Wojtek the Bear [paperback] (8 page)

The men of 2nd Corps were pulled out of Italy and transported to Britain to accommodate the demands of Stalin. The Soviets had no wish to have a standing army of some 250,000 Poles in mainland
Europe, most of whom had a deep hatred of Communist Russia for all the cruelties it had inflicted on their nation. Polish troops in the West were still serving under British operational command,
but even so, 2nd Corps’ presence in Italy represented a destabilising influence in the mind of the ever-suspicious Stalin. He had no wish to see them return to their homeland.

Following the conference of the major powers at Potsdam in 1945, on the basis of his bare-faced lie that he later would permit free Polish elections, Stalin gained control of Poland. But it was
really
fait accompli
even before the conference. He wanted nothing to threaten that arrangement.

When the conference set the country’s new postwar boundaries, Poland was required to cede part of its territory to Russia while gaining a section of Germany. But that was a mere fig leaf.
The British government was forced to derecognize Poland’s government-in-exile, based in London, saying its members would have to return to Poland to participate in the new elections when they
came. However, Stalin had already established an interim government, known as the Polish Committee of National Liberation, that was a vassal of the Soviet Union. As his iron grip on the country
tightened, the process of weeding out ‘undesirables’ and installing placemen to run the oppressive state apparatus was already well under way.

Marching along the Broomielaw in Glasgow, the men of 22nd Company had little or no knowledge of these political machinations. They also knew very little of what had
actually happened to their country during the later stages of the war – except that it was very bad. Nevertheless, as they arrived in Scotland, morale was high.

In part, that was due to the lengthy period of rest and recuperation they had had in Italy. On the sunny Adriatic coast, since the war’s end, the company had enjoyed the warm climate and
an abundance of soft fruits and vegetables. Alas, a rude shock awaited both men and bear after they disembarked from their troop ship in Glasgow. There was to be no easy transition into a civilian
existence and they also found themselves domiciled in an austere Scotland where food rationing was a way of life.

In Scotland the food allowance each person had to get by on at that time included the following: 2 ounces of bacon or ham, a finger of cheese (1.5 ounces), 7 ounces of butter or margarine, 2
ounces of cooking fats, 8 ounces of sugar, 2 ounces of tea (about 20 teabags), 4 ounces of sweets and 1 shilling’s-worth (5p) of meat. It doesn’t sound too bad, does it? Except this
wasn’t a day’s ration – it was for one full week. Except for the bacon. That was two weeks’ allowance. Other staples such as bread, bananas and even potatoes (throughout
1947) were also rationed. As for fresh eggs, you could have one a fortnight – if you could lay your hands on one. Most urban families made do with the vile-tasting powdered version for the
skimpy amounts of baking they could eke out of their precious rations of flour and sugar. On the plus side, people were allowed three pints of milk a week.

In fact, milk was just about the only commodity with
which the Attlee government was generous; as part of its drive to maintain the nutritional health of the
country’s children, in 1946 free school milk was introduced for all pupils up to the age of 18. This was later reduced to primary schools only. A quarter of a century later, free school milk
was finally phased out by Margaret Thatcher. She was dubbed Thatcher the Milk Snatcher by her political opponents.

Those of us of a certain age well remember the crates of one-third-of-a-pint bottles which had to be humped in from the playground into the classrooms. For some unfathomable reason, once
indoors, the crates always seemed to be stacked next to the school radiators, ensuring the milk was lukewarm by the time it was dispensed. It is one of life’s ironies that, despite food
shortages and rationing, the children of postwar Scotland were better fed than many of their modern counterparts. That, in large part, was down to the free milk ration and free school meals (about
half the UK’s pupils qualified for them), plus daily doses of free cod liver oil and concentrated orange juice which mothers determinedly rammed down the throats of protesting offspring.

However, Wojtek, when it came to rations in austerity Scotland, broke the mould. Clearance for his registration as a private in the Polish army had come through on St Valentine’s Day,
1945. As he was now formally on the books, the company could indent for provisions for him. But as he required an intake of around 20,000 calories a day – the equivalent of around 300 apples
or, say, 60 hamburgers – keeping him well fed was quite a challenge.

