A loss not just to family and friends but the wider diaconal community
Obituaries
Eveleen Anne Kerr. Born 15 December 1941, died 23 April 2026
When you were in Eveleen Kerr’s orbit you knew it. Kindness permeated her every word, act and interaction as she gently moved through life. The loss of Eveleen was not only a blow to her loved ones, it was also felt deeply by the wider diaconal community who treasured her and admired her commitment to her faith and all those who knew her.
Eveleen was a regular at Saint Francis Xavier’s Cathedral, and as the wife of much-loved and highly respected Deacon Nicholas (Nick) Kerr, a religious journalist and pastoral worker with the African Catholic community, she was well known and respected across Adelaide’s Catholic community.
She carried a familiarity with the scripture and the kind of wisdom that comes from a lifetime of deep reflection on the word of God.
During her last few years at the Estia Health Myrtle Bank Aged Care facility, Parkinson’s disease meant Eveleen sometimes struggled to communicate. However, friends said she could be very lucid at times, especially when receiving the sacrament of holy communion and in her discussion of scripture. Sometimes, the sign of the cross seemed to flick a switch in her mind that brought her back to her younger, healthier, self.
When family, friends, and the wider community gathered at Saint Francis Xavier’s Cathedral on 1 May 2026 to farewell Eveleen, her daughter Mariot Kerr stepped up to read a letter she wrote for her mum while sitting at her bedside. There is no love like a mother’s love, and Mariot’s heartfelt words said it all. With her permission, The Southern Cross shares them with you.
For the last few days of Eveleen’s life, her daughter Mariot Kerr, sat beside her and, little unsure what to do perhaps, wrote her a long and quite wonderful letter. Mariot has given permission for The Southern Cross to publish the letter in full here.
TOGETHER: Eveleen and Nick.
Dear Mummy
It is 10.30 in the morning on Monday 20th April. You are sleeping peacefully in your bed. Our favourite photo of Nick is smiling down at you from the wall above. I am sitting at the little table next to the balcony. The door is slightly open and gentle puffs of cool fresh air are wafting in. We can hear the magpies chortling in the garden and you and I know that that is a sure sign that the spirit of your brother George is very close.
We have music playing softly. Right now it’s The Moonlight Sonata, which you, my dear mother, will think is a rather obvious choice but I like it and I am remembering being small and sitting at the piano with you as you patiently showed me how to manage those chords and talked me through the tempo and the meter.
So many memories are crowding around me right now and blurring together. It is almost overwhelming so I am focusing on the emotions we have shared: the love, the laughter, the mischievous humour; your great compassion, your eternal curiosity, your creativity, all the warmth and comfort and delight which you have brought to so many people. I’m thinking of us as a family when I was little – You and Nick, Christian and me, Granny.
Loving aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents seem to be constantly present as we romp around the sand dunes at Port Willunga, watched over by a succession of family dogs. I am also very aware of you not just as my mother, but as Eveleen Anne Culshaw, before I even existed. I feel I can almost see you then. I have been looking through old photos and listening to your brother Tom talk about the special bond you always shared.
You were born in the middle of WW2, in 1941, the youngest child of George and Margaret. You didn’t have an easy childhood. You were often unwell and had to bear the terrible grief of losing first your older sister Marguerite and soon afterwards your father. But you have often told me about happy times growing up in the house where I also grew up, supported always by the incredible strength and love of your mother.
I know you loved your school years at Loreto and the friends you made there, especially Julie and Elizabeth and Valerie who have remained a loving constant presence in your life. You were a bright student and excelled in your studies and hence you were one of very few women at Adelaide University to study science and on 24th April 1963 you graduated.
Your faith, and love of music and singing led you to the church choir where you met Nicholas which I believe was the most defining moment of your life. You married on 4th April 1964 and a year later my much-loved brother Christian was born. You were keen to keep exploring your passion for science but at the time you received an offer to return to Loreto to teach biology part time to the high school students.
You accepted as you thought it would work well in the short term with looking after young Christian. It did work well, so well in fact that you remained there as a teacher for the next 40 + years. You were inspiring, passionate and took a genuine interest in every one of your students. This warmth and respect for each individual has been evident in your relations with every person you meet. Your love of your family has been boundless. You played inventive and fun games with Christian and me and your beloved nieces and nephews Jeremy, Tamara, Hilary, Martin and Veda when we were small and later with your great-nieces, Alexandra, Charlotte and Emma. And your great nephews, Riley and Cole.
You put up with us as teenagers, and embraced our many diverse friends. You supported us in our studies and our careers. You were thrilled when I presented Driller to you as my husband and never showed the slightest disappointment that we had eloped! You and Nick immediately adopted Eugene as their very first grandson. Your joy in the birth of Christian’s children India and Rupert was immense, as is your love for them, and you have taken such pride in their achievements.
You have loved us all so much and your partnership with Nick has been one of such inspiring support and enduring love. You delighted in his successes, the honour of him receiving a Papal Knighthood and later becoming a deacon. You made it possible for him to give so much of his time and heart to the African community and welcomed so many people into our home, especially my dear brothers, Levi, Peter and Stephen and families. You are a mother to so many. You have been an active and willing member of the deacon’s community and through it made great friends including Gordana and Paul Crowe. You have had so many precious friendships throughout the years – I’m thinking now especially of Andrew MacDonald.
Dear Mummy it is now 4 o’clock in the afternoon and you are still sleeping peacefully in your bed. I have put down my letter several times as various nurses and Estia staff members have come in to attend to you and to check you’re alright – and that I’m alright as well. They have been wonderful. And Bob Wilkinson and Sister Ruth have just left. I’m sure you heard us laughing softly together and exchanging fond memories.
Before I finish off I want to tell you again how much I love you and how grateful I am for your love. You have shown such courage in the face of your failing health. Your faith has been strong and constant. The last few years have been so hard, losing our darling Nick and Christian but you and I have grown even closer together. Thank you for staying around to see that I’ll be ok. I will be, with Driller, Queenie and such loving and supportive family and friends.
I’m glad that it’s the others’ turn to have you with them now. Your face lit up with such joy yesterday when you woke up and I told you it wouldn’t be long now. Farewell dear Mummy. In my father’s last words to me, I couldn’t love you more.
