In his 68th year and pre-deceased by his parents John and Chris, his brother Michael, nephew Robert, and sister-in-law, Rose; Fr Seán passed away suddenly at the Presbytery, Pembroke Road, on Sunday, January 5th., the day prior to his second anniversary of arrival at the Church of the Most Sacred Heart, Ruislip, latter in the London Borough of Hillingdon, in West London, United Kingdom.
TheVideo hereunder was Fr Séan’s parish welcome messageon arrival.
Fr Séan first entered the priesthood, at the former St Patrick’s Theological College, here in Thurles, before being ordained six years later, in 1988, for the Diocese of Westminster.
His passing is most deeply regretted, sadly missed and lovingly remembered by his sorrowing family; brothers Paddy and William, sisters Sarah and Kathleen, sister-in-law Anne, brothers-in-law Pat and Jim, nieces, nephews, and extended family, his dearly loved parishioners, in all six parishes where he served in the Diocese of Westminster and a wide circle of great friends.
For those persons who are unable to attend the funeral service for Fr Séan; please note that from Wednesday afternoon, concluding with Requiem Mass on Thursday, all ceremony’s will be streamed live, online, from the Sacred Heart Church HERE.
The extended Carroll family wish to express their appreciation for your understanding at this difficult time, and have made arrangements for those persons wishing to send messages of condolence, to use the link shown HERE. Note please: Family flowers only, please.
Note Also: A Mass, to celebrate Fr Seán’s life, will be held in the Church of St James, Two-Mile-Borris, (E41 EK15), on Saturday afternoon, February 15th at 1:30pm, followed by the interment of his Ashes in Two Mile Borris Cemetery, Two-Mile-Borris, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
“Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him”.
Lyrics:American country music songwriter and recording artist Sonny Throckmorton and American songwriter and musician Casey Kelly. Vocals:American country music singer, songwriter, actor, and music producer George Strait.
The Cowboy Rides Away.
I knew the stakes were high right from the start, When she dealt the cards, I dealt my heart. Now I just found a game that I can’t play, And this is where the cowboy rides away. And my heart is sinking like the setting sun, Setting on the things I wish I’d done. It’s time to say goodbye to yesterday, This is where the cowboy rides away. We’ve been in and out of love and in-between, And now we play the final showdown scene, As the credits roll, a sad song starts to play, And this is where the cowboy rides away. And my heart is sinking like the setting sun, Setting on the things I wish I’d done. Oh, the last goodbye’s the hardest one to say, This is where the cowboy rides away. Oh, the last goodbye’s the hardest one to say, This is where the cowboy rides away.
Lyrics: Dublin born Irish writer, songwriter and singer the late Dominic Behan(1928–1989)[brother of Irish poet, short story writer, novelist and playwright, Brendan Behan] Vocals: Irish folk band ‘The Dubliners’ and Ronnie Drew.
Building Up and Tearing England Down.
I’ve won a hero’s name with McAlpine and Costain, With Fitz Patrick, Murphy Ash and the Wimpey’s gangs. I’ve been often on the road on me way to draw the dole, When there’s nothing left to do for Johnny Laing. And I used to think that God made the mixer, pick and hod, So that Paddy might no hell above the ground. I’ve had ganger’s big and tough, Tell me tear it all out rough, When you’re building up and tearing England down.
In a tunnel under ground, a young Limerick man was found, He was built into the new Victoria line. When the bonus gang had passed, sticking from a concrete cast, Was the face of little Charlie Joe Devine, And the ganger man McGurk said “big Paddy hates to work”, When the gas main blew and he flew off the ground. Oh they swore he said “Don’t slack! I’ll not be there until I’m back, Keep on building up and tearing England down!”
I was on the shuttering dam on the day that Jack McCann, Got the better of his stammer in a week. He fell from the shuttering dam, And that poor auld stuttering man, He was never ever more inclined to speak. And I saw auld Bald McCall, from the big flyover, fall, Into a concrete mixer spinning round. Though it wasn’t his intent he got a fine head of cement, When he was building up and tearing England down.
I remember ‘Carrier Jack’ with his hod upon his back, How he swore one day he’d set the world on fire. But his face they’ve never seen, Since his shovel it cut clean, Through the middle of the big high tension wire. Oh no more like Robin Hood when he roam through Cricklewood, Or danced around the pubs in Camden Town. Oh, but let no man complain, sure no Pat can die in vain, When he’s building up and tearing England down.
So come all you navvies bold, Do not think that English gold, Is just waiting to be taken from each sod. Or the likes of you and me will ever get an O.B.E., Or a Knighthood for good service to the hod. There’s a concrete master race for to keep you in your place, And a ganger man to kick you to the ground, If you ever try to take part of what the bosses make, When you’re building up and tearing England down.
Vocals and Lyrics: Country and Irish singer/entertainer; Banagher, County Offaly born Johnny McEvoy.
The beautiful song hereunder, “The Planter’s Daughter”, was written about Odette McEvoy, latter the authors wife, whom he met in 1967, before marrying in 1970. The song suggests that she was a descendant of 12th century planters; following the Anglo-Norman invasion of Ireland, “Strongbow’s (Richard de Clare) blood ran in your veins”.
The Planters Daughter.
March winds were blowing when we met. A moment in time we won’t forget. Rain drops were falling at your feet, Reflecting your beauty on the street. Grafton Street was empty of all charm. You reached out and took me by the arm. I’ve never felt as good as I felt then, And I knew I’d never be the same again. Down where the old churchyard lies, Under the grey midland skies, Tumbled down and broken. Who’d say it’s not right, Our ancestors might, But I’ll always love the planter’s daughter. Strongbow’s blood ran in your veins. Of myself, I couldn’t say the same, But somehow it seemed to be OK, And it didn’t really matter anyway. Were I to live a thousand years, Or hear the angels whisper in my ears, And sit and watch the sunlight fade away, I never will forget that one spring day . Down where the old churchyard lies, Under the grey midland skies, Tumbled down and broken, Who’d say it’s not right, Our ancestors might, But I’ll always love the planter’s daughter. Down where the old churchyard lies, Under the grey midland skies, Tumbled down and broken, Who’d say it’s not right, Our ancestors might But I’ll always love the planter’s daughter.
Vocals: American neotraditional country music singer/songwriter, Alan Eugene Jackson. Lyrics: Irish-born Canadian poet, the late Joseph Medlicott Scriven (1819-1886), and American attorney, and composer of Church songs, the late Charles Converse (1832-1918).
What a Friend We Have in Jesus.
What a friend we have in Jesus, All our sins and griefs to bear. What a privilege to carry, Everything to God in prayer.
What a peace we often forfeit, Oh, what needless pain we bear, All because we do not carry, Everything to God in prayer.
Have we trials and temptations? Is there trouble anywhere? We should never be discouraged, Take it to the Lord in prayer.
Can we find a friend so faithful, Who will all our sorrows share. Jesus knows our every weakness. Take it to the Lord in prayer.
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