the UK and even in Europe. 

My dad meant everything to me. He was my anchor, my rock, and my advisor for most of life’s big decisions — my sounding board during difficult times. I miss that immensely. He was a loving father to all his children, especially to his youngest, James, who was only three years old when Dad passed. He embraced fatherhood again with a renewed energy, and we — his older children, Mark, Thomasin and I — could see that spark rekindle in him. He meant so much to so many people, and I still hear stories and kind words from those who remember him as the true gentleman he was. He was always ready to offer advice on building work, a master mason second to none. 

We lost Dad on Easter Sunday in 2016. We were supposed to meet for a catch-up at the local pub that Friday night and were both really looking forward to it. When I called, his partner answered and told me he was still in bed with the flu. I thought it must be bad — he’d been ill for three days, which wasn’t like him at all. He hated missing work and never liked letting anyone down. 

On Saturday morning, I called again to check on him. His partner said he seemed worse — still in bed, shivering and coughing. Something in me said we should call 111 and explain his symptoms. I would never want to burden the emergency services over what seemed like the flu, but it had been several days now. After a while with no update, I decided to drive over. When I arrived, no one was home and I noticed various things on the floor that seemed unusual. I called dad’s partner, Joanne, who told me they were in an ambulance on the way to Darlington Memorial Hospital. 

By the time I arrived, Dad was in the waiting room with a respirator. His eyes lit up when he saw me, but he looked so frail and pale. I told him to keep the mask on and to take deep breaths, but he could only manage short ones. Then a nurse said he needed to be “put under.” I didn’t fully understand what that meant, but I thought he just needed rest to help him breathe. The last words I said to him were, “See you on the other side,” never imagining he wouldn’t come back. I kissed his forehead before being ushered into a private room. 

Things became a blur after that. The nurse came in to tell us it didn’t look good — he needed to go to intensive care. I still clung to hope, thinking maybe he’d just need an operation and would recover. I called my siblings, and we all gathered in the intensive care unit, waiting, worrying, crying — but always hoping. 

Eventually, I stopped a nurse in the corridor and asked what she thought. She said, quite matter-of-factly, that he probably wouldn’t survive. In that moment, my world shattered. My heart stopped. I fell to my knees and cried for what felt like hours. 

We later learned that he had developed a Group B Strep infection in his throat, which had caused his body to spiral into septic shock. His organs were failing. He was on dialysis and being kept alive by machines. Surrounded by his loved ones, the decision was made to turn off the machines. I whispered my private goodbye — and then he was gone. 

It was Easter Sunday. As we stood there, the motorbike rally rode past the hospital. Dad had loved bikes — he owned a Ninja and an old Triumph Cub — and it felt like a final farewell, a sign from him. 

His legacy lives on through us and through all his incredible work over 56 short years. I still talk to him in my head and ask for advice — and sometimes I get the answers. I just know what he would say. That’s his true legacy: the desire to keep making him proud. 

After the trauma, I felt compelled to do something. I founded a community organisation called “Stamp Out Sepsis” to raise money for early diagnosis research. It was a challenge — I quickly learned how much red tape was involved, even when trying to donate or fund medical equipment for surgeries and hospitals. I was aware of the Sepsis Trust, which raises awareness, but I wanted to support something that would have a tangible, real-world impact. That’s when I discovered Sepsis Research FEAT, and I now donate all my fundraising efforts to support their research. 

Since then, I’ve raised thousands of pounds, completed a hike to Everest Base Camp, and I’m currently training for the Manchester Marathon in 2026. 

Charity comment 

John’s account of losing his dad at such a young age is very moving. It is an example of how something as seemingly innocuous as a throat infection can spiral so rapidly and catastrophically out of control. It is crucial therefore to be vigilant about any infection, but particularly those that are slow to clear or which cause the patient’s condition to deteriorate. 

Sepsis Research FEAT is so grateful to John for all his support for its research and awareness work through multiple fundraising challenges and by sharing his account here. In the knowledge that he would not describe himself as a natural-born runner, the charity is even more grateful for his wonderful dedication and support in undertaking the Manchester Marathon in April 2026 to raise funds for sepsis research and awareness and improve outcomes for sepsis patients in his dad Mark‘s memory. 

You can visit John’s fundraising page here to offer him your support. To take part in an event of your own visit the challenges and events page of the Sepsis Research FEAT website here where you will find 850 events UK-wide.