RIP, Paul Wickson ... the final journey for a much-loved Rotherham United figure

"He was one of our own."

The celebrant couldn't have put it better.

We bade our farewells to Paul Wickson this week.

It was a quiet family funeral, a poignant Rotherham United affair. For many years, Paul was the club photographer.

I say 'Paul'. If you knew him well, it was 'Wicko'.

He didn't do the job alone. Jim Brailsford was by his side. They came as a pair, and they had each other's back.

If you had a beef with one, you had a beef with both. Not that there were any real beefs with either. There was too much affection and respect for them for that. Top lads. Salt of the earth. Great characters.

They criss-crossed the country in pursuit of the Millers. Sometimes it was Wicko's car, sometimes it was Jim's. What never changed was the company. Year after year, mile after mile, they were together.

It was as close as a friendship can be: brothers in all but blood.

Seventy-seven years hadn't taken much of a toll on Paul. He was bright and lively, with a packed diary, until he was suddenly taken ill on a visit to Warwickshire and died days later, earlier this month, having never regained consciousness. I'm pleased it was quick, relieved he didn't suffer, delighted Jim was there just before he passed and got to say his own goodbye.

Before moving into photography, Wicko was a Rotherham Council accountant and the owner of Circles Records. His wife, Sandra, served in there and was just as lovely as he was.

People entered the funeral to the strains of Procol Harum's a Whiter Shade Pale - the song played when the couple tied the knot in 1974.

Paul had done well for himself, with a house on Moorgate and a property in France, but there was absolutely no edge to him, just a desire to like and be liked back in return.

Throughout his life, he followed his passions. His love of music turned into DJ-ing and his busy record store. His boyhood love of the Millers saw him become their snapper, and his image of Alex Revell scoring that goal at Wembley is right up there in the top echelons of sports photography.

Operating a camera was self-taught, and he had a gift for it. He freelanced for the Star, when I was on the sports desk there, and also for the Advertiser. At the Star, he had a reputation for three things: quality, total reliability and utter decency.

Paul mentored Jim who eventually took over Rotherham United duties on his own and nowadays combines the job with his work for a well-known funeral directors in the town.

He was taught well. For the last few seasons, he's supplied pictures to the Advertiser where he has a reputation for three things: quality, total reliability and utter decency.

Wicko was a dear friend of mine. We'd have a curry night now and then, a coffee here and there, a chat on WhatsApp every week.

After retirement, he remained a regular in the AESSEAL New York Stadium media suite. He had a lot of stories to tell and he told them well. He loved to talk but, importantly, knew when not to. If he saw you were busy, he'd leave you to your work and circle back later.

I will miss many things about him. Most of all, his kindness.

When my season-ticket-holding mum was fading towards her own end with dementia, he always made a fuss of her at games. I hope he knew how much my family appreciated that.

He was a hugger. Why settle for a handshake when a meaty embrace was an option? Maybe he got that from another of his close pals, Paul Warne.

Wicko was on the former Rotherham manager's testimonial committee when Warney was a player. Later, he would perform the same role for Richard Wood.

Both were among the mourners at Rotherham Crematorium.

News of Paul's death brought a flurry of love on social media, and it was heartwarming to scroll through Facebook and read tribute after tribute - many of them, like the man himself, with a story to tell. Some mentioned Circles, some recalled his time at the council, many of them were about the Millers.

As the celebrant said, he was one of our own.

The sun shone throughout the morning of his service. That felt right. Sandra was lovely with everyone, everyone was lovely with her. That felt right, too.

And, beautifully, there was one last journey for two buddies whose bond will transcend life.

Jim drove the hearse.