Walcott, Irene Louise

Walcott, Irene Louise
14 Dec

Irene Louise Walcott, age 76, better known as “Sissy”, of #260 Heywoods Park, St. Peter and formerly of South Harrow Middlesex England, Dearest-Wife of Clyde Arthur Walcott, Beloved- Mother of Andrea Samantha Walcott and Cescily McClean both of the U.K., Grandmother of Ashton Walcott-Goring, Terrell Joseph and Wayne Henry – all of the U.K, Great-Grandmother of Tee-Jay, Kaliah, Lexi and others, Sister of Eugene Callender, Leo Franklin, Ulric McClean and Joe McClean, Sister-in-law of Inez Walcott, Aunt of Margaret Bullard, Shernell Grant-Phillip, Trevor Walcott, Philip St. Hill, Adrian and Timothy McClean, Collin Innis, Noel and Jennifer Callender, Cousin of Tony Callender and many others, Friend of Randy Bowen, Cynthia Ottley, Angela Headley, Shirley Morris and the ‘Heywoods Park Posse’ – Burton Alleyne, Sheila, Beres, Lynn, Victor Shorey, Merline Corbin and Dorothy Shepherd, Relative of the McClean family of Glenburnie, St. John

The funeral of Irene Louise Walcott leaves Griffith and Sons Funeral Home, Fustic Village, St. Lucy on Thursday 21st December, 2017 at 12:30 p.m. for the St. Lucy Anglican Church, Nesfield, St. Lucy, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 2:30 p.m. for the Thanksgiving Service. The cortege will then proceed to the Mount Pleasant Memorial Gardens, Pleasant Hall, St. Peter for interment.

Floral Arrangements may be sent to Griffiths and Sons Funeral no later than 12:00 noon on Thursday.

Condolences can be sent to email: 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.