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Dear Henry and family

I am writing to express my great sorrow and sympathy on hearing the news about Audrey. Christine, Sebastian and I pass on love and best wishes to you all, and hope that the next while is as bearable as possible.

I feel lucky and honoured to have been able to see Audrey regularly over the last few years. It has been one of my most cherished family experiences.

Your Mum and wife had such a clear sense that the family's stories should be shared and passed on. If that sounds a little serious, then of course it was anything but - within a few minutes of ringing the bell I would be rolling around at Audrey's stories of growing up in Belfast, of her and our Mum's experiences at school and at home with Granny, and after moving to Canada.

Then there would be a serious story, which would bring me right back to the world in which she grew up, in such a different time and place. An afternoon with Audrey would always made me think how complex our lives are, how one life's experiences could fill up a library, and how telling stories with humour was the only way to tell them. That is, if you were lucky enough to do it with her kind of style.

I would come away trying to remember the details so I could repeat them to Christine or to Mum. I might add that this was one guaranteed way of getting Mum to tell us more about our Aunt and counter the stories with sisterly tales of her own.

I have very clear and present memories of Audrey since our early childhood. The Canadian visit at the start of the 70s with sun splitting the sky, driving with all of us packed into the stationwagon, visiting Hornby island with NIxon on trial in the papers and the Indian-Pakistan war brewing on the radio. At home, the world in which Audrey and our Mum grew up in was being rocked by events - but then, Granny kept her routine going through everything and showed that life really does go on, whatever.

Audrey came to Dubliin in the 90s, visiting our apartment in Dun Laoghaire, bring a beautiful gift for Sebastian, and we spent fun afternoons in the coffee shops there and at the Shelbourne. It was great taking tea with our elegant and glamorous Aunt with the incredible accent in the front lounge of the Shelbourne, as she tried to work out was it a current or past James Bond who had just come in through the revolving door.

Then in 1998 I was asked to play at a couple of Canadian folk festivals, which started my relationship both with the Canadian music scene, and regular meetings with you all.

After a great week in Vancouver, I remember Christine and I nervously setting off for Seattle with the guitars in the boot and Audrey leaning in through the window, telling us an anecdote about Granny and a brush with US Customs, giving me some advice which I have never forgotten, "Andrew, tell them you're going to Seattle to see the roses and the Space Needle. They'll wave you through".

I would always ask that she play the piano, and after saying no a few times and denying that she ever practised, or could even remember which were the black keys and which the white, she would knock off a Schubert song or two with grace and style. It was always very moving hearing our dear Aunt playing the same kind of piano as at home in a similar fashion to our dear mother, on the other side of the world.

I remember someone asking me why I was so emotional after seeing my Aunt. If you think about it, that's not difficult to answer. Quite apart from Audrey's own character and fun and beauty, I had often been away from Mum for so long on tour that seeing Audrey brought her into the room in an instant. It always was very moving to be so sitting beside the closest person to Mum on earth, Dad excepted, and who reminded me of Mum and Granny so much in looks and spirit.

In 2005 I passed through from 40 degree Melbourne on the way to Whitehorse in the Yukon. Audrey looked up the temperature "30 below, Andrew, you will need these," as she handed me a 'below freezing' kit of long johns, gloves, scarf etc. just as Mum would have done. There was a beer in the fridge and one on the table. Orange juice the way I remember from our first Canadian visit. Beautiful dinners, and the way she would look out the window as if into another world where she could see the people she was talking about, living in the present. Her voice rising the way Granny's did, and then descending - often into a hearty cackle.

I have just been looking at the photos of the last time I was in Vancouver. I am attaching them to this email. It was a Sunday afternoon in July. Beautiful weather outside, clouding over slightly. I had been out walking, close to Jericho Beach, on a day-long break from some innercity Vancouver recording.

Someone had said that Audrey might be a little forgetful, and I approached the apartment with slight trepidation, a feeling dispelled as soon as I walked in. She played the piano, told stories old and new, made drinks, asked about Christine, Sebastian, Mum and the family in Ireland. It was a great afternoon and I remember feeling tearful going, in the hallway. I looked up from the driveway below, up to the balcony - hoping Audrey would come out. Sure enough, she did. I took a photo as we waved goodbye to each other.

I have often wondered if that would be the last time I saw her. Especially when she had to go into hospital and Mum flew over to see her. I felt inside that it was. That time, I was so pleased that the two sisters could be together - I am sure this helped them both immeasurably.

It turns out that was the last time I saw Audrey. Even now, just writing Audrey seems strange, so strongly was the phrase "Auntie Audrey and Uncle Henry" hard-wired into our upbringing and family experience. An indivisible entity. Far away but referred to as close.

I will always remember Audrey pulling up at International Arrivals at Vancouver airport in the white sports car, scarf blowing in the breeze and a cigarette in her hand. It was like being collected by Grace Kelly, and people made way as she stepped out of the car.

You know these things better than I do, and there was also of course Audrey's professional life, which I didn't see first hand but can appreciate that she was an amazing nurse as well as a mother.

I hope we can talk more when I see you next. It has been great getting to know all of you a little, and some of you a lot, over the past while. None moreso than your dear mother, and as I just said to Paul on the phone, you had - and have - a great Mum.

Lots of love

Andrew & family