by Orr, Aileen;
Meanwhile, against this backdrop, proprieties were to be observed by duplicitous officials. There was a battalion of government officials, military advisers and local dignitaries checking on all aspects of the men’s welfare. Even the bear had to be given his own medical MOT. Not unnaturally, among the bureaucrats there was confusion when Wojtek’s name appeared on the medical list of the visiting doctor, but he knew exactly who Private Wojtek was and called in his friend the vet to give him an examination. State protocol required all the men be given adequate medical attention since many had received wounds and injuries in their military activities; as a serving private, that courtesy extended to Wojtek, too.
Thus the men of 22nd Company found themselves walking something of a tightrope when it came to gaining acceptance within the community. Their officers were punctilious in ironing out any problems which arose and did all they could to develop and cement good relations with the local movers and shakers. To be fair to the Borders, many people liked and accepted the Poles despite being woefully ignorant of their culture. The Poles, perforce, had to learn about the Scottish way of life irrespective of the language barrier and they quickly made up their minds that most Borderers, if a bit reserved, were friendly folk who responded to their overtures. In this regard Wojtek proved a brilliant ambassador. His presence always broke down barriers.
To help fraternisation most rural areas established branches of the Scottish–Polish Society and Winfield Camp was no exception. They held regular functions, had special speakers brought in to address them and they looked after the men’s welfare. At one of their meetings it was decided to make Wojtek, whom the newspapers had dubbed the world’s most famous bear, an honorary life member. The motion having been passed, the meeting was adjourned so that a delegation could take him a bottle of beer to celebrate his elevation to the ranks of the good and the great.
True to form, Wojtek provided an unexpected finale to the event. Across the road from the camp – and, strictly speaking, out of bounds – was a pond where he had been playing with a tyre, diving in and out of the water and batting it about. Tiring of the sport, he left the pond and leapt out onto the road, straight into the path of a lorry driving past the camp. Swerving violently to avoid him, the shocked driver went nose-first into the pond. That, however, was the least of his worries. Seeing a large, curious bear approaching him, he jumped out of the cab and ran for dear life. Wojtek loped after him. The terrified man, who turned out to be a German former POW, spotted a tree and began climbing it in the vain hope of escaping the bear’s unwanted attentions. Naturally, Wojtek followed. He had never treed a man before and was enjoying this new game.
Man and bear climbed higher and higher, Wojtek snorting with enjoyment. With the sort of comic timing worthy of a Charlie Chaplin movie, the delegation, led by a kilted man holding a bottle of beer, put in an appearance. The group stopped dead in its tracks at the spectacle. By sheer good fortune, Wojtek’s guardian Peter happened to be among their number and he immediately ordered Wojtek to come down. With a last lingering look at his new playmate, the bear did as he was told.
Even though the odds of finding employment suitable to their talents were stacked against them, the Polish servicemen at Winfield Camp were excellent traders and quick to exploit any opportunities that did arise. They bartered for additional foodstuffs and small luxuries like soap, trading cigarettes and vodka, the latter which they made in great secrecy in an illicit still. Even today, more than 60 years on, former camp residents won’t admit openly that they had at least one still on the premises. They were surrounded by the natural ingredients they needed: grains such as rye (which is used in traditional Polish vodka), wheat and corn. Other substitutes for the distillation process such as potatoes and potato peelings were also easily available and even molasses (used in some animal feeds) were to be had – all coupled with wonderful, clear Scottish water.
Being a country area, there were many ways to get around the shortages quietly. It wasn’t exactly the highly organised black market that existed in urban areas, but if someone bagged a brace of rabbits or netted a good-sized salmon from the river there were opportunities to trade for other commodities.
The camp cultivated itsThe camp cultivated its own vegetable patch, which enabled the soldiers to create Polish dishes, much to their private relief. The Poles had difficulty in coming to terms with Scottish cuisine. With the sea virtually on their doorstep, families had access to a regular supply of white fish. Because of that, fish suppers were part of the area’s staple diet. Deep fried fish in batter was something the Poles, used to eating carp, had never encountered before. And, frankly, they found it inedible. Wojtek assuaged their guilt at wasting food – a ‘crime’ of the first order – by gobbling up the abandoned fried fish.
Although rationing was still in existence, Berwickshire was a good place to be food-wise, for man and beast. A plentiful supply of eggs, milk and butter meant a great deal of home baking was possible; the missing ingredient, of course, was sugar, although most homes had a good supply of honey which could be substituted. Sugar rationing continued for some time after the end of the war so sweetened condensed milk was very popular. Soldier and home baker alike luxuriated in its intense sweetness and velvety consistency; it was as pleasing to the eye as to the palate. Once a tin was opened, even the lid was carefully scraped of all residues. So precious was even one tin of sweetened condensed milk that Wojtek always was excluded from the secret moment when it was opened. The men mixed the condensed milk with coffee, a concoction that amazed the locals as tea was the staple brew for the Scots. The Polish mixture was deemed foreign, but more than acceptable, and it administered an almighty, and most welcome, kick. Wojtek, however, never got to experience the delicacy that was sweetened condensed milk – it was too highly prized to be shared with even a popular bear. Besides, he had such a sweet tooth that if he had tasted it there was every possibility that he would have torn the camp apart in search of more.
