What has become apparent is that we all have different names for him and it is probably from only reading the order of service that you realise his actual name is George and that Rory does not even feature as a middle name.

He also had loads of nicknames - Buster Brown when at school, Plastic to his mate Howard Ruffle, Rors to many, Beetle to even more, Dad or Grandpa to two, Husband or Brother to one. Now after reading all the comments on Facebook and the club page I think we can add Legend to that list too.

Rory was born at St Mary’s hospital Paddington on 19th April 1946. A great night was no doubt had by his parents in celebrating the end of the war 9 months earlier. His Father was a Lieutenant (leftenant) Colonel in The Royal signals and after the war they were posted to various different locations. Firstly Pakistan, were Rory’s red hair signified him as a god to the locals. Because of this he had to have a guard and a bull terrier named Lucy by the perambulator at all times to prevent him from being stolen. It was then onto Dusseldorf and then Norway where Rory excelled at skiing. The moving around continued with schools, attending Primary school at Crakehall in Yorkshire, where he was banned from the local bus for trying to set fire to it. Then onto Boundary Oak Prep school near Portsmouth.

At the age of 5 tragedy struck. While camping on the Isle of Wight with his father, a primus stove exploded and Rory became a human fireball. His rehabilitation was long and arduous. But under the care of Mr. Matthews, who with Archibald McIndoe became the pioneers of plastic surgery at the RAF burns unit, he regained mobility and a face. I cannot imagine what this must have been like for 5 year old to go through. Nevertheless I am pretty sure the horrific injury’s made him the fighter he was all the way to the end.

That fighting streak was nurtured not long after the burns as he was sent to boarding school at Framlingham Collage in Suffolk, at the age of 8. Described in later years by my uncle and mother as a brutal place, although Rory always said he loved every minute of it. Probably because he was soon established as the leader of the pack and excelled at rugby and swimming. He was so involved in sport that academically he suffered a bit, and class 5D was specially created for him and some members of the 1st XV.

Many high jinx were had at away at boarding school and he used to regale us with them. On one occasion at the dead of night the 1st XV carried the German masters mini into the dining and placed it on the headmasters table. On another occasion they climbed the roof and placed a chamber pot on top of the steeple. None of the staff could retrieve it so the Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM) had to shoot it down with his Sten gun.

It was at Framlingham that Rory got a taste for Army life and joined the Combined Cadet Force (CCF) and rose quickly to officer class. On leaving Framlingham his record was so good that he got accepted to the prestigious Office Training Centre at Sandhurst. Alas it was judged that the petroleum scars from earlier in his life would play havoc with his webbing in jungle conditions. He was subsequently discharged early with condolences and much regret from the examining board stating “Rory was of exceptional Officer material"

This was a mighty blow to him as he so wanted to be in the army just like his father. Even though he did not make it his love of everything to do with the army stayed strong and he would watch every documentary and read every book on the subject. I have no doubt that he would have been a truly exceptional officer.

Like most school leavers he decided to travel and cycled with a few chums down to Spain on a Sturmey Archer three speed bicycle. After that long trip with not much speed it is no wonder that when he came back he got a Lambretta and became a Mod. He got a flat in soho, was part of the scene down the Marquee Club and became friends with Long John Baldry. He even did some security at Kinks and Stones gigs.

His most famous Mod story though is the famous punch up a Brighton. Rory and his Mod mates were sick and tired of being kicked in the panels and off their bikes by rockers. Not being one to shy away from of a melee he decided to head down to the big set to in Brighton. So off he goes on his Lambrertta with fox tail, loads of mirrors plus Parka. He gets as far as Pease Pottage and his scooter blows up so has to spend the weekend there in the pub and get a train home on Monday.

One of Rory’s other notable jobs before joining the full time working masses was as a lifeguard at Addington Baths. He would tell tales of his derring-do but like many of his stories, I think we take some with a pinch of salt.

He had a few office jobs. One with Bovis Construction but it was when he landed a job with Cosmos that his career in travel was set. This career would last his whole life and at one stage he even had his own travel agents. At Cosmos he was initially based at Vauxhall Bridge as operations manager. Cosmos then moved to new offices in Bromley where he met Teresa in 1967. At first they did not get on as Teresa thought he was a bit brash. But things soon changed after a work trip to Ostend and romance blossomed. Four years later they were married at St Joseph’s Church in Bromley. Married for 46 years, together for 50 years and they were still together at his passing.

