Goodridge, Harold DaCosta
06 Jan

Goodridge, Harold DaCosta

Published in OBITUARIES F - J

Age 94, of The Whim, St. Peter.

Husband of the late Vera Goodridge.

Father of Cynthia Goodridge-Lewis, Harriette Goodridge-Seymour, Alwin, Philmore, Anita, Nigel, Maxine, Little Cynthia and Joseph Goodridge - all of the U.S.A.

Grandfather of twelve.

Great-Grandfather of seventeen.

Great-Great-Grandfather of one.

Cousin of Glenville, Francine and Connie Taylor and the Trotman family of Vauxhall, Christ Church.

Godfather of Yvette Osbourne.

Friend of Jennie Shaw and Donna – both of the U.S.A., Bill and Erla Greene, Aileen Atherley, Eriel Connell and many others.

The funeral of Harold DaCosta Goodridge leaves St. John Funeral Home, Half Moon Fort, St. Lucy on Saturday, January 12th, 2019 at 8:15 a.m. for New Creation Wesleyan Holiness Church, Church Street, Speightstown, St. Peter, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 10:00 a.m. for the Service of Thanksgiving. The cortege will then proceed to St. Peter’s Cemetery for the interment.

No flowers by special request.

Fond remembrances and condolences to the family may be directed to:This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. and This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Viewing of the body will take place at the Church from 8:30 a.m. until the start of the service.

Last modified on Friday, 11 January 2019 18:45
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  • 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.