Digger - amazing bloke, heroic friend and consummate journalist

Everyone had their own memories of the Digger, an amazing bloke, heroic friend and consummate journalist. Most are best kept to be shared over a drink - possibly several drinks - after any memorial service that is arranged. I shared an apartment with him in Saigon in 1972-73, a wonderful counter-balance to the stresses and strains of covering the war in Indochina.

Life with the Digger was never dull. I was in the office one sunny Saigon morning when the maid who looked after Brian and I in the small house we shared two doors down spoke urgently to office manager Dinh, who laughed and told me I had better go next door "because Digger people make problem”. I found our boy stretched out on the tiled floor of the kitchen, fast asleep and wearing only that beatific smile and with a half-eaten sandwich, clearly exhausted from the night's entertainment. I woke him up and within five minutes he was in the office, dressed and looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. That, coupled with his penchant for throwing back his head and emitting a wild dingo howl if he thought the assembled company needed an injection of fun made me love him like a brother.

One last tale - he never did learn that you can't light a cigarette while sitting fully clothed under a cold shower… but I'll save that for later. RIP, mate. ■