Like his brown-bear brothers in Iran, Wojtek always beefed up considerably in the autumn, putting on as much
as 1.5 pounds in weight per day if the feeding was
particularly good, as it had been in Italy. Most bears, whether they hibernate or not (and Wojtek didn’t), spend up to 16 hours a day – virtually all their waking hours –
foraging.

In passing, hibernation isn’t all it’s cracked up to be – many breeds of bear burn up almost the same energy when asleep as they do awake. Their metabolic rate doesn’t
drop significantly. If Wojtek had been back in the Zagros Mountains he probably would have hibernated, or perhaps more accurately, remained semi-dormant in his lair. However, he didn’t
because he was being fed on a daily basis, and, probably more significantly, his comrades didn’t hibernate. In virtually all respects, Wojtek considered himself no different from human
beings.

Fortunately for 22nd Company, Wojtek wasn’t fussy about what he ate, as long as there was plenty of it. Like his breed, he was omnivorous; he would eat almost any type of food including
carrion, fish, birds, meat, grasses, fruit, root vegetables, fibrous roots, wild berries, broad-leaved plants and shrubs, tree leaves, and, when he could get them, grubs, ants and honey. In the
ground, on the ground or above the ground, it really didn’t matter: Wojtek was up for eating it, although his first port of call was always the camp cookhouse.

About 80 per cent of his diet was vegetarian. In their transit camp, before they moved to the Borders, it cannot always have been easy for the soldiers to ensure their comrade was getting the 40
to 80 pounds of vegetable fodder he required daily. When the company moved to its new home, Winfield Camp, it still remained a considerable challenge for them until country folk started dropping in
at
the camp with scraps for the bear. As for Wojtek, he quickly adapted to Borders life, foraging for leaves and plants until there was hardly any greenery left on the trees
and bushes in the immediate vicinity of the camp.

Although a very clean bear, his eating habits were quite childlike. First he would pick out the items of food he really liked, leaving to last the less interesting fodder. Although far away from
his native nectarines, apricots and other exotic fruits, his diet was as good as any in the district. He received many gifts of food from visitors. He had a keen nose for any crumbs which might be
lingering in a pocket or a handbag, so there were often raids on unsuspecting visitors’ clothing and property. Though he received severe reprimands for his attempted thefts, the temptation
was always there and he would nearly always succumb to it.

At the camp, special sleeping quarters for Wojtek were built: a small wooden hut which the men speedily knocked up for him and lined with straw. From his new home there was much for the bear to
see. The prickly Scottish blackthorn hedges nearby were a new phenomenon for Wojtek, and he soon learned they offered considerable entertainment from the wildlife which inhabited them. He would
stare at the hedges for hours, watching birds hop around inside them. Occasionally rabbits and hares passed through, as did the odd fox. From time to time sheep would become entangled in them and
cattle would come along to eat the long grasses beside the hedge boundaries. Since his hut was situated between two hedges he had a great view of the local wildlife. For an easily bored bear this
must have been the equivalent of watching TV.

Wojtek was especially good at being still if he had to be. He would flatten himself on the ground, watching and
listening. When the sparrows became too cocky, too noisy
and, most crucially, too close, suddenly a furry apparition would rise up and pounce, with little thought of the consequences other than satisfying a deep call from the wild. The process would be
repeated many times, much to the detriment of the hedges. Eventually they died a slow but natural death because of his depredations and fences had to be erected. The wildlife show was over.
However, new forms of entertainment were eventually found and, besides, there were always the hedges on the other side of the road.

Long before the hedges vanished, Wojtek had his own scouting methods down pat. Perched up a tree, he would scan the camp entrance for any interesting developments. From his vantage point, Wojtek
had an uncanny knack of identifying visitors who were arriving at Winfield Camp with food. Actually, it was not his sight, which like that of all bears was poor, but his acute sense of smell which
resulted in him making a swift descent from his tree to swoop upon the newcomer.

