Ashby, Gladys Ilene

Ashby, Gladys Ilene
13 Feb

Gladys Ilene Ashby, age 87, better known as “Ione”, of Bird’s River #2, Deacons Road, St. Michael, long serving member of St. Mary’s Mothers Union, Daughter of the late Donald and Miriam Stuart, Widow of Leo Edwin Ashby, Mother of Michael and Winslow Ashby, Jacqueline Ashby-Williams, Jillian Ashby-Foster and the late David Ashby, Sister of Gwenith Springer of the U.S.A., the late Darcy Hunte of London and Ermine Stuart, Grandmother of Gregory Burke, Adrian Ashby, Michael Ashby Jr., Milton William II, Danielle and Sean-Eric Foster - all of the U.S.A., Mother-in-law of Joan King-Ashby, Christine Corbin-Ashby, Milton and Eric Foster, Cousin of Undene and Carmen Stuart and the Hunte family of Deacon’s Road, Good friend of Velda Cutting of the U.S.A., Cordene “Princess” Edghill, Velma Lavine, Marlene Frere and Ruth Inniss..

The funeral of Gladys Ilene Ashby leaves Belmont Funeral Home, Belmont Road, St. Michael on Saturday, February 18th, 2017 at 9:10 a.m. for St. Mary’s Anglican Church, Bridgetown, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 10:00 a.m. for the service, followed by the interment.

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

Floral arrangements may be sent to Belmont Funeral Home no later than 8:40 a.m. on Saturday.

Viewing of the body will take place at Belmont Funeral Home from 3:30 p.m. until 5:30 p.m. on Friday.

  • 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.