Wojtek the Bear [paperback] (18 page)

The girls marched me down the long, carpeted corridor to the president’s office; it is a strange building due to the light and the echo of what seems a thousand languages. The president
was charming, warm and welcoming. As a Pole, he was fascinated and quite moved by the story. At one point when I was talking about the men, and Wojtek, on the camp, I felt I wanted to cry, which
took me by surprise as I am not noted for being a highly emotional type of person. The moment passed, unnoticed by anyone. I noticed that the president had picked up the photograph of Wojtek and
was speaking to it, quietly and sombrely, in Polish. So many people listen to the story and love it, but when you see a Pole hearing it, it is different; it is deeper, more intense, sometimes
overwhelming. It is like flicking a light switch and seeing the bear for the first time, frightening yet fascinating.

People forget – or do not realise – how the Poles themselves have lost huge chunks of their history, and have schooled themselves not to talk about it. Wojtek, though, brings them
face to face with lost realities, and that is important. For if we do not know the road we have travelled, we have no signposts to guide us into the future. When I left the president’s
office, I thought: another convert, Wojtek. Well done! And who invited you into his office? Me!

On Tuesday 15 November 2011, there was another development. I travelled to London for the screening of a new TV documentary:
Wojtek
–
The Bear That Went To War
. My husband
Andrew and I, our son Alexander (who was an extra in the film), our daughter Janie and her
flatmate Marc MacInnes, who were runners for the film crew, all attended the
preview at the Riverside Studios in Hammersmith. I was quite nervous because not only was I in the documentary, I had also been asked to be part of the discussion panel after the programme. I am
usually quite confident, but with Wojtek there is always a need to get things right, and although I had great faith in the production, I had not anticipated so many people would be attending,
especially those who had personally known Wojtek. For me it was a first meeting with many of the people I had either written about or corresponded with by email. I need not have worried. The
documentary was superb; Will Hood and Adam Lavis directed it and Kat Mansoor and Kasia Skibinska were the producers. Ironically, the cameraman was Wojciech Staron, whom we told was put on this
planet to film Wojtek! Collectively known as Animal Monday, Will, Adam and Kat were by now well-known to us; indeed, had become part of our family, as well as the family of Wojtek. To see their
work come to fruition was fantastic. It was odd sitting in a theatre in London watching our farm, and indeed ourselves, on film. Even Holly, one of our pet spaniels, made the silver screen, in her
usual laidback way. But the icing on the cake was the narration by Brian Blessed. His most memorable quote lives with me still: ‘The story of Wojtek would make God smile.’

One of the most important contributions to the film was made by former soldier Archibald (Archie) Brown. Archie had been a mine of information and enjoyed working with the film crew. He died a
few weeks later and the film was dedicated to him. When he talked about the bear, it was with deep respect and love. At the end of his contribution
he broke down on screen,
and we all shared his grief. Watching him, there was not a dry eye in the house. He stated what we all thought in our hearts: we had no right to forget Wojtek. He was, indeed, a treasured being
whose passing was as an old soldier, not just a beloved pet.

On 23 January 2012 I received a surprise email from the UK embassy in Warsaw. It was an invitation from the UK ambassador, Robin Barnett, to be guest of honour at their Celebration of Scotland
in Poland evening on Monday, 6 February. When I finally linked up with First Secretary to the ambassador, Iain Stewart, I was left in no doubt that this was a serious diplomatic initiative to
promote stronger trade and cultural links between Scotland and Poland. Naturally, I jumped at the chance to take the bear to Poland for the first time.

At Heathrow, carrying the maquette of Wojtek in a plastic bag, I made my way to the bus waiting to take us to Terminal Three and our flight to Warsaw. Being naturally inquisitive, the bear poked
his nose out of the plastic bag and stared out. A child spotted him, raised his hand and touched the bear’s nose. While in transit he chatted away in German to the bear, confidently believing
the bear was his new friend. The innocence and the joy of the encounter were palpable. His parents smiled at the scene. As we parted, the child laughed and waved goodbye to Wojtek before
disappearing into the huge glass hall for his flight onwards to who knows where. Say what you like, the bear made friends easily.

