“I can’t believe it,” says Anthony Harrison, tapping his iPad screen as he takes his seat in a Rochester coffee shop.

“I’ve taken this all the way to the front line in Syria, and I’ve just got back and cracked it.”

Unbelievable perhaps, but Anthony should count his blessings that accidentally sitting on his iPad is the worst bit of luck to befall him in the last two months.

Just a couple of weeks ago the 26-year-old from Gillingham was in Rojava, in northeastern Syria, with bullets from Isis guns flying past his head – and the Islamic State militants that fired them were trying to crack his skull, not his tablet computer.

How did this ex-Howard School pupil and MidKent College student end up fighting alongside Kurdish soldiers of the YPG (People’s Protection Units), in a desert bunker, defending Kurdish-held territory from Isis militants?

"The commander came up to me and said ‘you’re going on an ambush, make sure your gun is clean, make sure you’ve got grenades and your magazine is full"

Only at the end of last year he was working in retail construction for Shell garages, putting shutters over cigarette displays following the new tobacco sales legislation.

“It was pretty boring,” he admits, but insists it was a humanitarian impulse rather than boredom that drove him to the Middle East.

“About six months ago I was made aware of what was going on in Syria, and three months ago I decided to do something,” he says. “I went to bed one day and said to myself ‘I’m going to put myself into the mind-set of a Kurdish family’. When I woke up I realised I needed to go out there.”

Anthony got in touch with the Kurdish group – the Lions of Rojava – and booked a plane ticket from Heathrow to Iraq via Germany.

Days later, at 2.45am on Friday, April 10, he landed in Sulaymaniya in northern Iraq.

A taxi ride later he was at a safe house in Sulaymaniya. After a sleep he woke to find two Americans, an ex-French Foreign Legion soldier, and an Australian in the front room.

“I had no idea what I was walking into, but as soon as I saw other Westerners I thought ‘I’m in safe hands.’

“That night two Americans turned up – ex Rangers. The following morning we left to go to a mountain in Northern Iraq.”

He sent a message to his girlfriend – “she was not best pleased, but let’s just say she’s happy now,” he adds – and his family had subsequently reported his actions to the police.

But it was too late for anyone to do anything to stop him, and by now even Anthony – in an isolated mountain camp – had no idea where he was.

There he met more volunteer fighters who had travelled from around the world – Kurdish, American, Brazilian, Estonian, French, Romanian, Norwegian, English, a Scotsman who’d worked for counter-IRA forces and an ex-British military Irishman.

“Eventually it came to my turn to cross the border. It was a four- hour drive to the river, and we got into two Zodiacs – they’re like lifeguard boats.

"In the middle of the night we paddled upstream, using the current to get across to the other side, and we made it across to Syria. It was freezing cold and pitch black.”

After a week’s basic training at a military camp he was sent out to a YPG unit in a bunker at the edge of Kurdish-held territory near Tell Brak in southern Rojava, less than 2km from Isis troops.

All around was desert, and stretched out on either side at 2km intervals were other YPG units, dug in. Anthony was on the front line.

Nervous but determined, he and fellow volunteers walked into camp and were welcomed with open arms.

“It was really friendly,” he says. “They were overjoyed that we had come to help and put our lives on the line.

“They wanted to know everything about us – where we were from; about our families.

“As soon as you get there you are a member of their family.

“They called us by our name but added the word ‘heval’ which means ‘friend.’ Everyone got different names and they called me Heval Tofan – Tofan means ‘destructive weather’.

A girl at the mountain called me that first and everyone started laughing – I think it’s because I’m quite a calm person.”

“The Kurdish guy next to me didn’t speak a word of English – but he said the word Daesh – the word for Isis"

Life within the unit was friendly but regimented – up at 6am; followed by a breakfast of flat-bread, apricot jam, cheese and tomatoes, after which days were spent maintaining weapons, reinforcing earthworks, and taking two shifts of guard duty.

But there was time for fun too, and every day at 6pm it was time for volleyball.

“It was the main thing to play volleyball, and they wanted everyone to play,” he laughs.

Every evening, as night drew in, the fun stopped.

“The Kurds sort of switch on then,” says Anthony. “It’s like they go into a different mode.

“At night it’s very strict – smoking stops, torches go out. It’s understandable.”

Anthony recalls his first spell on guard duty, stationed next to the “Dushka” heavy machine gun.

“I was standing looking into the distance at motorbike lights going left and right, cars going left and right. You can see torches.

“The Kurdish guy next to me didn’t speak a word of English – but he said the word Daesh – the word for Isis. Every time a car moved he said ‘Daesh’, and when a torch moved he would say the number of people walking.”

One night he was sent out on an night-time mission into no-man’s land.

