What springs to mind when you consider the 1980s? Perhaps it’s the films and TV shows — ET, Ghostbusters, MacGyver and who shot JR? Maybe it’s the music — Duran Duran, The Smiths, The Cure, early U2 and Madonna in her rosaries and rags phase, as well the chart domination of Stock, Aitken and Waterman.

Then there’s the fashion — big hair, shoulder pads, spandex and a whole decade of WFT. It is, of course, easy to laugh at the hair and clothes, or feel nostalgic for the decade that gave us The Empire Strikes Back and My Bloody Valentine – but what was it like growing up in the shadow of Pope John Paul II’s visit to Ireland in the autumn of 1979?

Unemployment and emigration were rife, and Irish social issues – including those pertaining to our sexuality – were largely framed by Catholic doctrine. Charles Haughey’s Family Planning Act came into force in November 1980. Famously described by Haughey as “an Irish solution to an Irish problem”, the act allowed Irish people to access contraception if they had a medical prescription. It wasn’t until 1985 that anyone over 18 could buy condoms without a doctor’s cert — but only if they could find someone willing to supply them.

In September 1983 the Eighth Amendment to the Constitution was approved by a 67 percent majority. The amendment suggested that Ireland cared equally for mothers and the unborn, but the facts contradicted the spin. Most of the Magdalene Laundries may have been closed, but unmarried mothers were still commonly treated as embodiments of depravity, and were sometimes shunned by their families or communities, sent away to give birth alone, and had their children adopted against their wishes. It was against this backdrop that 15-year old Ann Lovett gave birth to a stillborn baby boy in a grotto in Granard, County Longford on a cold afternoon in January 1984 – and later died from haemorrhaging and exposure.

Homosexual acts were illegal, though this law was not rigorously enforced. In 1983 David Norris took a case to the Supreme Court seeking to challenge the laws, but it would be another 10 years before the ban was lifted. Divorce was also illegal, and in 1986 a whopping 64 percent of Irish people voted to keep it that way.

Accessing contraception was no easy task, remembers Neasa, now in her late forties. “It was very difficult to get contraception. I certainly couldn’t have approached the family doctor. Instead, I went to the Family Planning Clinic on Cathal Brugha Street. I remember it being expensive. I went with a girlfriend as opposed to my boyfriend. There was a lot of guilt and secrecy around it.”

Finding family planning services was easier, and more anonymous, if you lived in a city, but for many young people all over Ireland, contraception amounted to little more than withdrawal and blind hope.

“I was having sex for over a year before I went on the pill,” says Aisling, 47, who grew up in Connacht. “It was only when I came up to Dublin for college that getting the pill even seemed like a possibility. I wouldn’t have known where to get it, and even if I had, I would have been terrified of my parents finding out. My boyfriend at the time would sometimes get condoms from his older brother in London, but we often didn’t use anything at all. We had all these stupid notions about when you could or couldn’t get pregnant, like if you were on your period or if you washed up straight away. I can’t believe the risks we took. I was terrified of getting pregnant.”

Unplanned teenage pregnancy was a pressing social issue throughout the 1980s. The number of teenage girls giving birth peaked at 23 per thousand in 1980, although with greater access to contraception, the numbers declined over the decade.

“The fear of pregnancy was huge,” continues Neasa. “The stigma and judgement around it was very real. I left school in 1983, just one year before the Ann Lovett case in Granard. That case pretty much summed up the attitude to unplanned pregnancy in Ireland at the time.”

In the early part of the decade safe sex was rarely a concern, says George, a gay man of 54.

“Early eighties? Never thought we needed condoms in the beginning. Then later on through that hideous, terrifying decade, I used to get them through mail order, and freebie packs given out on the scene, and I seem to remember paying visits to Virgin Megastore on the quays.”

Despite the fact that homosexual acts were illegal until 1993, there was a thriving gay scene, despite the possibility of violence and arrest.

“There were the nightclubs, Sides and Hooray Henry’s and the club on Ely Place,” George says. “But the excitement and danger of cruising outdoors at night was the best. In retrospect it was terribly dangerous, with threats of arrest, violence, and a fatal disease. I escaped those years with a clean bill of health and a clean record, but I didn’t escape the violence. I’d say the fact that Declan Flynn’s murderers got off scot free had an impact on queer-bashers, giving them the confidence to wander around like packs of hyenas beating up whoever they felt like; this was far more dangerous than a theoretical threat of arrest. There was one night, when one guard on his motorbike, on his regular prowl through one particular park, stayed to chat with me, and ended up in my bedsit when his shift was over.”

While homosexuality was illegal, female sexual desire, straight and gay, was almost invisible. Neither female consent nor pleasure was part of the conversation.

“The burden of responsibility rested solely with the girl,” says Neasa. “We had ‘sex education’ whereby the nun explained that once men became sexually aroused, they had to ‘finish’. There was no other option for them. There was no talk about women’s pleasure — actually, there still isn’t much talk about that! It was always about the guy and you being the gatekeeper for both yours and his sexuality.”

Aisling agrees. “The attitude was always that you had to say no – that boys would pressure you, but it was up to you to make sure neither of you sinned. There was never any discussion around the idea that you might want to say “yes”. My friends and I talked about it, but it wasn’t something you could ask your parents or teachers.”

As well as the fear of pregnancy there was the worry of getting a ‘name’, but young women found ways to fulfill their sexual needs, explains Neasa.

“There were seriously double standards on the ‘reputation’ issue. The awful thing is, I don’t think that has changed at all. I’d have approached men, not too many, and it wouldn’t necessarily have been for full sex. There were guys I stayed the night with, and we did everything but have sex — what was referred to as keeping your knickers on.”

“You didn’t have to do much to get a reputation,” says Aisling. “Back home, just kissing ‘too many’ boys or being seen as a flirt would have set tongues wagging. The funny this is it was much more respectable to have a steady boyfriend even if you were having sex. There was nothing worse than being seen as on the prowl.”

Ireland in 2016 is in many ways a better place to grow up. Contraception is easy to find — although still expensive. Marriage is available to all citizens irrespective of sexual orientation — but homophobia and gay bashing are still regular occurrences. Women are still judged for perceived breaches of sexual propriety — but most of us don’t bat an eyelid at unmarried parents. Abortion is still illegal — but is easier to obtain with cheap flights to the UK and medical abortion services like Women on Web. But Aisling, Neasa and George say certain things were better in 1980s.

Hook-up apps make sex clinical explains George.

“Someone cruised me on the street recently, and it was the first time in decades. It was so exciting. Everyone has retreated to the internet to find sex. It’s all very technical. What’s missing is the night air, the body language, the conversation with regulars, the thrill, the choreography of the hunt. A dangerous magic, and I miss it. Tapping on my phone is a tame and tedious replacement.”

Aisling and Neasa believe that things are not much freer for women — it’s just that the message has changed.

“I think there’s too much pressure on young girls to have sex before they’re ready,” says Aisling. “We were told we couldn’t say ‘yes’ and a lot of the time the message these days is you shouldn’t say ‘no’. We need to teach girls that their desires are important whether they want to have sex or not. I hope that’s beginning to change.”

“There was no pressure about pubic hair or anything like that,” remembers Neasa. “No porn style sex either. I think the porn back then was a lot more egalitarian. When I look at porn now, I wonder if there is a generation of men who don’t know how important it is to arouse women before they fuck them. At the risk of sounding like an aul one, modern porn seems to consist of the woman giving the guy a blow job and then he just rides her. What about some pleasure for the ladies? We’re still trying to unshackle ourselves from a very powerful Catholic tradition which is so messed up when it comes to sexuality.”