We are very sorry to notify you of the passing of Ian who was at the School from 1955 until 1962.

Ian sadly passed away recently, aged 81 years.

We are conscious that some people who knew Ian during his time at the School may not be in contact with us and we would be very grateful if you could pass on this information to those that you know.

As is usual practice, we would like to place an obituary for Ian in the 2024-25 OI Journal. If you know of any stories or memories which you can pass on to us so we can put them together for the publication we would be most grateful. Please address any contributions to me through oldipswichians@ipswich.school.

Sally Webber
OI Chair

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Originally written (dictated) by Dad 29 April 2017

Ian Robert Orger 1943-2024 School years 1955-1962
My early formative years were spent in Scotland living with my grandfather who ran whisky distilleries in Windygates, Fife. The family moved to Ipswich and aged five I was enrolled at St. Matthew’s School.  My stay was short-lived as my father, Kenneth Orger (OI 1925-1933) was invited by Harry Mellor (OI 1917-1928) to join him in Oxford to work for the then Alliance Assurance company.
I attended two state schools in Oxford. State education in England (unlike Scotland) was weak. My mother wished for me to study at Dollar Academy in Scotland (her old school), my father wanted me to go to Ipswich School. The latter won! 
In May 1955 I was enlisted in Junior House under the tutelage of Tom and Rina Glover. Tom was fierce, firm but fair, Rina resembled Mrs Bumble in Dickens' Oliver Twist workhouse! Three years later, a move to Westwood under Peter 'Spud' Marsden and his delightful wife, Constance, where I was very happy. Thanks to Spud, I enjoyed a lifelong love of classical music and thrived. Eventually I went to School House under housemaster and headmaster Patrick Mermagen, where again I thrived. 
On leaving school in 1962 I pursued a career in the NHS, rising to General Manager Executive Director until retiring prematurely in 1995 due to health problems which led to open heart surgery. Had I gained Science and Maths A levels I would have followed a career in medicine (I always wanted to be a doctor), but I often attributed my successful career in the NHS to the education received at Ipswich School. 
In retirement, I continued as a Gloucestershire Magistrate retiring at 70 after completing 25 years on the bench, and remained an avid Bridge player all my life, winning the Marie Curie National Bridge competition with my Bridge partner in 2015.

Ian leaves behind a son, Cameron, two daughters, Fiona and Laura, and five grandchildren.
The funeral service was at St Andrew’s Church, Chedworth, on Friday, November 22, 2024.

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Lawrence White (1955-1963) writes:

I suppose I first came across Ian in 1955 when I believe he had one term in the Prep before going into the Main School.  After a brief spell in Junior House, he boarded at Westwood but it wasn't until 1959 when he had transferred to School House and I started boarding there, that I really got to know him.
Although we were in different forms and therefore had different masters, we saw plenty of each other in Middle Common Room where, among activities such as listening to Pick of the Pops on Chris Fowler's tape recorder and putting glass milk bottles on the fire to see what happened to them, we used to indulge in games of Crime, a very addictive card game which Ian possessed.  
The cards themselves were quite dilapidated due to years of use and entirely held together with Sellotape. Ian contacted the makers, Waddingtons, for a replacement, but was told they were out of print.
He and I shared a study for a couple of terms, Study 9, which gave the smokers easy access to the roof, via Ian's easy chair. He was in possession of a venerable Dynatron radio which had the disturbing habit of failing on various occasions, thus fusing all the lights in Study Passage. Then, Mr Fancoat, the lab assistant, would be summoned and he arrived, with a screwdriver and a few caustic comments, to restore power. We used to think he quite liked being called upon, but I expect he just thought it was a pain.
We kept in touch after we left school and my brother, Martin, and I enjoyed camping and B and B holidays in Europe with him. When camping, we used to stock up with food here before departure and Ian took on cooking responsibilities on a Camping Gaz stove. On one occasion, he was cooking with one hand and trying to ward off mosquitoes with the other, when another party next door, reversing their car, were laughing so much at Ian's activities, they drove into the hedge. 
Camping in the Black Forest one night, we were apprehended by a ranger the following morning and told that camping there was strictly forbidden but as we were on our way, no punishment ensued. I think he noticed the GB sticker and made allowances.
In the last ten years or so, a group of OIs including Ian, Michael Abrahams, Richard Boughton, Chris Fowler, Martin, and me have met twice a year for a lunch in pubs in and around Cambridge — which is as central as possible for all of us — and results in hearty reminiscences.  We remembered him at our latest one in October, as at the time he was in hospital.
Ipswich School was never far from his thoughts, and he used to bring up memories on the occasions I was invited over to his home in Northleach, Gloucestershire, for lunch and was always given an ecstatic welcome by Betty, his dog and faithful companion these last few years.
He was a generous host and a great friend, with strong opinions on everything!  
RIP.    IRO.