“The commander came up to me and said ‘you’re going on an ambush, make sure your gun is clean, make sure you’ve got grenades and your magazine is full.

“You count how many rounds you’ve fired and as soon as you get to the end of your magazine you take another one out. I went through about 45 rounds”

“I made sure I did all that. I wore dark clothing and made sure I had all my kit ready.

“We went out about 8pm. I was nervous but excited. I was sort of – not proud – but I was happy I was chosen to be involved.

“We hear a lot of stories that we (western volunteers) are being used as trophy pieces for the media, but I said to the commander from day one that I’m there because I wanted to help – that my life isn’t more important than yours.”

Anthony and four other YPG fighters approached some buildings where they suspected Isis were holed up.

“The Kurds... went around and laid the mines on the opposite side of the buildings and we waited. I could hear the Isis fighters talking inside. Then the Kurds came back and radioed the commander to ask if they could attack.

“The commander replied ‘yes’ and about 30 seconds later they loaded the RPG (rocket propelled grenade) and fired into the building.”

A gun fight followed – Anthony and his comrades lying in a ditch and firing at the ambushed Isis troops.

“It went on for about 30 seconds,” he says. “You go into this sort of mind-set where you don’t care about anything else – you just want to get through the next however many minutes, seconds.

“You count how many rounds you’ve fired and as soon as you get to the end of your magazine you take another one out. I went through about 45 rounds.”

Then the firing slowed down and the ambush group retreated.

“Afterwards, the building had gone – the rocket had hit the side of the building and it had crumbled. Personally I think we killed some but I couldn’t confirm it”

“Afterwards, the building had gone – the rocket had hit the side of the building and it had crumbled. Personally I think we killed some but I couldn’t confirm it.”

After two months with an AK47 in his hand, Anthony began to feel like he’d had enough of the frontline. He’d done his part, and he felt guilty for leaving his family and girlfriend. It was time to go home.

But the night before he was due to leave, the camp came under attack.

“We got woken up at 4am,” he says. “I thought I had guard shift but there was a lot more urgency about getting up.

"Everyone got out of bed, we all put our boots on and ran outside and ran up to where we were meant to go, by the Dushka.

“I got moved to the main entrance of the camp. The Dushka was firing and there were tracer bullets going left and right.

“ I was thinking ‘I just want to get home - I don’t want to be fired upon.’ I’d been expecting to get a night’s sleep.

“We fired back with tracer bullets going left and right. I felt like I was in a Star Wars film. It was pretty intense.

“You could hear them [Isis] shouting - ‘Allahu Akbar - God is the highest’.

“It’s pretty scary. You only see that sort of thing in YouTube videos. Some of the Kurds shouted ‘Allahu Mied - your god is dead.’

“We were just shouting obscene things in English.”

At about 7am, as dawn broke, the firing died down and Isis retreated.

And two days later, Anthony was on his way home.

It was an arduous journey, back to the mountain camp in northern Iraq and then onto Erbil, where he had to have a meeting at the British Consulate to arrange a visa.

Eventually he sorted a flight out to Jordan and then onto Heathrow, where he arrived on Saturday afternoon, June 6.

“All the time I was thinking I was going to get picked up by police, but there was nothing. I got on the plane at Jordan and thought this is my last flight before I’ll have a ten hour conversation, but when I got off the plane I went straight through passport control. I could have been a terrorist.

“I went through eGate and my passport got flagged, but I think it was because I’d had a haircut. I went to speak to a woman, she looked at my passport and she let me through.

“I’ve got no idea why I didn’t get stopped, it’s scary. I could have been fighting for anyone.”

From there it was onto the Underground, and he was on his way home to Gillingham.

“After two months hearing no English voices, suddenly you’re on the train surrounded by British voices moaning about everyday life - there was a British guy moaning about some Americans speaking loudly. Someone was moaning about the heat. Just a few days previously I’d been shot at and I’d been in a country where it was 45-50C. You start to realise how much you take for granted.”

When he got back to Gillingham he went straight to the chemist to buy some foot-cream for his boot-weathered feet, and then headed back to his girlfriend’s house.

Sitting in Costa, bespectacled, wearing a baseball cap and a hoodie jumper, cracked iPad in hand, Anthony looks more like he’s walked out of a trendy bar in London than a war zone.

He’s got no idea what the future holds for him - except for a meeting he’s arranged himself with the police to clear up any questions they might want to ask, and a few awkward phone calls to his family.

But Anthony’s concerns lie more with his former comrades out in Syria.

“We need to shine as much light as we can on the Kurdish people and what’s really going on,” he says. “They need support above all else. The Kurdish people are fantastic. I’ve never met people like them. We need to give as much support as we can.”