Recollections Of Anne O’Brien 2025

A foreword by Rob Landsberry

In 2024 and 2025 I asked the members of the O’Brien Clan website to share their favourite stories about Sister Anne. My main reason was to get a third party perspective on Aunty Anne. After all, she had no kids of her own and no partner, so the next best option was turning to those who moved through her orbit.

So, what do we learn about Aunty Anne?

Well, like the majority of those with some Irish blood coursing through their veins, she was fond of an alcoholic beverage or two, a trait she was happy to pass on to her many nieces and nephews. But that plus her vow of poverty meant that while she was more than happy to partake of a drink, she rarely paid for one, preferring to wander about seeing what was on offer at a more ‘appropriate price’..

She had a terrific sense of humour, and loved to share a story or two as much as hearing something new and amusing, but knowing when to step away should things become unsuitable for those residing in the convent.

Sister Anne loved two things above all else. Her faith and her family. The stories below and her eulogies from 2000 speak to both of those, as is only fitting.

As the youngest of the famous 12 O’Brien kids, she had an amazing impact on all of us. And for that, she’ll always be remembered. As it turns out, both Shayne and Mary have different recollections of the details surrounding the beetroot story, but their recollection around Aunty Anne’s part in it remains the same.

I’ve put the stories in order of the 12, and within each of them, in order of my cousins. So, let’s wander through Anne’s life, and visit her many sides.

Father Mark – August 2025

I can offer two stories about Aunty Anne.

The first is about when she came to holiday in Armidale and visit us on the farm at Tilbuster. As I recall she had to stay in the convent but could come out for meals and the like, provided she was accompanied by another sister as companion.

Another proviso was that they dined separately in the lounge room while we dined in the breakfast room. This separation got to my brother Kevin, now dead sadly, but at the time he was a teenager. He crept up to the lounge room where we kids were not supposed to go, stood at the door and looked at the nuns in their black habits and veils. Anne told us later that he addressed them in a formal manner and said; “You nuns make sure that you don’t dirty mum’s carpet while you’re here”. Having put them in their place, he then turned and left.

The second story was when I used to visit her in the aged care home in Sydney where she spent her final years. I and others used to take her out to lunch for a bit of a break from the aged care centre and its meals. She became attached to an Indian restaurant in Crows Nest and that’s where we always had to go, and she always ordered their butter chicken. The Indians in the restaurant got to know her well and as soon as she walked in or was wheeled in as time went by, they would gather around her and say, “Dear Sister, your butter chicken is being prepared now”. I remember that as a post-lunch drink or a drink back in the centre, she loved a glass of Bailey’s Irish Cream. I made sure I always had a bottle of this taste of Ireland (Be Jay’s) whenever I went to see her.

Shayne and Sue – August 2025

Just a couple of tales about Auntie Anne.

Restaurant

She always enjoyed Indian food and when Sue and I went to Sydney, we would take her out to the restaurant called ‘The Last Train to Bombay’ and she would consistently order the Indian butter chicken dish.

She became so well known in this restaurant that the proprietor, an elderly Indian gentleman, would serve her a complimentary white wine every time she came in. Unfortunately, this Indian largesse did not extend to the driver and his companion on these eating adventures.

Dad at Tilbuster

In the early days when we were at Tilbuster, Anne was a regular visitor. She absolutely idolised Dad O'Brien and fussed over him in such a way that Mum became somewhat irritated with Anne's frantic manoeuvrings to ensure that Dad had all the necessary comforts in the living room.

Of course Dad lapped up this idolatry, which was done mostly at the expense of Mum's catering management and organisation of the Tilbuster homestead.

Beetroot Disaster

On one occasion at Tilbuster, Anne was sitting down at the family table to enjoy a salad meal with all the trappings that accompanied this O'Brien feast, including a beetroot container which had an inner cylinder where the beetroot slices and juices were housed.

Obviously, the Mercy Nuns were entirely un-familiar with such a high tech device. Anne reached for the beetroot but seized the inner core handle and showered all in her immediate vicinity at the table with beetroot slices and copious quantities of beetroot juice.

Anne was so totally surprised by this sudden turn of events that she stood up and waved this cylinder around, obviously mortified and cried out "Oh Jack". These actions of waving the beetroot cylinder above her head continued to shower everyone and the surrounding walls with beetroot juices. It’s just as well Anne addressed this calamity to her brother who appeared quite calm on the surface, but we knew that his facial expressions told another story.

