Rosalind Craven's fight against pylons has taken over her life and might yet cost her her house. But she feels it's all been worthwhile.

ROSALIND Craven is not your typical protestor. She is 61 years old, a farmer's widow who objected to the National Grid building three pylons on her land.

After a ten-year battle, the concrete for the foundations is already in place, but Mrs Craven has not stopped fighting. "When you believe in something, you can't give up," she says.

In fact, the fight has really gone beyond the actual pylons - part of the £240m power line from Teesside to the edge of York. The more Mrs Craven goes into the way the National Grid went about erecting the pylons, getting permission and access for the route, the more concerned she is about the way in which big business and government can operate.

"There was actually no point in the process at which I could object," she says. "That is not democracy. It is more like George Orwell's vision of 1984 - there is no law, only power - and has dreadful implications for the future. That's why I can't stop now."

She has compiled a list of 39 mistakes and omissions on the National Grid's part in the way they applied - or didn't apply - for access. "The failure to wayleave was a fatal flaw; it meant that no constitutional, legal or democratic framework was put in place. But no legal claim was made on the land. No access rights were established."

While the pylons marched inexorably across the countryside, Mrs Craven consistently refused to allow National Grid access to land at her farm at Huby near Easingwold.

Finally, just before Christmas, the High Court in Leeds awarded the National Grid an injunction, forcing her to allow the company's staff and contractors on her land. Mrs Craven represented herself at the hearing - a lone lay voice against the power company's team of barrister and ten solicitors.

Not content with their victory, the power company claimed £65,000 costs and she could have to pay up to half of that sum. But instead of quietly giving up and going away, she has applied for leave to appeal.

And it wasn't even her fight in the first place.

"It was my husband Michael who was strongly against the pylons. He would go on and on about them all the time. I used to tell him to be quiet because it would get boring."

Michael Craven had farmed at Easingwold for more than 40 years. When he became ill with cancer, Rosalind - a former English teacher from Sussex - took over much of the work on the farm, until, with her husband to nurse and their son at university, it became too much and they rented out the land.

"After Michael died, I found this box of documents. He'd kept everything relating to the pylons since 1991 and as I looked through it, I realised that some vital parts of the process had never been carried out."

So she took up the fight.

The enormous dining room table is covered in papers that overflow onto chairs, cupboards, the floor. In the sitting room, pictures lean against the walls, waiting for her to get round to hanging them.

"I haven't had a chance to get round to things like that. This has completely taken over my life. I haven't done any housework, any decorating, any gardening. Nothing for the past year. It fills all my thoughts all day and every day. All my energy has gone to battle with the National Grid."

Now she feels it's a matter of democracy, the constitution and our human rights. She prepared her defence with the aid of an old school text book from her days of A level British constitution. The campaign has, she says, really stretched her mind.

"The more I go into it, the more perturbed I become that as ordinary citizens we seem to have no rights, or that big corporations can simply ignore them. That must be worth fighting for. It's why in my grounds for appeal, I've invoked the Human Rights Act. Even if I don't win, I hope at least I'll have made people realise what's happening to us these days."

She conscientiously returns cheques sent by the National Grid and refuses to discuss compensation, determined not to be bought off. "Many other landowners also did not want pylons on their land, but they were put in an impossible situation," she says.

Her David and Goliath stance has caught the public imagination. A fat folder bulges with letters of support. "That people can ride roughshod over your own piece of Little England disturbs me. What next for ordinary folk?" says one typical letter, clearly written by a pensioner.

Many people sent money, from £5 to £500. "The cash is all sitting there and I haven't cashed the cheques. My own costs were around £2,000 but as long as I can get by on my own, then I feel I must. Maybe if I am absolutely defeated, and the house is threatened, I might have to think again."

She hopes that by making such a splendid nuisance of herself, people might be keen to question the way big corporations work. She also hopes that faced with the protests and delays, the National Grid might think harder about putting power lines underground.

But as she waits for news of her appeal, she realises that, one way or another, the end of the battle might finally be in sight.

When it has filled every waking moment for so long, friends and family are concerned about what she will do when it's over. How will she fill her time?

"That's easy," she says, "I'll start with the ironing."