The world of sport was shaken a couple of days ago by news of the death, through illness, of Jonah Lomu, the giant Tongan, at the far too young age of 40. I have the good fortune to be in New Zealand at the moment where the passing of the first global superstar of rugby union and one of the greatest of All Blacks has naturally dominated the headlines. I’m sure that the same is true of media throughout the world since, so great was Lomu’s athletic prowess that people who in the past had paid little or no attention to his sport suddenly looked up and began to take notice.

Like every other rugby fan, I will never forget his explosion on to the world scene when, aged only 20, he lit up the 1995 South Africa World Cup and almost single-handedly ripped England apart (why pick on us?!) in the semi-finals. He ran through the England players like they weren’t there, a force of nature, a human steamroller with the speed and agility of a gazelle, for it wasn’t just his power that left his opponents grasping at thin air and gasping in his wake.

By all accounts he was both a gentle man and a gentleman, his humility, modesty and courtesy off the field the direct opposite of his ferocity on it. He was quietly spoken, thoughtful and giving of his time to his legion of fans, always taking time to give autographs and speak to the youngsters who idolised him.

Jonah Lomu was a big powerful man, strong, kind and with the quiet dignity and presence that only such men can possess. The world of sport has lost a giant in every sense of the world.