Louisa Forrest – August 2025

When I was around 7 or 8 years old, my father was ill and my mother and siblings travelled to the "Grand House" at Gerringong to visit my Grandmother, Cecilia O'Brien.

Aunty Anne bad been staying with her and we had all finished our dinner and were strewn about Nan's "proper" loungeroom, sipping cups of tea while Aunty Anne sipped on a glass of single malt Scotch Whiskey - with ice. "Just one!" She'd always say. "The Doctor said I should have just one each night. It helps me to relax".

Sister Brigette dispensing a single glass of medicinal whisky

I used to giggle to myself each time she would say this because she did come across as somewhat of a highly strung personality. Even to my tender, young seven or eight year old mind, she seemed tightly wound.

As we were chatting through the night my mother mentioned that I was having some trouble with mathematics, and banter ensued as to the merits of schooling young children in their times tables from as early as kindergarten - a practice which had been forgotten by the time I had reached school age.

Aunty Anne being a renowned mathematics teacher took it upon herself to assist me in learning my times tables.

She sat in a wing back chair near my grandmother and started tutoring me on my seven times tables, sipping on her Scotch between each round.

She had me repeat them aloud with her as she tapped her free hand on the arm of the chair in time with each line of the tables, over and over until I’d memorised them completely.

Then she polished off her large scotch, said a Hail Mary with my grandmother and toddled off downstairs to bed.

To this day my seven times tables remain the strongest of all of the tables that I recall. I'll never forget her sitting there tapping her hand on the arm of the chair, sipping on her Scotch and barking out the seven times tables with me.

Mary Zabell – August 2025

I believe the beetroot story is almost mythical in our Tilbuster family circle.

Auntie Anne was visiting my mother at Gerringong. Mum was busy preparing dinner or lunch, and this included lots of different salads. Anne was bustling around in her usual busy hectic fashion and decided that she would help mum put everything out onto the table.

She was handed the Tupperware beetroot container. If you’ve never seen one of these, it’s a rectangular plastic container with an insert which has a handle. You raise the insert holding the handle slowly and it drains the juice from the beetroot.

Anne had apparently never seen one of these and while she quickly asked, ‘What’s this?’ she pulled up the handle.

The beetroot went flying in every direction with juice splattering up walls and beetroot sliding down walls and everybody rushing and flapping to contain the damage.

Anne and the beetroot container are now part of legend.

Alan Horton - August 2025

My memory does me no favours as the years race away. Surprisingly, it can have a soothing effect not having to fess up too many unmentionables and embarrassing situations as if stored in a vault (having lost the combination) never to be revealed. That is, until confronted with HEY, STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING FOR A MINUTE?

There were visits in the early sixties to Tallawong Road by Mercy nuns Sisters Anne, Patricia (Dad’s sister) and others accompanying – a sister Paula rings a bell. Who drove heaven knows? On other occasions Sister Anne would arrive with a gaggle of ladies, lots more aunts, uncles and cousins, these were hugely joyous events, we kids were instructed to be on our best behaviour. Really!

With her veil flowing Sister Anne would do the rounds giving those at cuddling age a big hug. And from her bag of tricks a toy would appear. Christmas had come early. She would ask about the property, our chores, school of course, reminding us to say our prayers and to be good for Mum and Dad.

Later, from the 1980s up until the early 2000s, Sister Anne mostly in the company of Aunts Gwen and Claire would drop in to see Mum and Dad at 550 Lake Innes and once or twice even venturing further north visiting Jo and Al in Redcliffe Queensland, conveniently around Expo time. In the late 90s, 518 Lake Innes next door to 550 became a handy longer stop over for weary O’Brien travellers.

The O’Briens, particularly our aunts, loved attending weddings and of course there were lots. Sister Anne was no exception, her attendance a further measure as to the importance of ritual and tradition. She had spoken about her marriage as it were to Christ. The symbolism is telling; it speaks to her absolute commitment to her vocation. Above all though a wedding celebration (the party) was not to be missed.

We have been gifted wonderful memories conveyed through a concise historical record of our past O’Brien generations. Our parents and their siblings (the magnificent twelve) now at rest. Sister Anne, her story is beautifully summarised and conveyed by herself and two of her devoted siblings Gwen and Claire, recorded and published by Rob on the O’Brien website.

The O’Brien sense of humour in full flight. Quite revealing!

