His gleaming, oiled torso became known to millions as he banged away at the gong whose bongs signalled the start of Rank films that included Blithe Spirit and Olivier’s Henry V. Now the film world is mourning the hammer-wielding Ken Richmond, who shared the secrets of his iconic part in cinematic history before his death last week, at the age of 80.

The gong, which sounded before each J Arthur Rank film, was, in fact, a papier mâché mock-up and Richmond was always happy to tell his friends that he simply mimed in front of it. “If you hit that gong, you would have gone straight through,” was his favourite line.

Richmond’s self-effacing manner about the role, for which he was paid only a one-off fee of £100, was typical of the man, say his friends. Yet behind those iconic biceps and the Tarzan skirt was one of Britain’s unsung Olympians: a super-heavyweight freestyle wrestling champion who took Olympic bronze in the 1952 Melbourne games, fourth place in 1956 and a Commonwealth gold and bronze in 1954 and 1950 respectively. He was also a prolific film extra.

Richmond first made a living as a deck hand, cutting up whale meat on the Antarctic whaling ships, which put out to sea for nine months at a time. A teetotaller, he gave his rations of rum to some of the men who were driven to near insanity by the long months at sea.

But it was the silver screen that had fascinated him since childhood, as his mother had brought him up near Rank’s Pinewood Studios.

Richmond’s 19-stone frame and walk-on roles led Rank to approach him in 1955 for the gong role, which he immediately accepted. That the job should have been there at all was largely down to chance. J Arthur Rank, a flour mogul and devout Methodist, originally wanted a wolf to rival MGM’s lion but the only available specimen was mangy. It was at this stage that somebody suggested, “bang a gong” and, after that, every film started with a gong that filled two-thirds of the screen.

The millions of filmgoers who watched Richmond were looking at a man who had a marked aversion to violence. He was a conscientious objector during the Second World War and served several months in prison, according to friends. But as gong-bangers go, he became irreplaceable.

By that time, the former Olympian had long since devoted himself to a life as a Jehovah’s Witness. His work as a missionary took him to Malta and he also doted on his wife, Valentina, whom he met in a film scene and married in the mid-sixties. They had no children and she died 10 years ago.