Security being security, Wojtek had to pass through a variety of scanners. Finally the flight was ready, and just as I rose to shuffle forward for embarkation, four young Poles spotted him and
shouted, ‘Wojtek, Wojtek!’ They waved
enthusiastically and as they passed by patted him on the head. ‘We love Wojtek,’ said one of them. Though their
English was limited, I got the message: I was not very important but my companion Wojtek enjoyed superstar status.

When I arrived in Poland it was –26ºF on the streets. But I found it bracing – very cold and dry, with no chilly wind. I was met by Maja Andrzejewska from the embassy. She was
fascinated by Wojtek’s story, as many young Poles are. For many of them it is a new tale and they eagerly absorb the details. En route to the embassy I unwrapped Wojtek in the car so he could
see Warsaw. Maja enjoyed the moment too, and we both laughed because in a way it was a celebration. Wojtek had come to his spiritual home.

There was a quick turnaround at our hotel so that we could be at the reception early to meet the rest of the embassy staff. Iain Stewart was a fellow Scot. He told me he used to live in the
Borders, in Bowden, close to my own home, which is typical of Scots: we meet up in foreign countries, only to find we are from the same place. On his plinth in the embassy, Wojtek looked really at
home. Guests entering the reception could see him from the doorway; indeed, the glass-fronted room meant we could enjoy being outside, too, cold as it was. Staring at his poignant reflection in the
glass, I felt proud that others, too, had faith in what we were doing, and I wished the moment could have been shared with the other trustees or, perhaps, with Kay Karolewski, who had been with the
bear in Winfield Camp all those years ago. Kay was not a sentimental man, being fairly matter of fact about his relationship with Wojtek. But he was proud to be part of the story, and I now
understood why, at other functions where the
bear was present, he used to stand to one side, quietly observing people’s reaction to the maquette, and the great surge
of emotion it generated within them.

Others picked up on it, too. HM Ambassador Robin Barnett is one of those rare people who can see into the soul, and he fully understood the message the bear was sending out. Wojtek touched
people’s hearts. The ambassador saw the links, and the opportunities to express these in a way which embraced both the past and the future.

After the entertainments, which included a stirring address to the haggis by Adam Chuzanow and a superb performance from the Czestochowa Pipe Band, it was my turn to ‘sing for my
supper’ and give a dissertation on Wojtek. I never work from set speeches so I have little remembrance of what I said. But I know I did stress that Wojtek was special; he was a link with both
our countries. If the Scottish soldiers respected and held in high regard the Poles who had laid down their lives for our freedom, and their freedom too, why not bring this story to Poland and let
them hear about those who had lived and worked with Wojtek? His story was different because he never got to see Poland, like many who had travelled with him. Although there is great sadness in the
story of Wojtek, the legacy he left was beyond normality: he was an animal who knew nothing about being a lesser species; he was, in his own mind, a soldier who had Polish as his first language;
his family were Polish, and his life was as that of the men languishing in a Displaced Persons camp in Scotland waiting for a freedom that never came. The core reason for doing this whole project
was to bring Wojtek to Poland, along with the memory of the men, women and children who were with him from Persia to Scotland, and to tell the
story of their survival. One
of the most thrilling moments of the evening for me was to see for the first time the Polish edition of Wojtek’s story. Publisher Mateusz Bandurski had brought along a number of copies for
distribution to the guests, and for me that was a major event – it meant that for the first time Poles could read about him in their own language. They were learning something about those
lost years.

On my final day it was my turn to learn about the deprivation and horror of the Warsaw Uprising on a visit to the Muzeum Powstania Warszawskiego, which manager Anna Kotonowicz had opened
specially for us. The museum is a modern facility which matches anything in Scotland or the UK. And it is a sombre testament to man’s inhumanity to man. The Warsaw Uprising had been wholesale
slaughter; the conditions for those residents for all ages, class or religion could only be described as hell on earth. In 1939 Warsaw’s population was 1.9 million; by 1945 it was a mere
1,000. Anna was a highly knowledgeable guide. While walking through the museum I said: ‘I now understand why this project is so important to me. My grandfather must have known about this
slaughter, and he had seen similar scenes in France.’