Karen Parsons – January 2024

The part [of our family video] where we were collecting Aunty Anne brought back some lovely memories. We visited her a bit while she was at the Hawkesbury, and I loved going there. They had a river pool that was enclosed which was great fun and I enjoyed playing with the girls who were living there. As a child I suppose I didn’t question why they were there all that much, although I did know that some of them didn’t have parents so that made sense. But there were others who had been left with the nuns and while that was a little confusing at the time, it wasn’t until I got older that the full ramifications of the situation became apparent. I just hope that the nuns were nice to the girls. I don’t know if Aunty Anne was moving on from the convent when that film was taken or just going for a visit somewhere. It was an awfully small case!

Anyway, funny story. Around the time of her living at the Hawkesbury, Auntie Anne was learning to drive. Dad, being the obliging sort of chap that he was, provided the vehicle and some instructional time to assist in the process (and if you don’t believe in God, the very fact that she ever got a license is definitive proof of the existence of the deity! 😃). On one occasion she was learning to reverse up a laneway. We kids were piled in the back of the car and as she put her foot on the accelerator we went flying backwards at a hundred miles an hour. Dad hastily got her to stop and we were quickly told to get out of the car before the lesson continued. Keith was always a bit of a nervous fellow and I’m guessing that the incident didn’t do much to improve that situation!

Ian’s Brown – August 2025

Dad/Driving lessons

I can’t put a definite year on this story, but if I recall, I was maybe 12 or 13 years old, so let’s say it was around 1968 or 1969. Anne was posted to a convent at Berowra, under the shadow of the bridge and the developing Pacific Highway.

Little did Keith (far right) and Sister Anne know what lay ahead

The convent was right on the water, I recall (those early Catholics could spot a real estate bonanza in the making!). The family went to visit Anne one day and part of the deal was for dad (Keith) to take Anne for a driving lesson. Dad was a patient man, not given to bouts of anger or raised voice – good attributes in a driving teacher.

The rest of us (Joan, Karen and a young Darryl) stayed at the convent for the duration while dad took Anne out.

Time passed. Not sure where they drove. The car pulled up at the convent. Both emerged.

Dad was white as a ghost, as the saying goes. He was quiet the remainder of that afternoon. All he said to mum later was an emphatic “NEVER AGAIN!”

Maths teacher – Ian trials

Anne was a maths teacher at the schools where she was posted. At one stage she underwent some upskilling in her maths knowledge, via the University of New England in Armidale which was renowned for its off-campus learning. So presumably Anne did some study while she was based in Sydney and also spent a year (to the best of my increasingly-fuzzy memory) living on-campus at St Albert’s College in Armidale.

University of New England

Anne earning her degree

At that time she was a frequent visitor to the Brown household in Oak Tree Drive, Armidale. Anne visited to spend time with us over meals and other events; she did some cooking there on occasions too (ginger fluffs come time mind as a specialty of hers).

At the time Anne was staying with us, I (Ian) was doing trial exams for either 4th Form/Year 10 (1972) or 6th Form/Year 12 (1974), among them a maths test. My recollection is that the Catholic Schools used a centrally prepared set of standardised exams, separate from the State School exams. So when the time arrived for the maths paper, a list of contributors appeared at the front of the paper. Guess whose name appeared but…. Sister Anne O’Brien.

I found the test difficult (one of the objectives of the trials, to give we students a metaphorical kick up the bum for the final few weeks of revision) and reported that I’d found the exam difficult and that Aunty Anne was part of the cause for that! For the sake of this anecdote, let’s gloss over the inevitable gaps in my math skills…..

Anyway, that message was passed back to Anne who reminded me of it on several occasions in subsequent years.

Tennis at St Albert’s College (‘Albies’) Armidale

While Aunty Anne was staying on-campus at St Albert’s College, she loved playing tennis on the University courts. Anne was a particularly good – and competitive - player and she found several like-minded colleagues (nuns and others) at Albies. At one point the local newspaper, The Armidale Express, ran a story with pictures of these tennis-playing nuns.

One day, Anne was paired in a doubles match with Father Fitzgerald, who happened to be the Principal of Albies as well as resident priest and counsellor. Albies is a residential college for Uni students who study at University of New England. Anne chased one ball especially hard and, in spite of Father Fitz’s call of ‘mine’, Anne still went to hit the ball and clocked Father Fitz very solidly in the face. Oops.

Darryl Brown – August 2025

Aunty Anne moved at 100 miles an hour, whatever she did.

