Browne, Theophilus Rufus

Browne, Theophilus Rufus
10 Jul
2018

Theophilus Rufus Browne, age 83, of 2nd Avenue Westmoreland, St. James, Son of the late Louise “Muz” Lucas and Oliver Jackman, Husband of the late Dorothy Browne, Father of Jackie, Sheila, Victor, Florence and David Browne and Monica Hurst - all of the U.K. and Patsy Norville, Grandfather of nine, Great-grandfather of two, Brother of Christopher Browne and Geffrey Lucas of the U.K., Eileen Archer and David Lucas of the U.S.A., Peter Lucas, Dian Austin and many others, Father-in-law of Jackie and Sharon Browne and John Hurst, Uncle of many, Nephew of Germie Cyrus and many others, Friend of Alvis Moore, Adam Hippolyte, Rivan Chandler, Annie Aymes, Dian Penniston, Luton Philips, Hallam Jemmott and many others

The funeral of Theophilus Rufus Browne takes place on Monday, July 09th, 2018 at Westmoreland Nazarene Church, St. James, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 2:00 p.m., for the service of thanksgiving. The cortege will proceed to St. James Cemetery for the interment.


Bus transportation will be provided from Kingdom Life Ministries formerly Farm Road Pentecost Church, St. Peter to the church and cemetery and back.

The body will repose for viewing at the church from 12:45 p.m. at which time floral tributes will be appreciated.

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  • 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.