IRAQ is preparing to renovate more than 30 bomb shelters around the capital as a war led by the United States appears increasingly likely.

Most residents will be reluctant to use them, however, after the incineration of more than 400 Iraqis in the al-Amariyah shelter during the Gulf War.

On February 13, 1991, Iraqi civilians, mostly women and children, sought refuge in the shelter. That night, two American “smart” bombs landed in the ventilation shaft of the two-storey building. With the exit doors sealed, the temperature rose to 482C (900F).

There were only 14 survivors. Most of the bodies were too badly burnt to be identified. Many were buried in a mass grave in Abu Ghareb, outside Baghdad.

Rahim Batawi Hazaa, 53, a builder, is one of the survivors. His wife, two daughters and two sons were so badly burnt they could not have a proper burial.

Mr Hazaa is still tormented by his decision to take his family to a shelter. “If we had stayed in my house, things would be different,” he said.

The family had spent three days in the countryside, trying to forget the bombs as they celebrated the three-day feast of Eid al-Fitr. When they returned to Baghdad, neighbours said that the bombing had been particularly bad. “I thought it best if we slept at the shelter,” he said.

It was a bitterly cold night. His family packed some sandwiches, their gold and money and walked from their home in a prosperous neighbourhood to the nearby shelter. Men and women were separated and given individual bunks with blankets.

The al-Amariyah was considered to be the safest and most comfortable of the Baghdad shelters. It took three years to build and was meant to protect against nuclear, biological and chemical warfare. It was equipped with showers, beds, stores of food and a small hospital.

Mr Hazaa had played with his two sons to get them settled before bed. He had fallen asleep, but just before midnight he woke up and remembers feeling anxious. “I suddenly thought I should take my family and go,” he said.

But he drifted off again. His next memory was of an explosion that threw him out of bed and down a corridor. He blacked out, and when he woke up, his leg was burnt and his head was covered in blood. Someone dragged him through a door. He woke up later in a hospital. “I kept asking for my family. They told me they were in the next room. Eventually when they told me the truth, I realised my life was gone.”

The youngest casualty was a 22-day-old baby, Heba Abid al-Satar; the eldest was Shehba Ahmed, an 81-year-old grandmother. The photographs of the dead have been collated by Intesar Ahmed, 41, who has the job of looking after the shelter, now a shrine to the dead.

Ms Ahmed said that emergency workers had described the scene as like something out of Hell — corpses were so badly burnt that the faces had melted. “Families kept looking for their loved ones, but there were no faces,” she said.

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