Brathwaite, Frederick DaCosta

Brathwaite, Frederick DaCosta
20 Nov
2017

Frederick DaCosta Brathwaite, better known as “Holly” or “Fred”, of Sherbourne #3, St. John, well known Auto Body Repairman of Workman’s, St. George, Son of Doriel Spooner and the late Nigel “Fred” Spooner, Grandson of the late Cyril and Elrita Brathwaite, Brother of Doreen Brathwaite - Staff Nurse of the Eunice Gibson Polyclinic, Steve Spooner and the late Joseph Brathwaite, Uncle of Shaquille Padmore and Ajani Daniel-Spooner, Nephew of Doris, James, Selvin, Bernard, Louise and Seibert Brathwaite, Relative of the Brathwaite, Lovell, Greenidge, Shorey, Belgrave, Puckerin and Spooner families, Friend of Icilda Jones, Seneca and Charlene Wood, Brian Greene, Dave Pitt, Victor Harewood, Gervace Walcott-Massiah, Pansy and Diana Massiah and many others .


The funeral of Frederick DaCosta Brathwaite leaves Waithe’s Funeral Home, Greens, St. George on Thursday, November 23rd, 2017 at 2:00 p.m. for St. John’s Parish Church, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 3:30 p.m. for the service. The cortege will then proceed to St. John’s Cemetery for the interment.

The organist and members of the choir are asked to attend.

Floral tributes can be sent to Waithe’s Funeral Home not later than 1:30 p.m. on Thursday.

Online condolences can be sent to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

  • Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
    Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightening they Do not go gentle into that good night.   Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.   Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.