Marshall, Linda Pamela

Marshall, Linda Pamela
24 Feb
2017

Linda Pamela Marshall, age 62, member of the Barbados Labor Party, St. Philip North Branch, Daughter of the late Marian Skeete and Lisle Stuart, Widow of the late Nigel “Kid” Marshall, Mother of Carol-Ann, Carson Skeete, Cindy-Ann and Nigel Marshall Jnr. Grandmother of Niko, Rohan,Nakobi, Zyaire, Zacari, Nerissa and Zynnia, Niece of Melissa Woodroffe, Kenneth and Alston Davis, Cousin of Marvin of the U.K., Evelyn Skeete, Kevin Davis and many others, Relative of the Marshall, Skeete, Davis, Sealy, Newton, Grazzettes, Stuart, Sargeants, Garnes, Wiltshire, Goodridge, Brathwaite, Browne, Alleyne and Straughn families, Special Friend of Monica Straughn, Indiar Weir and many others……………………


The funeral of Linda Pamela Marshall takes place on Friday, February 17th, 2017 at 3:30 p.m. at St. Catherine’s Anglican Church, St. Catherine, St. Philip, where relatives and friends are asked to meet for the service, immediately followed by the interment in the churchyard.


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


The body of Linda Pamela Marshall will be reposed in the sanctuary of the church from 2:00 p.m. until the start of the service.


Final Care and Arrangements have been entrusted to: Brian Benthams’ Funeral Services, Waterford, St. Michael

  • 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.