Walcott, Eudora Viola

Walcott, Eudora Viola
24 Aug
2017

Eudora Viola Walcott Née Parris, age 97, better known as “Gold Bee”, of Martinique Road, Government Hill, St. Michael and formerly of Massiah Street, St. John, member of Mothers’ Union of the Cathedral Church of St. Michael and All Angels, Daughter of the late Mabel Brewster, Loving Wife of the late Charles Walcott, Beloved Mother of the late Velda Brathwaite, Cherished Grandmother of Andrew Brathwaite of Slumber Foam, Corwin, Dereck, Barry, Delvin and Ryan Brathwaite of the Barbados Fire Service, Great-grandmother of Deidre, Desiree, Nathaniel, Kayla, Keona, Thea, Rihanna and Thalia Brathwaite, Aunt of Sylvia Clarke, Jean Morris, Ione Ottley, Joan Smith, Colleen, Cuthbert, Michael, Janice and Robin Greenidge, Mother-in-law of Norman Brathwaite, Friend of Martha Hoyte, Erma Lashley, Ms. Cooper, Cyrleen, Sonia, Gail and Maria Brathwaite and many others..

The funeral of Eudora Viola Walcott Née Parris leaves Downes and Wilson Funeral Home, Eagle Hall, St. Michael on Tuesday, August 22nd, 2017 at 2:00 p.m. for St. John Parish Church, Glebe Land, St. John, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 3:45 p.m. for the service. The funeral will then proceed to the St. John Cemetery for the interment

The Organist, members of the church choir and the Mothers’ Union of the Cathedral of St. Michael and All Angels are asked to attend.

Wreaths may be sent to the Downes and Wilson Funeral Home no later than 12:00 noon on Tuesday.

Condolences may be sent to: www.downesandwilson.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.