Ricky Hatton's coffin is carried out of Manchester Cathedral at his service. Photo / Getty Images)
One by one, Ricky Hatton’s three bereft and bewildered children filed to the lectern to deliver eulogies they had never imagined writing.
Fearne, his youngest at 12, could not comprehend why her father was no longer around to play mini-golf or take her bowling.
Campbell, his eldest at 24, and who for three years emulated his example as a boxer, dwelled on how much they had in common, from their looks to a shared obsession with Manchester City.
But it was Millie, his 13-year-old daughter, who gave voice to the awful question hanging in the misty air. “Why did you feel that way?” she wept. “Why didn’t you reach out about how you felt?”
The British professional boxer competed between 1997 and 2012, and held multiple world championships in the light-welterweight division, and one at welterweight.
For years Hatton had grappled with his mental health, desperate to recapture the highs of those Saturday nights in Manchester and Las Vegas with world titles on the line, but finding it an impossible quest. While he had spoken bleakly of the “little man on my shoulder, whispering to me”, the family’s belief was that he was conquering this particular demon.
Their hope was shattered last month by the news he had been found dead at his home in Hyde, at the age of 46.
“I can’t help but think about how you will never walk me down the aisle, how you will never meet my children and your grandchildren, how you won’t be here to see me leave school or even see me grow into an adult.”
It seemed an intolerable grief for a girl of 13 to carry, reflecting the giant crater that Hatton’s loss has left in the lives of those left behind. But Millie explained how she could not find it within herself to be angry.
“I genuinely hope you don’t ever think you have let me down, because I would never think that. I love and miss you unconditionally.”
On Hatton’s final journey, there were many wrenching sights under the heavy Manchester skies. It was difficult to watch the agony on Campbell’s face as he helped bear Ricky’s casket, painted in City colours and with “Blue Moon” engraved on the side, into the cathedral.
Similarly, it was painful to see his friends in black tie with pints of Guinness outside his favourite pubs, knowing he should still have been holding court. As the cortège set off from his local, the Cheshire Cheese in Gee Cross, hundreds followed.
And yet the further the procession moved towards the city centre, the more the sorrow gave way to an overwhelming sense of gratitude. All along Market St in Hyde, the crowds lined their pavements, breaking into a spontaneous chant of “there’s only one Ricky Hatton” as they caught sight of his yellow three-wheel van and the timeless “New York, Paris, Peckham” inscription. He had bought it for £4000 ($9300), a reflection of his lifelong love of Only Fools and Horses. Amid the desolation, the very fact the vehicle took pride of place for his farewell brought a precious touch of the absurd.
So, too, did Tyson Fury, turning up in a suit emblazoned with ecclesiastical images of himself. In any other circumstances, the temptation would be to castigate Fury for trying to play the main character. Except there was a sneaking suspicion that Hatton himself would have loved it. After all, his own shorts and ring walks were rarely exercises in understatement.
“Ricky inspired me as a boy to go on and do great things in boxing,” said Fury, who attended his career-defining victory over Kostya Tszyu 20 years ago. “I wanted to be just like him.”
In an echo of Hatton’s stardust at his peak, it was a celebrity-heavy congregation, with everybody from Liam Gallagher to a visibly emotional Wayne Rooney in attendance. Oasis were a consistent thread in the chaotic tapestry of his life, Liam and Noel even carrying his belts into the ring for his 2008 Vegas date with Paulie Malignaggi. And it was their song, Live Forever – a personal favourite, Millie remembered, on family car journeys – that was woven into the order of service.
The final song belonged, aptly enough, to Elvis Presley. Hatton was a Presley devotee, even naming his house Heartbreak Hotel in homage to the King. On this occasion, it was If I Can Dream that hit hardest of all.
By the time of the penultimate verse – “We’re lost in a cloud with too much rain / We’re trapped in a world that’s troubled with pain” – many were crying openly. At least the defiant optimism of the track was a spirit that Hatton channelled while he lived. Even as he struggled after hanging up the gloves, he never had cause to regret chasing a dream. The dream, catapulting him from a council estate in Hattersley to the neon of Nevada, was one he had lived and breathed.
It seemed only natural that the hearse should make one last stop at the Etihad Stadium, home to the club he adored so much he had a City flag flying on his front lawn.
Vast throngs of supporters, many holding blue-and-white bouquets adorned with such messages as “man of the people”, converged on the approaches to salute him. From there, it was left to his family and closest friends to depart for a private committal and bid goodbye. Even if his children still could not bring themselves to accept it.
“Why have you gone so quick?” asked his daughter Fearne. Why indeed. With the afternoon clouds darkening, her innocent question was one for which even those who loved Hatton most had no answer.
Celebrities turned out in force for Ricky Hatton’s funeral in Manchester on Friday.
Liam Gallagher, Tyson Fury and Wayne Rooney were among the mourners as the boxer’s brother and son carried his coffin into Manchester Cathedral.
Campbell Hatton told the congregation in his eulogy that the two “shared an undeniable bond”. “Never has a father and son had so much in common,” he said
The 24-year-old, who also boxed and was trained by his father, said that he “looked up to my dad in every aspect of life. All of that was fuelled by the love I had and always will have for him. I can’t explain how much I’m going to miss you, dad. I can’t believe we’re not going to make any new memories together.
“But the ones I have I will treasure forever.”
Hatton’s former partner Claire Sweeney, the actress who has starred in Coronation Street and Brookside, was comforted by friends after the emotional service conducted by the Reverend Canon Grace Thomas.
Before the service, Hatton’s funeral cortège travelled westwards through the city from Gee Cross, where Hatton lived.
Hatton was such a fan of the BBC sitcom Only Fools and Horses that he bought a replica of the Trotter brothers’ Reliant Regal three-wheel van, which led the cortège as it made its way through the streets.
The procession stopped at several pubs, including Hatton’s local, the Cheshire Cheese, the Harehill Tavern and the New Inn – which was once run by Hatton’s parents. Other points on the route included Hatton’s Gym, where many tributes to the boxer had been laid, and the AO Arena, where Hatton often fought.
The hearse carrying Hatton’s sky-blue coffin – in tribute to his love for Manchester City – was followed by his Lamborghini.
After the service the procession left the cathedral to drive to Etihad Stadium, home of Manchester City, the club Hatton supported.
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