Mrs Williams, who lost her 15 year-old son Kevin in the disaster at Sheffield Wednesday's stadium in 1989, died aged 62 on Thursday April 18 after a battle with cancer.
Our columnist Brian Reade knew Anne and followed her fight for justice for the 96 victims and their families. He wrote this piece when she died earlier this month.
I was at a virtual state funeral yesterday for someone hailed as the ultimate inspiration to womankind.
This morning I learned of the death of a special person whose life defies that statement about Margaret Thatcher. Because in my experience, there was no finer role model for women, nor more incredible advert for the power of a mother's love, than Anne Williams.
I first met her 22 years ago when few wanted to know about the travesty of Hillsborough. There was no campaign for justice, indeed little appetite for it.
The families, whose wounds were still raw from the deaths of their loved ones, and the blows rained down on them by the system, felt beaten by the lies and indifference.
Apart from this frail mother of three from Formby.
Anne was determined to get the accidental death verdict on her son Kevin, overturned, and I was trying to get her story into the public domain. It's still one of the most heart-breaking stories I've ever heard.
It begins on Friday, April 14, 1989, with an excited 15-year-old telling his mum he has a ticket to see his idols, Liverpool, play in the next day's semi-final.
She puts her foot down. She tells him he's too young to go to an away game without an adult. The lad fills up and sidles upstairs, gutted.
Anne's husband, Kevin's step-dad Steve, felt sorry for him: "The poor little bugger, all he ever does is study. Let him go," he tells her.
She relents, calls Kevin down and tells him he can go on condition that he travels with a police escort. Kevin leaps around the room, punches the air and sings the name of his beloved Reds. He's off to Hillsborough.
The next morning, the day of the match, he calls into the newsagent where Anne was working to get crisps and drinks for the journey. He tells her not to save him any moussaka for tea, that he'll have beans on toast instead.
She pats him on the head, pleased he's so happy, and says: "I hope they win for you, son." He turns round at the doorway, face beaming, and says: "No problem, Mum. Three nil." And then he was gone forever.
Her tale then moves to the sham inquests in Sheffield where, like the rest of the bereaved, she's told Kevin had died some time before 3.15pm.
That was the official version which enabled the police, ambulance services and Sheffield Wednesday FC to say that nothing could have been done for the dying fans.
But before she went into the court she was told that Kevin had spoken a word shortly after 4pm in the makeshift mortuary to a Special WPC: "I said straight away, 'It was Mum, wasn't it?" said Anne. The policeman nodded. She cried her heart out.
"That night I felt I had lost Kevin all over again. I couldn't stop crying and thinking why didn't they tell me about him saying 'Mum' before we went to Sheffield?" she told me.
Anne found out that the WPC was called Debra Martin and tracked her down in Sheffield.
"She said she held him in her arms like a baby. She told me how she could never forget his eyes opening because he had lovely long lashes.
"He opened his mouth, said 'Mum' then died. I was so happy that Kevin had died in the arms of such a lovely woman."
WPC Martin also told Anne how she'd been forced by police to change her statement, saying she was "off her head like a zombie" when she reported Kevin's words.
That forced Anne to dedicate the rest of her life to fighting the official version of her son's death and piecing together the missing 45 minutes of his life. It was a Herculean struggle against an Establishment that had closed ranks around its own. Three times she applied to get his inquest over-turned but three times she was denied.
Back then I asked her why she was so determined to succeed and the answer she gave me was the inspiration I've always drawn on when the Hillsborough campaign has been in the doldrums:
"While I have breath I'll fight that wicked verdict because when you bring a child into this world the words on the birth certificate are accurate. When they leave the least they deserve is the right ones on their death certificate."
The words "accidental death" were wickedly inaccurate. As medical evidence now shows, between 41 and 58 may have survived had they received treatment after they were pulled from the crush. They lost their lives, at best, through negligence and, at worst, through unlawful killing.
And the treatment Anne received from authority went beyond negligence.
When I managed to get her story on the front of the Liverpool Echo in February 1992, there were many who asked: "Why don't those people let it lie?" They carried on saying it for two decades.
And the answer was because of the likes of Anne Williams.
Weeks later Anne was diagnosed with terminal cancer, undoubtedly brought on by the stress of a life battling for justice for her son.
I saw her from a distance, in her wheelchair at Monday's 24th anniversary memorial, which she attended against doctor's advice. Once again I was looking in awe at the phenomenally courageous woman I'd met 22 years previously.
One of the bravest, most tenacious people I have ever met. And a mother beyond comparison.
Without her I doubt the families would be in the position they are today, on the brink of justice.
That she died before a new inquest was held, and that she didn't get to see correct words put on Kevin's death certificate, is cruelty beyond belief.
It is to the eternal shame of this country, and both Tory and Labour governments, that she didn't.
And the perfect reminder of why these families need justice soon. Before another one dies, mostly through the pain of the battle against the wall of lies they've had to butt their head against for almost a quarter of a century.
When the Daily 澳门新蒲京娱乐场 recently won the Hugh Cudlipp award for its Hillsborough campaign I dedicated it to a Mother's Love.
None was stronger than Anne Williams'. Not just among the Hillsborough mothers but in the history of motherhood.
Which is not a bad epitaph.
RIP Anne. It was a beautiful, and unforgettable, privilege to have known you.