David Ervine was different – not your usual Northern Ireland politician.

He had his own way with words – indeed in some cases he had his very own words, exclusive to the Ervine political dictionary.  This was part of what made him different – part of what made you like him. 

He had a party piece too – his very own version of the song “My Way” – and in his politics that’s what marked him out, his ability to do things his way, and not as dictated by his tribe or by others. 

David Ervine did what he thought was right. 

There was a moment at his funeral – in that remarkable service that was a celebration of his life – that said so much about him, and that said so much to us, those of us that were there and the many others who were watching and listening.

It was an incredible moment – something that not that long ago wouldn’t have happened, couldn’t have happened, for a whole lot of reasons wrapped up in Ulster’s and Ireland’s war, and yet it was something, that on this occasion, just seemed so appropriate – so right.

Gerry Adams, the man on the other side of the war – the republican enemy – came to the church in the heart of loyalist east Belfast.  It was right that he did, and also that it was allowed to happen. His presence was a confirmation that our war was over. You could see and feel it. It was something very real, and it crystallised in that memorable moment on an occasion that was full of both sadness and joy.

David Ervine grew out of the UVF organisation, out of that war background and into the peace process. He never denied his roots and his jail past, and that was something too that made him different – his honesty about where he came from.

On Belfast City Council and in the Stormont Assembly he was much more than the political face of loyalism.

He was one of the creators of our peace process.

His sudden death meant he didn’t get to be part of the political era of Paisley and McGuinness, although he believed and predicted it would happen.

And that was something else about him – his ability to see through the fog and to find what he believed was the inevitable end point in the journey.

His death – at 53 – made me ask the question, how long is a political lifetime?

We all know that his wasn’t long enough.

At the time of his death, I wrote these words: “I’ll cry a tear for him. I’ll miss him and so will this place and this process.

“Somebody told me “he wasn’t the worst”. It’s our strange way of saying he was one of the best.

“David Ervine didn’t ask people to forget about his past. He didn’t pretend it didn’t happen.

“But in the present and in our peace, he made a hugely significant contribution, and that is something his family can be proud of.”

Tony Blair – then Prime Minister – described him as “a persistent and intelligent persuader” for the peace process.

He was certainly that – one of the men who helped end the war and make the peace.

(Brian Rowan is a writer and broadcaster and author of three books on the peace process)