Denny, Darnley Dacosta

Denny, Darnley Dacosta
09 Oct
2018

Darnley Dacosta Denny, age 90, of Downey Gap, Bank Hall, St. Michael, Retired Shed Foreman of the Bridgetown Port, Son of the late Leonard Corbin and Millicent Denny, Husband of Wilma Denny of Boston, U.S.A., Father of Trevor, Anthony, David and the late Judy Welch, Joan Ince of the Bronx, Michael Daisley of the National Housing Corporation, Otis and Grantley Warner, Joyce Nurse, the late Carl Nurse, Anthony and many others, Brother of Cicely, Leo, Loleta Denny, the late George Denny and Muriel Clarke, Uncle of many, Grandfather of Paulette Trotman, Ryan Jordan, Alicia, Fabian, Samantha, Pamela, Patricia, Damian, Wendy and Anderson Welch, Niki Gill, Kyle Daisley, Adrian Greaves, Terry Harper, Anderson Nurse and many others, Great grandfather of many, Friend of the Sintea Holder, Yvonne Bourne, the Hot Pot Crew and residents of Downey Ave, Bank Hall, St. Michael


The funeral of Darnley Dacosta Denny leaves Keith Jones Funeral Home, Passage Road, St. Michael on Thursday 11th October, 2018 at 1:00 p.m. for the Cathedral Church of St. Michael’s and All Angels, St. Michael’s Row, Bridgetown where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 2:30 p.m. for a service of thanksgiving. The cortege will then proceed to Westbury Cemetery for the interment.

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

Flowers may be sent to Keith Jones Funeral Home no later than 12:30 p.m. on Thursday.

A donation for the Restoration of the Organ will be greatly appreciated.

Visitation will take place in the Chapel of Keith Jones Funeral Home from 4:30 p.m. until 6:30 p.m. on Wednesday 10th, October, 2018.

Condolences can be sent to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

  • 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.