THE British Army – and therefore all of us – owe a debt to interpreters who worked for the armed forces in Afghanistan, explains Mohammed Asif.

“The Taliban called the Afghan interpreters ‘parrots’,” he says. “And they would say ‘shoot the parrot first’, then the foreigners will be helpless”.

It is a chilling insight into a role most people probably find hard to imagine. Asif, director of the Afghan Human Rights Foundation adds: “That is the danger. That is why they were so important.”

Read more: Victory for former Afghan interpreters who aided armed forces as Scottish Government changes rules to let them go to university

Ahmad Refa worked for three years, from the age of 21, much of it in support of troops in active combat, although his roles also included translating for those training police and security officers, and his work contributed to the building of schools and clinics.

He translated everything for the army, from street signs to documents to the intercepted chatter of local insurgents, he says. But the days were hard, he says and personal fear was compounded by the ever-present worry for his family.

“There was intimidation, for my family, all the time. In Helmand, the place we were living was known for insurgents who were against the government. It wasn’t until I could move my family to the capital that I could relax.

“Towards the end I was supervising a group of 20 interpreters in Kabul.

“One of my friends worked to produce radio programmes to keep local people informed about why the army were there and what they and the government were doing. I helped him make a newspaper too, to help tell people.

“The most dangerous thing I did was patrolling for two to eight hours a day, when you were always at risk of ambush,” Mr Refa recalls.

“That was hairy. I was unarmed, but sometimes if a situation was too dangerous you would be provided with arms to use. Otherwise it was just communications equipment you were given, so you could tell people what the locals were talking about. You were at risk from bullets and improvised explosive devices,” he says. “When I was with a fighting company you were always afraid of a bullet.”

He had almost completed a diploma in IT at home when the conflict changed his life’s direction. Working as an interpreter stalled his education, and having smuggled his family to safety in Kabul, his career also stalled as he spent three years in ice cream sales, while waiting for the British Government to sort out his move to the UK, he says.

Having come to Britain three years ago, his immigration status has hampered his prospects, but now he hopes to begin a new chapter thanks to the Scottish Government’s rule change.