For those who knew Wojtek, the enthusiastic welcome they received was not unexpected. He would rear to his full height, wave his paws about and perform a quick roll of submission on the ground
before bounding towards them. Often the locals were bringing commodities like jam, eggs and honey to the camp, but Wojtek knew there was always a treat set aside for him. He very quickly came to
recognise the faces of those regularly bringing food to the camp as opposed to visitors calling in for a chat. From the latter he could expect, at best, a cigarette or the occasional boiled sweet.
These treats were welcome, but not in the same league as the goodies provided by the other callers.

Despite his awe-inspiring stature, Wojtek was a gentle
giant. He liked to touch and be touched, a wondrously strange thing for a beast which, in the wild, was both
solitary and dangerous. He had a fascination for people’s eyes and ears and, for those brave enough to let him, he liked to touch their faces. He had a delicacy of touch which was surprising
in such a large beast. With a sharp, six-inch claw he could push a tiny black beetle along the ground without hurting it, playing and toying with it for ages until either he got bored with his game
or the insect discovered a bolthole and escaped.

Wojtek also liked to be groomed, especially around the back of his head and ears, which he found difficult to reach without aid of a stick. For an urgent itch, a tree or a fence would do the
trick and he would vigorously rub himself against these scratching posts until it subsided. It wasn’t too long before the trees around Sunwick Farm bore the permanent scars of his activities,
their bark ripped and scored by his claws through a mixture of climbing and scratching. Quite a few were killed off. No one ever complained.

It was on Monday, 28 October 1946, that Wojtek and his companions first arrived at Winfield Camp and, as seasoned campaigners of such moves, rapidly settled in – Wojtek to his special hut
and his comrades to their Nissen huts.

It was hardly gracious living. The men slept 30 to a hut, dormitory-style, in beds arranged against the walls of their barracks. With roofs and walls of corrugated iron, cold concrete floors and
thin-paned, small, draughty windows, Nissen huts were poorly insulated. Each hut was heated by a wood- and coal-burning pipe stove. Situated, as these were, either in the centre or at one end of
the hut, the
stoves had to be stoked until they were red-hot if they were to keep out the penetrating night chill. Even then the heat barely reached a few feet down the
length of the hut before it evaporated. In winter, the huts were freezing.

The winter of 1946–47 was one of the harshest on record, with temperatures plummeting to well below freezing. In parts of the country snow drifts reached heights of 23 feet and even the
English Channel occasionally became impassable because of pack ice as the temperature dropped to –23ºC. The intense cold led to the authorities’ allocating extra coal to Winfield
Camp, but the combination of the low temperatures outside and the frost gathering inside the corrugated-iron interior roof meant the warmer the hut became, the more the frost melted and dripped
onto the beds below. This was a source of hilarity among the men at first, but long nights of dripping water and constant dampness were really no laughing matter. After many sleepless nights
tempers became frayed as they sought vainly to get some rest. Their conditions were miserable. The only relief came when the drips refroze to become small icicles dotted all along the curved sides
of their inadequate shelters. The huts’ wooden doors posed another problem. Made from poorly cured wood, the constant damp caused them to swell, making them stick every time they were opened
and closed.

Wojtek, however, had no such problems curling up in his straw and doing what bears do best – sleep. With a fur coat to rival anything from the purveyors of fine pelts, he had a definite
advantage over his comrades when it came to bedding down in any situation.

On the plus side, the extreme weather created new work opportunities for the Poles, who were needed for road
clearing and assisting locals with the delivery of food
supplies and coal; the weather crisis added new purpose to their lives. It comes as no surprise that these fit young men enjoyed showing off their prowess in wielding shovels and brushes alongside
their Scottish neighbours. The whole community came out to help, but the Poles enjoyed their role as snow heroes and often posed for the occasional photograph.

It has to be remembered that home comforts weren’t much different for the local populace. Central heating and double glazing were decades away from everyday use. Apart from special
occasions when the parlour fire was lit, most people’s homes had only a single room that was heated – usually the kitchen. Stepping out of the warmth of the kitchen onto the hallway
linoleum was like stepping out onto ice. Bedrooms were like iceboxes too. As a girl I regularly got up in the morning to find the windows completely opaque with the delicate traceries of heavy
frost. To be honest, in the Borders we thought nothing of it. For men who had recently experienced searing desert heat followed by the more comfortable warmth of a Mediterranean climate, it must
have taken a bit of getting used to.