Skeete, Stephen Leon

Skeete, Stephen Leon
12 Dec

Stephen Leon Skeete, age 54, affectionately known as “Short Man” of Clarke Road, Belmont Road, St. Michael and formerly of 1st Avenue Kellman Land, St. Michael, Son of the late Gweneth Skeete and Leon Jackman, Reputed-Husband of Mary Felix, Father of Christopher James and Zackary Felix, Stepfather of Andre and Richidian Felix, Grandfather of Mico Amey, Jerimiah James, Jamelia and Camelia Taitt-James, Brother of Annette Yard, Maureen, Edward and the late Robert, Tyrone and Ronald Skeete, Uncle of Jamelia Carrington and Sharon Marshall both of the U.S.A., Danielle Yarde, Jae Bowen, Tamesha, Trivian, Shamar, Leslie and Suzanne Skeete, Great-Uncle of many, Nephew of Lorraine Bromes and the late George, Violet and James Skeete, Cousin of Annis, Doughie, Vere, Ishmael and Tonia Skeete and many others, Son-in-law of Martha Felix, Brother-in-law of Junior Yard, Rosie Skeete, Julia and Brenella Felix of the U.S.A., Antoinette Sobers, Lucia, and Peter Felix, Lynzia and Rodney Armstrong, Relative of the Skeete, Jackman, and Harvey families, Friend of David Thorpe, Michael Brathwaite, David Harding, Stephen James, and Matthew Blackett

The funeral of Stephen Leon Skeete leaves Downes and Wilson Funeral Home, Eagle Hall, St. Michael on Thursday, December 07, 2017, 2017 at 12:30 p.m. for Abundant Life Assembly, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 2:00 p.m. for the service. The funeral will then proceed to Westbury Cemetery for the interment.

Wreaths may be sent to the Downes and Wilson Funeral Home no later than 12:00 noon on Thursday, December 07, 2017.

  • 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.