Obituary of Priscilla Arnott

Mary Priscilla Arnott (née Jenkins), aka Priscilla, Pris, Mom, and most proudly, Nanna,
passed away peacefully on Wednesday May 27, 2026 at Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre, surrounded
by family and exceptionally compassionate care. We remain profoundly grateful to the
staff and physicians who cared for her with expertise and kindness in her final weeks.
Priscilla lived several extraordinary lives in one: older sister, RCAF officer, military wife,
single mother, psychiatric nurse, doting grandmother, gifted baker, determined shopper,
and- according to her own accounting in later years- recipient of no fewer than nine
marriage proposals.
Born in Saint John, New Brunswick on December 30, 1942, to Florence and Garnett
Jenkins, the second of seven children (her older brother David died shortly after birth,
and she spoke of him often), Priscilla entered the world with intelligence, beauty,
stubbornness, absolute competence, a dry sense of humour, and an instinct for fiercely
caring.
These qualities defined the rest of her life.
After graduating from St. Vincent’s High School in 1960, then from St. Joseph’s Hospital
School of Nursing in 1963- in what sounded like the world’s longest and most fun
sleepover with 14 lifelong best friends- she enlisted with the Royal Canadian Air Force
at just 20 years old.
While posted to CFB Cold Lake, she met a handsome young pilot named Bruce Arnott.
Legend has it that although Bruce was engaged at the time, after falling in love at first
sight with 21-year-old Priscilla- a dead ringer for Elizabeth Taylor- he announced to
friends: “I’m going to marry her.”
They wed in 1965 and built a life shaped by military postings, glamorous parties,
adventure, friendship, shenanigans, and exploring Europe in their 1966 Mustang
convertible. Their first child, Christine, was born in Baden, Germany in 1967, followed
by Stephen in Ottawa in 1969.
In 1972, tragedy struck. After only seven years of marriage, Major Bruce Arnott died in
the line of duty in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, following an airborne emergency, leaving
Priscilla widowed with another baby on the way. She was 29.
With the help of her uncle George Carvell, she returned to Saint John with four-year-old
Christine and two-year-old Stephen, where she gave birth to Allison and began the far
harder work that would become the defining achievement of her life: raising three
children on her own while rebuilding a future from grief.
And rebuild she did.

Priscilla ran a very tight ship. Her children were enrolled in every conceivable activity.
She volunteered endlessly, carpooled, baked for every fundraiser, sewed for school
plays, ensured good grades, and somehow produced elaborate Halloween costumes
despite having too little time and too much responsibility.
She was not a gifted cook. This is accepted family history and cannot be revised. Her
mealtime philosophy was “Just eat it. There’s not a thing wrong with it.”
But fresh baked banana bread was always on hand, and her Christmas “Scotch Cake”
cookies became so famous even restaurateurs begged for the recipe- which she knew
entirely by heart. We suspect she happily distributed counterfeit versions to protect her
status.
When her youngest started grade one, Priscilla returned to nursing and later to
university, earning her Bachelor of Nursing from the University of New Brunswick.
Naturally, she graduated with an A+ average.
Most of her career in Saint John was spent in psychiatry, much of it in inpatient forensic
mental health, caring for people whom many found hardest to understand. Priscilla
understood the assignment.
Through her work with those carrying pain, illness, trauma, and heartbreaking histories,
Priscilla lived her belief that every person deserves dignity, empathy, and someone
willing to look beneath the surface to find the good.
Priscilla was New Brunswick’s greatest ambassador. She squeezed joy from road trips,
summers in Shediac, visits to St. Andrews, St. Martins and Washademoak Lake, PEI
vacations, beach days, and afternoons solving the world’s problems at Veronica’s and
Mike’s kitchen tables.
She was a robust source of ideas on how her children might improve themselves and
shared those opinions freely, often via newspaper clippings that would arrive in the mail
with no context. But any hint of criticism from anyone else- real or imagined- was met
swiftly and decisively. For anyone to imply that her descendants were anything but
perfect was not tolerated. Offenders were permanently and in no uncertain terms put in
their place.
Her grandchildren occupied a category beyond ordinary affection. In her mind, all six
were flawless human beings, especially impressive considering their parents were
raising them all wrong.
Her bond with her first grandchild, Michael, born when she was 51, was especially
close; they were buddies, co-conspirators, mutual biggest fans, and in many ways grew
up alongside one another. The other grandchildren can thank Michael for training Super
Nanna.

Eventually, in 2012, after retiring from nursing and accepting none of her children were
moving home, she relocated to Toronto to be closer to her daughters and grandchildren.
There, she became a famously fearless and terrifying driver. A trip to Dairy Queen once
became a highway joyride after she mistook an on-ramp for the drive-thru entrance. The
grandkids were eventually returned safely, late for dinner, with bellies full of ice cream
and laughter.
The condominium construction across from her Toronto condo drew equal parts
fascination and outrage. It remains, in her view, a direct threat to the neighbourhood and
possibly to civilization itself… and is taking too long to build.
She drank Diet Coke from approximately 7 a.m. until midnight and maintained, with
conviction, that it was as good for you as water.
She refused to spend money on herself but loved shopping, and gifts were her love
language. If she loved you, you were fed, worried about, offered wisdom, fiercely
defended, and usually sent home with something expensive that you did not need.
Other signs that you were one of her favourite people were that you probably weren’t
dressed warmly enough, had the wrong tires on your car, and were definitely smarter
than your boss.
And when life delivered its worst- which it sometimes did- Priscilla was at her best. The
worrier became the calm, steady one. She became the person who somehow knew
exactly what to do and convinced you that things would be alright, even if you were the
one who caused the problem in the first place.
Even in her final days, as cognitive impairment took so much, essential parts of Priscilla
remained untouched. She instinctively comforted hospital roommates. She got annoyed
with too much attention. She considered going blonde. She offered relationship advice.
She maintained that ripped jeans were unacceptable and that few, if any, boyfriends
measured up.
Priscilla is survived by her cherished children, Christine, Stephen, and Allison (Scott
Ovenden); her perfect grandchildren Michael McDonald (Bridget Walsh), Breanna
Malcolmson, Rachel Malcolmson, Bruce Malcolmson, Oscar Arnott, and Archie Arnott;
her siblings Ann Rogers (Ron), Frank Jenkins (Barbara), Christine Klinger (Wes,
deceased), Michael Jenkins (Carolyn), and Veronica Parsons (Gerald); and her
precious friend and sister-in-law Lynn Sutherland (Walt, deceased).
She also leaves behind many nieces, nephews, extended family, and dear friends-
including Heather, Belinda, Helen, Stephen, and Kevin- who became her children by
love rather than blood.

She now joins the love of her life, Bruce; her revered parents, Florence and Garnett
Jenkins; her much-missed nephew Michael Jenkins; and many others she carried with
her for years.
Those who knew Priscilla suspect she has already settled in, found Bruce, declared
how to fix the government, helped herself to a Diet Coke, found a good vantage point to
oversee the condo construction, and resumed offering unsolicited advice.
We hope they listen. She’s probably right.
In lieu of flowers, donations in Priscilla’s memory may be made to the Sunnybrook
Health Sciences Centre Foundation, with gratitude for the truly extraordinary care she
received there.

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