Rugby has a long history in Malta but when the British Services left in 1979, the game had ceased, and the few Maltese players who either played with the Overseas Rugby Club, or with the two local schools, St Edward’s or De La Salle, turned to other sports, or hung up their boots.

Enter McHarg who had come to Malta as a teenager and played rugby at St Edward’s. A fiery character, quick to fight, quicker to laugh. Around 1982 he gathered the few local ex-players (and I mean a few) and cajoled, harangued and generally persuaded them to go down to the Marsa and restart Rugby in Malta.

The first Saturday we were three, but a year later, we were about 10, regularly playing five a side (not sevens I know − but of necessity). The games were followed by the third half at Oreste’s bar in Marsa and later Charlies in Floriana, and even later at Taffy’s. If we weren’t great on the pitch, we were glorious in the bar, where old scores from the game were settled in pints.

McHarg kept us together, and through sheer determination, kept the game going as the numbers slowly grew and Rugby regrew its roots. He spent hours negotiating for a pitch with the authorities − and got it, trained youngsters, and eventually when we had enough players to split into clubs, founded the Phoenicians RFC.

Rugby has grown, we have a great local scene and our international results are credible. This may or may not have been were it not for Gordon McHarg − his sheer pig-headedness, his infectious enthusiasm and his wild leadership.

The old boys, now with their gammy legs and bad backs, will miss him and raise a glass to his memory in thanks for what he did for local rugby, and for the great and glorious adventures we had together. The young ones may not know what he did − that is the story of life, but that does not detract from his achievement for the game of rugby in Malta.

To his wife Caroline, his children Nikki, Rebecca and Jack, their partners and his grandchildren, our deepest sympathy from the whole rugby community.