They had a great life as a couple, going on holidays and even owning their own motor boat, Sausalito. A highlight being a particular boozy cruise for the Queens Silver Jubilee up the River Thames to Eel Pie Island, with close longstanding friends. The boating fun would come to an end a year later when I was born and they had to sell the boat. Dad was so excited at the birth that he spent a week in the pub. 20 months later he was equally excited when my brother Jonny was also born.

It was not long before the call of the waterways drew Rory back, this time on canal boats. From the age of 6 months old till 16 years old we had a regular canal boat holiday with Mum and Dad and their friends and we still have that passion today. Some great trips to Spain were had where he would know literally every person walking down the street. Probably because he booked their holidays to the same destination as him. Trips to Canada and Australia to see family were also very memorable occasions.

No tribute to The Beetle would be right without one of the biggest parts of his life, Rugby. Initially he played for Warlingham, when he lived with his mother in Woldginham. It was when he moved to be closer to the new Cosmos offices in Bromley that he joined the mighty Beckenham RFC. Many of his old team mates are here today and some have already passed but they would all say that he was a “fiery character” both on and off the pitch. This may be hard to believe for the rest of us who have only known him as The Beetle. For those that don’t know I believe Brian Worboys christened him that because once the arthritis had set in, and he had one to many beers, if he fell over onto his back he would not be able to get back up. Just like a beetle.

He had a few variations of beetle techniques. The beetle flick was his version of a punch but with his floppy fingers. The beetle flop he used to perform at parties, especially if nobody was paying him attention, which would involve him throwing himself to the floor for dramatic effect. Or the beetle crawl, which called on his army skills to do a reverse commando crawl back to on his back to his bedroom if he had fallen over and nobody was in the house.

At Beckenham RFC he has been a player, 1st XV captain, coach, manager of mini, youth and 1st teams and mentor to many. He always had time for people and that was one of his endearing features. He would speak to all and sundry, new and older players alike and make them feel so welcome. Probably his only ulterior motive was having a wider pool of people to help be his designated carer for the evening.

Although Dad was never able to run around with us, as rheumatoid arthritis had set in by the time he was forty, he made up for it in other ways. He went to nearly every sports match or athletics meeting Jonny and I ever played and tried to be involved in running the teams. At the time I did not think much of it but as I have got older I have realised why he did it and the massive amount of appreciation I have for that.

Some of his best times were on tour and the stories are unrepeatable in this setting but I am sure many will be recounted later this afternoon back at the club. Even when he could not travel overseas with his minder Jack Smith he would try to make any 1st team coach journey. He would take great pride in ringing me saying “I have got some good red wine to take, two bottles for £5” and I would say, “that’s the sort of gut rot the Whiteheads drink” and he would say “exactly” as a sort of validation!

So it is fair to say he liked a drink but only with company, he was not a boozer at home. Which is why Jonny and I were brought up at the rugby club or pubs, not a bad grounding in life.

The only times he would drink at home would be when mum and he threw party’s. They were always big dos. We would have BBQ’s, summer parties, parties for no reason at all and new year’s day parties. Everyone would be welcome, his friends or Jonny and my friends. It did not matter as long as everyone was having fun. When my friends were of drinking age he could easily out drink us and many ended up in a bad way trying to challenge him or keep up.

Illness played a big part of Rory’s life, first the burns at 5 and then the devastating effects of rheumatoid Arthritis. He had three knee replacements, two hips replacements and both ankles frozen. Every joint surface was ravaged by the effects of the arthritis. The pain must have been immense but he bore it all with good humor.

The arrival of two marvelous Grandsons gave him a new reason to live and he would spend hours with them watching various cartoons from his sick bed. He just wanted to spend as much time with them as possible.

For the last 30 years Teresa has had to care for Rory in ways which would break a normal person, dad often told me of the debt in gratitude that he owes her. Then he broke his leg and cut his toe and all hell broke loose with trying to fight infection. He spent more time in hospital than out of it in the last three years and had to have his toes amputated. Some said he spent so much time in hospital as he loved a nurse but antibiotic resistant bacteria was the main cause. In the end the body could not take anymore and he slipped away on the 27th December very peacefully with us all beside him. Over the course of our lives we have had many near death scares with dad and we almost thought he might re awaken and say “I’m not dead yet” like the old man in “Monty Python and The Holy Grail”.

Alas he did not, Rory is gone, but not forgotten.