Haidr al-Mtury, Ali Kamad and Khalil Abrahim are just three of the scores of interpreters who have been tortured and killed by militiamen because they worked for the British military in Iraq.

Hundreds more are in fear for their lives, even though most have quit their jobs. Many have fled to Syria or Jordan, where they are in hiding. Others are shut away in houses around Basra, terrified to go outside in case they are spotted.

Britain’s offer of assistance will be widely welcomed by interpreters and their families. But they will want urgent clarification of the status of hundreds of colleagues who left their jobs many months ago when the risks became too great.

The offer also excludes thousands more Iraqis employed by Britain since the 2003 invasion in other roles such as cleaners or drivers who feel London has an obligation to help them with packages similar to those offered by Denmark and the United States.

Iraq timeline: five years of conflict

From accusations that the weapons of mass destruction dossier had been sexed-up to withdrawal of British troops from Basra

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An e-mail received by The Times in Baghdad yesterday read: “I am asking for help from the British Government and from Her Majesty the Queen of the United Kingdom and from his Excellency the Prime Minister Gordon Brown, because I need help and I am too afraid about myself and my future and my family.”

This extract, from an Iraqi former interpreter exiled in Damascus, is typical of the correspondence received every day from people who have interpreted for British soldiers and, as a result, are on the run from armed gangs who see them as traitors and want them dead.

Their plight was brought to the attention of The Times during a trip to Basra in late July, when one desperate translator tapped on my arm and asked for help. “We want refugee status from the British because the Danish gave their interpreters asylum,” said A. Yassin, 36, who like most people I have spoken to in the past two months declined to give his full name for fear of being recognised.

The terror on his face was palpable as he described how Ali Kamad, a fellow interpreter, had been shot dead by militiamen a month earlier on his way home from work.

It became apparent that every Iraqi interpreter working at Britain’s main military base just outside Basra city faced death threats and intimidation.

Some even said that their work had put their entire family at risk, with brothers or fathers being killed, and wives and children being intimidated.

One long-serving interpreter, A. Kinani, described how he had thrust a letter begging for help into the hands of an aide to Tony Blair when the former Prime Minister passed through Basra on a farewell tour before he left office.

Mr Kinani, who has since fled to Damascus but has the option to return to his interpreting job in Basra, was told that it would be impossible to gain refugee status or asylum in Britain. Coverage of this rejection in The Times prompted Gordon Brown to order a review of government policy.

A senior British officer in Iraq felt that a special case should be made for interpreters because of the risks they took. “We probably have a moral obligation to view them slightly differently,” said Major-General Gerald Berragan. “I’d like to think that we would look after them.” Until now Britain’s failure to help Iraqi employees whose lives are in danger simply because they have worked alongside British soldiers contrasts with the action taken by Denmark and the United States.

Copenhagen is preparing to fly a final wave of at least 60 Iraqi interpreters, other workers and their families to Denmark. They will join 310 people already there following three military airlifts carried out since July.

The Danish Government offers former staff the option of seeking asylum, receiving help to relocate to another country in the Middle East or financial aid of between $20,000 (£10,000) and $25,000. Most choose asylum.

The United States was more cautious. It created a fast-track programme for Iraqi interpreters who worked for US forces or the US Embassy in Iraq, but the hurdles for acceptance are high and spaces are limited. Applicants must go to Amman to be processed, itself difficult because the Jordanian authorities have tightened their borders.

Britain’s hesitation on the issue has caused misery and put lives at risk.

Mr al-Saraj was one of the first to sign up as an interpreter when British forces arrived in Basra. Four years on, the 46-year-old is forced to live full-time on the military base, unable to see his family for fear of being killed.

Last month, a gang of militiamen attacked his family’s house in Basra, forcing his wife to flee with their six-year-old son and four-year-old daughter. Mr al-Saraj told The Times yesterday: “My message for Gordon Brown is to take a humanitarian view on a lady and two children on behalf of a man who has served the British forces from the first day of the war.”

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