Gwendolyn MacEwen pictured with father

Before I begin with my memories of Gwen, there's something I must say. Much has been made of our mother's illness and how it affected Gwen in such a negative way. However, very little has been written about the positive influence our father had on Gwen's writing. It was our father who gave us both our love of books and language. No swearing or slang in our household - 'the dictionary is full of wonderful words - use them!' Dad was Gwen's staunchest supporter and his belief in her abilities never faltered. It was our father who gave Gwen the confidence to pursue her love of writing.

When Gwen died in 1987, I was overwhelmed by the attention of TV, radio, newspapers and magazines. Her life was thrust under the media microscope and her life as a poet and writer examined. Everyone seemed to overlook the fact that there was more to Gwen than her writing. Our parents were no longer living, but she was still a sister, aunt to three nephews and two nieces, and an important part of our family life.

When Gwen was born I was almost eight years old; I hadn't been told a baby was coming (one didn't mention such things as pregnancy in our home) so when she arrived I was a little confused, very excited and somewhat jealous; until that time I had been an only child. She was a beautiful baby and a very pretty and well behaved child. Because of the difference in our ages, we were not too close although I would take her for walks in the park, to the movies, and all the other things big sisters do. Our relationship began to change when we moved to Winnipeg, leaving friends and family in Toronto. We became closer and as the years passed, developed a very strong friendship.

Age 3

Summers spent at the beach - vacations on Georgian Bay or Lake Simcoe - dad teaching her to swim and me so proud of her.

I remember one morning in Winnipeg (Gwen would be about 9 years old), leaving the house and there was Gwen (still Wendy then) lying on the front lawn with what must have been every dog in the neighbourhood jumping on, around and over her, licking her face, and Gwen laughing and enjoying every minute. She had a great love of animals, particularly cats, often bringing home strays.

Also in Winnipeg, Gwen began playing the violin and I must confess the practice sessions were very hard on the ears. But she persevered and became an accomplished violinist.

The announcement to the family when she was 12 or 13 years of age that she wished to be called Gwendolyn or Gwen (no longer Wendy) as this was more appropriate for someone who was going to become a famous writer. The announcement was taken quite seriously by all, except our mother who called her Wendy always.

The string of boyfriends who were brought to visit during her high school years. All quite serious young men, very good looking and all adored her.

All the times she offered to babysit so she could spend more time with her nieces and nephews. Family picnics on the beach when Gwen lived on the Toronto islands.

Her comforting presence when my (second) husband died, the way she just took over the daily routine and care of the children.

How my children loved her to stay with them when I would take a couple of days' break. No one cooked quite like their Auntie Gwen. When she flipped a hotcake, one was never quite sure where it would land.

When she met Nikos Tsingos (her second husband) and how much in love she was; he was, and remained, the love of her life.

How thrilled my two oldest children (then age 12 and 13) were when she took them to Expo '67.

And again how thrilled my oldest daughter (then about 14) was to go with her to Ottawa and sit in on radio/television interviews and an evening of Gwen reading at Carlton University.

The many hours we spent together discovering that, although our lives had taken entirely different paths, we still had so much in common.

Our last family Christmas (1986) when the 'prize' in Gwen's Christmas cracker was wax lips and how she kept us laughing as she used them to create a variety of characters.

Carol Wilson