Waithe, Robin Ricardo

Waithe, Robin Ricardo
18 Jul

Robin Ricardo Waithe, better known as “Ricky”, of Montrose, Christ Church, retired Manager of the International Transmission of Flow formerly B.E.T/Cable and Wireless, Son of the late Frederick and Norma Waithe, Husband of Anthea Waithe of Purity Bakeries, Father of Ria, Micha and Mikel Waithe, Brother of Sandra Cumberbatch of Barbados Vocational Training Board, Myrna Bruce of the Nation Publishing Company Limited, Grace, Elaine and Emmerson Gill and the late Beverley Gill, Uncle of Johnathan, Jebarri and Jeremi Cumberbatch, Danae, Kristin, Nichollas, Ethan and Joseah Gill, Nephew of Jean Cumberbatch, Malcolm and Haskel Bynoe, Ralph Wharton and Sheila McKivett of the U.K., Cousin of Marvon Walcott - Managing Director of Waithe’s Funeral Home and many others, Brother-in-law of Peter and Roslyn Devonish, McClaren Best, David Cumberbatch and Glyne Bruce, Relative of the Waithe, Wharton, Bynoe and Jordan families, Friend of Andrew Barker, Hallam Ashby and many others.

The funeral of Robin Ricardo Waithe leaves Waithe’s Funeral Home, Greens, St. George on Wednesday, July 18th, 2018 at 1:00 p.m. for Christ Church Parish Church, Church Hill, Christ Church, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 2:30 p.m. for a service, followed by the interment in the churchyard.

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

Floral tributes can be sent to Waithe’s Funeral Home not later than 12:30 p.m. on Wednesday

Online 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.