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Anthony McIntyre  ⚑ She was always Granny Frances. 

Frances McMurrough

One of those people who enter our lives at a challenging point for a relatively short period of time but whose compassion, empathy and willingness to help others, makes such an impact that it remains in the memory vaults for the duration of our days. That was Frances whose radiance and smile shine eternal. 

She passed in July of last year after a long life of caring and loving. I came to know her through her daughter Anne who had taken care of two beautiful children whose mum was unfortunately in prison at the time. So attached did Frances become to them that she ended up being Granny Frances. Whatever was absent in the lives of both children, love wasn't amongst them. Frances played a big part in that while at the same time always advising them to 'show love.' 

When Anne lived in the Bone area of North Belfast before moving to Dublin then Ravensdale for a time, Frances would be over in a heartbeat on request to give a dig out with the children. A small woman but huge in character she and I would talk for hours. I loved visiting her in her home, including one Christmas day when Ann, the children and myself arrived as they would be spending the day there. It was such a welcoming environment, radically different from some of the Christmases I had spent in prison and to which I would return once that week's parole was over, although conditions had much improved by that point. That day I didn't have much time to stay as I had to make it to my mother's house a few miles up the road in Twinbrook in time for the Christmas dinner. I think it was shortly after that brief sojourn in her Andersonstown home that I wrote a poem in my prison cell simply called Granny Frances. 

When Frances died the grief and pain felt by Anne must have been compounded due to her having lost her own son Fiachra eight months earlier, the grandson of Frances. Given the love Frances had for her grandchildren - I recall her many times nursing Fiachra and Méabh when they were twin babies - the blow to her when Fiachra died can only have been crushing.

A number of years back Frances posted the following on social media:

to all my family an friends, if ur ever in a jam- here i am if ur ever up a tree- call for me if they ever lock u up- in that rotten jail ill go bail- it's friendship- friendship, just the perfect friendship- Dah dah dah dah dah dah - dig dig dig x.

And this:

for survival - one hug a day for growth - two hugs a day for maintenance - three hugs a day I'm sending you all FOUR

There are few words to capture the essence of her better than her own. 

Even though your light was extinguished Frances, the memory of your love has penetrated the darkness that descended. 

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Frances McMurrough

Anthony McIntyre  ⚑ She was always Granny Frances. 

Frances McMurrough

One of those people who enter our lives at a challenging point for a relatively short period of time but whose compassion, empathy and willingness to help others, makes such an impact that it remains in the memory vaults for the duration of our days. That was Frances whose radiance and smile shine eternal. 

She passed in July of last year after a long life of caring and loving. I came to know her through her daughter Anne who had taken care of two beautiful children whose mum was unfortunately in prison at the time. So attached did Frances become to them that she ended up being Granny Frances. Whatever was absent in the lives of both children, love wasn't amongst them. Frances played a big part in that while at the same time always advising them to 'show love.' 

When Anne lived in the Bone area of North Belfast before moving to Dublin then Ravensdale for a time, Frances would be over in a heartbeat on request to give a dig out with the children. A small woman but huge in character she and I would talk for hours. I loved visiting her in her home, including one Christmas day when Ann, the children and myself arrived as they would be spending the day there. It was such a welcoming environment, radically different from some of the Christmases I had spent in prison and to which I would return once that week's parole was over, although conditions had much improved by that point. That day I didn't have much time to stay as I had to make it to my mother's house a few miles up the road in Twinbrook in time for the Christmas dinner. I think it was shortly after that brief sojourn in her Andersonstown home that I wrote a poem in my prison cell simply called Granny Frances. 

When Frances died the grief and pain felt by Anne must have been compounded due to her having lost her own son Fiachra eight months earlier, the grandson of Frances. Given the love Frances had for her grandchildren - I recall her many times nursing Fiachra and Méabh when they were twin babies - the blow to her when Fiachra died can only have been crushing.

A number of years back Frances posted the following on social media:

to all my family an friends, if ur ever in a jam- here i am if ur ever up a tree- call for me if they ever lock u up- in that rotten jail ill go bail- it's friendship- friendship, just the perfect friendship- Dah dah dah dah dah dah - dig dig dig x.

And this:

for survival - one hug a day for growth - two hugs a day for maintenance - three hugs a day I'm sending you all FOUR

There are few words to capture the essence of her better than her own. 

Even though your light was extinguished Frances, the memory of your love has penetrated the darkness that descended. 

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Anthony McIntyre Obituary

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