Marshall, Lemuel Mitchinson

Marshall, Lemuel Mitchinson
27 Feb

Lemuel Mitchinson Marshall, age 64, affectionately known as “Marsh” or “Lemmie”, of Cliff Land, St. John, a retired senior meteorological Assistant of the Meteorological Department, Son of the late James and Phyllis Marshall, Brother of Winfield Kennedy of the U.S.A., Wigley and Carlene Marshall and Ira Browne of the U.K., Philbert and Edwin Marshall of Canada, Leeton Murrell, Ena Moore, Anthony and Eucine Marshall and Vernita Squires and the late Everton Kennedy, Uncle of Ronald, Ertha and Thelma Kennedy, Roslyn and Charles Moore of the U.S.A., Dr. Wayne Marshall, Melanie, Louise, Elsa, Paul and Lorreen Marshall and David Browne of the U.K., Philip Marshall of Canada, Dwayne and Hadiya Squires, Corey Marshall and fifteen, Brother-in-law of Thelma “Girlie” Kennedy, Noel Squires, Marnella Marshall of Canada and the late Costella Marshall, Relative of the Marshall, Kennedy, Knight, Nurse, Mayers and Maloney families, Friend of Hampden Lovell, Cameron Burke, Bervyn Moore, Marlon Bennett, Glenville Belgrave, Patrick Small and many others

The funeral of Lemuel Mitchinson Marshall leaves Waithe’s Funeral Home, Greens, St. George on Friday, 17th February, 2017 at 2:30 p.m. for the St. Philip Parish Church, Church Village, St. Philip where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 4:00 p.m. for the service, followed by the interment in the church yard.

The organist and choir members are asked to attend.

Floral tributes can be sent to Waithe’s Funeral Home not later than 2:00 p.m. on Friday.

Online condolences may be sent to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

  • 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.