I remember as a child my sister and I being very close to both Mark and Julia as the age difference was only 6 years between herself and me. I was only six when I discovered that I was an auntie a second time but thought of her at that time as a sister. I would like to think that during the time we grew up that all four of us were very close as my sister and I were never called auntie by either Mark or Julia. As we grew up and our children were born Andrew, Samuel, Emerald and Rebecca. They were all brought up in the same way as we were and all played together although Rebecca was a little bit younger than the other three. When my own son Samuel was diagnosed with leukaemia Julia was very supportive and gave me great strenght and when I eventually lost him to the illness although Julia herself was in a considerable amount of pain she gave me support, love and encouragement and was always there for a shoulder to cry on. When Julia's health eventually worsened she tried to carry on, always smiling, and as her health gradually worsened not once did she complain. I know that she is always there and when I have been to my brother's house I have always felt her presence there as I feel that she like my son will never die and that they like the poem are just in the next room. Amanda King (Julia's Aunt)

It has been a comfort to read through the tributes and memories that have been posted, some shared memories from people that I have not seen for many years, some from family, and those from Julia’s close friends and colleagues, all expressing in their personal way the affection and warmth that we all had for Julia. My strongest memory of Julia was the strength of character and selfless determination that Julia showed us throughout her illness. When the going got tough, Julia kept on going – as a mother, sister, daughter, friend or family, often putting the needs of others before her own. When Julia was informed that her illness had become terminal, she had obviously decided that it was important for me that whilst on a family visit, she told me the news in person. I found it a little curious that mum and dad were discretely leaving the room for no apparent reason, but once alone, Julia explained her situation with a directness and sensitivity that only she could have mustered. There was a gentle hug, and a lot of discussion, and at the time I thought that I handled the situation quite well. Looking back however, I realise that really I was trying to avoid saying anything that might upset Julia because I felt that she had enough to deal with, and took a lot of strong mixed feelings away with me. Julia of course, with the perception of a sister, was fully aware of this and a couple of days later was able to put her own tragic situation to one side and call me to check that I was OK. Since Julia passed away, there have been times when life has been difficult - but never as difficult as it was for Julia - and I have asked myself what she would do. Every time, a reply cuts through the self-indulgent worry, a voice with a down to earth directness that brings strength and encouragement. Its usually something like “Stop worrying and get on with it, because I know you can do it” and it wouldn’t feel the same coming from anyone else. Julia will always be with me, and I hope that her courageous spirit will continue to be an inspiration to everyone that she knew and loved.

I remember Julia talking enthusistically about going to Uni to train as a teacher. Little did I realise then that teaching was in her genes, as shortly after that I think I turned up at Greenleaf to support a Deaf child ( Ismael), only to meet up with you both. On another occasion I sat next to Julia at a Gwyn Jones fashion show, organised by the Friends. We sat and watched the fashions modeled on the catwalk and had a chance to buy them at ridiculously knocked down prices. Such was our entertainment in the 90s! I remember Julia for her laughter and enthusiasm and for her positive outlook. Once her chemotherapy kicked in I remember her saying at least she would not need to shave her legs or pluck her eye brows, what a spirit that showed. She is fondly remembered.