Wojtek the Bear [paperback] (17 page)

In ancient cultures in many parts of the world, bears have often been objects of worship. Of these customs, the one that most intrigues me is the celebration conducted by the clans of the Nivkh,
a semi-nomadic group living in the trackless wilderness of the Russian taiga. The Nivkh are mainly fishermen, hunters and dog breeders. Bears are considered a sacred earthly manifestation of Nivkh
ancestors. Young bears are captured by a Nivkh clan and brought back to the clan’s encampments. There the bears are kept in a corral or wooden hut, often for years, tended by the womenfolk.
At the time of the bear festival, two clans meet up for a lengthy series of entertainments, culminating in an elaborate religious ceremony in which a bear is dressed in sacred regalia and honoured
by being given a last special
meal. It is then killed and eaten at a banquet. According to the Nivkh belief system, the bear’s spirit then returns happily to the gods
of the mountain and rewards the Nivkh with bountiful forests teeming with game. The bear festival is a way of cementing the relationship between two clans already bound by inter-marriage. Wojtek
would have liked that, I think, apart from the bit about being eaten. He always enjoyed a good party.

None of us knows where the path of life leads. As we step forward into an unknown, but optimistic, future, I would hazard a guess that Wojtek, in his joyous, mischievous way, has a few surprises
in store for the trustees of the Wojtek Memorial Trust. That’s as it should be. Any bear who can engender love and respect between fellow human beings is entitled to a little fun along the
way, not to mention the occasional cigarette and bottle of beer.

Meanwhile, Wojtek’s journey continues, and will do until we find his true home, re-united with his fellow comrades, living in true freedom and enjoying his independence. The Happy Warrior
in Bear Heaven.

There is no doubt that since the Wojtek story became intertwined with my own life, all kinds of coincidences and odd happenings have occurred. In May
2011, I stood in Dumfries as a candidate for the Scottish Parliament. Making my way back to Edinburgh from the constituency in the car on election day, I tucked my candidate’s speech for
glorious success, or otherwise, inside a copy of my Wojtek book. At that point I still didn’t know the outcome. Just as my husband Andrew was driving across the Kingston Bridge in Glasgow, I
received a phone call from HQ: all the signs were that I had not made it into the Scottish Parliament. In the event it transpired that, while putting up my party’s vote, I missed my goal by a
bear’s whisker. Failure is always painful.

As I talked with HQ, my book and the speech fell off my knee and rolled over my feet onto the car mat. The book fell open at the following passage:

Staring at that passage I had a moment of great clarity: I knew my destiny was staring me in the face, and that any political adventure I embarked upon was destined to be with ‘my
bear’. Wojtek was always going to be the centre of attention, not my own political ambitions.

It was this realisation that led me onto a new road with Wojtek and the Wojtek project. He had crossed so many frontiers, I felt compelled to do the same, perhaps not geographically, but
certainly in piercing the veil of political expediency which had resulted in a total shutdown in communication by so many Poles who had stayed on in this country. Their lives – and their pain
– had not been validated in any way. Initially, I thought the past was too painful, or too distant, for them to reminisce with a total stranger. But digging into the government papers from
that time, I unearthed a darker side to the Wojtek story. My research initially raised the fact that the Poles had been excluded from virtually all the postwar celebrations; but much worse was the
cosy club which had been formed politically in the UK to expel the Poles from the country, a state of affairs which lasted until Poland’s entry into the European Union. The fear of expulsion,
I realised, had not just started in the postwar years. Many of the demobbed soldiers lived in terror of ‘the knock at the door’ for much of their lives. That may seem a lunacy to UK
citizens innocent of pogroms and poverty. But after seeing at firsthand expulsions of African and Asian families from Scotland by the UK government, I realised how deeply the Poles must have
worried about their future and had little sense of
security until they became UK citizens. For postwar Poles, the road to UK citizenship was always a difficult one; for a
long time after the war they were still being pressurised to return to Poland. Gradually, the pressure eased but those who stayed chose, in the main, to live a quiet life as free from controversy
as they could. After my research, I now understood why those Poles, living in a free and democratic country, had been so reluctant to speak out. They had never practised the art of free speech,
they had self-censored their history, indeed their very existence; their freedom to express themselves as they really were came through Wojtek, a free spirit if ever there was one.

