BY FREDERICO MEDIUMRARE, FROM KYIV

DECADES AGO it might have ended in a blood bath. But today a meeting between former Provisional IRA volunteers and current S.A.S troopers ended in a brutal drinking match and an arm wrestle.

The old IRA people are here schooling the Ukrainians in the finer points of assassination, car bombs, improvised weaponry, and kneecapping; the S.A.S are actually secretly fighting with the Ukrainians in the Donbass. Though they maintained they were on a fishing holiday.

The two groups found themselves sitting next to one another in a restaurant. The minute the Irishmen heard British accents and understood who they were sitting next to, they became defensive: personal firearms were quietly cocked. The British men were slower to realize their predicament as they were already on to their tenth bottle of wine. And it’s been thirty years since the Provisional IRA declared a ceasefire, and nearly twenty since they called an end to their armed campaign. Most of them don’t look anything like their old mugshots.

Anyway, the two groups – there were about half a dozen at each table – began to stare suspiciously at each other, like dogs sniffing. One of older the S.A.S troopers suddenly began to recognize one of the IRA men. “He was on an old hit list we used to have in Hereford,” he explained later. “Older but not much changed. I began to reach into my jacket. I didn’t get far before I heard: ‘You’ll not get that there wee thing out before I nut you.’ The one I recognized put a .357 Magnum on the table.”

What happened next was pure drama, witnesses agreed. The other IRA and British men all pulled weapons and put them on the tables at the same time. The groups continued to examine one another. Other patrons began to get up. Waiters scattered. Then the first IRA man said “Time to call the bet, I believe.” He pulled a hand grenade out of his pocket and placed it on the table. He looked at everyone and smiled. “Now gentleman,” he said, “a chairde (Irish for ‘friends’), would you all please holster your weapons and allow me finish my fuckin’ dinner.”

That appeared to break the ice. Talk began, slowly at first, broken by eating and drinking. Then a kind of professional courtesy took over and each side discussed the Ukraine war as much as they were allowed by their particular codes. Three hours later both tables were together and the drinks were piling up. Soon, the war was forgotten and the really serious debate began – Manchester United or Chelsea? Tottenham Hotspur or Arsenal?

“That’s when the arm wrestle began,” said one of the other Irishmen. “Not sure who won. We all ended up on the floor. Laughing. Just laughing.”

And they never saw each other again.