Dr Frank Kelly 1961 to 2022 - he was my friend

My first glimpse of Frank was Freshers day September 1980. Charing Cross Hospital medical school bar The Wolfson . He wore a black Fred Perry tee shirt with yellow trim, I wore a jacket, shirt and tie. He declined a paper name badge, we all dutifully wore ours. He was cultivating an air of indifference somewhere between Robert De Niro and Jonny Rotten. I was somewhere between Tim Nice but Dim and Billy Bunter. He changed the next decade for me more than anyone.

He was smoking Marlboro Red. God he was cool.

He appeared significantly older than his 19 years. He was regaling an open mouthed group of public school freshers with tales from the streets of south London. Punk, The National Youth theatre, the communist party and a broken home.

He was a man amongst boys. And rapidly, a man amongst girls. The cool kid who, I for one needed to get to know.

Frank was an extraordinary character, with a Razor sharp brain, a Unique sense of humour, and incredible charisma.

Some years later I saw my now wife (Louise) for the very first time in the same venue. No, our eyes didn't meet, she was one side of the Students union shouting "Frankie!!!" then she ran and launched herself straight into his arms. She turned out to be Another cool kid I had to get to know.

42 years later I am pleased to say I really did get to know Frank. He was my friend. My BEST man in the truest sense of the word.

I will miss him with a deep gnawing ache.

I'll cover mainly the 1980's - although we remained buddies until he died. But my thumbnail contribution to your picture of Frank will come from our times in the 80's. After that, or before that, you and others may know him better. But that decade was OURS.

Friendship is an inadequate description of my relationship with Frank. We were soul mates, brothers, counsellors, admirers, and late at night, after sufficient beer declarers of our deep lasting love for each other.

We studied together, we partied together, we learned about life together, we socialised together, and Frank being Frank he flirted his way through the decade.

He was a really very talented actor, and loved nothing more than putting on a show. From Shakespeare through to Students Xmas Revue show, Frank was your man. Not really my subject. I enjoyed watching him. He was very good.

I believe he was also an accomplished footballer but I had to take his word for that. At medical school, Wednesday afternoons were set aside for sports, my idea of sport back then, was shopping with the girls in Kensington High Street or the Kings Road. Eventually he also saw the sense in this approach to sport. Not really my subject.

We did learn to play golf together, and golf became a great passion throughout his life.

He was a very great doctor - after a spell doing surgery, and time as a ships doctor he found his niche with psychiatry. We were both doctors, yet his medical career is not even really my subject.

No, My subject is Frank, my friend.

Frank was at a party at my flat (The Pav) one fateful day , the 21st of September 1982, almost exactly 40 years ago this month, when my mother called to tell me my dad had died suddenly. Far too young, at the age of 61. Frank was there for me ; and consoled me. He helped me through what could have been a pretty bleak patch, if it hadn't been for him. How circular is life that we are now mourning the indescribably sad loss of Frank at the same age. He was my friend.

Frank lived in various places as a student - but I remember best his stinking ashtray of a bedroom at Mike Phelan's. A home affectionately known as the Slum. I believe it was here that a weekly food event known as The Sunday Lunch Club was mildly delayed one memorable occasion when the chef fell through the kitchen floor. He was my friend.

He came to live at my mums place in the run up to finals. I like to think we helped each other through those exams, but the truth is he had one of those irritating memories that made assimilation of facts so easy for him. I admit it : He got me through. He was my friend.

Of course my mum fell for his easy wit and charm. The delightful Frank was invited to everything. Henley Regatta for example, at Phyllis Court in the early 80's, she and her middle aged friends worshipped the ground he walked on. Louise, my wife, still remarks that my mum for her whole life kept a photo of me and Frank at Henley displayed in pride of place in her living room, where there was never a photo of Louise!

Typically he was straight on a plane when my mum died in 2018. And to be honest, I remember the joy of seeing him that day much more than the sadness of her passing. Joy was perhaps the defining effect he had on me - He was my friend.

As young doctors we lived a wreckless and mildly unprofessional life on the periphery of London's music business. It's true to say we were neither of us strangers to blagging our way into a gig or onto a nightclub guest list, or turning up for work very much the worse for wear. Can I just say : They were the best of times.

Most people complained about life as a young doctor in those days. We often talked about this, and clearly we may both have very selective memory. But as we remember it, we had a ball.

Frank and I lived together for an indeterminate length of time, before he decamped to an ill fated house boat in Kingston that eventually sank sporning his epic poem entitled "Kingston town you've let me down".

I have so many memories of Frank and with Frank. I like to remember the Eighties as a slightly drunken sit com; rather predictably entitled Men behaving Badly.

I Imagine a scene: The roof off his MG, Talking Heads "Take me to the river" blaring out, scrunched up fag packets all over the floor, and laughter. Raucous, roaring, liberating, wonderful laughter. This was my friend.

For entertainment we spent many nights watching emerging acts at comedy clubs across London like Jongleurs, where we saw pretty much every act from Steven Fry and Hugh Laurie, , to David Baddiel and Rob Newman as they broke through. Smokey evenings at Ronnie Scotts watching Jazz. Late nights at the Lamb and Flag with our friends from Curiosity Killed the Cat and Mollie Duncan from the Average White Band. Raves in East London warehouses. Night Clubbing at Legends. Frank was an unashamed name dropper. Intimate backstage parties after gigs with Roger Taylor from Queen. Film premieres in Tottenham Court Road for the ground breaking Comic Strip series with Keith Allen (Lilys dad for the younger people). Terence Trent D'Arby arriving at his house share in Chiswick.

I wasn't there, but I have it from Frank that he visited the McCartney family home and watched Paul jamming with George Harrison. He was my friend.

I've fleshed out a decade of fabulous fun. By the late 80's we were both ready for new, more responsible chapters. Thank god life is like that, always ready to forgive and forget and allow us to embrace change. The wonderful Margaret arrived in Franks life. Louise in mine.

Frank was ready for a major change, heralding a fabulous wedding in Dublin, preceded by a golfing Stag week along the Irish coast, attended as I remember only by me and Jonathan Todd and a large bottle of Jamiesons. Speech writing made easier by having the help of every local in the bar who joined in the craic!

My children arrived. Milly a couple of years later. He and margaret moved to Ireland , this of course changed our relationship. But always inevitably, within seconds of meeting up again we were thick as thieves. He was my friend.

Professionally I kept an eye on his career. The kid did good. He seems to have revolutionised psychiatric care at Charing Cross, and then gone on to change the way care is delivered in Ireland.

But, despite career success he will always remain to me a lovable rogue. Those were my mums words so I can't disagree. In fact, it's hard to imagine anyone disagrees. He was however, devoted to his family. Possibly not the easiest of men to live with? But he brimmed over with pride whenever he described to me Milly's successes in childhood, riding, at school, university, and on into her blossoming legal career now.

My two adult sons separately, upon hearing of his passing, described Frank as "an absolute 'kin Legend". There may be no better descriptive words.

But I offer you this simple alternative:

He was my friend.

Frank Kelly - May he rest in peace.