Boyce, Gordon Evelyn

Boyce, Gordon Evelyn
26 Feb
2018

Gordon Evelyn Boyce, age 77, of The Baltic, St. Peter and formerly of Trinidad, Son of the late Coleridge and Itina Boyce, Father of Joanne and Denise Boyce, Brother of Jeanette Spencer, Vasco and Cheryl Toppin, Uncle of Jenise Belgrave, Adrian Spencer, John and Denis Boyce, Great Uncle of Peter and Damian Belgrave and many others, Cousin of the Honourable John Boyce, MP, Dr. James Boyce, Claudia Belgrave, Maureen Boyce, Elcina Hynds and Tony Burgess, Relative of the Boyce, Babb, Jordan, Roach and Burgess families, Friend of Shirley Tull and Anthony Belgrave


The funeral of Gordon Evelyn Boyce leaves St. John Funeral Home, Half Moon Fort, St. Lucy on Tuesday, January 23rd, 2018 at 1:30 p.m. for the St. Philip-The-Less Anglican Church, Boscobelle, St. Peter, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 3:30 p.m. for the Service of Thanksgiving, followed by the interment in the churchyard.

The Organist is asked to attend.

Wreaths may be delivered to St. John Funeral Home not later than 1:15 p.m. on Tuesday.


Fond remembrances and condolences to the family may be directed to: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. & 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.