Clarke, Rufus Everton

Clarke, Rufus Everton
12 Sep
2018

Age 80, affectionately known as “Clarkie”, of Old Post Office Road, St. George.

Retired Storeroom Clerk of the Ministry of Transport and Works.

Faithful member of the Old Post Office Assembly Hall and the Assembly Hall Ministries.

Beloved husband of Pamela Clarke.

Father of Sharon Murrell.

Brother of the late Orlee Archer and Rita Cox.

Grandfather of Lena Lewis, Lana, Samuel and Sarah Murrell.

Father-in-law of Anthony Murrell.

Grandfather-in-law of Rashad Lewis.

Uncle of Charles Clarke, Stephen, Albertina and Rudy Archer and many others.

Brother-in-law of Olga Inniss, Norma Savoury, Marva Stuart and six others.

Relative of the Stuart, Clarke and Walcott families.

Friend of Beryl Carter, Renelde Grosvenor, The congregation of the Old Post Office Assembly and Assembly Halls.

The funeral of Rufus Everton Clarke leaves Keith Jones Funeral Home, Passage Road, St. Michael on Tuesday 18th September, 2018 at 11:45 a.m. for the Assembly Hall, Corner Stadium Road and Bush Hall Main Road, St. Michael where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 1:00 p.m. for a service of thanksgiving. The funeral will then proceed to St. George Parish Church for a second service at 4:00 p.m., followed by the interment.

The organist and members of St. George Parish Church are asked to attend.

Flowers may be sent to Keith Jones Funeral Home no later than 11:30 a.m. on Tuesday.

Viewing of the body will take place at Old Post Office Assembly Hall, Old Post Office Road, St. George from 4:00 p.m. until 6:00 p.m. on Monday 17th 2018.

Condolences can 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.