WE CAME to remember Sir Bobby Charlton, England’s greatest footballer.
We left warmed by stories of “Grandpa”.
Grandson William Balderston spoke so eloquently at Manchester Cathedral as we bade farewell to a football legend and a family said goodbye to someone who was much more than that.
He brought smiles from sadness as he told the story of Grandpa smiling at the bottom of a snowy hill in Manchester.
It was his turn to pick up the sledge now and dart back to the top of the hill.
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He would race back down in delight at the fun of it all.
There was more, how heading into the warmth of Grandpa’s house, the grandkids would hardly be able to contain their excitement.
Now it was story time. “Jelly and Custard stories” — two characters he had created in his own mind.
William, now 22, and his sister would jump on Grandpa’s knee as he made up tales that would last for an age and have them spellbound.
“He always seemed genuinely thrilled to put smiles on our faces,” said William.
There were those cooked breakfasts he loved rustling up, his athleticism as he dived in the pool on family holidays.
We cannot all relate to being a great footballer, but we can relate to what William had to say about his Grandpa as the stories swirled around the cathedral.
His might have been Sir Bobby Charlton, but it was the simple things, things we can all do or experience, that William wanted us to know about.
The tributes have poured in since his passing over three weeks ago about his ability on a ball.
The statistics have been rolled out again and were once more here by former Manchester United chief executive David Gill in his eulogy.
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Gill, a stiffer up lip sort of man, could not help his voice cracking when he mentioned the Munich air disaster which Sir Bobby survived.
John Shiels, head of the Manchester United Foundation, wavered too as he talked about his long-time friend.
Not somebody who had won a European Cup, World Cup and three League titles, but someone who used his ability with a ball to break down barriers.
To get everyone involved in sport.
To open a charity committed to eradicating the evil of landmines from the world.
But also of a man who was 5-1 down in a game of doubles tennis against him and his partner but refused to buckle and won 7-5.
So the 1,000 guests listened and smiled about a great man.
There were horrendous winds as a storm hit. It sounds clichéd but the sun genuinely shone through the upper windows of this 15th century building as hymns rang out.
As the words so eloquently spoken did the man such justice. As Russell Watson belted out How Great Thou Art.
There are many experiences I have had over nearly quarter of a century covering Manchester United that make you appreciate the size and stature of this club.
This was another. This was a class act for a class act.
A farewell that brought the great and good to the centre of the city that the lad from the mining town of Ashington made his own, and famous round the world.
At one point during his eulogy Shiels lifted up a football.
Sir Bobby once said: “In the sweep of it’s appeal, it’s ability to touch every corner of humanity, football is the only game that needed to be invented.”
Thank goodness the world had someone like Sir Bobby Charlton to play it too. But, as Shiels told us from the lectern, Sir Bobby wanted everyone to enjoy it.
He recalled: “When we asked him what he wanted every child who attended a Bobby Charlton Soccer School to feel he replied, ‘I want every day to be like Christmas Day.’”
Isn’t it sad that it takes death and funerals to really hear about the core of someone? What he really meant on a human level.
We were gathered among footballing royalty to hear it, and those we did not know but whose hearts he touched.
Teammates from his past, legends of a more recent time like the brilliant Roy Keane.
Sir Alex Ferguson was there himself, it has been a tough time for him recently having lost his beloved wife Cathy. Now he was saying goodbye to a dear friend.
Everywhere you looked as the congregation gathered you took double takes.
But it was seeing his old teammates from that incredible 1968 European Cup Final come in that struck a chord.
Brian Kidd still looks like that young player who graced the Wembley surface against Benfica.
John Aston Jnr was man of the match that night; he walked with a stick.
People just get old. Problem is you just don’t expect your heroes to. You don’t expect them to die.
We knew that Sir Bobby had not been well. He passed away over three weeks ago aged 86. Since then there have been amazing tributes and ceremonies before two games at Old Trafford.
Daily, people have come to the Trinity Statue to lay flowers that grew into a carpet. Millions of words have been expressed in print and throughout the media.
It all kept his spirit alive, it all filled the void left by his passing. It was almost as if he was reborn as memories and images were reawakened, like he was still with us.
But there comes a time when what is lost really hits, and that’s the funeral.
Driven past his beloved Old Trafford home at 1.30pm in a hearse, where fans gathered by that fabulous Trinity statue to say their farewell.
The statue of Sir Matt Busby looked down from a plinth halfway up the back of that East Stand as the cortege drove through a guard of honour made up of United’s under-18 and under-21 teams.
The fans lined the walkway up to the cathedral entrance.
There was plenty of chatter beforehand among old friends, and fans lucky enough to be inside. It had the feeling of a lovely get-together.
Then the funeral procession arrived.
The footballing hymn Abide With Me followed and the coffin was rested before us, bedecked with white flowers. Widow Lady Norma looked on.
Prince William looked on. We all looked on. You just stare at a coffin at a funeral unable to fathom that someone so full of life was now dead and inside it.
It was not long now, this was the last chance to say goodbye.
It was Sir Bobby who dubbed Old Trafford The Theatre of Dreams. He brought those dreams to life and then went on to witness more come true from his seat in the directors box.
“Marvellous” he said as he punched the air with tears filling his eyes high up in the Nou Camp as United completed the treble in 1999.
All the images and memories will have been running through people’s minds as this ceremony continued. Then as if jolted back into reality, the coffin was lifted up and taken away.
Farewell Sir Bobby.
As the darkness closed in on a cold stormy day, the flags at half-mast at Old Trafford desperately tried to stay connected to their poles.
Sadly, as a wake went on within the ground where a stand is named in his honour, it was time to let go.
A private family committal takes place today.
The emptiness really will be felt now.
The memories of grandad on that sledge might just help to fill it.