The intention to commemorate Wojtek in the form of a statue depicting him in the company of the Polish soldier has had to weave its way through the protocols determined by the policies and
practices of institutions such as Historic Scotland and the City of Edinburgh Council, and finding the right location in the city centre has seemed at times like a walk through a maze with its many
dead ends. Politely we explained that suggestions for the statue to be erected in Edinburgh Zoo was the antithesis of our mission: this was not the freedom that was being sought for Wojtek.

The search started in a rain storm within the precinct of Edinburgh Castle with Krystyna Szumelukowa and sculptor Alan Herriot as the drenched representative from Historic Scotland patiently
explaining that no new memorial had been erected at the Castle since 1927 and that the removal of Earl Grey from the Castle Esplanade to Hospital Square had taken three years! We could see that the
car park space of the Governor of Edinburgh Castle could be the ideal spot. Although the then Governor, David Shaw, did not mind, Historic Scotland would not entertain our
proposal. Having also been persuaded against Princes Street Gardens owing to an apparent congestion of monuments and memorials, we looked at Calton Hill, which hosts an eclectic mix
of complete, unfinished and neglected monuments. Turning an unkempt concrete eyesore housing a water pump into a plinth for the statue was rejected by Historic Scotland, and the well-meaning Calton
Hill Working Group also rejected the idea for reasons such as the statue being ‘figurative’ and there being no policy for new statues on the hill. We could not be persuaded that the
statue could be located below the hill in Hillside Crescent, as it would be off centre and not readily visible.

Our latest effort is to design the statue into the precinct in front of St Mary’s Metropolitan Cathedral at the top of Leith Walk, where the strolling bear and soldier would be part of a
busy pedestrian area and in tune with the original commemoration to Edinburgh’s links with Monte Cassino by the roundel and the Eduardo Paolozzi sculptures. Although in bronze, Wojtek would
finally be at home in a place of honour in the freedom of a public space. We are hoping that this plan for a statue of Wojtek can finally find its way through the protocols.

All through 2011 Krystyna and I attended many planning meetings to discuss the memorial for Wojtek. If Alan was getting frustrated, he did not show it until an unfortunate meeting with Historic
Scotland in Edinburgh. Krystyna, Alan and I marched into the large headquarters in Newington to state our case. It was something we had never rehearsed as a threesome – any eloquence we had
came from our shared passion for the whole project. However, after being left waiting for some fifteen minutes, I could see Krystyna and Alan starting to become impatient.
Having worked in politics, I was used to people being late, or meetings overrunning, but this felt different. Finally we were ushered to the canteen; there were no rooms free for our
meeting, although the appointment had been arranged for some considerable time. There is no one more proud of their country than me, but for that meeting I felt like ‘the enemy’.
Keeping my head down, a bit like Wojtek sensing danger, I drank my coffee and listened as the experts went to war; Krystyna is extremely knowledgeable about town planning, Alan is a veteran of
placing sculptures in towns and cities across the UK and beyond. I could see the veins on Alan’s neck protruding and Krystyna, perched on the edge of one of the canteen sofas, looked like a
soldier about to go over the top. Historic Scotland had set their faces against the project; they just did not understand why we would, or should, do this, and they could see no place for a
memorial to Wojtek in the historic heartland within Edinburgh. They thought Alan’s design ‘a bit too political’ and seemed so detached from what we wanted to do it felt almost as
if we were asking one of my dogs to make lunch, instead of talking to the professionals about putting up a monument.

But Krystyna had all the answers and played a very good game, as game it had become. Without her expertise, we could not have moved on to plan Wojtek’s new site. I did wonder why there was
a problem, considering the internationally renowned statue of Greyfriars Bobby is an important visitor attraction in Edinburgh.

In the case of Greyfriars Bobby, his story is fixed in mid-nineteenth century Edinburgh. He was cared for and fed by the people who lived around Greyfriars Churchyard and he became a national
icon because of his faithfulness to his
dead master. Right up until his death, Bobby had guarded the grave of his owner, John Gray, for some fourteen years, refusing to
leave the spot where he was buried. During Bobby’s tenacious daily vigil, local citizens raised many of the same concerns regarding the little dog’s fate as were later raised about
Wojtek. A case of history repeating itself.

