The missiles have gone. The bombers have gone. So why haven't the women of Greenham Common gone with them?

Peggy Walford is an enemy of the state. She is 78 with lightning white curls tied up with a red scarf. She has seven grandchildren and five great-grandchildren but cannot remember how often she's been arrested. She's certainly been in jail at least 20 times. "I was just in court last Thursday," she says matter-of-factly, "for cutting the fence at Burghfield." She adjusts her black sunglasses, which are decorated with orange and green triangles. They are as fabulous as her Aberdeen accent is thick. At one point she slips into the back of her caravan at the Greenham Common Women's Peace Camp and emerges with a pair of white clip-on earrings. She gestures at the photographer. "Women are vain. It can't be helped." Then she laughs and raises a roll-up to her lips.

This makes everyone laugh. The idea of vanity at Greenham seems very radical indeed. In fact, almost as radical as keeping a peace camp going in 1998. After all, the last Cruise missiles left in 1991. These days the American air base has become a rather eccentric business park and the Common itself is being re-invented as, well, a common. Half of the 800 acres has already been designated as a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI). Evidently the Americans were very efficient at mowing the bits between the runways and so managed to sustain some rather good lowland heath. This is rare in Berkshire. The runway has almost all been demolished now, with some of the rubble being trucked over to help build the Newbury by-pass. "Yes, it's rather bizarre," says Dominic Parrette, who is a countryside ranger and, as such, is in charge of the transformation.

The Greenham women have changed too, though not so much in spirit as in numbers. The most famous peace camp in the world is now made up of four women and an equal number of caravans. This week the whole thing was even smaller, with two of the women away. This means we all fit rather easily into the main caravan, which the women keep referring to as a mobile home. I look around. It is homely but has no electricity, running water or loo. On the plus side, there are the gas lamps and some rather splendid orange lino. There is also a cooker, which the women insist is true luxury. It looks more like an antique to me but I take their word for it. After all, they spent nine years living in a tent and so these things are relative.

By now I am thinking of them as the Greenham Four. But why are they still here? Before asking, it seems only right that I explain why I am here. I only have to say the word "memorial garden" before they begin to look weary. It has been reported that the women are to leave the camp after 17 years but only if a memorial garden, dedicated to their fight against nuclear weapons, is built on the site. This has got lots of people rather excited in a way that hasn't been seen since the good old days when everyone at Greenham was a man-hating, dungaree-wearing, lunatic feminist peacenik.

The insults are a little more sophisticated these days. The Evening Standard has called the camp a "pathetic shadow". And, in the ultimate Nineties insult, the women have been accused of not being authentic. "All the authentic protesters left in 1991," one former protester tells The Guardian, "and those that remained were the ones who never quite managed to cut the umbilical cord." Nor was Newbury's MP impressed. "The women have ceased to be relevant," announced David Rendel who, it must be noted, is a Liberal Democrat. Local Conservative councillor Sue Kemp was a bit more straightforward: "It is impossible to underestimate the misery these women have brought over the years to people living here. Quite frankly it is blackmail."

Quite frankly, the women say, the memorial garden story was a leak and a politically motivated one at that. "The timing is wrong. We want to make a joint statement when we can disclose everything fully. It has been done as a political thing to attack the camp by the pro-nuclear forces," says Katrina Howse, who also points out that she and Peggy are authentic. She has been there since 1982 and Peggy since 1981. They've cut fences and painted buildings and been to Libya and lived in tents for almost a decade. "Not original!" fumes Katrina. "You can't get much more original than us. It really is a Catch-22, living here."

Right, but is it true that they are going to leave in exchange for a peace garden? Well, up to a point. They have made an informal proposal for a garden on the site - which they will pay for - but they are not going anywhere until the year 2000. "We are absolutely committed to staying here until then," says Katrina. The press has ignored this despite the fact there is a banner draped across the caravan that declares: "Women's Peace Camp Year 2000 Without Nuclear Weapons".

The oversight comes as no surprise in the caravan. "The only story the media want to know is when we are going to leave," says Katrina. "They only want to cover us in a human interest or anti-nuclear way. They've missed the whole point. They've missed the really heroic aspect of the battle against a state policy. Somehow that seems to have remained intangible." Katrina's hands start to jab at the air and she looks across at Peggy. "Oh, yes, we're getting worked up now!" She is indeed. "The real question that should be asked is not why we are still here. When people ask: `Why are you still here?' I say: `Why do we still have nuclear weapons?' We have not accepted nuclear weapons and all that it means."