You cannot leave such an exhibition without being moved to tears. For me it was a short, three-minute film by an American pilot which brought the carnage into sharp and compelling perspective.
This museum should never be missed. It is a reminder of what can happen if we fail to strive for peace. It is also quite overwhelming, because the museum is sited in the area where so many
innocents were murdered. The sheer scale of those deaths cannot be measured other than by statistics, which themselves are
beyond understanding. Needless to say, it took me
some time to process the museum visit in my head. When you see pictures of wartime Warsaw, you understand why many Poles could not return; there was simply nothing to come back to. The city was
razed to the ground; virtually all its citizens died, with no documentation to say how they met their end. There was no tangible measure of their existence save mile after mile of graves.

As the men sat in Winfield Camp, they had little knowledge of the true extent of the killing and destruction that had occurred in Warsaw. What they pictured in their mind’s eyes was the
elegant capital of 1939, the Paris of Eastern Europe, with ladies in their beautifully tailored finery, welcoming restaurants, superb theatre shows, fast cars and shops filled with fine food and
wines and the latest fashions. The fantasy had been fact back then, but not by 1945. Hitler’s hatred of the Poles had seen to that. But many of the exiled Poles had no knowledge of the true
destruction which had been wrought, nor could they have taken the pain of it.

If there was no place for the men, then there was certainly no place for Wojtek. For those who may question this, visit the museum. We lunched in the restored Old Town, which is very beautiful.
Built from the rubble, it is a testimony to those who pieced it all together to re-create what was lost. No one should doubt its authenticity. How often have we broken a national treasure only to
have it reconstructed and repaired to perfection? In rebuilding it, the joy of its existence is also restored.

For a split second, I could imagine the men standing with Wojtek in the Old Town square. We watch so much on TV about the First and Second World Wars, yet we do not
always absorb the true horror of these stories. When friends once told me about entering the main gate at the death camp of Auschwitz, and the feeling of panic and oppression weighing
on them as they walked through, I had no idea that fellow Europeans – people so close geographically and socially to my own – could suffer the agonies of war with no hope.

For them, Wojtek has to be one of those few beacons of hope in the history of their nation. He is a symbol of hope for the future. He could not have visited postwar Warsaw. The soldiers’
dream of returning to Poland, and Warsaw, with Wojtek marching through the city to the music of bands watched by crowds of cheering children was just that – a dream. There were no streets, no
marching bands and, much worse, no children. How could Wojtek have lived in the rubble with his grieving comrades? His life would have been intolerable, just as it was for millions. Wojtek’s
transfer to a zoo in Edinburgh was not ideal, but it was safe and secure. He had keepers who cared about him and a daily audience to amuse him, and sometimes visits from old friends who sang to him
in Polish. And they swore he cried.

But Wojtek can now go to Poland. It won’t be in the way that was originally hoped for by the men who knew him. But it will be in a much better way. He and his statue there will be a new
story to new generations, and a fond memory to others.

In marked contrast to the glacial pace of our discussions with Historic Scotland, the Polish reaction to my visit to Warsaw was a great tonic. On returning home, phone calls and emails flooded
in from people wanting to help. Most refreshing of all was the ‘can do’ attitude of Polish officials, who very quickly got to work on compiling a shortlist of
potential sites for a Wojtek statue. Indeed, their enthusiasm was so palpable it had a profound effect upon me. In Scotland I could feel my energy being drained as the project became
more and more burdened with red tape. However, Poland’s reaction was so refreshing that it quickly revived my flagging spirits. The Poles see in Wojtek an icon which straddles past and
future. He is not a bear who should be left in limbo: he is a symbol of what can be achieved through friendship and trust.

I have always known that, once a memorial is built in Poland, the mission, in some ways, will be complete. However, I suspect Wojtek will continue to surprise us. In life, he was an
extraordinary animal with a strong sense of mischief. There is no reason to suppose his shade has lost that sense of humour. There is one continuous blessing for the rest of us: you can’t be
around Wojtek too long and take yourself too seriously. He also has a sneaky habit of making people do exactly what he wants.