A new anthology of writing by 'Irish Times' journalists in the 1970s weighs in a little light for an era of huge political and social change, writes Eileen Battersby

Anthologists live dangerously. Not that they climb mountains or challenge tigers, but they risk irritating people. And people can be nasty critics, readier to attack anthologists for their selections, their inclusions and exclusions, than to commend them for their time and effort.

Elgy Gillespie left Ireland, and The Irish Times, 17 years ago, after 15 years as a high-profile colour writer. Since then she has been based in the US, mainly in San Francisco, a one-time capital of flower power and hippy love. "I have become a techie and a foodie - if you see a website on Ireland I probably wrote it." Anything you might care to find out about the food and restaurants of San Francisco might also come courtesy of Gillespie.

She was one of a number of women who came to prominence through the pages of The Irish Times. In the company of pioneering figures such as Mary Maher, Mary Cummins and Maeve Binchy - three very different voices - Gillespie joined a stable of women writers that began to have a large presence in the pages of what had been a traditional, conservative and gentlemanly newspaper. In honour of that time she read through the archives and selected pieces that she and the women she worked with and knew as friends had written.

But how does anyone approach a period at a remove of 30 years? For many, myself included, it is history; for others it means nostalgia and being present as the old order fell to a new one.

It was the early 1970s, an era of change that began with a kick-start thanks to Vietnam, student protest and emerging feminism. Ireland was experiencing new attitudes, it was letting go of the past and people were becoming more opinionated. Divorce, abortion and sexual equality became hot topics, and protest was widespread. The tragedy of Northern Ireland had become an international story. Newspapers that had been dominated by male reporters writing about politics and sport began to realise that female readers wanted stories and think pieces about women and by women.

The journalism of 30 years ago is history, so a volume of journalism by the campaigning team of women who became reporters, thanks to Donal Foley, then the news editor, and who worked on instinct should be exciting. After all, look at the names: Nell McCafferty and Mary Holland as well as Maher, on vintage form, and Renagh Holohan, the consummate news reporter - admittedly, represented by only two stories - catches the tone of the time with an account of a bombing of the Europa Hotel in Belfast and a snappy profile of Margaret Thatcher on the road to power.

But the title alone will raise hackles. Changing The Times: Irish Women Journalists 1969-1981 suggests that Ireland's only major women journalists worked for this newspaper, which is not so. Also, the star of the book must be Holland, but on the strength of only two contributions, both written for other publications. Very quickly the excitement is diluted by the volume of colour writing. No, this selection is not all politics, sexual assertion and stories about the Wood Quay siege; in fact, Wood Quay is not even included.

One famous interview is included, however. In a question-and-answer session Cummins asks Bernadette Devlin, then MP for Mid Ulster, to confirm her pregnancy, then follows Devlin's simple "yes" with a comment that has not lost its capacity to shock. "But you are unmarried. Won't this cause consternation in Ireland?" Cummins follows this by asking Devlin, in the context of her political career: "Are you really a fit person to rear a child?" She also asks her who the father is and whether she has considered an abortion. Of course, the approach tells us far more about the society of the day.

Elsewhere, Cummins has one of the best lines in the book when she astutely points out that "a single mother's best asset is a well-paid job".

The always wonderful Mary Leland shines in three of her four pieces, particularly the atmospheric "Return to Bowen's Court".

With heavy heart, much disappointment and wondering why on earth Binchy interviewed Samuel Beckett and Iris Murdoch, the first questions this reporter put to Gillespie were: why is it so light? Why so much dated colour writing and literary profiles? Why so little politics - surely news should have dominated? "I wanted to make it entertaining for the young people," she says. "I want this to be a book to be dipped into, a book for the DART or the bathroom."

She is a likeable woman, friendly and human, scatty but shrewd enough to describe herself as a survivor. "I am a survivor and I am resourceful; I learnt to be the hard way." She makes clear that the entertainment factor outweighed the sociological one. But as a not so young but not quite old enough reader I felt the book to be lopsided and too full of personalised writing. "You've put a lot of your own pieces in it," I say. "Well, it's my book," she replies; "you'd do the same."

"No I wouldn't."

Our exchange was not as heated as this suggests. She says she has been asked to write her memoirs but won't and agrees that much of the writing in the book, particularly the colour, has aged badly. "But that's the nature of colour writing." True, it is of the moment, whereas news reporting can become history. It acquires gravitas while other journalism might only claim personality.

With her large, sad brown eyes and lively delivery, Gillespie is good company, forthcoming. She speaks about her love of cinema, announces she is at peace with her former complexes, but obviously sees herself as an outsider. She is more than that: she is the outsider's outsider, which means she has distance as well as a willingness to engage.

Now aged "50 mumble", the daughter of a Belfast father and an Anglo-German mother, she came to Dublin at 17 to attend Trinity College, where she read English. Her entry to The Irish Times was not planned. She was noticed after tying for second place in a young writers' competition in the London Times. She sent a story to The Irish Times. Soon after, she says, "I opened it" - large gestures, big eyes - "and there it was. I wasn't looking for a job. I thought this must be worth a few bob, and as I was busted . . ."

"Busted. Wow. You mean you did drugs!" She looks confused for a second. "No, I was broke, busted as in broke. I had no money."

She was taken on and developed a style of "personal experience" journalism. "I did this, I did that. I was also the first reporter, as in sent to interview the first lady jockey, the first lady diver."

Her years in The Irish Times meant a lot to her. "It was great fun. Of course we were indulged," she says, and she and her colleagues were often self-indulgent. "Us women got all the attention. It was hard on the male reporters, who were told to keep to facts."

Some of the pieces are very long, much longer than those that many present-day newspaper journalists, used to being told to "keep it short, we've good pictures", could imagine. Gillespie's interview with Muhammad Ali, the article that inspired the project, runs to 5,000 words.

For much of the 20th century journalism by women was written by authors, such as Rebecca West, Martha Gellhorn, Lillian Hellman and Kate O'Brien. Career journalists were slower to emerge. Gillespie says she looks to colleagues such as Mary Maher and Maeve Binchy "with gratitude and affection". To me she remarks playfully: "You've given me such a hard time the others will have to be nicer." She falls silent before adding: "I look back at that time with nostalgia. The wenches are dead. We are all older." And some of the greats, such as Eileen O'Brien, Mary Cummins and Christina Murphy, are gone.

Changing The Times: Irish Women Journalists 1969-1981, edited by Elgy Gillespie, is published by Lilliput Press, €16.99; it will be reviewed by Mary Kenny in Saturday's books pages