Except that here in Saddam's hometown and the final stronghold to fall, there is little appetite for the kind of jubilant mayhem seen in city after city as they have been overrun by US forces.

Here, where Saddam grew up and, as "rais" (president), was treated with extreme respect, he is still held in high esteem. Where elsewhere his portraits have been riddled with bullet holes, in Tikrit they remain intact.

"The Americans should know that the people of Tikrit and of Iraq have not stopped loving Saddam Hussein and, even if they kill us, our children will love him in just the same way," said Hassan Mehdi, a waiter in one of the rare tea houses to have reopened since the town capitulated to the advancing US forces.

Peterson is indifferent to the fate of the city's statue. "If they want to take it down, it's their their problem," he said.

"The fact is that they haven't defaced Saddam's picture. This indicates that they were more supportive, at least less hateful, or indifferent like us."

Deprived of food, electricity and drinking water, Tikrit has been under siege since the first days of the war, facing a constant barrage of bombardment from the Americans.

And with little to eat, the strong, sugary tea popular throughout Iraq has been the staple diet for many.

But even here, as in the neighbouring village of Ouja, where Saddam was born and would often come to relax, the looters have been at work, if less overtly than in Baghdad or Mosul, but at work all the same, helping themselves to whatever they can lay their hands on.

In the big cities, it is Saddam's legacy which is blamed for the chaos and hardship. Here it is considered the fault of the Americans and the United Nations.

Trader Hassan Hosseini is in little doubt after more than two weeks in which his two-year-old daughter has been woken every night by the sound of the bombardment and during which time "we have eaten nothing but rice and beans".

At least under Saddam, "we had work, there was order and authority. In Tikrit, we judge people by their actions and the Americans have done nothing yet", he said.

Peterson, who heads a Marine reconnaissance battalion which patrols the city streets, is doing the best he can.

"I command a fighting unit, not a humanitarian unit," he says. "Unfortunately, these people don't need flak jackets or bullets, they need blankets and food.

"We were given humanitarian rations but we went through lots of villages on our way here, there wasn't enough. I was amazed by the humanitarian need," the lieutenant said.

He is sympathetic to the plight of the people of Tikrit, he says. "I have a wife and children, I can slip into their shoes, I would also feel uncomfortable. They're not happy, they're not comfortable, but they are understanding."

Following Tuesday's fall of Tikrit, the marines have tightened their patrols and now stop and search every car, men as well women, even though they are aware of the danger of offending Muslim sensitivities.

"I know this is against their culture, but we are very respectful, we have them open up their cape, we would not put our hands on them," Peterson said. "We are trying to find a balance between our safety and the cultural issue."

His colleague, a sergeant, claims to have noticed a change in the mood as slowly people approach him to exchange a few words, even to shake his hand.

"Today they're opening up a little bit more. Some told me they could sleep for the first time last night," he said.

But his confidence is not borne out on the street where the attitude to the occupying force is summed up by workman Osama Ali Jassem. "We're not going to shoot at them," he said, "but you can be certain we're not going to shake their hand either."

SPACE.WIRE