Ten years ago Jimmy Davis, an England Under-21 winger on loan at Watford from Man Utd, died in a car crash. Here Danny Webber recalls the tragedy and pays tribute to his friend

'Jimmy was dead, when as far as I was concerned, he was still in bed'

On 9 August, 2003, the opening day of the Championship season, Watford's Danny Webber woke to the news that his close friend and team-mate Jimmy Davis had been killed in a car crash . Davis, an England Under-21 winger, had just signed on loan from Manchester United. Approaching the 10th anniversary, Webber recalls the tragedy and pays tribute to his friend.

Bubbly. That's the first word that comes to mind whenever I think of Jimmy. He was the best kind of person: someone who was always great fun to be around. He was a good footballer, too; a hard worker with a lot of flair, and on the field we had an understanding.

We'd played together at Manchester United for years and probably from 13 or 14, we just understood each other.

We played well together and when Jimmy joined Watford on loan I'd just completed a permanent move there from United, so there was a real buzz around the place that the pair of us would be unstoppable in the Championship.

The night before the first game of the season, we ate together at Jimmy's hotel. He'd picked up an injury – a minor one, but enough to keep him out of the game the next day.

We were finished by 9pm and he said: "I might go home." He was very family orientated and if he could nick an hour with his mum, his little brother, his dad or his missus and go home, then he would. I said: "To be honest, Jim, there's no point. You may as well just stay here, get up and have your treatment in the morning." By the time I left he seemed convinced and said: "Nah, I'm not going to go." So I went home and thought nothing more of it.

I woke up in the morning to a phone call from Terry Byrne, Watford's director of football.

He said I needed to get down to the stadium to sign some papers, which I thought was odd because I'd already completed all the paperwork on my transfer from United.

I'll always remember the horrible feeling I got in my stomach as I pulled into the car park.

As soon as I pulled in, I saw the manager Ray Lewington's car, Terry's car and two police cars, and I immediately thought: "Oh my God, what have I done?" The feeling in my stomach wouldn't go away. They told me Jimmy's car had been in an accident overnight.

They explained that the only way they could identify it as Jimmy's car was because they had found the number plate up a nearby embankment.

They knew I'd seen him in the hotel and asked if there was any way someone else could have been driving his car. But Jim was always really precious about his car. Young lads in football often swap cars and drive each other's around the car park, but Jim wouldn't even let anybody jump in his car and move it three spaces, never mind take it anywhere else. I just knew, in the pit of my stomach, what it meant.

I tried to ring his phone. Once, twice, several times, in hope more than anything else. I was just in disbelief at what they were telling me. I couldn't process what I was being told.

Jimmy was dead, when as far as I was concerned, he was still in bed. I was crying. Ray Lewington was crying. Terry Byrne was crying. It was just a horrendous moment.

The news was starting to leak out that a young United player had been in a car accident and died, so I phoned my family to let them know I was OK and that the game wasn't going ahead. Then the other Watford players started turning up. We were playing Coventry, the first game of the season. I had to put on some sunglasses because my eyes were blood red. When Ray and Terry were telling the players, it broke the dressing room. Maybe 80% of the players were in tears. It was really hard for everyone to process.

No word of a lie, it must have taken Jimmy an hour to bed into that squad at Watford.

Everyone loved him because of the kind of lad he was. The initiation for every new arrival at the club was to sing a song, and Jim had sung Gangsta's Paradise by Coolio. He was reciting his words all through the pre-season trip to Finland and kept asking me if he was getting them right. He got it down to a tee and performed it in front of everyone with a lot of charisma. It stuck in everyone's mind and as a tribute to him we walked out to Gangsta's Paradise before every game that season.

That year, I found football hard. Not because I didn't enjoy it, but because I didn't realise how much weight I was carrying on my shoulders. I was still grieving and there were days where I'd finish training at 1pm, go home to my house on my own, sit at a computer screen and before I knew it, it was 10pm and I hadn't even eaten. It felt like it had been about five minutes. It was hard and you don't realise what it is at the time.

Watford didn't have a good season but as soon as we were safe, with a few games to go, Ray told me to get back to Manchester, blow off some steam and get myself right. Both Ray and Terry were unbelievable with me all season, and I needed that break. As hard as you try, you feel like you're on the hamster wheel and you're not getting anywhere. I came back after that and just decided that it was time to start again.

Jimmy's death made me grieve, but also provided perspective. It's a reminder of how fragile life is. When you're young, you drive fast because you feel like you're invincible, you really do. Jimmy's death was borne of the desire to go to see his family, who mattered more to him than anything else in the world, but the manner of what happened was difficult to take in. It still is. In the space of seeing him 12 hours earlier, he was gone. It makes you realise how fragile life is and that you can't take anybody for granted.