Colin, who turns 90 next month, spent his childhood in a Goulburn orphanage, and, perhaps unconsciously, devoted the rest of his life to creating a family, not only of his own, but among his neighbours and friends. They were everything to him.

"He was brought up with very little and he is just very, very giving," his daughter Amanda Tankey said.

People may know Colin from his almost 10 years running Col Herringe's Corner Store, where Edgar's pub is now, in Ainslie.

"We had the best deli in town," he said, proudly.

Before that, he had worked as the supermarket manager at Charles Rogers and Sons in Civic, the predecessor to J.B. Young, and was there when late-night Friday shopping started in Canberra.

He was also a justice of the peace for more than 50 years. "I just wanted to help people," he said.

Dickson town planner Jane Goffman, who lives in the same street as Colin, believed he was worthy of celebration because of everything he had done for his neighbours, in his quiet, unassuming way.

"When medals are given out, some very great people get forgotten. Here's to Colin Herringe," she wrote, on the Dicksonia Magnifica Facebook page.

It goes back to the early days, when Colin and his wife Margaret moved into No 11 Kernot Street, Dickson in 1960.

Theirs was one of a number of exhibition houses put up by the National Capital Development Commission to entice more people into private rather than public housing as the still-young Canberra was rapidly growing.

Just before the Herringes, Ted Whyte and his wife Alma had moved into No 10, across the road. And Tom and Pat Johnson were at No 5.

The only houses in the street at the time.

The three couples became firm friends

"Back then, there was no Downer, no Hackett. Wakefield Avenue was the last frontier. It was all scrub beyond it," Colin said.

It was a street where the new neighbours used to have bonfires on the vacant lot for cracker nights.

They'd close the street off for New Year's Eve parties, tables lining the footpath and everyone coming outside to talk and laugh with each other.

Colin used to be able to see the Starlight drive-in from the house, glowing above the trees. It was their own little community.

Ted and Colin also used to play a few rounds together at the Royal Canberra Golf Club. (Colin apparently stood in Malcolm Fraser's "enormous" shoes in the locker room at the club - and was caught in the act. But we digress.)

It was at the golf club, Ted and Colin made a pact.

"After the game, we'd be at the bar and talk and talk under a few beers," Colin said.

"Ted said to me one day, 'If anything ever happens to you, I'll look after your family'. And I was the same."

Sadly, Ted, an engineer, did pass away young, in 1978.

Ted and his widow, Alma, had no children. Her sister Winnifred came out from Scotland to live with her.

Colin kept his vow and looked after the sisters for the next 40 years.

He'd chat with them, sit with them, take the paper to them, bring the bins in, get their shopping for them.

He helped them eventually move into a nursing home in Holt. Alma died in 2017, aged 93. And Winnifred died in 2018, aged 100.

Colin and his family even helped to organise their funerals.

And why? "I promised my mate," he said, tears in his eyes.

Jane Goffman believes Colin is a remarkable man.

"For me, what stands out, is his genuine love and caring for others," she said.

"He takes 'love thy neighbour' to heart and goes far beyond what most people might see as their duty, always doing his best to help."

Colin's wife Margaret also passed away, in 2013.

He remains proud of his home, neat as a pin, in "the best street in town."

And he's not going anywhere.