Same family, different memories: Deirdre Brady's memoir is gentler than the best-selling account of their home life by her more famous sibling, Nuala O'Faolain, writes Róis ín Ingle.

Younger sister, same parents, different memories: the sub-heading for Deirdre Brady's first book hints at the fascination this gentle collection of memoirs must have held for TownHouse publisher Treasa Cody when it landed on her desk. Later, when the publication of the book was mooted, one of Brady's sons came up with some appropriate titles. "Are You Somebody's Sister?" or even "Are you Nobody?" were jokingly suggested and discounted before Brady settled on Thank You For the Days.

"Being Nuala O'Faolain's sister has been a help and a hindrance," she says, puffing on her pipe in her cosy home in Artane, Dublin. Obviously, having a well-known sibling was a help. The phenomenal success of her older sister's memoir Are You Somebody?, which explored the impact on the former Irish Times journalist of her dysfunctional childhood, alcoholic mother and famous, charming and mostly absent father, meant there was a ready-made public interest in Brady's life.

"When Treasa first came to see me I asked her straight out would she be interested in publishing the book if I wasn't Nuala's sister and she said, probably not, no," Brady recalls. "Later, when I had worked on it a bit more, she said that as it stood she would have published it whether I was related to Nuala or not. That made me very happy."

But the family tie was still a bit of a hindrance, with the mother of seven admitting she would have loved the book to "fly all on its own".

Reading the memoir, which has O'Faolain's blessing, it's clear that it is in no way a response to Are You Somebody?, and those readers expecting the rattling of yet more family skeletons will come away disappointed.

On publication nine years ago, O'Faolain's book caused division in her family due to the raw and unflinching way she told the story of their unconventional upbringing. O'Faolain's father, who wrote under the pseudonym Terry O'Sullivan in the Evening Press, was depicted as an adulterous wife-beater who showed only sporadic interest in his family. Her mother was, according to O'Faolain, devoid of maternal feelings and lived "like a shy animal on the outskirts of the human settlement".

In Brady's reminiscences there are no rebuttals of the more damaging claims about her parents and barely a reaction to the runaway success of her sister's critically acclaimed book. And while there is no shying away from her mother's drink problem and the general indifference of both parents to their children, her story is so different to O'Faolain's as to make the reader wonder whether they shared the same upbringing at all.

Brady has been writing "little pieces" about herself and her family all her life. Three years ago on her 60th birthday, her husband Eamon presented her with a bound book of these vignettes entitled In My Life.

When she sent copies to the rest of her family one sister responded by saying, "it's the rose-coloured glasses version, but then, that's you, Dee"; this observation holds the key to the style and content of Thank You For The Days.

O'Faolain went on to a life of great academic and professional success, albeit one marred by the echoes of her unusual background. Brady, on the other hand, left school at 15 and spent time working in various clerical jobs before marrying into a solid Dublin family, creating for herself the kind of secure existence she never enjoyed as a child. Eamon had a steady job in a printing plant, while his parents embraced his new wife as one of their own.

"Full credit to Mrs Brady," she says. "One night she told me she loved me like her own daughter and I know Mr Brady was fond of me too."

The memoir is, for the most part, a snapshot of a Dublin cityscape and culture that no longer exists. Her husband's father reared cows in the North Strand and was the local vegetable man. Brady family holidays were spent in a wooden shack by the sea in Rush. In one section Brady recounts how she made sure to go to the local butchers to fetch her husband's dinner before giving in to the contractions that preceded the arrival of their first child.

But it's the O'Faolain side of the story that will be of most interest. According to her mother, Grainne was the "good-looking one", Nuala was "the brainy one" and Deirdre was the "nice one". She says she grew into her "nice" role and describes herself as a "vague, biddable, unobtrusive" child.

She writes of happy childhood memories from her Communion Day or getting a bicycle for Christmas. "I felt loved," she says. "If you don't realise other families get kisses and hugs you don't miss those things."

Accusations of autobiographical myopia don't bother her. She accepts that she has a different view from her more prolific sister.

"I don't think this is the rose-coloured glasses version - I just think it's my version. Nuala is more intelligent, more sensitive and she was older than me so she noticed more things. As I say in my book, Are You Somebody was her truth. I think I was very dopey and kind of innocent." This last remark ties in with the air of innocence and warmth that pervades most of the book and fits well with the easygoing demeanour of the author herself.

During the interview she turns to her husband Eamon for support with trickier questions and speaks - over a plate piled high with his tasty sandwiches - about their "spiritual bond". They pray together every night .

They go collecting furniture together from skips - the cupboards and shelves in the kitchen are homemade and the chairs around the table are all unique in character. It's a family of Scrabble tournaments, Sunday dinners and uncomplicated domesticity. It's obvious that most of the time she revels in this routine although that wasn't always the case.

"It took me 10 years to get used to marriage and children," she says. "When we were teenagers I broke it off with Eamon a couple of times because I couldn't reconcile my two different lives. The nature of my childhood meant I had a lot of freedom but my other life with the Bradys was mapped out for me and I didn't like the idea of being tied down."

While O'Faolain's memoir is an account of a life spent struggling with the personal repercussions of her upbringing, Brady seems to have emerged relatively unscathed.

"As a teenager I was looking for a life that I had some control over. I wanted to get married and have a little house and have a family. I was never one for analysing or going too deep into things," she says. "The chaos in my childhood made me swing more towards conservatism and conventionality. I still like safety and security. I am blessed with an optimistic nature and I think that helped, although sometimes I wonder what would have happened had I not met the Bradys."

In later years her relationship with her father deepened as he passed his love of classical music on to her. She says her relationship with her mother was more like one she had with her children. "She was more like a child than a mother," she says.

There are, however disinclined she is to dwell on them, some family shadows that remain. She writes about the time as a teenager when she began leaving "the remnants of my family to fend for themselves" as she went socialising with her friends and began her relationship with Eamon. At the erratic O'Faolain home in Clontarf the younger siblings - her mother had nine children altogether - were left to bring themselves up as their mother descended into alcoholism and their father became increasingly caught up in his glittering career.

"I feel guilty about it but I wouldn't dream of asking what that experience was like for them. I think they have all dealt with it themselves. The younger ones are wonderful people, no credit at all to me. In her book Almost There, Nuala writes about the silences in a family that are essential to its preservation and I know what she means. There are more comfortable silences in our family now, though."

She speaks with sadness about the death of her two younger brothers, Dermot and Don. "They both, especially Don, adored Dad but never felt they had his attention," she says. She and Nuala, always close, have got even closer over the years and Brady is clearly as impressed by her sister now as she was in her childhood. "She is such a unique person. Such an outspoken and courageous person. She would go to Timbuktu just to send you a postcard. She does things I would never dream of and she is so spontaneous and generous too," she says.

On her foray into writing Brady says: "Nuala writes for a living and is extremely talented, I wrote this for pleasure." She herself is an accomplished artist, learning piano in her 30s and going back to school when her children were grown up to do three Leaving Cert subjects. She finished her art exam in hospital while recovering from an aneurysm.

She is typically understated about her writing career. "I don't expect to make much money from the book and I might not write another but I will be very excited to see it in the library," she says.

As I leave, Eamon is getting ready to prepare the evening meal of spaghetti bolognese as Lyric fm plays quietly in the background.

"I don't want to ruffle any feathers with this book," she says. Whatever about her more famous sister, that just isn't Deirdre Brady's style.

Thank You For The Days is published on Thursday by TownHouse, €7.99