At one doo at either Gwen or Claire’s, she was sitting eating off a plate in her lap. She leapt up to get something, put her plate on her chair, rushed back in, and sat down on her plate of food.

When she was studying in Armidale, we lived in the shop. Anne didn’t have a kitchen in her digs, so she would come over and use ours when she needed to make something to take out. She’d fly in through the back door, and make one of her fabulous sponges, or flaky matchsticks, and fly out again. I’m sure she cleaned up after herself - I can’t imagine her not doing so, or Mum allowing it!

When Anne got her licence, she was a terrible driver. Dad took her out a few times after she was licenced to iron out a few issues. For instance, she didn’t know how to turn on the lights/wipers (I can’t remember which it was). Dad said she accelerated quickly, and jumped on the brake when way too close to where she had to stop - for his liking, anyway. I think Dad always came back a little greyer from these lessons.

I saw a photo of Anne with baby Karen, so that photo would be almost 70 years ago.

Anne was in her habit of the times. I remember this big, black outfit, all you could see was a small amount of her face framed by the white part of the habit, holding a tiny white bundle. Talk about scary for a child!

Anne loved all the nieces and nephews, and their children, but came on a bit strong for the tiniest of them, often scaring them off.

Rob Landsberry – September 2025

I remember as a youngster being very scared of pretty much anything vaguely Catholic. They seemed to have a love of all things black and foreign. There were the relatively new, and (in my flawed memory) very large Italian women whose husbands had passed and who chose to drape themselves entirely in black ‘out of respect’. Then there was Fathers O’Neill, Darby etc also draped in black. Then of course there was Aunty Anne and her band of not-so-merry nuns bedecked in black from head to toe.

It was all very dark. Luckily this feeling only lasted with me until I turned 35. 😊

In Aunty Anne’s Eulogy in 2020 I told her favourite joke, and it’s true to say that it speaks volumes about her sense of humour. When she came to Mum’s or Aunty Clare’s for a night out, she’d often turn up with her latest joke in printed form.

And if there was a relative newcomer, she’d take great pleasure in presenting her favourite joke, which went something like this.

So, there’s this nun, let’s call her Sister Anne, and she’s taking a class of 7 year olds for religious instruction. She says to the class “So today, I want you to draw one of your favourite scenes from the Bible.”
Well, the kids get out their coloured pencils and their paper, and they get to work.
Sister Anne wanders around the classroom admiring all the work, and congratulating the kids.
That is until she gets to young Jack. She picks up his drawing and she says: “Now Jack, I said to draw a picture from the Bible.”
“Yes sister....I did”, says Jack.
“Well, I hate to point this out, Jack, but this is a drawing of an aeroplane.”
“That’s right sister”, says a rather proud Jack.
“But how is that from the Bible?” asks sister Anne.
“Well”, says Jack “you know Mary and Joseph and Jesus, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course I do”, says Sister Anne.
“Well….that’s their flight into Egypt”.
Well….Sister Anne tries not to laugh, before asking Jack “And if Joseph, Mary and Jesus are in the plane…who’s that up the front…in the cockpit?”
To which Jack replies “Oh him? That’s Pontius - the Pilot”.

Amanda Power – August 2025

When we were younger and used to go to your mum’s place (Gwen)) for the Boxing Day Christmas lunch each year, I was always put next to Anne at the dinner table and we all know what that was like, you needed a tarp to cover your plate from Anne, she used to always have stuff flying from her mouth onto you, your plate or really anything else in the firing line.

Didn’t we have a joke about doing silly secret Santa gifts (crotchless undies etc)? I can’t fully remember. It may have been a joke between us. But it was funny!!😂

Sue Muir – August2025

I really don’t have a lot to contribute for Annie. One thing I do remember though is that the O'Brien sisters were all excellent cooks (thanks Nanna Irene!) and they all had their specialities.

Ann's speciality was her Ginger Fluff Sponge.

She graciously shared the recipe with me but I could never quite achieve her high standards. I did think she must have held out on a key recipe ingredient or method, but then SHE WAS A NUN! And squeaky-clean and honest. 🤔

I can only put my failure down to a lack of skill. Never got to ask her though what I was doing wrong! The secret has gone with her to heaven.😇

Or if you’d like to see the transcribed recipe, click here.

Wendi Toohey – August 2025

Aunty Anne was a big part of our lives for as long as I can remember. There were early day fetes at Brooklyn when we were little, Sunday lunches at Tulloh Street where she and Pa (William) would come for Sunday roast and then spend the afternoon on li-lo lounges under the NZ Christmas tree chatting away until sleep took over and kept their mouths agape for a couple of hours.

