The thing that really stands out is how cold it was that day. The wind cut straight across the common. Underfoot it was all mud and straw.

There were maybe 10 women in this protest camp. We were stood around a fire in big coats, woolly hats and wellies. Then, all of a sudden, gliding towards us in nothing thicker than a sweater, came Dora Russell. She was in her 90s by then. She looked so small and fragile, I thought she’d freeze to death, but she didn’t shiver once. I’m not sure she even noticed the cold. She was an old lady made of steel.

Dora was little and white-haired, but she had such astonishing presence

It was the early 1980s. I’d just finished university in Sheffield and had joined protesters living at the women’s peace camp outside RAF Greenham Common in Berkshire. We were objecting to cruise missiles being based there.

It was a remarkable protest. Not just its length – the camp lasted 19 years – but its achievements, too. Under our pressure, the missiles were removed and the base closed. It showed women everywhere that by using non-violence, we could influence global events.

That’s perhaps why it appealed to Russell. She’d been a feminist and pacifist all her life. As a writer and activist, she’d pursued sexual and political liberation in an age when those ideals were totally alien to many. She was a pioneer; a giant.

She came down that day for a Channel 4 interview. I can’t remember the specifics, but I think, during a previous visit, she had cut a hole in the RAF fence and was arrested; so the interview may have been about that.

While everything was being set up, she spoke to us all individually – keep up the good work, stay strong, that kind of thing. Her voice was so soft that, even standing next to her, I could hardly hear it above the wind, but it was completely commanding. She was little and white-haired, but she had such astonishing presence.

It’s difficult to know what to say to your heroes. I was 23. I wasn’t about to blurt out how I’d been reading about her since my teens. It wouldn’t have been appropriate anyway. In that camp we were equals – two women demanding peace. I didn’t say much actually. I listened.

Besides, my main feeling, strangely, was wanting her to leave quickly. I wanted her out of the cold. In those temperatures a fire and cup of tea doesn’t keep you warm. I was relieved when she went.

The whole visit lasted maybe 15 minutes, but I suppose her appearance ended up influencing my whole life. It made me feel that if she was still prepared to fight for her ideals at 90, then I should be, too. I decided I’d never let age stand in the way of doing what was right.

I stayed living in a tent at the protest camp for 17 years.

Kathrine’s story features in the new Imperial War Museum exhibition People Power: Fighting for Peace (iwm.org.uk)