This is what you'd call a PR frontline

Kelly Goodall sits at her desk in fits of laughter at the comments emanating from her phone. It would be an otherwise mundane scene if it were not for the fact that Captain Goodall is a British army officer and the man on the end of the line an Iraqi journalist. Three months ago when the military decided to put a woman into the post of Arabic spokesperson in Basra, a few eyebrows were raised.

The forces have come to realise the crucial role the local media plays in its daily operations. While the British press may have a political impact back home, failing to deal with the increasing number of Arabic news organisations or communicate with the population of the city can have an immediately brutal and bloody effect. Yet in today's increasingly repressive religious climate in Iraq, women are not always treated with equal respect. Captain Goodall's arrival was greeted with a certain amount of shock and awe by the predominantly male journalists and Iraqi army officers with whom she deals.

"There was utter shock," said the 28-year-old. "Jaws dropped. My predecessor was a big burly infantry officer, very quiet and very calm, completely different from me. When I turned up to meet the Iraqi army they looked at me very strangely. It was almost as if they were looking around for a man to walk in."

The job, however, has given her an opportunity to observe the fascinating dynamics between world-weary older journalists, who had become accustomed to ducking the previous regime, and the enthusiasm - and at times naivety - of new recruits to the profession.

"I have some incredibly professional journalists, those from al-Jazeera for example, but some of the local media are just starting out and finding their feet," she explained. "They are striving to build up a free press and are very enthusiastic. You do get the odd religious fanatic on TV but for the most part they do try to report what is going on. Eighty per cent of the time, I would say, they quote me correctly.

"I have some characters. Some are a bit cheeky, others very respectful. Some were a little bit nervous dealing with a woman. The first question is always: are you married, have you got children? Then it is 'Why does your husband let you come out here?'. But we have overcome the barrier of shock and they are now just a little bit intrigued."

In turn she has developed a loyalty and respect for her new contacts, whom she refers to almost maternally as "my journalists". The past couple of months have made her painfully aware of the dangers faced by reporters, many of whom receive regular threats. A simple trip to the British base to attend a press conference can be fraught with dangers and she seethes silently with protective anger when a VIP fails to spare "her" Iraqi media more than five minutes after they have taken such risks.

"One of the older journalists was very scared. He explained that his brother had been killed. He had been taken out of his company and shot in the head and left in Basra. He has now moved to an unknown address and feels too threatened to come out to the airport (base)."

To a population living constantly in danger, on edge and mistrustful of authority, rumours spring up and spread like wild fire."One of the new television stations rang me up to ask me whether it was true that soldiers were burying cobra and crocodile eggs in the area around Al Amara. The story had come from a local farmer through the Ministry of Environment. I had to laugh. Where the hell is a British soldier going to get snake eggs?" she said.

When the previous British brigade handed over to the new one in May, the number of troop movements was immediately noticed in town. "The big story in Basra was that the Americans were coming down and taking over. The British were moving out. Our biggest policy is getting the truth out as quickly as possible. If we leave it, it just blows up. The rumour mill is incredibly powerful. If I can just maintain co-operation between us, hopefully we will see some good. We need to get the word out to the local people."

The task is further complicated by the knowledge that each organisation has funding and forces behind it. She explained: "Some of the new media are actually funded by the US and it is almost propaganda. We (British) have funded some (the first newspaper in Al Amara) and we obviously monitor it but if they don't print anything ridiculous we leave them to it.

"There is also an Iranian-backed television station. When I invited them to come and see us at the base, the other journalists said, 'Why have you invited them? They are not pro MNF (multi-national force)?'"

The daughter of a Royal Engineers commando from Plymouth, Capt Goodall developed her obvious affection for the Arabic world during a year in Egypt studying Middle Eastern politics. "I like the fact they always show their emotions and get into big arguments, shouting one minute and hugging each other the next. They are also polite, hospitable and welcoming."

That respectful nature, she said, shone through a few weeks ago when a British helicopter crashed in Basra, killing five service personnel including Flight Lieutenant Sarah-Jayne Mulvihill, a fellow officer she had been working with closely. It was a difficult day for her and the Iraqi media seemed far more sensitive to that fact than the blunter British press. "They are much more respectful. When the helicopter crashed the first thing every single one of the Iraqi journalists said was 'I am very sorry'."

But she conceded that there have been hiccups along the way. While her command of Arabic has earned her respect from the Iraqis, momentary slip-ups have also proved entertaining.

After a long day recently, she was explaining to a journalist that mortars had been fired at the Basra palace. "I said the insurgents had fired haawanet at the palace, which means animals. One of themburst out laughing and said, 'Kelly are you tired?'"