On the spot in al Amarah on day abuse video was filmed

We were trying to investigate grievances about nepotism in a British job-creation scheme under which 2,500 locals had been hired as municipal labourers, most from the same powerful tribe. But we had barely uttered the word ‘sahafiin’ (journalists) before the mood turned ugly.

The crowd formed a menacing ring, sealing us in. As those nearest Teri began groping her through her abaya others arrived from further afield, picking up bricks on the run like practised outfielders and hurling them at us.

Ali, our translator, was negotiating with the demonstrators, but getting nowhere. When the first stone hit my head we tried to retreat to the car, where the driver was sitting with the engine running and his foot on the pedal.

But we could not get there. Half a dozen rioters had grabbed Teri and an octopus of hostile arms was pulling her into the crowd.

She grabbed my wrist. I tried to pull her back, but she was vanishing into the human quicksand. We had no choice but throw ourselves at her assailants, one of whom was trying to smash her skull with a rock.

Ali pulled Teri away and she forced her way into the car. The driver screeched off even before I was fully in. As we accelerated away the windows caved in under a hail of bricks, one gashing Ali’s head.

Just when we thought ourselves clear, a donkey cart blocked our escape. The mob caught up and hurled more bricks at the car. Our driver gunned the vehicle at full throttle, created a gap that was not there, and sped through it to safety. We used our feet to kick out the windows’ shattered glass lest it drew attention to us.

It was as unpleasant and dangerous mob as I had ever seen, but hardly justified what allegedly happened to the young Iraqis caught by the British soldiers. The riot was not a threat to the entire town. It was a localised protest by a rent-a-mob whose kernel was a cluster of perhaps 100 youths. The rest of Amarah remained calm. Indeed we had earlier spent half an hour driving around interviewing bored policemen who lazily pointed us toward the demonstration.

Having made our escape, our immediate priority was to find refuge for the night, and to treat Ali’s head wound. When we arrived at Camp Abu Naji in our battered car British soldiers granted access and overnight accommodation to the (uninjured) British correspondent and photographer.

But the gate commander said our translator - who had suffered head wounds while defending British citizens from Iraqis - would have to sleep in the windowless car outside the base.

It was a humiliating discrimination, and we all readied ourselves to spend the night with Ali outside the base.

In fact the ‘No Iraqis’ order was rescinded as soon as news of our arrival reached senior commanders, and we were all given beds, food and water.

British Army and Coalition Provisional Authority officials inside the base told us that the demonstrators, numbering between 100 and 500, appeared to be a mix of angry locals, Marsh Arabs, sacked former Baathists, Islamic activists and rent-a-mob youths.

The officials admitted that the Amara police - with little training and strong loyalties to the powerful tribe accused of nepotism - had “panicked” and killed around half a dozen protesters, some armed with explosives, blast bombs and grenades.

The police were replaced by 1st Battalion The Light Infantry, who, British officials said, had used batons and shot at two demonstrators “engaged in the act of throwing a grenade”.

“It’s a hell of a complicated crowd out there. There has been a series of big problems ... but it is difficult to say exactly why it should have kicked off in this fashion,” one told us. “Our objective is to try not to overreact.”