Moore, Stephen Collin Fitzherbert

Moore, Stephen Collin Fitzherbert
12 Jul
2018

Stephen Collin Fitzherbert Moore, age 65, of 2 Rock Dundo Heights #4, Lodge Hill, St. Michael and formerly of Lower Carlton, St. James, retired Planning Assistant of the Town Planning Department and Member of the Barbados Chapter of the International Meditation Society, Son of the late Adolphus and Una Moore, Husband of Judy Valencia Moore, Brother of Reverend Martin Goodridge and Malcolm Moore, Nephew of Carmen Husbands, Sheila Gibson and Daphne Boyce, Uncle of Joy Jackman, Tony Goodridge, Angela West, Joanna Winckler, Robert Goodridge and Christopher Moore, Brother-in-law of Pearl Goodridge, Karl, Ferdinand, Neil and Greg Rawlins, Cousin of Frank Branch, Calvert Pickering, Michael Moore, Ann, Carson and Learie Cumberbatch, Elphege Browne, Coral Marshal and many others, Relative of many, Friend of many.

The funeral of Stephen Collin Fitzherbert Moore leaves Earl’s Funeral Home, Half Moon Fort, St. Lucy on Monday, July 16th, 2018 at 12:30 p.m. for The Garden Community Church of God, Reid’s Road, The Garden, St. James, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 2:30 p.m. for the Service of Thanksgiving. The cortege will then proceed to the St. James Cemetery for the interment.


Floral tributes may be sent to Earl’s Funeral Home no later than 12:00 noon on Monday.

Tributes commence from 2:00 p.m.

Condolences can be made online at www.earlsfuneralhome.com or visit us on Facebook.

  • 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.