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1st October 1950 – 26th November 2014‘
Till the knots of grief loosen ………..’

Everyone at PHD, and in the industry, has been deeply shocked and saddened by the sudden death of Frank Riordan, a ‘Quiet Man’ with a profound sense of his Family roots in the Kingdom of Kerry and a genuine love of the ‘Ol Sod’.

Frank was highly respected in the industry, as testified by the large turnout at his funeral at St Joseph’s Catholic Church, Harrow & Wealdstone, on Monday 15th December 2014.

Our heartfelt sympathies are extended to Frank’s Wife, Philomena, and their children Martin & Anne-Marie, his brother Jerry as well as all their Family in England & Ireland and their friends in the Hatch End community.

Frank was a consummate Professional who enjoyed the camaraderie of the Construction Industry always ‘bringing mirth to the party’.

Frank’s genuine ‘work ethic’, learnt from his Irish Father, stood him in good stead throughout his life prompting Lloyd Hannon, PHD Modular Access Managing Director to say;-

“The world and our company is poorer for the pre-mature loss of Frank whose positive & fair attitude and jovial manner stood him apart from others.Frank showed love in his work, as I am sure he did in his Family life, and he will be sorely missed by all his friends and work colleagues at PHD”.

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Frank looking over Lough Acoose, Coornamena, Kingdom of Kerry in the shadows of the Mac Gillycuddy’s Reeks

(Na Cruacha Dubha, meaning ‘the black stacks’) the highest peaks in Ireland.

It is fitting that the closing music at Frank’s Funeral Mass was ‘Still Waters Run Deep’ by the Four Tops;-

Click my glass and say a toast

About my love for you

How it runs so deep and true

And yet it’s so

‘Cause don’t you know, ohh Still waters run deep

Still waters run deep

Still waters run deep

Still waters run deep

Words are so ineffectual at sad times like these, especially on the eve of Christmas, so we hope the words in this profound poem by Brian Patten give some solace to Frank’s grieving Family;-

SO MANY DIFFERENT LENGTHS OF TIME

Brian Patten from ‘The Armada’.

How long does a man live after all?

A thousand days or only one? One week or a few centuries?

How long does a man spend living or dying?

And what do we mean when we say: “Gone forever”?

Adrift in such preoccupations, we seek clarification.

We can go to the philosophers

But they will weary of our questions We can go to the priests and the rabbis

But they might be too busy with administrations.

So, how long does a man live after all?

And how much does he live while he lives?

We fret and ask so many questions –

Then when it comes to us

The answer is so simple, after all.

A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us

For as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams –

For as long as we ourselves live,

Holding memories in common, a man lives.

His lover will carry his man’s scent, his touch:

His children will carry the weight of his love

One friend will carry his arguments

Another will hum his favourite tunes Another will still share his terrors.

And the days will pass with baffled faces

Then the weeks, then the months

Then there will be a day when no question is asked And the knots of grief will loosen in the stomach And the puffed faces will calm.

And on that day he will not have ceased But will have ceased to be separated by death.

How long does a man live after all?

A man lives so many different lengths of time.