Maeve Binchy

Maeve was the most organised person I had ever met – and remained so. She came into the office early and had finished the day’s work by half-past one or two when she went to lunch, always with company (I went when I could) and lunch often continued late into the afternoon.
She was a demon card player. I recall many wonderful evenings of wine, cards (mostly solo whist, I think) and an endless stream of visiting friends. Maeve’s wedding to Gordon Snell was a memorable affair. They arrived at the reception – at a big Irish hotel in London – in a horse and carriage. The poet, Adrian Henri, had written a poem especially for the occasion.
When they moved back to Dublin I met up with them every year at the Merriman Summer School held each August on the west coast of County Clare. We had great fun. We played golf with Gordon and bridge with Maeve, who had become an enthusiast. She forbade tut-tutting and”why did you play that…partner” style of talk. She was endlessly entertaining. Her anecdotes had us helpless with laughter.
By then, I was a reporter and documentary film maker. Whenever I made a programme, there would be a card from Maeve and Gordon to say how much they’d enjoyed it.
I interviewed her for the BBC N.I. TV series The Interview. It was hard to edit down to 30 minutes – every sentence was a gem. She had the crew in stitches.
When I stopped being a reporter and started writing novels, Maeve was encouraging and full of helpful insights about the publishing industry.
Four weeks before she died, my husband, Richard, and I had lunch with Maeve and Gordon at their home in Dalkey. Maeve was her usual warm, entertaining, informative, positive self. We laughed a lot – as was always the case whenever Maeve and Gordon were around. She mentioned that she was going into hospital again the following week. She had been in and out of hospital for some time – never complaining, never making what we Irish call the poor mouth about her failing health – and I thought this would be another temporary stay, that she would be home again and that we would see her on our next visit to Ireland. It wasn’t to be.
It’s hard to put how I feel into words – Maeve would have had no difficulty at all. She always knew the right thing to say, could always find the words to advise, console, help.
This morning I began re-reading Light a Penny Candle. She came alive again on the page. I was immediately interested in her characters, caught up in their story.
Maeve was a story-teller par excellence. Her last words of advice to me – she was always generous to fellow writers – were, “Just get it down on the page. Get on with it.” I will.
Bless you Maeve. You weren’t religious. You didn’t believe in heaven. But your spirit lives on in Gordon, in your family, in your friends, in your books, in your millions of readers. RIP.