As the months rolled on, a trickle of letters arrived from home. The much-longed-for mail did not always contain good news and much of it was censored. The destruction of so many towns and cities in Poland during the war meant media communications were still limited and the men relied on family and friends for real news. Many personal and tragic stories unfolded.
When the post came, Wojtek, often aware of any change in his comrades’ mood, would sidle up to them and pretend to read the meagre pieces of paper in their hands. Used to constant attention, he would normally expose his more childlike qualities in the form of a tantrum or a sulk if he was ignored. But when the letters arrived his behaviour changed. He would sit close beside the recipient, offering the comfort of his great bulk. The letters often contained stories beyond all endurance. Relatives lost or dead, yet joy at finding that one sister or brother, or aunt who had survived by some miraculous act of fate or by the courageous hand of some unknown stranger.
For those who had no good news, Wojtek was always there. Animals living with humans are able to read the emotional language of our bodies rather than the words we utter. And Wojtek instinctively knew when a man needed the comfort of his presence. He just sat close and kept still.
7
Messing About in the River
The sight would have given any self-respecting water bailiff apoplexy: disporting himself in the River Tweed, one of the world’s most famous salmon-fishing rivers, was a large and boisterous bear. Even those with the most rudimentary knowledge of such animals know that, when it comes to salmon, bears are killing machines.
At pre-war tariffs, taking a salmon beat for the season cost a small fortune equal to many an annual salary, and the river was rigorously patrolled to ensure non-permit holders and poachers didn’t fish its waters. During the war the issuing of licences for the River Tweed was suspended and people fished freely for prime Scottish salmon to augment their food rations. However, bailiffs and local ghillies really didn’t approve of uncontrolled fishing, whether netting or a
ngling, and now that the war was over kept a close eye on fish stock levels. They weren’t overly keen on exotic strangers like bears invading their domain, either. But the bear in question was Wojtek and he wasn’t interested in catching Scottish salmon, he was indulging himself in his second-greatest passion (after food, of course) – the joys of messing about in the river.
The River Tweed was actually only a few yards away from Winfield Camp, across a field, down a narrow road and through a wood to Wojtek’s favourite picnic area behind Paxton House. However, with trees reaching right to the river’s edge the spot didn’t offer the men the room they needed to control Wojtek and his insatiable curiosity. When away from the camp he thought he was back on a march and, although on a chain, he still needed to be kept on open ground.
Getting Wojtek to a suitable bathing spot required transport by lorry along with his swimming apparel and makeshift toys. An outing on the Tweed was not a weekly event for Wojtek but a special treat, so the bear made the most of it, floating on his back, paddling and swimming, and sometimes diving underwater for such lengthy periods that his friends on the river bank thought he’d come to grief. Then up he would pop, to the relief of everyone.
The preferred spot for his river outings was under the Union Bridge, a fairly unknown, but stunningly beautiful bridge so named because it links Scotland with England. Built in 1820, it is the oldest suspension bridge in Britain still in use. It joins Scotland and England from Fishwick to Horncliffe. The river is extremely wide at this point, with low banks that make access easy for bathers. The grounds of nearby Paxton House, dotted with wild flowers, sweep down to the bridge through a canopy of trees, making it a truly idyllic spot even today.
Wojtek quickly got to know the routine for his dip in the Tweed, which involved him being accompanied by a full squad of soldiers. First, an extremely lengthy metal chain was attached to his leg iron. The restraint was heavy, but didn’t seem to hamper the enormously strong bear, as he plunged joyously into the water. Although great fun, the outing could be something of a testing occasion for the men as, once in the water, he was always very reluctant to come out. When he was supposed to come back to the river bank the men would haul on the chain to bring him in. Gleefully he would turn it into a tug of war. The bear knew that eventually at least six men would be forced to enter the water and tackle him, mob-handed, to float him back to the bank. Wojtek never really left the water until he was ready. Taking his final ‘revenge’, he would suddenly sprint from the water when he reached the shallows. Heading straight at the men he would shower them with water, shaking and rolling. The men flew in all directions to escape a heavy soaking. Meanwhile Wojtek would look around with immense satisfaction at the chaos he had caused. If his fun was to be cut short, he reasoned, he would have the last laugh. No matter how often this pantomime was rerun, the proceedings always took the same course – with Wojtek winning paws down.
Wojtek wasn’t permitted to go to the River Tweed unaccompanied. It was one of only two places permanently out of bounds to him in his remarkably free existence in the Berwickshire countryside. The other ‘no go’ area was Winfield airfield.
Situated a mere quarter of a mile from Winfield Camp, Winfield airfield became fully operational in May 1942. The story of its requisition from the farm of the same name by the RAF in March 1941 is worth telling.
