I remember Uncle Albert as a quiet, steady soul — a gentleman who met life with patience, humour, and a soft kind of strength. When his health changed and he needed more care, he faced it with the same dignity he carried all his days.

Those who knew him remember the good things first: the smell of his homemade bread, sliced thick and shining with butter; the kitchen‑chair haircuts that came with more laughter than skill; the stories he told during a Mug Up, each one drifting along until it landed in a smile.

Even after he moved away, that spark never left him. A visit with Uncle Albert always meant a few yarns, a few laughs, and that familiar twinkle in his eye — as if no time had passed at all.

He was an uncle, a storyteller, a bread-maker, a kitchen barber. And he was a Godfather who stood for you before you could stand for yourself.

Today I honour him with the same warmth he gave so freely. A good man, remembered well.