Greenidge, Henderson Oswald

Greenidge, Henderson Oswald
26 Feb
2018

Henderson Oswald Greenidge, age 64, affectionately known as “Stokes, Andy or Titch”, of Hackney London, England and formerly of Thickets, St. Philip, former Electrician of the Metropolitan Police, Son of Jessica and Winfield Greenidge, Adoptive son of Alvin Weir, Husband of Catherine Greenidge, Step-father of Nicola, Katica and Katriona Weekes, Brother of Douglas and Basil Greenidge, Uncle of Shontelle, Ian, Shaun, Garith and Ainsley Greenidge, Nephew of Livingstone Bancroft, Janet, Arlington and Ardon Hunte, Cousin of Inspector Barry Hunte of the Royal Barbados Police Force, Ronald Greenidge, Wayne Hunte and Lorraine Burke and many others, Brother-in-law of Sandra and Hilda Greenidge, Relative of the Greenidge, Hunte, Bancroft and Savoury families, Friend of Elvis Holder, Anthony Sealy, Carlisle and Keith Duncan, Charlie Corbin, Antoinette Crawford and Pat Pat.

A Service of Praise and Thanksgiving for the life of Henderson Oswald Greenidge takes place on Wednesday, 24th January, 2018 at 3:30 p.m. at The Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Ruby, St. Philip where relatives and friends are asked to meet, followed by the interment in the Churchyard.

The Organist and members of the Church Choir are asked to attend.


Wreaths may be sent to Downes and Wilson Funeral Home no later than 12:00 noon on Wednesday, 24th January, 2018.

Relatives and friends may pay their last respects at Downes and Wilson Funeral Home from 4:00 p.m. until 6.00 p.m. on Tuesday, 23rd January, 2018.

Condolences may be sent to www.downesandwilson.com

  • 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.