Greenidge, Horace Headley

Greenidge, Horace Headley
06 Nov
2017

Horace Headley Greenidge, age 77, better known as “Jade” or “Buggaroo”, of Lower Duncans, St. Philip, retired Employee of the St. Philip District Hospital, Husband of the late Montelle Greenidge, Father of Rudolph Greenidge and Jennifer Harris Née Greenidge, Grandfather of Nakita, Sean, Kerry-anne and Lee-andra Greenidge of Child Care Board, Amica, Matthew and Shakira Alleyne, Great grandfather of five, Brother of Gean and Carl Small, Charles Franklyn, George and Emil Greenidge, David Walton and many others, Uncle of Sharon White, Michelle King, Sandra and Tracy Brathwaite and many others, Stepfather of Anthony Alleyne of the Ministry of Agriculture and Shirville Alleyne of Barack Construction, Adoptive Father of Tina Greenidge, Father-in-law of John Harris, Jennifer Alleyne and Suzette Barton-Greenidge, Brother-in-law of Monica Alleyne and Philip Butcher of Montreal, Canada, Frederick Butcher and Sandra Walton, Friend of Frank and Elson Harris, Erskine Linton and many others.

The funeral of Horace Headley Greenidge leaves Tudor’s Funeral Home, The Ivy, St. Michael on Tuesday, November 07th, 2017 at 2:00 p.m. for The Church of the Holy Trinity, Ruby, St. Philip, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 3:30 p.m. for the service, followed by the interment.

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

Floral arrangements may be sent to Tudor’s Funeral Home no later than 1:45 p.m. on Tuesday.

The body will repose for viewing in the Chapel of Tudor’s Funeral Home from 4:00 p.m. until 6:00 p.m. on Monday.

Condolences to the family of Horace Headley Greenidge may be posted online at www.tudorsfuneralhome.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.