When I was young, I was always a little sceptical about how I should behave around Anne, the crosses and heavy beads, dark dresses and missal secured in her pocket, did not help in making her alluring, however she was definitely not as she seemed.

I can recall a few occasions that bring a smile to my face, so I’ll share a couple here.

The Baby Jesus story

Back in the 1990s, our joint Henkes families got together for a family Christmas in Currimundi on the Sunshine Coast. It was a great event where adults and kids had a few days together of laughter, good food, music and Christmas.

Anne was invited along and bunked down with mum. We had erected a form of Christmas tree and Anne had kindly brought along her nativity scene, as you do when you go on holidays (?), and placed it under the tree.

We had fun with the kids playing musical chairs the next night until Anne realised that the baby Jesus was missing. Well, all hell broke loose! Apparently, that’s what happens when Jesus goes missing. All festivities had to stop until baby Jesus was found and alas, he was not.

This story was long forgotten, well almost (we had a giggle about it now and then) until Anne’s passing. The sisters at her home in Northbridge asked me to come promptly to collect her possessions.

For those that visited Anne in the last few years, you would know she was quite a collector. I was unable to get there from the Southern Highlands in time, so I asked my kids to perform this task which they kindly did. Not long into the day I got an SMS from Sonya, no writing, no explanation, just a picture…it was the baby Jesus.

Now I don’t know if Sonya was messing with us all those years ago, or whether there is some biblical explanation for his reappearance (we already know that story), but boy did I laugh.

Fireworks spectacular

Aunty Anne would often join us for fireworks on Sydney Harbour foreshore. We’d get a spot early, set up our rugs and food, and settle in for the afternoon and night.

I’m not judging, but just pointing out that milk is not always what it seems. A bottle of scotch was cleverly disguised inside Anne’s milk carton on the odd occasion, as you do when God’s on your side.

Photoshop

No-one loved her family more than Anne. If she had one 1948 photo of the 11 plus mum and dad, she had 50.

It must have upset her that Alan, who passed away in WW2, was the only missing person in the photo. She came to me one day very proud of herself as she had found a picture of Alan, cut him out and pasted him onto the family photo, then photocopied it so the family was complete. A joyous occasion!

She asked if I could do a better job for her - well what do you say to someone that proud - “I will give it a go, but you have done such a good job”. From that day on she must have thanked me every time she saw me, she was so elated.

Leura

Some of my happiest memories are from Leura. Each year Anne was allowed to holiday at a magnificent estate called “Holmwood” in Leura in the Blue Mountains. This property was formerly owned by the Grace Bros family and consisted of amazing grounds, gardens, tennis courts and captivating views over the Megalong Valley. The side gates led straight onto walking tracks to Tarpeian Rock and beyond in the valley.

As Anne invited family to join her, there was always mum (Claire) and Gwen, and sometimes Joan and Cyril, and luckily myself and Steve and our 2 kids, and Robert, Ben and Maureen. Other family members also visited from time to time. Anne was very generous in offering these wonderful places to share.

We had fires, played cards, watched the tennis, did long walks in the bush, ate fabulous food and laughed and laughed. ‘Five o’clock’ drinkies was quite sacrosanct.

Sadly, “Holmwood” ended for us when our kids became a little older and noisier than a nun was used to - we had it good for a while.

The entertainer

If she was ever looking for another vocation, I think Anne would have made a good wine connoisseur or comedian. She had a keen eye in spotting a fresh wine being opened and was prompt to offer her glass for its appraisal.

A joke was always on the edge of her lips if she could just deliver it in time before she burst into hysterics at her own wit. People were drawn to her because she seemed so happy and she always had a good story to tell. I think her years of teaching kept her young at heart and made her the wonderful social person she was.

Steve Toohey – August 2025

Sister Anne came to our place for a Christmas lunch at Elanora Heights. We had many guests, some from overseas that we didn't even know - they were Christmas "Orphans", brought along by someone because they had no local family to visit.

Anne walked in the door and said in a fairly loud voice "Where's my Chardonnay"?

I was understandably busy at the time and obviously I didn't react quickly enough, as the next LOUD comment (from the lounge) was "STEVEN, WHERE'S MY CHARDONNAY". She scared me, and got it 30 seconds later.

She was a tough Princess.

Written by those referred to above, augmented with photos by Rob Landsberry, last modified 1 October 2025