Smith, Gweneth Zenobia

Smith, Gweneth Zenobia
27 Feb
2017

Gweneth Zenobia Smith, age 82, of 2nd Avenue North Wildey, St. Michael, Wife of the late Oliver Smith, Daughter of the late Beatrice Worrell and Prince Bovell, Grandmother of Dr. Sandi Arthur, Julita, Ria, Dwayne and Akeem Pitcairn, Sister of Rupert and Valenza Bovell, Velma Worrell and many others, Cousin of Violet Downes, Humphey and many others, Sister-In-law of Vadney Bovell, Relative of Elon and Miriam Arthur, Friend of the Norville, Merritt, Springer and the All Souls Anglican Church families


A service of thanksgiving for the life of Gweneth Zenobia Smith takes place on Thursday, February 23rd, 2017 at 2:00 p.m. at the All Souls Anglican Church, Bank Hall Main Road, St. Michael, where relatives and friends are asked to meet, immediately followed by the interment at the Westbury Cemetery.


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


Flowers may be sent to E. Pamela Small Funeral Home, “The Lawns”, Vauxhall, Christ Church, no later than 12:00 noon on Thursday, or may be delivered to All Souls Anglican Church, Bank Hall Main Road, St, Michael before the start of the service.


Visitation takes place in the Chapel of E. Pamela Small Funeral Home, “The Lawns”, Vauxhall, Christ Church from 4:00 p.m. until 6:00 p.m. on Wednesday.


Funeral Arrangements Entrusted to: E. Pamela Small Funeral Services

  • 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.