Rugby: 'Tank' Herring's sporting love will live on in bequest

The princes of rugby inhabit various roles - the superstars of the international game, those honoured with knighthoods and public acclaim, the idols of the youngsters.

And then there was Barrington James Herring who died a week ago, aged 73, smiling at his family, anxious about the fate of his beloved Labrador, Carter ... and close enough to being one of the finest men of rugby that Auckland - especially the Waitemata club - has produced.

Barrie (you could call him 'Barrington' from a safe distance with a planned escape route) may have finished among rugby royalty, but in his early days as a prop forward he was among the rascals who liked a scrap as much as they disliked authority and referees and fancy-Dan inside backs.

He was big, burly, thick of neck, and the kind of roguish, battered face that frightened little people, and opposing props. He acquired the nickname of "Tank" as if it was his birthright, a meld of World War I power and deliberate movement.

He propped for the Waitemata seniors for 11 years or so, getting two Gallaher Shield titles in 1958 and 1962, but his stroppy nature placed him beyond the needs of various Auckland selectors.

Some very good friends such as Bryan Craies (he may have given Herring lessons in stroppiness), and his love for the Waitemata, its Westies and Dalmatians, saved Tank.

He was a "natural" when it came to work - be it building, developing, running a fishing tackle shop, sailing, playing tennis and other activities that demanded muscle and enthusiasm.

Tank coached at Waitemata, East Coast Bays and Takapuna and found his greatest joy showing under-21 teams the shortcuts. He became a foundation member of the Golden Oldies rugby movement, then a resource coach for the New Zealand Rugby Union.

He teamed with one of his growing number of great mates, Kevin Gimblett, as a liaison officer with All Black teams playing in or leaving from Auckland.

He even made friends with newspaper rugby reporters, and once offered his judgment of Terry McLean and this writer by saying one used fancier words, but the other could drink more beer.

So the tempestuous and troubled youngster grew into a special type of rugby person - a man who loved the game, doted on the Waitemata club and his dog Carter; a man who loved sport - and made things happen.

His throne in rugby royalty will be sustained each year with a bequest which will allow Waitemata to send two youngsters to the national rugby coaching school and two to Outward Bound.