Weekes, Rawle Vincent

Weekes, Rawle Vincent
10 Aug
2017

Rawle Vincent Weekes, age 75, better known as “Razzie” or “Rawle Pet”, of Harlington, St. Philip, retired Mechanic of the Transport Board, Beloved Father of Wayne Green and Nicola Green-Murray of United Kingdom, Loving Grandfather of Davida Pinder, Nicholas, Nyasha and Naja Green, Brother of Gloria Benjamin, Inez Bridgeman, Fitzgerald, Oscar, Emmerson, Hadley, Carl and Elaine Weekes, the late Muriel Brathwaite, Marion Callender, James, Walton and Martin Weekes, Nephew of David Holmes and John Ward of the U.S.A., Father-in-law of Clayton Murray of the United Kingdom, Relative of the Brathwaite, Bishop and Doughty families…………………………..


A Service of Praise and Thanksgiving for the life and work of Rawle Vincent Weekes will take place on Tuesday, August 15th, 2017 at 3:30 p.m. at St. Martin Anglican Church, St. Martin, St. Philip, where relatives and friends are asked to meet, immediately followed by the interment in the Churchyard.


The Organist and members of the church choir are asked to attend.


The body will repose for viewing from 2:30 p.m. until the start of the service during which time floral tributes will be gratefully accepted.

Monetary donations toward the upkeep of the Church will be appreciated.


Final arrangements are in the care and Trust of Jo-Anne Jones Funeral Services and Pre-Arrangement Centre Limited, “Clovelly”, Welches, Christ Church.

  • 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.