John Kennerley showed his great love for Kerri-Anne in the smallest of gestures

It was in the smallest and simplest of everyday gestures that one saw the remarkable love John Kennerley had for his beloved wife Kerri-Anne Kennerley.

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It was in the smallest, quietest and simplest of gestures that one detected the remarkable regard John Kennerley had for his great love, wife Kerri-Anne Kennerley.

It was in the way he waited uncomplainingly for her for hours and hours while she worked — eyes only for his wife, the big network star at the height of her fame in the 1990s — on the promise of a late lunch date that would have to be pushed back to 3pm when his wife had finally managed to extricate herself from the television studio after knocking off from
her demanding Monday to Friday gig shooting Channel 9’s The Midday show.

The charming Englishman, enjoying his early professional retirement, would happily chat with a changing parade of hurried and harried television producers, publicists, make-up artists and wardrobe assistants about any subject they chose — though his preferred subject seemed to
be his vivacious
wife, “Kerri”.

John and Kerri-Anne Kennerley were rarely apart.

In the blokey executive corridors of Nine in the 1990s a man such as John stood out like a shining knight sitting astride a white steed with arms full of red roses.

He was a man entirely out of place — someone romantic and genteel, not a bloke cursing or raging or inappropriately hitting on a television researcher or complaining loudly about the money their wife was spending on renovations to the Balmain manor house — money that might be better spent on a tractor.

John was always, it seemed, entirely content and at peace while living in his wife’s
glamorous shadow.

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During each of our numerous brief exchanges, meetings that happened initially in the course of my working day as a publicist at Nine and later as a reporter covering media and society in Sydney, John managed to leave an indelible impression.

There was much he might have taught the puffed-up media men around him about how best to love a woman, if only they’d been interested enough to learn.

By example he was a most patient husband.

He was also utterly devoted to his wife.

The couple at the Logie Awards in 1997.

He would carry his wife’s bag at red carpet events to prevent it from interfering with the line of her gown, nip out to pick up the missing props required for a photo shoot, drive her sometimes drunken
mates home after a long lunch — anything to keep his wife’s television career and their idyllic life together on the rails.

Until sadly drawing his last breath last Thursday, aged 78, John never stopped encouraging the woman he first met in New York in the 1970s while she was in an abusive first marriage to follow her heart and her television dreams.

The mathematically gifted John, who had launched the Soccer Pools in his native UK and Lotto later in Australia, set a high benchmark for the husbands of Kerri-Anne’s best friends.

Famous for bestowing flowers on his wife once a week, he also randomly bought her beautiful gifts — not just on birthdays and at Christmas — but when love absolutely compelled it. It was pleasure and privilege to spoil and indulge a wife who could easily afford to indulge herself and often did.

Their share loved of adventure would see the couple book grand trips abroad annually — sometimes with her mother or sister along for the ride — something traditional Aussie blokes might baulk at.

The look of love ... John and Kerry-Anne Kennerley.

With Kerri-Anne busy holding down a schedule of demanding media work and public appearances, John became the
de facto homemaker — the grocery buyer, the domestic secretary — and by all accounts didn’t once complain about it or regard his tasks as menial.

Friends and colleagues who visited the couple’s Woollahra home never failed to pass comment on the size and scope of John’s permanently erected model train set — a thing that engulfed and dominated much of the couple’s house and living room — and proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the depth of Kerri-Anne’s mutual adoration for her husband.

The greatest of friends, the couple never had children together — a source of sorrow for her — but without which the Kennerleys had more time to lavish on each other.

The Kennerleys managed to squeeze 70 years of wonderful shared adventures and experiences into a 35-year of marriage, a fine loving example for the rest of us who rarely glimpse such inspiring models of love and devotion.