Clarke, Harold St. Clair

Clarke, Harold St. Clair
04 Sep
2018

Harold St. Clair Clarke, of No. 31 Ashby Drive, Enterprise, Christ Church, Member of St. Barnabas Men’s Fellowship and former Employee of Collins Limited, Husband of the late Marjorie Clarke, Father of Mark Archer, David Holder of the U.S.A., Lolita Holder of the U.K., Anderson Willoughby, Marcia Kirton, Sonia Brathwaite and the late Martin Nurse and Raymond Willoughby, Grandfather of Brian Kirton, Gillian Beckles, Mark Harewood, Marcia Fenty, Blair Willoughby of the Royal Barbados Police Force and many others, Great Grandfather of many, Brother of Shirley and Victor Clarke and Heather Babb, Relative of the Yarde family, Friend of Peter Bourne, Colleen Duguid, Cheryl Lashley, Rudolphe Winstone and Darcy Haynes.

The funeral of Harold St. Clair Clarke leaves Lyndhurst Funeral Home, Passage Road, St. Michael on Wednesday, August 08th, 2018 for St. Barnabas Anglican Church, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 2:30 p.m. for the service. The cortege will then proceed to the Coral Ridge Memorial Gardens, The Ridge, Christ Church for the interment.

Flowers may be sent to Lyndhurst Funeral Home no later than 12:00 noon on Wednesday.

Condolences may be sent to www.lyndhurstfuneralhome.com.

  • 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.