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Helen Harradence passed on Tuesday, March 10, 2026, in Prince Albert, Sask., her home of 76 years, of natural causes and with family at her side, aged 102.

Helen lived a life of great faith, discipline, and service.

Born on August 12, 1923, in Winnipeg, Man., to the future Bishop of Saskatchewan, The Right Reverend Henry D. Martin and Mrs. Kathleen Martin, Helen joined an established Canadian family.

Her father was an English immigrant from London who graduated from Wycliffe College at the University of Toronto in 1911. Her maternal grandfather was Robert Richey Wilson, an immigrant from the village of Lisbellaw, County Fermanagh, Ireland, who had become a partner in the grocery wholesaler Campbell Bros & Wilson, which was founded in 1882. Many of the company’s buildings and the Wilson family homes are historic landmarks in Western Canada. Her maternal grandmother was Sara Bussell, then Halton, Ont. Bussell House, built in 1865, is also a historic building, located on the 9th Line in the northwest corner of Mississauga, Ont.

Helen was a person of great physical and intellectual capacity.

She possessed a natural sense of self reliance, curiosity, and composure. She was blessed with her father’s height (she was 5’11”), concern for others, and love of nature; and doubly blessed with her mother’s shrewdness, high standards, and joie de vie.

Helen was quiet, observant, and gracious with everyone she encountered. She was inquisitive, thoughtful, and a wonderful audience to everyone she knew well.

Helen had a grand childhood. She particularly loved figure skating at the Winter Club and summers at Lake of the Woods. She graduated secondary school in Winnipeg aged 16, the year her parents moved to Prince Albert and her father began his 20-year assignment serving the Anglican Diocese of Saskatchewan. She attended the University of Manitoba for one year, while living with her grandparents, and then attended Queen’s.

At Queen’s, she led an active social life and played on the women’s varsity basketball team. She studied sciences with the aim of becoming a laboratory technician, but with the encouragement of friends – and a spurring conversation with male medical students of the day, who felt a woman might qualify but would surely never survive the rigours of medical school – she graduated in 1949 in the first class of medicine that had women completing the entire five-year course of study.

During medical school, Helen met her future husband, Clyne Harradence of Prince Albert, Sask., on a visit home. Clyne was sent to Bishopthorpe with specific instructions from his mother Cecilia: “Make sure the Bishop’s daughter has fun while she is here … but not too much fun.” Clyne was smitten on sight, recalling the moment Helen descended the stairs of Bishopthorpe as a revelation. When pressed later in life, Helen admitted that there were “boys at Queen’s who were fairly insistent, but compared to your father and his friends, they were like watching paint dry.”

They were married in Prince Albert on Sept. 30, 1950. At a small luncheon celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary, Clyne closed a brief toast with the thought that he had spent the last 50 years “trying to meet the standard Helen set for them.”

Helen practised medicine in Prince Albert until 1955.

She then raised four sons, was active in ACW of the Cathedral at St. Albans, enlisted her husband to assist the Anglican Church of Canada on a national basis, served on the Public School Board, served on the Public Housing Authority, championed the Carment Centre, and supported her husband’s demanding but meaningful professional career. She patiently tolerated his adventures in business and politics. Helen and Clyne travelled extensively.

In 1954 Helen’s mother purchased a lakefront cabin, Sunset Lodge, at Waskesiu Lake in Prince Albert National Park. The cabin would be a mainstay of Helen’s life, serving as her summer headquarters until she turned 100. A small, close group of families celebrated several summer birthdays annually, held power outage parties on an ad hoc basis, enjoyed perfect weather and reveled in storms that blew down the lake as everyone’s children became adults and then grandchildren appeared.

Over the decades, Helen sailed, canoed, came to the back door when someone arrived asking for “Dr. Martin,” hiked, picked blueberries with Diane McClocklin, played tennis, took children to the outdoor theatre, led picnic outings “for 10 men” with Jean Murphy, cheered on triathletes, sailors, golfers or tennis players, played cards with Donna Craig, and always stopped what she was doing to walk down to the beach if a sailboat was in full flight or loons were swimming by.

In 1992 Helen and Clyne purchased the Shadow Mountain Resort in Palm Desert, California, which became Helen and Clyne’s winter home.

