My mother's brother, my Uncle Dennis, joined the Canadian army early in the Second World War and was shipped out to Germany. He fell in love with the country/beer and, eventually, with a Germany lady, Ursula, who preferred to be called Ursel. She was tall and blond and buxom, a young man's dream come true.

She spoke some English, even so Uncle Dennis set about to learn German - no problem for him so long as he could talk to the beautiful Ursel. Their conversations taught him that she was also wise and kind and had a pleasingly old fashion attitude that a woman should care for her man. She was perfect. Best of all, she loved him too.

A soldier will travel and move home often throughout his career and, except for those short-term or military-only times, he takes his family with him. While Uncle Dennis was perfectly content to remain in Europe, there were stints of his being based in Canada. It was during those times that I had the chance to get to know my Aunt Ursel in the first place.

My uncle and I were talking about it the other day: I have a really clear memory of the first time I saw her, coming off the platform at Union Station with my uncle, both of them pushing trolleys loaded with tremendous suitcases. I could only have been 5 or 6 years old on that day, but her face rings through as clear as a bell.

They always stayed with my grandparents who lived in a charming cottage in Clarkson backing onto a well wooded lot of several acres. Their house was small, but it was so welcoming that it seemed large.

Part of what took up space in the tremendous suitcases were the "feather beds" Aunt Ursel always took with them wherever they went. These marvels of comfort put our "duvets" to shame as being mere bed coverings. These were like giant pillows, with no stitching except around the edges, full of feathers and down. Aunt Ursel would fluff them up on the bed and then toss me into the middle of them. I have never otherwise seen one over here although I expect they can still be purchased in Germany.

She adored my grandmother immediately. My grandmother was a nurse, a practical person who doted on her husband, her two children - my mother and uncle - her only grandchild (me) and Aunt Ursel. They loved to gossip, to complain about their men and to cook.

Luckily enough, I was too small and was most willing to be considered incompetent and probably beyond teaching while that kitchen was filled with the talents that my mother, my aunt and my grandmother brought to it. By George, I was more than ready to sit on the couch beside my uncle while the winter weather did whatever it liked in the woods outside, while those great ladies talked happily together and produced some of the finest meals I have ever had anywhere.

And, as a bonus, I was not even allowed into their presence when it was time to clean up! I remember one year, after Christmas Lunch, Uncle Dennis took his life in his hands and went into the kitchen to see if he could score the neck for him and me to share.

The howls of: "What do you want?" "Who said you could come in here?" were like thunder clouds. Brave soldier that he was, he took it, blaming me, naturally, with: "I've got a starving little girl in there. How's she going to finish her book with nothing to eat?" "Oh, Den," this was Aunt Ursel, "you've just had lunch!" Steady to the end, he remonstrated: " Just?! That was all an hour ago, at least."

He came away with the neck, held it out to me to grab a portion and we resumed our labours of loafing in great spirits.

Those were good days - I guess those were some of my "good old days"!

My aunt and uncle came less to Canada as the years went by but before too long, I was travelling to Europe and, indeed, living in Europe. So, we were together there quite often.

It was very instructive to live, even for short spells of a couple of weeks, with them in Germany. You will always learn more about a place by living with people who live there than you will as a simple visitor. My aunt was a great one for explaining things; she was a happy browser, frugal without stinginess. A clever balance.

And she was bossy and still convinced that I was not ever going to be really competent at domestic affairs. I loved it and the kid in me who sat contentedly on the couch while the ladies did the dishes was still content when Aunt Ursel took a chore away from me because she was so sure I wouldn't do it right - and she cared so much that everything be done right.

She was very excited about Patricia's birth and they came to England soon after to meet her and visit there for a while. They had never had children, which was certainly a source of sadness, for Aunt Ursel especially. She made a great fuss of Patricia and spoiled her at every opportunity while instructing me not to - of course.

As Patricia grew up, we taught her our favourite card games so that she could make a fourth.

Once we were visiting with Colin shortly after we were married and I had lost a button off a sweater. He asked Aunt Ursel for a needle and threat and shocked her to her bones by sewing that button on for me. The next day at breakfast, when I had not yet poured Colin his coffee, she said to me: "Well, Constance, won't you serve your man coffee?"

We still laugh about it: I pour his coffee but he pours the wine.

Well, my aunt and uncle will be married 50 years this year, but her health is failing her now. I have not seen them for some years as we have not been overseas for quite a while.

Nevertheless, she has been an important part of my life, a completely generous person with her affection. Her days in Canada were her best memories and we were her favourite people.

She and Uncle Dennis have loved and cared for each other all those 50 years. They loved to dance; they laughed easily together; they battled superficially, remaining dear friends all the way.

You can't say better than that, can you?