Richard Attenborough: A courageous man who stood up to be counted

From a tribute delivered by the film-maker at the funeral of anti-apartheid campaigner Donald Woods, in central London

Donald Woods remains the most unlikely hero that I have ever met. The eyes behind the glasses were mild and the voice was always soft. Technology of any kind defeated Donald, and, by his own admission, he never stood when he could sit and he never sat when he could lie. His ruling passions were his family, his chess and music and his cricket.

As many here this afternoon will know, he was born and bred in South Africa, a white child in a black country. He went to white schools and was waited on by black servants. Apartheid, enshrined in law when he was a boy of 15, underpinned all the comforts and privileges which he then took for granted.

At 30 Donald married Wendy Bruce, a fellow Catholic, and they went on to raise five handsome, healthy children. Becoming the respected editor of a white newspaper, he lived in a fine house, drove a fine car and enjoyed a great deal of golf. But the inequities of "the system" had begun to nag at Donald's conscience and through his paper, the Daily Dispatch, he started to challenge them.

This brought a meeting with a charismatic black South African, the banned leader of the Black Consciousness Movement. He was, of course, Steve Biko, a man of great humour, towering intellect and inescapable logic. Donald, characteristically responding to the humour and respecting the intellect, succumbed totally to the logic. Steve had opened his eyes.Their friendship, however, was to be tragically short-lived. In 1977, Steve Biko was arrested, secretly incarcerated, and beaten to death in a police cell. Donald began to protest. So compelling was his outrage that he was threatened by the authorities, placed under house arrest and declared, like Steve before him, a "banned" person.

It was at that juncture that this mild, softly-spoken enthusiast "became a hero". And his loyal wife, Wendy, despite her well-founded fears for the safety of their family, became a heroine. There was, they agreed, only one way to ensure that the facts of Steve's death became known to those able to exert both pressure and censure on the South African government. Donald and Wendy, together with all the children, had to escape to England.

I have attempted to document elsewhere the story of their flight, the disguises and dangers, the real fear of failure and the jubilation when, against so many odds, they finally succeeded.

They arrived in England penniless refugees. Donald immediately began to campaign and continued to do so without ceasing for the rest of his life. He personally made an immeasurable contribution to the abolition of apartheid, to the freedom of his homeland and to the enlightenment of his fellow whites.

The day that Nelson Mandela walked out of jail was probably the most joyous of his life. And, at the end of that life, Donald had one very particular remaining ambition. He wanted us, the British people, to realise his dream of erecting a statue to honour Nelson outside this church in Trafalgar Square. I am sure that all of us gathered here in tribute to the late, great Donald Woods – his friends and many, many admirers – will want to help Wendy and the children to fulfil that last wish.

So I ask you, please, either to follow up the suggestion set down at the end of your order of service or, as you leave this church today, give most generously to this Mandela Statue Fund established in Donald's name.

The world, I believe, needs heroes now more than ever, and Donald Woods stands amongst the giants in my own personal pantheon. With his infinite grace, his self-deprecation and unselfishness and his courage – oh! yes, of course, his courage – he will always embody the ordinary man who, when it most matters, is prepared to stand up and be counted. I thank God I was able to see Donald to say "goodbye". I loved him very much. He will be greatly missed.