He particularly remembers Games's "tough and chilling" poster "Your Talk May Kill Your Comrades". While much war propaganda showed noble, heroic soldiers with square, resolute jaws, Games's image shows an open-mouthed recruit spilling secrets which spiral out to a dagger point to impale three fellow soldiers. It is a starker warning than the mild "Careless Talk Costs Lives".

After the war, Games was demobilised and he set up home with his wife Marianne Salfield, a textile designer, in Surbiton and later Golders Green. Her mother-in-law had told her that the best way to calm Games's mercurial temper was to never let him get hungry. Her collection of well-thumbed Penguin paperback cookbooks — a row of Elizabeth Davids among them — now sits on their daughter Naomi's kitchen shelves.

Above: "London Zoo", 1976. Below: Stockwell Swan tile mural at Stockwell Tube Station, 1970

Naomi remembers him as both temperamental and sentimental. He would often sneak the names of children — or in his pre-marriage days, girlfriends — into his posters. He worked from home and the three children were allowed to sit on the studio's blue linoleum floor, Listen With Mother or the cricket on the radio, playing with paper and paints. As soon as there was noise or mess, though, Games would throw them out. 

David Gentleman remembers him as a stern and demanding teacher — but kind. He had a whimsical side, too. One Monday morning he arrived and told the class that the week's assignment was to go to the cinema to see Occupe-toi d'Amélie — a popular, and rather risqué, French film.