Padmore, Cynthia Clotelle

Padmore, Cynthia Clotelle
16 Aug

Cynthia Clotelle Padmore, better known as “Meone” or “Paddy”, of Lot 2, 3rd Avenue North Friendship Drive, Friendship Terrace, St. Michael and formerly of Lemon Arbor, St. John, Daughter of the late Lenora Parris and Prince Trotman, Wife of Fredrick Padmore, Loving Mother of Winston and Patsy Padmore, Evadne Newton, Cheryl-Ann Skeete and Margo Oliver, Grandmother of Miguel and Fernando Newton, Peggy and Steven Padmore, Karen Moore, Tamika and Tila Skeete and Maria Alleyne, Great-grandmother of eight, Sister of Marion, Leroy Parris, Waple Parris of the U.S.A., Viola Hoyte, the late Justina Parris and two others, Aunt of Angela, Reginald, Paula, Terry Parris, Ethnie Parris-Grosvenor and many others, Great Aunt of many, Mother-in-law of Michael Newton, Molton Skeete, Sandra Padmore and Grantley Oliver, Sister-in-law of Cynthia Toppin, Cousin of many, Relative of the Parris, Lashley and Bascombe families, Friend of many

The funeral of Cynthia Clotelle Padmore leaves Tudor’s Funeral Home, The Ivy, St. Michael on Thursday, August 17th, 2017 at 12:30 p.m. for the Chapel of The Coral Ridge Memorial Gardens, The Ridge, Christ Church, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 2:00 p.m. for the service, followed by the interment.

The Organist is asked to attend.

Flowers may be sent to Tudor’s Funeral Home no later than 12:15 p.m. on Thursday.

The body will repose for viewing in the Chapel of Tudor’s Funeral Home from 4:00 p.m. until 6:00 p.m. on Wednesday.

Condolences to the family of Cynthia Clotelle Padmore may be posted online at:

  • 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.