Helen’s iron will was hidden from most. Her motto was “Everything in moderation,” followed closely by “Do your very best.”

She jogged a mile every morning at the lake until her late seventies; she played tennis and had a proper daily swim in the lake into her eighties, she walked (a habit passed down from her mother) a “constitutional” route at both the lake and the desert every morning, and then walked the stairs of her Prince Albert home, when weather kept her inside, after turning 100. She convinced her husband to stop smoking in the late 1950s (mostly). She kept her own accounts in handwritten ledgers. She was an avid, life-long reader, with a penchant for detective procedurals and historical biographies. She was a gracious formal and informal host, always able and always willing to inquire on topics of interest to her guests.

Helen led by example and kept her own counsel. She believed strongly in professional expertise, standards, and duties. If she connected you to the word “disappointed,” which was rare and always on the merits of your behaviour, it was devastating.

Above all, Helen’s life is an example of a profound and enduring faith.

She was a life-long Anglican and a faithful member of the St. Alban’s Cathedral congregation for over 70 years. She cheerfully contributed in any capacity, hosting the Robertas Holiday Fair turkey pie production in her kitchen, cleaning dishes in the hall kitchen after events, holding national offices, and attending the General Synod.

She passionately believed in the power of forgiveness and that God held a plan and a purpose for everyone.

She was the very last of her kind and will be sorely missed.

Helen is survived by her sons, David (Lisa) Harradence of Prince Albert; Keith (Susan) Harradence of Toronto; The Honourable Hugh (Sue) Harradence of Prince Albert; and James (Michele) Harradence of Houston; by her grand-daughters, Celia Harradence of Saskatoon; and Simone Harradence of New York City; by her grandsons, Adam Harradence of Saskatoon; William Harradence of Augsburg, Germany; Aidan Harradence of London, England; and Luc Harradence of Houston; by her cousin, Joan Rue of Winnipeg; by her nieces, Kathleen Addison of Vancouver and Catherine (Mr. Justice Terence Semenuk, ret’d) Harradence of Calgary; and by her nephew, David (Stephanie, Patrick, Alison, Jennifer) Williams of Vancouver.

Helen was predeceased by her husband of 62 years, J. H. Clyne Harradence; her elder sister, Margaret Williams, of Vancouver; her brother-in-law, Mr. Justice A. M. ‘Milt’ Harradence of Calgary; her sister-in-law, Catherine Harradence of Calgary; her nephews, Rod Harradence and Bruce Harradence; and her nephew-in-law, Frank Addison of Vancouver.

March 28, 1932 – February 12, 2026

On Feb. 12, 2026, Donald Lloyd, husband of Hazel Mary for 63 years, died at home after a brief illness. He leaves son Ian R. Mackenzie (Julie); grandchildren Alexander and Laura, in Ottawa; and daughter Helen M. Mackenzie (Bill Kehew), grandchildren Everett and Jessie, in Woodstock, Ontario; and many nieces and nephews across Canada.

Born in Truro, Nova Scotia, to William and Jessie (MacIntosh), he graduated from ����ֱ�� in 1954. He worked in Toronto and Montreal, where he met and married Hazel in 1959. In 1969, they settled in Ottawa. Upon retirement in 1988, he enjoyed travel and the company of his family and friends.

Thanks are due to the team of home healthcare professionals who cared for him in the last days of his life. 

His memory would be best honoured by a donation to any favourite charity. Donald's favourites included Seed Change and the Cancer Research Society.

August 29, 2002 – January 3, 2026

Hannah was born on our fourth wedding anniversary. She should be celebrating our 50th with us, if Elise and I are so blessed to make it that far, but that was not to be. After a long illness, we lost our beautiful daughter in the early days of the New Year (Jan. 3, 2026).

Hannah was a determined and inquisitive child from the youngest age. She read voraciously, drew and painted for hours, and would not accept a superficial answer to any question. Visiting Ottawa museums, she would lag behind, studying every exhibit intently, such that we would have to backtrack anxiously to find her in the crowd. Walking with our beloved pup Gracie on the coldest winter nights, Hannah would demand that we grill her on her multiplication tables. Never could we stop at 12; I was always straining to calculate 16x16 in my head to check her work as we walked.

