"Lucky is the man or woman who finds a good role model at 18. Luckier by far is the person who finds one in perhaps the most unexpected places - a tough infantry regiment where the language is not drawing room, and overt masculinity burgeons.

George Newbold came into my life and that of other 18-year-olds in The Welch Regiment in the autumn of 1946 at Dan-y-Parc, Crickhowell. He was in the barrack room when I returned from 14 days embarkation leave, an old man to us at the age of 32. But he was a man who would stand out anywhere.

He was a big, well over 6ft tall, and he wanted nothing to do with teenagers hardly shaving. And he remained aloof and mysterious. He had a row of medal ribbons, including one that we found out was the Military Medal. Why was this man with all the attributes of leadership still only a private? Who really was George Newbold? His demeanour did not invite questions, and George did not elaborate.

The mellowing of George and our acceptance by him came later. I had an early indication he was warming when he saw me writing in a (military forbidden) diary on the troopship, the Eastern Prince, en route to the 2nd battalion in Burma. He gave me a hint of a gap-toothed smile when he said: "Write down that George is playing cards and has not had a wash yet."

In the middle of the Red Sea, and out of sight of land he walked to a porthole and shouted: "Look at all those camels." His delighted laughter at the rush that followed was that of an old soldier who had been hoaxed in similar manner.

George never disappointed me, and all the others privileged to get to know him better. He was the good soldier who became a firm comrade. But basic in him was an extraordinary integrity, and a great sense of justice. On a parade ground at a Singapore transit camp, George bridled at the continued public humiliation of Intelligence Corps NCOs - whom he did not know - by a sadistic sergeant major.

Finally he confronted him, and it was the sergeant major who backed down, correctly assessing George's determination, and that row of medals. It was a minor victory for right that would have been sullied had George declared it so, or even spoken of the incident. But George never boasted.

When we joined the battalion in Burma he got between some bullies and the more timid of the new draft on the first night we were in a recreation hut. He was blunt. "I don't want to see you picking on these boys again," he said. "If you do, you will have to deal with me first." There was no more bullying.

It was the second time I had seen the normally easygoing George fuelled by a righteous anger, and he became the firm hero of us teenagers, and despite the barrier of years, a friend. The anger was not confined to those who erroneously crossed his path. He could be equally scathing of those in the army who had connived successfully to stay out of any danger zone - and George could name them.

Gradually he opened up to me. Perhaps it was the writing of a diary that did it, when no one else bothered. He told me he had joined the army as a regular soldier before the war, as it was better than going down the coal mines of South Wales. There was no other work, he said. He had fought as an infantryman in Normandy and Germany.

Why was he still only a private, we had asked ourselves, and when I eventually dared to ask him, he said he did not want to nursemaid anyone. But George was too good a man and soldier, with those obvious powers of leadership, and when he joined the battalion in Burma he became a sergeant in the regimental police.

We had noticed a scar on his upper right arm when he stripped for a shower, and he told me that a German sniper had got him when he was crossing a field in Normandy "I was so shocked that I threw my rifle in the air, and ran like buggery for cover," he said. "Mind you, I went and got my rifle back later."

And then there was the day when George pulled a somewhat decrepit piece of paper from a wallet and showed me his citation for the Military Medal, which emphasised for me his courage and ability to inspire others.

Our ways parted when he became a regimental police sergeant, but we did meet from time to time, until the battalion broke up and I was sent to a unit in Malaya.

But I met him again for the last time when I was awaiting demobilisation at the regimental depot in Cardiff. It was heartening to see that George was getting his life in order. He spoke warmly of a woman in his life, and was happily looking forward to marriage.

George, Military Medal, really was one of the good guys, a fine man with basic firm and instinctive principles who had instilled unknowingly similar ethics in a bunch of military teenagers. I hope he had a happy and fulfilling life. He deserved it, and not merely for quietly showing a bunch of teenagers a way to go in life.

Article by Glyn Williams