He was the unlikely face of the Falklands War, a mild-mannered mandarin from the Ministry of Defence who never got closer to the action than a civil service desk in Whitehall.

Ian McDonald was picked as spokesman for the Ministry of Defence (MoD) during the conflict in the South Atlantic for the sheer dullness of his delivery.

Yet, as the nation held its breath in April, May and June 1982, it was the career civil servant from Glasgow, who has died at the age of 82, to whom everyone turned for information.

Argentina had just invaded the Falkland Islands and Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher had dispatched a Task Force to re-take sovereign British soil.

Sir Frank Cooper, the permanent under secretary, told his bewildered subordinate: “Ian, you have to make these announcements on television. There is the chair.”

Mr McDonald later admitted: “I was terrified.”

He proved such a pin-up with TV viewers that the Glasgow University graduate was later stalked for two years by a woman, who would regularly sit beside him on the Tube and write him impassioned letters.

Janet Street-Porter, who presented The Six O’Clock Show, a satirical news programme in the 1980s, admitted: “I really fancied him.

“He was so restrained and controlled and the way he put no emotion in his voice.”

Ian McDonald was born in the comfortable Glasgow suburb of Langside in 1936, the son of a successful fish merchant.

Along with his brother, who died before him, he attended the University of Glasgow for a law degree, followed by postgraduate studies in Greek and Italian.

He was conscripted into the army as an interpreter, based in Cyprus. This should have capitalised on his knowledge of Greek but true to bookish form, McDonald’s speciality was in the ancient, rather than modern, version of the language.

Once de-mobbed, he returned to Glasgow to take up a post with a law firm but the young McDonald found the job tedious and boring, so he sought adventure in Karachi, in Pakistan, where he taught for a year.

Back in Britain, he worked his way up through the ranks of the MoD until one day in spring 1982, at the age of 46, when he had the global spotlight thrust upon him.

By 21st century standards, the wartime TV delivery seems pretty basic, with McDonald often standing in front of a map, wielding a teacher’s pointer.

The media were not particularly fond of his funereal tone during broadcasts, nor his unwillingness to provide additional information once the cameras had stopped rolling.

But he earned the trust of the nation, starved of information from half a world away in the days before 24-hour rolling news and the immediacy of tweets and Facebook posts.

His delivery was typified by his announcement on live television on May 4, 1982, of a devastating loss at sea.

He said solemnly: “In the course of its duties within the total exclusion zone around the Falkland Islands, HMS Sheffield, a Type 42 destroyer, was attacked and hit late this afternoon by an Argentinian missile.

“The ship caught fire, which spread out of control.

When there was no longer any hope of saving the ship, the ship’s company abandoned ship.

“All who abandoned her were picked up.”

At this point McDonald bit his lip.

He then resumed: “But we have no details yet. Next of kin will be informed first, as soon as details have been received.”

The disaster – which occurred when two Argentine jets hit the warship with Exocet missiles – cost the lives of 20 sailors, one of the most costly engagements for the Royal Navy since the end of the Second World War.

HMS Sheffield was badly damaged and later sank while being towed in heavy seas.

The wreck remains a war grave at the bottom of the sea today.

A report into the incident found there were a number of failures among the ship’s senior staff to prepare for a missile strike, with protocols not being followed and insufficient fire-fighting equipment deployed.

Mr McDonald later said his monotone speaking style had been a deliberate choice in an effort to lessen the impact of bad news.

He said: “I knew right from the start there would be bad news as well as good news, which is why the delivery I chose was drained of all emotion with no adjectives, short and truthful. I thought this was the kind of vehicle which could give bad news as well as good news.

“I actually felt very emotional at the time. Everyone in the MoD felt very emotional. We were cooped up in this hothouse where it would have been very strange if you didn’t feel any emotion.”

Mr McDonald never married and had no children. He died of pneumonia on March 28.