In 1990, when she was appointed special adviser to Mary Robinson, the country’s first female president, journalist Mairéad Carey described it in the Irish Press as “one of the most significant events for women” of that year.

She was right. 

Not only had Ms Robinson thrown a grenade into the very male and very stale office of the presidency, but she had also brought a woman with her and put her in a role with real clout. 

For the first time in Irish history, there was a woman at the helm and a woman behind the scenes. It felt as if change was really coming.

At the end of that momentous year, Ms Rosney said the election was not only significant for women, but for the whole country, and particularly for young people and emigrants.

She hit the nail on the head. 

At least for me, as I was one of those emigrants who had left Ireland in the late 1980s, not only because jobs were scarce but because it was a stifling and oppressive place — for young women in particular.

Ms Robinson’s election and Ms Rosney’s appointment gave me reason to believe that change was coming. 

I came home to be part of it. Hope was in the air.

As Ms Robinson put it at the time: “I was elected by the women of Ireland, who instead of rocking the cradle, rocked the system.” 

Going into Áras an Uachtaráin in 1990 was “like inventing the wheel”, Ms Rosney later said. 

And it truly was. 

The first thing these two boat-rocking women did was open up the president’s official residence to ordinary mortals.

“We decided that we could either spend the entertainment allocation on 10 grand dinners, or 10,000 cups of tea and a bun. Mary decided on the tea and a bun,” Ms Rosney said. 

There were other landmarks that year. The Church of Ireland ordained its first woman priest, Janet Catterall, at St Fin Barre’s Cathedral in Cork.

The Second Commission on the Status of Women was set up with Ireland’s only female judge, Mella Carroll, as chairperson.

And yet, a Magdalene laundry was still operating in the centre of Dublin, on Seán McDermott St. 

Homosexuality was illegal. As was divorce, and full access to contraception was four years away.

But the straitjacket was loosening. 

What struck me, in particular, was how persistence had won out. Ms Robinson and Ms Rosney first met in 1978 during the fight to preserve the internationally significant Viking settlement uncovered at Wood Quay, Dublin.

Thousands of people joined that fight — and lost. It was a real blow for people power, and for our rich heritage. Yet, the alliance formed at that depressing time was finally bearing fruit.

Part of the success was down to Ms Rosney’s “firm manner”, or so newspaper profiles noted at the time. 

She could be tough in talks, they said, but warm and witty in person. 

Here at last, was a woman who was allowed to show several different faces, and be admired for it.

From the start, this woman born in Cahersiveen, Co Kerry, was a change-maker. 

A graduate of both University College Dublin (science) and Trinity College Dublin (computer practice), she pushed the boundaries early in her career as principal of Rosmini Community School in Drumcondra.

It is impossible to do justice to her life’s work as an educator, trade unionist, environmentalist, heritage activist, strategic planner, and advocate for a better Ireland. 

Two high-profile roles include RTÉ director for communications and secretary to the board of trustees of the Mary Robinson Foundation, but neither captures her immense legacy as a woman who showed us what is possible when you dare to imagine a different Ireland.