Kellman, Geneva Selina

Kellman, Geneva Selina
10 Jul
2018

Geneva Selina Kellman Nee Farrell, age 99, affectionately known as “Gen”, of #16 Bissex Housing area, Newton Crescent, St. Joseph, formerly of Cambridge, St. Joseph and of the U.K., Daughter of the late Joseph Nathaniel Stuart and Helena Farrell, Wife of the late Reginald Fitzherbert Kellman, Mother of Elaine Boyce of the U.K., Stanley, Victor - retired Employee of the National Housing Corporation, Earl, Keith, Lydia, Linda of the U.K., Reverend Joan of the U.K., Oneal Kellman of the U.K. and the late Elmer Kellman, Grandmother of Phelia Marsha and Melissa Kellman, Lesa Collins, Erneta Goring, Nicole Seale, Esther Boyce of the U.K. and many others, Great- Grandmother of many, Great Great- Grandmother of many, Aunt of Udine Campbell, Neville Bradshaw and many other, Mother in law of Adel and Linda Kellman, the late Monica Kellman and Victor Boyce, Relative of Bradshaw, Boyce, Clarke, Farrell, Foster, Moore and the Springer family, Friend of Dorothy Gill, Lucile Gamble and the members of the Wesleyan Holiness Church..


The Funeral of Geneva Selina Kellman Nee Farrell leaves the Tranquility Chapel of Two Sons Funeral Home, Stadium Road, Bush Hall, St. Michael on Tuesday, July 03rd, 2018 at 1:15 p.m. for the Chapel of Coral Ridge Memorial Gardens, the Ridge, Christ Church, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 3:00 p.m. for A Home Going Service, followed by the interment.

Floral arrangements can be sent to the Tranquility Chapel of Two Sons Funeral Home no later than 1:00 p.m.


Viewing of Geneva Selina Kellman Nee Farrell will take place in the Tranquility Chapel of Two Sons Funeral Home from 4:00 p.m. until 6:00 p.m. on Monday.


Condolences can be emailed to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

  • Stop all the clocks
    Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead, Put crépe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, I thought that love would last forever: 'I was wrong' The stars are not wanted now, put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.