'I use the word surreal every day'

TIM Wilson emerges from the plane and breathes in the humid Iraqi air. Even though it's the middle of the night, the August heat is suffocating. He walks down the steps of the plane, his blue International Police Association shirt clinging to his back. At the bottom, he is handed a two litre bottle of water.

"Welcome to Basra Airport. Start drinking," says a Military Police officer.

In the background, he can hear the crackle of gunfire coming from Basra. It does not mean they're in danger necessarily. The Iraqis like to fire their guns a great deal, even to mark celebrations - weddings are particularly noisy. But it's a reminder of the country's volatility. As Tim is assigned his own 'close response' security team, it emerges that two members have been killed only days before he arrived.

This was the scene which greeted Superintendent Tim Wilson, 45, as he landed for a 12-month stint training the police force in Iraq, along with Durham Constabulary colleague, Superintendent Laz Szomoru.

"A lot of people felt like getting back on the plane," he admits, smiling.

Tim has been in the force for 26 years. He spent 20 years at Easington, in uniform and the CID, and has been head of intelligence and, latterly, Durham Constabulary's personnel manager behind a desk at the force's headquarters at Aykley Heads.

Today, Tim is at home on leave from Iraq. His long legs stretch before him, crossed at the ankle - a position he cannot adopt in Iraq, he points out, as it is deemed rude to show the soles of the feet. He appears open, friendly, relaxed. He has a wife, Alex, three children aged 20, 18, and nine, and a Jack Russell called Carley. He should be at a time in his life when he's thinking of putting his feet up, whiling out his days until retirement. Why would he want to go to Iraq?

"It sounds corny but I joined the police to make a difference and when I saw what was happening across there, and they were looking for volunteers to go out, I wanted to do it. Laz, who was in the office next door, said 'I can't let you go down there on your own' so he put in as well," he explains, before adding. "It might also be about being in your mid-40s and wanting to do something different - but I suppose a lot of people go out and buy a new car."

After landing in Basra, Tim was sent on to Camp Abu Naji, home to the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards, near Al Amarah in the Maysan province of southern Iraq. His role was senior police advisor.

Tim found himself working in an area with 130 tribes, which were seen by Iraqis as being more powerful than the police. The Iraqi army and the police were also deeply mistrustful of one another. His first job was to get the chief of Maysan police, Abu Maytham, on side.

"I had to basically get him to agree that there would be training for his officers, not only for the new recruits but also those that were already trained because they had their own ways of doing things," says Tim.

'They included very basic things like human rights; how long you detain somebody; keeping custody records and how to investigate a crime. The buildings which they had were in a bad state of repair so there was a programme of building new police stations."

To win the support of the local people, Tim had to sit the sheikhs down with the chief of police. The meetings were heated but he found the common language of the world helped - football.

"I'm a big football supporter and it was a good way for us to get talking," he says. "In fact I've got him (Abu Maytham) a Newcastle United shirt to take back with me. The trust thing has been really difficult and in personnel back home I would always say 'no promises' and I say that there, and I think they respect that."

Tim has been in the country for six months. Home is a metal container at Camp Abu Naji furnished with a bed and a cupboard. He says he doesn't mind the basic living conditions, it's what he expected, and he eats in the mess with the soldiers.

He has his own team of International Police advisors, retired officers from across the world. He carries a Glock pistol and wears his desert boots, trousers and the regulation blue police shirt every day along with his full ballistic wear - his protective vest and helmet.

For his own safety, he has to 'drop in' on the various police stations unexpectedly because of the dangers of people knowing his routes and the times he will be travelling. He travels by helicopter sometimes, and always with a full military escort.

Attitudes among ordinary Iraqis vary. There can be friendly waves one day, stones hurled the next. To date, he hasn't been injured.

"I keep my head well down in some areas and in others you're made very welcome," he says. "There used to be a lot of fighting between groups and they saw us as the 131st tribe. But the majority of the police want the training because they want things to be better."

Tim and his team run classes at their camp and train about 60 experienced officers each week. So far, he reckons they have trained about 4,000 new recruits. There are about 10,000 police officers in Maysan.

As part of their work they have replaced some of the Iraqi police's out-of-date equipment - radios, vehicles - and they have built them a prison with segregated parts for different religions, tribes and even a female wing.

The kind of crimes being committed vary, but kidnappings are incredibly prevalent and the roads are particular danger areas.

"It's not accepted, but it's a popular pastime," says Tim. "They either let them go or they'll kidnap them and sell them on to someone else who'll wait out for more money. We teach the police how to deal with it."

There are also more mundane crimes, anti-social behaviour by youths for example, which make him think he could be at a community meeting in County Durham.

"I use the word surreal every day," he says, laughing. "You can be at a meeting talking about kidnap and murder one minute and the next they'll be complaining of youths causing an annoyance in the park. I'll say 'how about some street lamps?' and they're like 'how about we flog them?' We have to try and say 'there's more ways to deal with this'."

Tim feels the messages are getting across, that he is making a difference, but equally, that there should come a time when they pull out.

"I think a lot of people in Maysan don't want us to leave just yet," he says. "If we can get the Iraq Police Service and the Iraqi army to work together there has to be a time when we do pull back and leave them to it. I would like to see them self-sufficient."

But before then Tim has another six months in Iraq. Every day there are more reports - car bombs, deaths of young soldiers. Al Amarah has been in the news in particular. It was where the shocking scenes of UK soldiers attacking Iraqi youths were filmed.

Just prior to him coming home, 22-year-old British soldier Lance Corporal Allan Douglas was shot and killed after coming under fire while on routine patrol in Al Amarah.

Tim has a genuine belief in what he is doing, a compulsion to help the Iraqi people rebuild their lives. But even he must fear that one day he may be next.

"If it's going to happen it will happen," he says. "There's nothing you can do. You have to do your job and concentrate on the positives."

As he leaves for Iraq, it emerges two more British soldiers have died, the result of a roadside bombing in Al Amarah. I email him and ask him for his thoughts.

"I have just been told the names of the men who died and I knew one of these soldiers very well," he writes. "He has put everything into helping the Iraqi Police Service and the public during his tour here.

"My thoughts are that I have to put professionalism before emotion and, like many others out here, will get on and do the job."