Broome, John Wesley

Broome, John Wesley
01 Jun

John Wesley Broome, age 73, of Porters, St. James and formerly of Queen Street, St. Peter, former Owner and Operator of B39, Husband of Aileen Broome, Father of Stacey and Rhea, Grandfather of Careese, Brother of Merlene and Marita of Canada, Herbie, Gwendolyn and the late Verna Broomes, Uncle of Christopher, Lisa, Arlene, Alvin, Sharon, Derek, Roger and Ryan, Father-in-law of Jason Blunte, Brother-in-law of Alecia LeeHing, Jason Wilson and MacDonald Boyce of Canada, Eudalee Kennedy of the U.S.A., Heather Bailey, John Wilson, Emerson Bowen and Elsa Broome, Friend of Alphonso Barker, Neville and Joyce Lewis, Alvin Wiggins, Reverend Frank Walcott, Reverend Frederick Bailey, Ina Skeete, Pastor Marvo Gibson and Fred Gibson, Maurice Lawrence and Deborah Jones-Wilson, Relative of the Broomes, Hinds and Small families

The funeral of John Wesley Broome leaves Anderson Funeral Home, Lower Barbarees Hill, St. Michael on Tuesday, June 05th, 2018 at 12:00 noon for the Christ Is The Answer Family Church, Little Battaleys, St. Peter, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 2:00 p.m. for the service. The cortege will then proceed to St. James Cemetery for the interment.

Floral arrangements may be sent to Anderson Funeral Home no later than 11:30 a.m. on Tuesday.

The body of John Wesley Broome will repose for viewing in the Chapel of Anderson Funeral Home from 4:00 p.m. until 6:00 p.m. on Monday and from 1:00 pm until the start of the service.

Condolences may be sent to: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

  • 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.