Griffith, Victor McNeal

Griffith, Victor McNeal
13 Feb

Victor McNeal Griffith, age 74, better known as “Weekes”, of Battaleys and formerly Miller’s Road, Farm Road, St. Peter, Son of the late Millicent Griffith and Jonathan Worrell, Brother of Angela Griffith, Eultaline Smith and Maisy Mingo - all of the U.S.A., Kenneth Griffith of the U.K., Lucine Griffith, the late George Griffith and many others, Uncle of Wayne Griffith of the U.S.A., Dr. Philmore Alleyne of the University of the West Indies, Peter and Robert Alleyne ,Gordon Gilkes, Gweneth Kellman, Margaret Bovell, Maureen, Elvis, Ian, Lloyd, Charles Griffith, Sandra Alleyne-Richards, P.C. 1198 Christopher Alleyne of the Royal Barbados Police Force, Roger Bourne, Winston Welch, Ingrid, Emerson and Anderson Rowe and many others, Great-Uncle of Krystal-Ann Hurley, Carlos Griffith and many others, Cousin of Deighton Osbourne and the Wilson family of Trinidad, Brother-in -law of Marva Griffith, Relative of the Griffith, Alleyne, Burnham, Ramsay, Worrell, Walker and Rowe families, Friend of Winston Griffith and many others.


The funeral of Victor McNeal Griffith leaves St. John Funeral Home, Half Moon Fort, St. Lucy on Saturday, February 18th, 2017 at 11:15 a.m. for St. Peter’s Parish Church, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 1:00 p.m. for the Service of Thanksgiving. The cortege will then proceed to St. Peter’s Cemetery for the interment.


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


Wreaths may be delivered to St. John Funeral Home no later than 11:00 a.m. on Saturday.


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 Friday.


No mourning colours by special request.

  • 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.