• GIVEN the current withdrawal of British forces from Afghanistan and already having seen the fate of many local translators as a result, the case for granting sanctuary in the UK seems unanswerable. . .

Lost in Translation

Next to me at the Dinner, a young officer,
With brisk, distant eyes, talked of Helmand.

Wine-honest, he nodded: Things went wrong.
The gun was not enough. We needed to explain.

His translator was called Mo. A college kid.
Spoke English well. Liked Bond and Potter.

Brave as hell. His warning saved us twice.
Always smiled. Could cook a mean kebab.

He lived by the desert code. Your word is suffice.
Your friend is for life. Your blood is his blood.

Then orders came – back home, they’d had enough.
But when we left, they said we’d leave alone.

When I told Mo, his eyes danced at English humour –
Then grew stark. They’ll kill me, he said.

You must take me, he said – I can’t, I said –
It’s policy, I said – It’s honour, he said.

We sat in silence. I don’t know this language,
He said. You’ll need a better translator.

NEIL TITLEY, NW3