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Martin White (1953-1959) writes:

Ian died eight weeks after being involved in a tragic accident at a service station in Lancaster while on his way to visit friends in Scotland.
He spent five weeks in Preston Infirmary with horrendous injuries and was then transferred to Gloucester Royal Hospital for the last three weeks of his life, surrounded by his family and friends.
Many of my memories are similar to those expressed by my brother and I will never forget Ian's friendship, sense of humour and trademark laugh — while he loved occasionally to be very rude in a sort of 'Carry On' way.
During our schooldays and beyond, we often stayed with him and his parents at their home in Oxford, while he visited us at both Henley, in Suffolk, and later Farnham, near Bishop's Stortford, where our parents lived. Later, after I got married, Ian would stay with my wife and I, with his last visit being to us in Ipswich about six years ago.
On that occasion, we took him on a tour of rural Suffolk and he showed us where his late parents had lived in Southwold. For some reason, he still had a key to the side door and having shown us round, my wife and he left, but having shut and locked the door behind him realised I was still inside. He could not post the key through the front door as the box receiving letters was padlocked and after much miming through windows, I managed to force open a fanlight enough for him to push the key through and unlock the door. 
Ian found the situation hilarious, and I am surprised his laughter didn't wake the whole town as we tried to creep through the darkness to my car. Neighbour Watch was obviously off-duty that night. 
His first day at school was imprinted on his memory and was frequently told in future years. The master on duty was asking boys their names and when it came to his turn he proudly replied: 'I. R. Orger, Sir', only to be rebuffed by 'Not I. R. Orger, boy, it's I AM Orger'.
In another incident at which my brother was present, Ian had come to stay with us at Farnham and drove his car through a flood across the road. Having done it once, he had to do it again, only this time another car was coming towards him. Undeterred, Ian ploughed through the water, oblivious to the fact that the other driver had his window open. A wave swept through the other car and when the angry driver approached Ian, whose own car had stalled, he was met with the understatement: 'I am sorry I moistened you.' My brother will say the man was drenched.
On another occasion, we were returning from one of our camping trips abroad in the early 1970s when Ian decided to buy nine bottles of whisky from the duty-free shop in Calais to distribute among family and friends at home. We duly stacked a few in the tent on the roof of the car, one in a washing-up bowl under the passenger seat, others in vents in the boot and other places. He boldly told the customs officer at Dover we had nothing to declare, but as we were sun-tanned, unshaven and relatively young, they decided to go over the whole car. Within minutes, all the contraband had been revealed and all three of us had to club together to pay the excess duty, which
they at least allowed him to keep. Once again, Ian found the whole thing hilarious.
That was I.R. Orger. Full of fun, full of life with a hint of a devil-may-care attitude and someone who our 'gang' will greatly miss. Three OIs – my brother Lawrence, Richard Boughton and me – were among the mourners at Ian’s funeral, along with Monica, the widow of another OI, Graham Ruffle, who had been another of Ian’s great friends over the years.