King, Muriel Doreen

King, Muriel Doreen
28 Nov
2017

Muriel Doreen King, of No. 47 Warrens Terrace, St. Thomas and formerly of “Kingvilla”, Fairfield Cross Road, St. Michael, Daughter of the late Cleophas and Genetha Cumberbatch, Mother of Elaine King, , Audrey Hainsley, Grenneth, Evans and Jason King and the late Janice Cumberbatch, Sister of Herbert Bowen, Eunice Smith, Eunice Belle, Ester Webster, Alfreda Downes, Chesterfield Cumberbatch, Daphne Small, the late Elaine and Vera Cumberbatch and Bertley Bowen, Grandmother of Jermaine, Joshua, Ester and Daniel King, Natasha Caplen, Joel and Gareth, Hainsley, Jamilia Hinds-King and Mellisa Tweed, Great Grandmother of Dylan Hainsley and Callam.

The funeral of Muriel Doreen King leaves Keith Jones Funeral Home, PassageRoad, St. Michael on tomorrow Wednesday, November 29th, 2017 at 10:30 a.m. for the Chapel of Coral Ridge Memorial Gardens, The Ridge, Christ Church, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 12:00 noon for a service of thanksgiving, followed by the interment in the Tranquility Lawns.

The Organist is asked to attend.

Floral tributes may be sent to Keith Jones Funeral Home no later than 10:00 a.m. on Wednesday.

Visitation will take place in the Chapel of Keith Jones Funeral Home from 4:30 p.m. until 6:30 p.m. on Tuesday.

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.