Born in 1923 in London, England, Alfred (Smudge) Smith and his younger sister Faye spent their childhood in an orphanage. They were kept separated from each other, and at age 15, Mr. Smith ran away. Faye was later sent to Australia.

With nowhere else to go, he joined the British Army. Too young for the Army still, he was put to work caring for horses in the Cavalry until he was old enough to enlist properly.

He served as a gunnery instructor and was stationed in Scotland for a long time, as well as Afghanistan and Egypt. After the Second World War (where he gained the nickname "Smudge", the name given to all soldiers with the last name of "Smith") he returned to England. Homeless again, he joined a fishing fleet out of Grimsby, and fished the northern Icelandic seas.

"I used to freeze my knickers off," he told his friends.

After fishing for some time, Mr. Agass-Smith (who took on his wife's name when he later married in Bermuda) decided enough was enough. He joined the Royal Navy and was stationed in Bermuda - a dramatic change from his life on the northern seas.

Working and living at the Commissioner's House in Dockyard, Mr. Agass-Smith was a "victualler", bringing alcohol (and some food) to the Navy ships stationed on the Island. As was his habit, he quickly made friends - including Richard Gorham, the Immigration Officer for Bermuda at the time.

Mr. Gorham helped him to receive status and offered him a job at Gorham's, where he started his career as an accountant. It was during his time at Gorham's that he met his future wife, Joy Agass.

"We didn't like each other at all at first," she remembered. Gorham's was the parent company of the Supermart, where Mrs. Agass-Smith worked at the time, and after one of the annual Christmas parties Mr. Agass-Smith offered her a lift home.

"We sat outside and chatted," she said, and she told him about her recent divorce and her three daughters, the triplets Elizabeth, Margaret and Philippa. "I thought, you're really quite a nice bloke. He asked if I minded him coming over and meeting my girls."

Two years later, the pair were married. Both had been through divorces, and with three girls all the same age money was tight. Growing up in an orphanage, however, had prepared Mr. Agass-Smith well.

"He'd have a go at anything," said his wife. "He repaired shoes, he cut A-line patterns out of brown paper bags for dresses for the girls - everything was A-line," she laughed to her daughters. "You looked like the Salvation Army."

The triplets remembered one birthday in particular when their stepfather had spent days making surfboards for them.

"We all went down to Horseshoe Bay and he was so excited," said daughter Maggie Benn. "He put them in the water and they sank."

When the girls turned 16 he bought three second-hand Mobylettes and spent days painting and fixing them up before teaching them how to ride. And he went down in history after coming home one night with his wife to find his three daughters had thrown an impromptu party in their house: As Smudge walked through the door to a sudden hush, one party-goer asked loudly, "Who are you, Big Daddy?"

"He came here and he took on and raised three girls," the triplets said. "He took another man's children. It's easy for a man to father children - it's a delight for a man to father children - but it's not easy to do the follow-up. He did the follow-up."

"That takes a special kind of person," said friend Bill Smart, who had known Mr. Smith for about 40 years.

Mr. Smart's wife, Joan agreed. "He was so full of life. The day wasn't long enough for him.

"He didn't do any bad things. He was blunt, he was straightforward, he would say whatever came into his head - but he was a good, good man. He'd do anything for you."

"He was never out to impress," said Mr. Smart. "He used to lie about his golf game, but apart from that ."

"He wanted to know how everything worked, he'd pull everything apart and try to put it back together," said his wife. "He was a very genuine person. A far from perfect man, but he had a terrific zest for life. Nothing was ever too much for him, it never mattered who he was doing it for . When he got ill he couldn't bear the thought that he couldn't do the things he wanted to."

Mr. Smith was diagnosed with lymphonic cancer shortly after his 80th birthday - a night he had spent on the dance floor at Henry VIII until one in the morning. (His sister Faye flew from Australia for the party.)

Five months later the cancer went into remission, however he never recovered from the chemotherapy treatment. He died at home on June 24, surrounded by his family and PALS nurses who never left his side.

"This after all is what families are about and is something that Dad cherished so much," wrote his wife and daughters to family and friends. "He managed to find a family and loved it all from there on in."

Mr. Smith's funeral will take place on Monday at St. Anne's Church, Southampton at 3 p.m.

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Contributed by Sarah Titterton