07/07/2008

Over the next few weeks, allmediascotland.com is to publish, each weekday, extracts from the memoirs of Scottish war correspondent, Paul Harris. ‘More Thrills than Skills: A Half-life in Journalism’, is being scheduled for publication next year.

I knew from Croatian TV there'd been a lot of fighting at the town of Pakrac, normally just a couple of hours drive from Zagreb, and it sounded a reasonable destination for a day out with a picnic. As Rolling Stone writer and foreign correspondent ,P J O'Rourke, put it so eloquently in Holidays in Hell: “I just figured, what with guns going off and things blowing up, there'd be plenty of deep truths and penetrating insights.”
 
So, we're roaring down the completely deserted Zagreb to Belgrade motorway in Mr Hertz's Rentacar when we hit the first major crisis.

“Paul, I need to visit the bathroom,” comes the plaintive cry from Judy in the back. Sherry observes dryly, “How does it feel to be out for the day with your two older sisters?” I desist from comment. I don't have any sisters. And, anyway, I'm older than the girls. But I'm altogether too gallant to brag about my youthful exterior.

A few kilometres down the road, in the town of Kutina, where you could already hear the dull crump of distant, heavy shelling, the bathroom brigade decamp into a bemused stranger's house and I visit the local police headquarters. Now, I'm getting quite good at this.

“Offizeer,” you shout imperiously. The British are very good at that sort of thing. It's very important in war situations to speak to organ grinders and not the monkeys. When he appears, you produce every bit of paper you have: passport, press card, driving licence, National Library of Scotland reading room ticket, and so on. He can't read any of this stuff, most likely. There are two words, though, I have found every soldier in every war zone understands and which invariably wreaths the most cheerless military face with smiles.

“BBC, London”, I announce in the manner formerly used when reading the News in Slow English for Foreigners. Now, I don't know what the BBC in London might actually think about my taking their name in vain throughout the battle zones but, believe you me, it's the best way to actually achieve anything.

The commandant produces his battle map of the area when I ask about the way to Pakrac. Disturbingly large areas are marked, ‘Chetnik’ – reputedly they're not exactly friendly, have big beards and carry knives in their teeth - but he starts to draw a somewhat complicated route.

Now, I'm the chap who can't cope with railway timetable, never mind wend my way through this lot. However, I do have a tried and tested softly, softly strategy which has worked for me without fail. Village by village, I work my way to the front line stopping at every bar.  That way, you will always find out exactly what is going on.

As we leave, Sherry asks some sort of question in Croatian which I don't understand. Just in case she's asking for the local bathroom map, I don't pursue things. Just down the road we pass - going the other way - the Worldwide Television News (WTN) film crew. I wave them down. Somewhat disconcertingly, they simply urge us: "'Go back, go back. You can't get to Pakrac".

Now, that sort of defeatist talk is not the way to cover a war.........



* Send your Scottish media news and gossip, in the strictest confidence, to  info@allmediascotland.com