Foster, Marjorie Eudora

Foster, Marjorie Eudora
26 Feb

Marjorie Eudora Foster, age 93, of Cottage, St. George, formerly of Clearview Heights, St. James, member of the Cancer Support Services, Widow of Worrell Foster, Mother of Marlene Foster-Grant, Grandmother of Justin and Kirk Grant, Dwayne, Atiba and Nneka Yarde - all of U.S.A., Sister of Elaine Goddard, John Branch of England and Mirrell Taylor of the U.S.A., Aunt of Marva, Don, Pat, Wendy, Brenda, Jeffrey, Janet, Peter, Ian, Margaret, Sylvester and many others, Mother-in-law of Roger Grant, Relative of the Goddard, Branch, Wilson, Benjamin, Shorey and Oxley families, Cherished friend of many.

The funeral of Marjorie Eudora Foster leaves Keith Jones Funeral Home, Pass, age Road, St. Michael on Saturday February 3rd, 2018 at 7:30 a.m. for The Cathedral of St. Michael and All Angels, St. Michael’s Row, Bridgetown where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 9:00 a.m. for a service of thanksgiving . The cortege will then proceed to the Flamboyant Lawns, Coral Ridge Memorial Gardens, The Ridge, Christ Church for the interment.

The organist and members of the choir are asked to attend.

Floral tributes may be sent to Keith Jones Funeral Home no later than 6:00 p.m. on Friday or 7:00 a.m. on Saturday.

The body will repose for viewing from 4:00 until 6:00 p.m. at St. Augustine’s Church, Market Hill, St. George. on Thursday 1st February, 2018.

Parking will be available at Harrison College.
Condolences can be sent to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

  • Stop all the clocks
    Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead, Put crépe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, I thought that love would last forever: 'I was wrong' The stars are not wanted now, put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.