Sharing warm words and a birthday

My first memories of him visiting us in Dublin were of a tall imposing man, with a great air of warmth, a very smiley face and a lovely deep northern accent. He was dressed in tweed, a little like my father, and later he would often wear the knitted tie that my mother made for her closest friends. I think his was in red mohair.
I see him always enjoying himself thoroughly, deep in conversation with my father — you could read the satisfaction of their shared time together — and bursting into laughter, arms folded, shoulders shaking, gleeful giggles with my mother. There was always the slight air of mischief around the table.