Judith Whelan was a leader in journalism and a beloved friend and mentor to me | Lisa Davies

When Judith Whelan asked me to be her deputy at The Sydney Morning Herald, I was pleased because I needed a change from crime reporting. When she asked me to be the 2016 federal election editor, I just thought of it as a role that needed filling. When she agreed to send me to cover the Oscar Pistorius murder trial in South Africa, it was on the proviso I took some annual leave while I was there.

Little did I know that all these opportunities were part of a far bigger plan Judith had to make me ready for one of the biggest and most important roles in Australian media – taking the reins from her as editor of the Herald .

Judith wasn't just a leader with journalism in her veins. She was an independent thinker, astute operator and she took great pride in identifying future talent, fostering them and ensuring they reached their potential.

I am humbled to have been the beneficiary of so much Judith-time, that level of mentorship is rare in an industry more often known for self-interest. But I wasn't the only one. Since she died last week, at 63, after a long illness, I was inundated with people sharing their memories of Judith's kindness.

Through her more than 40 years in journalism, Judith thrived in many roles: news breaker, editor, leader, mentor and trailblazer. She broke glass ceilings in male-dominated newspapers and bravely switched from print to broadcast, successfully leading thousands of staff at the ABC through their digital revolution.

I worked with Judith for five years, during which time I saw her ride the highs and lows of a variety of job changes and restructures, expressing disillusionment privately but putting on a brave face for her staff. And when the newsroom succeeded, she encouraged everyone to share in the spoils.

She brought people into her confidence and placed her confidence in them. She was clear with direction but did not micromanage, trusting her team to do the work required for the best possible outcome for readers.

She had an impressive ability to be a boss and a friend when required, balancing the professional and personal to perfection. She encouraged staff on parental leave to bring their newborn babies to the office for a cuddle, asking all the right questions with just the right dose of motherly advice. She knew the names of her team's partners, their interests and even the health of their parents. She balanced this while regularly inspiring journalists and editors to aim higher, ask another question and work harder to get the real story.

She laughed and cried with her staff; pressed, cajoled and won over bosses; and put journalism at the centre of everything she did.

My development as a leader flourished because I had Judith in my corner. Her support for dozens of other reporters, most of them women, is a legacy she would be so proud of.

With her move to the ABC, we stayed close but became more friends than colleagues – she was a huge support to me and I hope I returned the favour. We confided in each other about the challenges of big leadership roles in the media and found time for plenty of laughs, too.

When I last saw her earlier this year, we indulged in some of her favourite things – delicious wine, food and people-watching. We giggled, gossiped and dissected the sartorial choices of those around us. It was vintage Judith – endlessly energised by life, interested in everything and just so very fun. I can still hear that infectious laugh. As we parted with big hugs, we agreed to do it again soon ... but she died before we could.

Judith fought her illness privately and bravely, rarely letting cancer get in the way of her family, friends, cooking for her loved ones or drinking a negroni in a cool Sydney bar.

Her beloved husband, Chris, and her children Patrick and Sophia have lost their North Star, and so many of us have lost a dear friend, confidante and inspiration.

Vale, dear Judith. You have left a huge hole in our industry and our hearts.