Campbell, Sylvia Ura

Campbell, Sylvia Ura
26 Feb

Sylvia Ura Campbell, age 91, of De-Rose Senior Citizens Home and formerly of 106, Goodland Gardens, Christ Church, devout member of the Welches Christian Mission Church, former Principal of the Indian Ground Primary School and retired Principal of Belmont Primary School, Daughter of the late Mr. and Mrs. Oswald Nicholls of Mile and A Quarter, St. Peter, Sister of Yvonne Vaughan retired Teacher, Marjorie Eri-ah-way of Canada, the late Sybil Mascoll, Rev. Gay Nicholls and Heather Whittaker, Aunt of Nicolas Vaughan and Michelle Banfield - both Teachers of St. Winifred’s School, Peter Vaughan of Flow-Cable and Wireless, Patrick Vaughan - Architect of Montserrat and eleven others, Great aunt of Shannon Vaughan, Cousin of Mavis Kellman, Joyce Schooley and Winston Headley, Relative of the Welch and Selman families, Friend of Sister Hayde, Sister Daphne Lowe and Rev. Duncan Carmichael.

The funeral of Sylvia Ura Campbell leaves St. John Funeral Home, Half Moon Fort, St. Lucy on Thursday, February 08th, 2018 at 7:15 a.m. for the Gospel Tabernacle, Lightfoot Lane, Tudor Street, Bridgetown 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.

Wreaths may be delivered to St. John Funeral Home not later than 7:00 a.m. on Thursday, February 08, 2018.

The body will repose for viewing in the Chapel of St. John Funeral Home from 4:00 p.m. until 6:00 p.m. on Wednesday, February 07th, 2018.

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. & This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

  • 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.