Tales from the Special Forces Club. Sean Rayment

least that’s what we called it. The stew consisted mainly of maize flour dumped into the pot by the handful until it had piled up into a pyramid shape. The mixture was stirred until it took on the consistency of a thick porridge, and at some stage meat – mutton or pork or anything available really – would be added, and we would pick at it with our fingers. It tasted fine that night because we were so hungry and relieved that we would be spending the night somewhere dry and warm. After the food was finished they invited us to lie down by the fire and sleep, which we did with consummate ease.

      ‘At some stage during the night some sort of official arrived at the hut, with a rifle slung over his shoulder, shouting, “Documenti, documenti!” Word must have circulated that there were two strangers in the area.

      ‘We showed him our pay books, which was all we had. He looked through them but clearly couldn’t find what he was looking for. He produced a Bulgarian banknote, and along the bottom it said “Thomas de la Rue, Angleterre”, which was clearly the printers’ name, and Angleterre was the word he was looking for.

      ‘It then clicked that he wanted us to produce something showing Angleterre, but we had nothing. He must have trusted our word, because in the end he made a series of gestures which showed us that he was satisfied.’

      Just after dawn Jimmy and Ron left the hut with their new friends, walked along the river they had followed the previous day, up through a deserted village and into a large cave which was occupied by Chetniks.¶

      The commander of the group of 30 guerrilla fighters was a Serb regular Army colonel called Stoyan Markovic. Markovic had learnt English from a book and was able to make himself understood to the two British soldiers. He explained to Jimmy and Ron that they were welcome to stay, and said he hoped that they would be prepared to join his band of fighters.