It was argued that Bobby was essentially a stray and should be put down; however, like Wojtek, he had friends in high places and it was one of these, Sir William Chambers, who paid for the
little Skye terrier’s dog licence, which allowed him to stay free and alive. On Bobby’s death a memorial was erected close to the churchyard gates where he was buried. It was paid for
by Baroness Burdett-Coutts, such was her admiration for the dog. He was described by his supporters as the most faithful dog in the world, an irony not lost on us: some 140 years later we were
trying to erect a memorial to the most faithful bear in the world within the very same city. Who in all conscience could deny Wojtek his place in the streets of Edinburgh? Like the little dog, he
knew freedom in Scotland; he was admired and loved by its citizens as well as the Poles; his life, too, was captured in photographs, and – albeit very briefly – in war records.
Wojtek’s journey was that of any soldier heading for battle, and then the long road home. And Edinburgh was his home for many years.

The saddest difference between dog and bear is that Wojtek has no grave as Bobby has. His memory has to live on in the memorial, and it is there that people will come to lay flowers, as they do
for any lost soldier. There is a great deal of love still for the bear from the past, but our real mission is to maintain the story for future generations so that it can be passed on, secure in the
knowledge that from
the horrors of war true friendships and loyalty can endure; the bond between man and beast can be a force for good, even when arising from the most dire
circumstances. Like Greyfriars Bobby, Wojtek learned to accept the company of humans when left in the zoo; yes, it must have seemed foreign and lonely at times, but both animals had food and
company to see them through the coldest and darkest days, even if it was just visitors coming to stare and admire.

But no one within Historic Scotland seemed to understand the parallels between dog and bear. Greyfriars Bobby was immortalised in a life-size sculpture created by William Brodie in 1872. We have
maintained from the outset that Wojtek has the same appeal. His is a real story of trust and loyalty too. Both animals are undoubtedly part of the story of Scotland. In indelible fashion, they tell
us a great deal about our country in a way that the comings and goings of kings and queens and the good and the great do not. In brief, they fire the imagination.

The summer rolled on and we attended book signings, parties and meetings. Wojtek would not rest, nor would he let us sleep in peace either. It was while attending our neighbours’ wedding
that I was introduced to Scottish MEP Catherine Stihler. I mentioned I was planning to go over to the European Parliament to talk to Polish members about Wojtek. She was enthralled by the story,
and I gave her a copy of the book to read while on vacation. True to form, the artful bear stole her heart and she helped me organise a two-day visit to Brussels. She also understood the Polish
interest.

In early October I flew over to Brussels to meet President Buzek and attend a large reception in the European Parliament. At the time, Catherine was heavily pregnant
and
unable to leave Scotland. I was completely in the hands of her European assistant Pascale Lamb and her Scottish assistant Sonia Campbell, neither of whom I had ever met, to guide me through the
visit. I need not have worried; the diary was full and I had to hit the ground running. To say it was a manic two days is an understatement; the pair had organised my trip down to the last cup of
coffee.

My first visit was with Ian Campbell, who was Head of Office in the Scottish Government’s EU Office. I have always loved the look on officials’ faces when confronted by a woman who
wants to talk to them about a bear, but Ian was very gracious. Of course, once the story is told, there is complete understanding, and the Wojtek mission is certainly a wonderful opportunity to
expand the links between Scotland and Poland. After a very interesting meeting with Ian Campbell, Pascale and Sonia whisked me off to Richard Demarco’s ‘Scotland in Europe’
exhibition. Normally, I can run into Richard at art exhibitions in Edinburgh, but as he, too, is interested in the Wojtek story, it seemed appropriate we should meet in Brussels. Richard said:
‘You don’t have to sell the Wojtek story, Wojtek sells himself’ – and he is right. Wojtek is a current story, fresh and hopeful. Richard gave me a personal preview of the
work he was doing and, having such important cultural links with Polish art and theatre, Wojtek fitted in very well. After dinner I had a quick walk around Brussels before retiring for the night.
All too soon it was morning and a hair-raising taxi ride, in rush hour, from my hotel to the parliament ensued. Although prepared, I was unusually nervous. I had met many senior politicians before,
heads of state, even royalty, but there seemed to be a feeling of urgency, as if a lot were riding on this meeting. Yet I had no
idea if the president had any interest at
all in Wojtek, or, indeed, if he knew of the story.