'He was one of us' - Wolves fan John Lalley's personal tribute to Sir Jack

We adored the man, absolutely doted on him and he reciprocated in kind with a level of generosity that is simply beyond measure.

From the moment he walked the quarter of a mile from his home on Dunstall Road to Molineux as a child, his heart and soul was etched into the fabric of a club that he came to love.

He was at Wembley in 1939 and left crestfallen as Wolves, despite being massive favourites, lost the FA Cup Final to outsiders Portsmouth.

By the time Wolves triumphed in two finals in 1949 and 1960, burgeoning business commitments meant that he was absent from Wembley, but the club still remained etched in his spirit.

Years later with Molineux just recovering after facing its darkest hour, Sir Jack rallied to the cause, despite his personal location being on the other side of the world.

He immediately invited his hero Billy Wright to join the board of directors and just as quickly had the long-suffering Wolves' fans believing that this time the sky really was the limit.

From the outset, his personal charm, openness and off-the-cuff charisma enraptured us; there never was a moment of flannel or spin.

Instead he supported his managers to the financial hilt and oversaw the rebuilding of a decaying stadium that had fallen into shabby disrepair. There was barely a dry eye as the sparkling new Molineux was officially opened in December 1993 and Billy Wright embraced the great Ferenc Puskas as Honved re-enacted the famous clash with Wolves from 39 years previously.

But above all that wonderful nostalgic evening belonged exclusively to Sir Jack; without him, Wolverhampton Wanderers would have ceased to exist.

But not for a single moment did he seek any personal accolade for his devotion to Wolves and the sparkling new stadium was merely the first step in his ambitions.

Sadly, the success on the field that he craved with a burning passion proved massively elusive; his patience appeared to snap after defeat in the play-offs in 1996 scuppered the club's return to the top division.

His infamous 'golden tit' outburst summed up his absolute frustration. Typically, he shouldered much of the blame.

"I have failed and I have failed the fans," he lamented. Most Wolves followers felt otherwise; Sir Jack had provided just about everything any manager could ask for and it was hardly his fault that the team failed to deliver on the pitch.

He soldiered on enduring a sad family split after a rift with his son led to legal proceedings, until he finally saw tangible reward for his unstinting devotion at the play-off final in Cardiff in 2003. I can picture him now driving up to The Millennium Stadium in his faithful Rover car waving optimistically to the throng of Wolves' fans who, as they always did, burst into spontaneous cheers and applause each time they spotted Sir Jack.

A few hours later in shirtsleeves, trophy in hand he happily cavorted with delight as promotion was finally achieved. Sadly, he was no longer prepared to invest so heavily and in truth who could blame him?

For Sir Jack, this had all arrived too late.

Had Wolves gained immediate promotion under his ownership, just where might the club be right now?

His own personal levels of kindness I for one will never forget; in 2005 I was flabbergasted when he left a message on my voicemail inviting me to join him for dinner.

It was a delightful evening; Sir Jack was articulate, immensely friendly and wonderfully indiscreet.

What's more, he paid the bill!

When I asked him how he responded to the abuse some misguided Wolves fans heaped upon him after one notorious game, he refused to condemn his critics.

He understood their frustration and was in no way put out in the face of such ingratitude.

That was the measure of this very special man.

He knew that just like him they cared passionately about the Wolves and I will treasure the memory of that evening and treasure the memory of the man.

A wonderful individual, a fantastic benefactor and a Wolverhampton man out of the very top drawer.