A Christmas weekend at the Chateau Montebello meant swimming in the enormous indoor pool with Hannah and her sisters, Emily and Lily, clinging to my back. They could swim, but nothing was more grand than to have Daddy do all the work. It was only a couple of years later that I would be reading a book poolside into the evening while Hannah completed the 100 laps she insisted she needed to do, for reasons never explained.

Hannah played competitive soccer and hockey from childhood through high school. In truth, these sports did not come naturally to her. She was often tentative and uncertain, struggling with the pace of play. But when a test of painful endurance was required, then she would shine. Running laps around the soccer field before or after practice, she had to be first; likewise, skating the Minnesota Mile at hockey practice. One year, soccer training was held at a field next to a steep hill, with a requirement to run to the top and jog back down a few times. Hannah would stay on the course running circuits up that rutted dusty trail, long after the others were packing their bags and collecting their water bottles. Hannah had done well with swimming as a young child, but with three daughters and the number of activities increasing, it was easiest and natural to stream all of them into the same two sports. I often wonder if we let Hannah down by that; she probably would have excelled in an endurance activity and felt a sense of accomplishment and confidence she didn’t otherwise find.

Schoolwork was not without its tears. Hannah could not let a project go and hand it in and was usually still hard at work on it during breakfast the morning of the final deadline. When I once asked why the cover page of a written assignment needed such elaborate artwork, she looked at me in frustration, explaining that if it wasn’t worthwhile to do a 110 per cent job then it wasn’t worth doing at all. Another time, after hours on the kitchen floor carefully cutting small squares of sandpaper to make tiny shingles for the roof of a popsicle-stick house Hannah was building, she admitted the house wasn’t required but seemed like a good adjunct to her English essay.

But this all made her a fine student. 

Hannah was a Silver Medalist at the Glebe Collegiate Institute in Ottawa, graduated with First Class Honours in the Life Sciences program at Queen’s, and was in the second year of her Master of Science degree in Cellular and Molecular Medicine in the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Ottawa.

No, this shouldn’t read like a resume. Please forgive that. There will be no graduation dinner at which to tell these stories and raise a toast.

Hannah carried her love of drawing and painting through her life. Our home is full of canvases she painted based on themes we proposed to her and many more were gifts for grandparents. A box of new coloured pencils given to her for Christmas this season waits unopened on the mantle above the fireplace where she liked to warm herself and draw in recent months.

But none of the foregoing matters as much as Hannah’s character and deep compassion. She loved animals, from the horses in the early days of horsemanship lessons at the long-gone equestrian centre in Nepean, to Goody the bull at the Agricultural Museum on the Central Experimental Farm, through the lifetime of family pets. Our photo records are dominated by pictures taken of cats, Oscar and Wilbur, who were with us before Hannah was born; Fluffy the rabbit (an abandoned domestic rabbit rescued from the front lawn); our dog Gracie, who accompanied Hannah on so many long walks and adventures; and our kitten, Georgie, who joined us in October and was a comfort to Hannah in these last months.

Hannah was a caring person. She was very involved in the Best Buddies program for those with intellectual and developmental disabilities while she was in high school and at Queen’s. Returning to Ottawa for graduate school, Hannah spent many weekends volunteering at the Roger Neilson Children’s Hospice. She found working with the children there with life-limiting illnesses to be uplifting and inspiring.

Hannah’s giving nature continued to the end. Through the Trillium Gift of Life Network, she became a donor of eye tissue, heart valves, skin, bone, and other tissue. We take some solace in that, as she would have wanted it to be no other way.

Perhaps an obituary should not contain so much first-person narrative or take such a personal tone. But I am not writing to provide an account of a person who lived a long life, and the aim is to celebrate and memorialize the person, their experiences, and their accomplishments. I write instead as a grieving parent, sharing the loss of a beloved child, taken far too young. No parent should have to write their child’s obituary.

I was there at Hannah’s birth. Tired and lacking sleep. Tedium. The coarse blue and white sheets. Then suddenly she was at risk of inhaling meconium and her pulse dropping. At once there must have been seven people in the room wheeling in a series of carts. I vividly remember the obstetrician saying, “This baby is coming out now,” and the tugging. It all went well, and I was left standing there with tears on my cheeks, and I saw the medical staff glancing up at me as they left the room. I kissed Hannah on her scalp.

