Navan town library opened its doors to a gathering of readers, many of whom could recall having seen the Irish writer, Mary Lavin, attending church on Sundays, her three daughters following in a line behind her.
Several people agreed it was extraordinary that such a busy woman, a widow with a farm in nearby Bective to run, could find the time to write. Yet she did. The housework could wait as she spent the morning working on sheets of paper balanced on the bread board across her lap.
Long before Mary Lavin, became a writer, she was a reader.