You would not think that this would be such a radical thing to say in 1998 but it is. There are two atomic weapons establishments nearby (Aldermaston and Burghfield) and the women continue to act against these. "If it wasn't for Trident, we wouldn't be here," says Katrina. They chronicle their news in press releases that are written by hand and with conviction. "Women's Non-Violent Direct Action at AWE Burghfield Did Save A Child's Life," says their most recent one, which goes on to explain that if the women's action interrupted business as usual (and thus emissions) for five minutes to one hour then the life of one child in 10,000 could have been saved. "These odds are 2,000 times better than winning the lottery," it says.

And what, I wonder, were the odds that Greenham Common would become known as an SSSI and not MAD, as in Mutually Assured Destruction, type of place. I think of this as Dominic Parrette takes us round what used to be the longest runway in Europe and now is surely one of the biggest piles of rubble around. But Dominic is keenest on the plants, which include the dark purple bellheather, light pink common heather, wild parsnip, kidney vetch and orchids galore. "We've found some Autumn Ladies Tresses orchids in this field," he says as we head towards the huge old silos that used to hold the missiles. They look like huge grass-covered garages - empty ones now - with their hydraulic doors either dismantled or closed. They belong to another age.

The sky is big here and the entire place is lunar. Behind the silos are the Downs (including Watership Down) and the rectangular mounds fit into the landscape in a weird sort of way. We walk up to the linked fence and peer through. "You know," says Dominic, "I reckon that if we could get in there we'll find there are really good reptiles on those south facing slopes." Evidently lowland heath is very good reptile country. I would expect nothing else from a nuclear base. As we go back to the truck, I stumble on a cable coming out of the side of the field. "Runway lighting," says Dominic. "We're always finding things like that."

The place is a bizarre mix of new and old. Dominic explains that one of the old training areas is to be transformed into a bat home. The base itself is now the New Greenham Park and run by a charitable trust. Among the 100 businesses on site include a paint-ball war game place. The air smells of pickles. "Oh you must have hit a curry day," says Teresa Newson of the Trust, explaining that their neighbour is in the business of pickles and sauces and the like. The trust is redeveloping the business park as well as acting as a charity (it has just distributed pounds 25,000 to local groups). It all seems very strange, as does the American style military buildings and the fact that it has a Main Street. What would the Americans make of the fact that their old chapel is now a Chinese Martial Arts Centre? What would the RAF say to the fact that Katrina Howse, a woman who has made a career of cutting through fences, can now get her photocopying down in the very building she once daubed with peace slogans?

"Sometimes it still feels weird to walk in here," she says as we go through the gates. She is not alone in feeling this. "A lot of local people still call it the airbase. It is a very emotive place," says Teresa Newson. There was even a move to change the name to something else completely "But it's a business park and it's in Greenham and it's new so therefore its name is New Greenham Park. What else would it be?" says Teresa.

The peace women and the Trust get along rather well and they rather like the idea of the memorial garden too. "The peace women came round three weeks ago or so and came up with this idea and asked for our initial reaction. We said it sounded like a good conclusion to the history of the peace camp," says Teresa. Nor, despite the fussing and fuming of some, is West Berkshire Council necessarily against it. "These women are highly motivated and have said they are able to pay," says Dr Royce Longton, leader of the ruling Liberal Democrats on the council, "I respect them for that, although I don't respect their methods. They are part of the history of the place, so why not have an area devoted to that?"

In fact, the whole thing may be rather grander than that. The Trust - which is very keen on the arts - has run a worldwide sculpture competition. The winner for the entrance to the park is by Gudren Neilsen, who is Icelandic and who has proposed a 300-foot long, 8-foot high series of sculptures in concrete-enfolded steel. There are a series of plinths and, on each, is a different structure which, from afar, will look like an origami airplane being folded and unfolded. It has now been commissioned and Teresa explains that the structure may have to be moved slightly to accommodate the memorial garden. Suddenly the garden seems wildly conventional (even if it is to have Buddhist flags and protest slogans) in comparison to an origami airplane.

The Russians like grand gestures and so will probably like the origami steel. They still arrive periodically to check that the silos are still empty, as the INF deal promised. They will be doing this until the year 2001. By then, the women and their caravans may be gone. It is hard, while sitting in this caravan, to imagine this. "We have carried on. We have stayed devoted to the issue. The majority of Britons don't want nuclear weapons. But if you stay devoted, like we have, you can't put such things in a neat compartment," says Katrina. "We have devoted our lives to this and we are survivors."