Gazette columnist Alan Hayman recalls a foreign posting that once threatened his young family’s well-being

Afghan mothers pass their babies to bewildered British and American soldiers at Kabul Airport in the hope of getting them a better life abroad.

An Afghan woman gives birth on board the C-17 rescue plane that is flying her to freedom.

These were some of the bizarre and distressing scenes the world witnessed after Kabul fell to the Taliban.

Alongside beatings, bombings and killings, they followed a violent change of regime in a troubled and wartorn country.

For me, it recalled living through a lesser family crisis while working as a foreign correspondent in a very different place - the remote and idyllic Seychelles, a thousand miles from the African coast.

After gaining independence from Britain, these Indian Ocean islands chose a wealthy playboy called James Mancham as their first president.

Too trusting for his own good, Mr Mancham thought he was secure in power, and headed off to London to meet the Queen.

His scheming and treacherous deputy, Albert Rene, seized his chance, bringing in rebel fighters from East Africa to overthrow Mr Mancham’s legally elected government.

It was a textbook coup d’etat. The rebels seized the radio station and the airport, then stormed the police armoury. They cut the phone lines and imposed a round-the-clock curfew, telling the 60,000 Seychellois they would be shot on sight if they ventured on to the streets.

As the BBC correspondent on Mahe, the main island, it was my task to tell the world what had happened – sending dispatches to London via teleprinters and amateur radio while the phones were down.

However, there was also an urgent domestic crisis to deal with. My wife was expecting our first child, and we had planned for baby Hayman to make his or her debut in the main hospital in Victoria, the capital.

But with gun-toting guerrillas roaming the streets, terrified nurses and doctors could not be expected to turn up to staff the maternity ward. All flights were grounded, with lorries blocking the runways to stop any take-offs or landings. So there was no way of swapping the Seychelles for a safer maternity unit in peaceful Colchester.

Anxious days and nights followed, as we looked for a way out. Could I learn amateur midwifery skills in time to be of any use? That idea didn’t look promising.

In the end, it was quiet mediation by British diplomats that saved the day. These unsung heroes struck a deal with the new regime for a mercy flight to London, with special passes for British expatriates so they could reach the airport despite the curfew.

It could still have gone horribly wrong. Would the insurgent fighters manning roadblocks on the route to the airport accept the curfew passes?

Or would they turn their guns on departing expatriates?

It was a time for tears and prayers, a good few of them from me.

In the event, all went well with the drive to the airport and the subsequent flight home. Best of all, baby Lucy arrived on time and in good shape at Colchester Maternity Home in Lexden Road, now regrettably just a memory.

There has never been another successful coup in the Seychelles, and years later, I returned there in happier times for a holiday.

But my most vivid memories are still of the Coup of the Sixty Rifles in 1977, and the fear and family separation that came after Jimmy Mancham was violently overthrown by his enemies.

So spare a thought or two for the families torn apart by the current bloody Afghan conflict, whatever their background. This time, not even the skills of British diplomats can provide everyone with a happy ending.