Twenty-three years later, I come into the same kind of room, with the same coarse blue and white sheets. Hannah is so small and still. What hair she has is thin and flattened to her scalp. I kiss her now cool forehead once again.

Why?

The ultrasound, the folic acid, no coffee, childbirth classes, coming home from the hospital with the new car seat. Then bath time, bedtime stories. Mothers’ groups and play dates. Artissimo at the National Gallery, Kumon, piano lessons, swimming lessons, skating lessons, extra soccer practice, French tutoring. University applications, references. All of it, stretching into distant memory. Yet we have ended up here. Life is a mystery.

Thank you to the so many compassionate, thoughtful, and hardworking staff at the Kingston General Hospital, the Ottawa Hospital, Ottawa Paramedic Service, and other organizations who helped Hannah.

To my beautiful daughters, Emily and Lily: Thank you for being so brave and letting your father lean on you for support so many times. Please let your mother and me be part of your lives forever, and wherever your future leads you.

Finally, no one could ask for a better wife and mother than Elise. She has devoted everything to her family. There is too much to explain. For now, I will just mention the many weeks she slept in a chair at Hannah’s bedside, on different occasions spanning months, caring for Hannah when she was in the hospital, and her tireless efforts encouraging, sustaining, and supporting Hannah in recent years in an effort to help her be well. No one else could have done it, and we will never forget your sacrifices.

Hannah is survived by her parents, David and Elise Schwartz; her sisters, Emily and Lily Schwartz; her maternal grandparents, Alice and William McGill; her aunts and uncles, Regina and David Corrigan, Jennifer McGill, Brian Schwartz, Amy and Alistair Franke, Jonathan and Shelley Schwartz, Daniel Schwartz, and Irene O’Brien, and Sarah and Dennis Froese; and cousins, Alex and John Corrigan, Gabrielle Franke, Lincoln and Elton Schwartz, and Carmen and Branden Froese. She is predeceased by her paternal grandparents, Bernard and Janet Schwartz.

Hannah, we all love you so much and hold you close to our hearts. It is inexplicable why you had to leave us so soon. We will carry your memory with us always and hope to be reunited someday in a better place.

Hannah would have welcomed donations made to the e or to the worthy cause of your choice.

March 8, 1930 – January 23, 2026

Clifford Wallace Overton, 95, passed away on the afternoon of Jan. 23, 2026, surrounded by family. Despite increasing frailty and challenges with balance, he remained determined and independent.

Clifford was predeceased by his wife of 50 years, Joan Beverley (née Cullen). Both grew up in Kirkland Lake, Ont., where they met and married. Clifford remained devoted to Joan until her passing in 2002. Later, he met Francoise, with whom he developed a loving companionship; she remained a devoted partner until his passing. His family is deeply grateful for her care and support, particularly during his final two years.

He is survived by his sons, Crandell (Barbara), Wayne (Sue), and Grant (Kim), and his daughter, Laurie (Paul); 10 grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren; and nieces, Margaret Foster and Heather Dick. He was predeceased by his parents, Herbert and Estelle Overton, and his sisters, Marion (James Dick) and Isabel (Dr. Alfred Bader).

Clifford graduated with Honours in Chemistry and Mathematics (Arts 1953) from Queen’s and began his career in metallurgy with Inco in Sudbury. From 1957 to 1966, he lived in Peru with his family while working at the Cerro de Pasco Corporation, eventually serving as assistant general superintendent of mill production. Life at high altitude in the Andes was challenging but rewarding, and he maintained enduring friendships and professional relationships there.

Upon returning to Canada, he worked as mill manager at Bethlehem Copper Ltd. in British Columbia’s Highland Valley, and later as a consultant on metallurgical operations around the world. Through his technical expertise and attentive oversight, he left a lasting mark on the operations he oversaw and on the lives of many employees and their families.

Outside of work, Clifford enjoyed investing, singing in church choirs, gospel groups, and, later, a barbershop quartet. He loved gardening, taking great pleasure in cultivating a wide variety of vegetables and fruits, and earlier in life he enjoyed fishing, hiking, and family outings. Widely regarded as intelligent, well-read, and informed on world affairs, he valued honesty, clarity, and integrity. Those who knew him appreciated his predictability, directness, and dry sense of humour.