A life lived with love, loyalty and luck: Farewell to Sir Jack Hayward

The great and the good, the old and the young, the rich and the poor.

A city united in sombre remembrance for one of its most revered sons; a knight of the realm, but as humble as any of the flat-capped fans gathered in Queen Square.

An hour before the funeral service was due to begin, a large crowd was already settling in place, bringing a gentle hush to the normally bustling city centre.

Climbing up a couple of steps to take in the sight, a whispered conversation caught my ear.

"Oh, it's someone's funeral," said a young woman as she stopped to see what was going on.

"Not just someone," replied her pal, "It's Sir Jack."

Not 'Sir Jack Hayward', not 'the chap who used to own Wolves', but 'Sir Jack'.

Wolverhampton is not awash with father figures, but if anyone can lay claim to that paternal title over the past 30 years, it would be the likeable lad from Dunstall Road who grew up to be a global force of nature – and never forgot his roots.

The former RAF pilot who was 'kitted out' in Dunstall Road in 1923 was being given a hero's farewell under the nose of the Prince Consort statue (or to give him his local title The Man on the 'Oss).

Old friends greeted each other and stamped their feet against the cold as they waited to watch the service unfold on the giant screen set up for the occasion.

Sir Jack's smiling face looked down on the masses, where the mood was not so much of grief as total respect.

On the way up to St Peter's Collegiate Church, a group of former players stood among the crowd: Andy Mutch, Robbie Dennison, great names from the past joining with ordinary fans to pay their tribute.

Inside, captains of industry sat shoulder to shoulder with captains from Molineux as the invited guests took their seats early.

Faces from Wolves' illustrious past came thick and fast: Ron Flowers, 'King' John Richards, Mel Eves, Joleon Lescott, Jody Craddock, Steve Froggatt, Dave Jones and, of course, Steve Bull.

Kenny Jackett and the current squad respectfully filed in, as did Albion chairman Jeremy Peace.

The service itself was 'composed with great thought and detail' by Sir Jack – and as the coffin was carried in it showed.

Draped in the Union Jack and bearing red roses among the floral tribute, it also carried the uniform of Flight Lieutenant

Sir Jack Hayward OBE 180018 RAF.

The eight-page order of service proudly bore the Royal Air Force emblem and, with typical wit, the words: 'Took off June 14, 1923 – Landed January 13, 2015'.

The Reverend David Wright, Rector of St Peter's and club chaplain, opened by saying: "It's time for a family, a club, a city to pause and say goodbye and thank you.

"Seldom does one person's death diminish as many people's lives as Sir Jack's has done."

Former Wolves chairman Jonathan Hayward, son of the great man, then read Kipling's 'If' before rock legend Robert Plant took centre stage, reading William Blake's 'The Tyger'.

As the words faded, the man who has played a thousand stages composed himself and spoke from the heart about Sir Jack.

He recalled his 'kindness and humour' his 'candid nature' and his 'dauntless attitude'.

But most of all said the Led Zeppelin star: "It was his spirit that impressed me most."

Wolves stalwart and close friend Baroness Heyhoe Flint caught just such spirit as she recalled Sir Jack's incredible generosity, joking how Private Eye once said he'd saved various relics for the nation: 'Lundy Island, SS Great Britain . . . and Rachael Heyhoe Flint'.

She recalled his love of all things British, HP sauce, brown suede shoes and how she was once sent to inspect the tyres on The Queen's car to check if they were Goodyear.

They weren't. Sir Jack wasn't impressed.

As she finished speaking, with barely a dry eye in the church, the congregation broke out into spontaneous applause.

And Rachael, as she headed back to the pews, seized the moment to turn and give Sir Jack one last 'thumbs up.'

Young soloist Mary Harrow added a touch of nostalgia with a spine-tingling rendition of The White Cliffs of Dover.

As she finished, you could hear the applause from Queen Square rippling through the walls.

Sir Jack's next choice of hymn was to be expected: Jerusalem, belted out with a patriotic gusto he would have approved of.

The service closed with The Battle Hymn of the Republic (Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!) in what was 'a tribute to the USA, to whom Sir Jack owed so much'.

The Last Post brought many in the congregation to tears before the coffin was carried back outside to the cheering crowds, to the music of Elgar's Nimrod and, finally, Land of Hope and Glory.

As mourners filed out, a last look at the order of such a memorable service captured Sir Jack's own coat of arms proudly displayed and bearing the words 'Love, loyalty, luck'.

Fittingly, it was Baroness Heyhoe Flint who summed up those perfectly chosen three words, saying: "We loved him. He was loyal to us. We are so lucky to have shared his life."

Farewell Sir Jack, we will not see your like again.