Holford, Eileen Esther

Holford, Eileen Esther
24 Apr

Eileen Esther Holford, of 3rd Ave. Station Hill, St. Michael and formerly of Maycock`s Road, Checker Hall, St. Lucy-member of Truth for the Final Generation Congregation/Truth in Jesus, Co-Owner of Ron and Est Enterprises, Daughter of the late Ena Blackett and Livingston Beckles, Wife of the late Ronald Holford, Mother of Elly,Osher and Princess Holford, Grandmother of Asherah Holford, Sister of Tennyson Forde, Emerson Forde, Maggie Layne, Lucille Blunt, Velda Williams and Everton Blackett and the late Maureen Jordan, Cousin of Noland Beckles, Andrew Forde and three others, Aunt of many, Great-Aunt of many, Mother-in-law of Cherice Holford, Sister-in-law of Ricardo Williams, Maclaryn Layne and Annette Tull, Relative of the Forde, Blackett, Holford and Broomes families, Friend of many.

The funeral of Eileen Esther Holford leaves the Christovel Tyrrel Chapel of North Eastern Funeral Home on Thursday 26th April at 12:00 noon for Truth for the Final Generation Congregation, Bailey`s Hill, Redman`s Village, St. Thomas, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 2:00 p.m. for the thanksgiving service. The cortege will then proceed to Westbury Cemetery for the interment.

Wreaths may be delivered to Fern Greaves Funeral Services, Mount View Drive, St. Lucy, no later than 11: 45 a.m. on Thursday.

Viewing takes place in the chapel of North Eastern Funeral Home from 4:00 p.m. until 6:00 p.m. on Wednesday.

Condolences to the family can be emailed to: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. or posted online to fernsfuneralservices.com

  • 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.