While having their lunch one day, Mr and Mrs Fleming looked out of their window to see a conglomeration of military vehicles beside one of their fields and scores of personnel milling around. They were still puzzling over the unusual activity when there was a brisk knock on the door. Standing there was a military official. He took requisition papers out of his briefcase and told the couple: ‘You have 24 hours to pack up and leave. Your home and your land are needed by the RAF.’ The Fleming family – today safely back in their farmhouse – still have the wartime requisition orders.
During the war years Winfield airfield was in constant use, day and night, as an RAF training ground. Working in tandem with its larger sister, Charterhall airfield, it was top secret and security-conscious. With chronic shortages of aircraft available to promote the war and defend the UK, its young airmen were required to train as pilots and navigators on obsolete and difficult-to-handle early versions of Blenheims, Beaufighters and Beauforts. Accelerated intensive-training programmes and extremely dangerous night flying meant that the attrition rate was pretty high. Barely a month passed without at least one training fatality. In their first eight months of operations Winfield and Charterhall training aircraft were involved in a total of 97 crashes, many of them fatal. Indeed, Charterhall was nicknamed ‘Slaughterhall’ by airmen.
Air force historian Jack (J.B.) Thompson, in his book The Charterhall Story, commented on the lack of dedicated emergency resources for Winfield: ‘Help came in many forms. Observer Corps posts plotted crash positions and bren gun carriers and other tracked army vehicles seemed to appear like magic to transport medical staff and rescue crews over difficult terrain. The benefactors were members of the locally based Polish armoured brigade who always seemed to anticipate the need for their services. Often they would stay on to help in the rescue or subsequent recovery of the aircraft. A serving member of the Charterhall medical team still wonders today just how they always came to be waiting for them on the road nearest to the crash.’
The alacrity with which Polish servicemen responded to flying emergencies was due in part to the fact that they knew their countrymen in 303 Squadron were often based at Charterhall with their Mosquito fighter planes.
Following the cessation of hostilities, Winfield airfield was still in regular use before being allocated to the US air force in 1950. Winfield airfield in the mid-1950s reverted to the UK and in later years was used by the Border Reivers Flying Group. It was also used for special one-off exercises by the RAF right up until the 1970s.
In the autumn of 1946, when Wojtek arrived at Winfield Camp, the prospect of young pilots encountering a bear on their air strip was unthinkable, so a strict ‘off limits’ policy was imposed by Peter. The men understood that if Wojtek strayed into sensitive areas like the airfield there was a real possibility he would be shot.
There is no record of him ever breaching that stricture, nor did he ever stage a solo swimming expedition despite the fact that, with his keen sense of smell, he would have been constantly aware of the River Tweed virtually on his doorstep and the rivers Whiteadder and Blackadder on the other side of the camp less than a mile away.
The ban on Wojtek’s unsupervised swimming in the River Tweed arose, in part, because the sea was close enough for the waters to be tidal and subject to strong undertows and currents. While it was unlikely that Wojtek, who was an excellent swimmer, would ever get into difficulties, Peter didn’t want him floating down river. He was a bear with a marked sense of curiosity, and the urge to explore new territory would have been irresistible. Thus Wojtek was always on a long chain as he happily floated on his back in the broad expanse of swift-flowing water that marked the boundary between Scotland and England. Wojtek couldn’t have cared less about the ban on solo outings. He was in bear heaven.
Only a few yards away from Wojtek’s special swimming place is now the Chain Bridge Honey Farm. Had he survived to see it open he would have been beside himself with excitement – honey was one of his favourite treats.
The lush greenery of Berwickshire was a far cry from the deserts of the Middle East where Wojtek first indulged his passion for water and thorough soakings in the shower cubicles of ablutions huts. But, as ever, his companions put themselves out to ensure he got plenty of swimming. It was as if he was some sort of Svengali who travelled around the world bending his friends’ wills to provide him with all the aquatic enjoyment he needed in his life.
The men pandered to Wojtek’s enthusiasm for water sports at Winfield Camp too. They made him a crude outdoor swimming pool from a concrete storage tank. The concrete pool had large metal stairs down which he would descend and swim to h
is heart’s content. Unlike most bears, Wojtek didn’t just jump in; he would turn around like a human, grip the guardrails and descend backwards into the water, just as most bathers do. His great pleasure showed as he floated and splashed around, flicking cascades of water onto the men. They were not averse to returning the compliment in noisy water fights that all parties greatly enjoyed.
One minor problem was that the makeshift bathing pool was not secure. The tank had high open rails around it which meant that, if the notion took him, Wojtek could easily climb over them and escape from the pool. True to form, Wojtek turned this into a new type of game and, unknown to the authorities, his ‘escapes’ happened quite a lot. For the bear, it was all part of the fun: the more he created diversions and outwitted his companions, the more attention he got. His mock flights down the field usually ended in a running battle of wits with the men detailed to look after him. They were all extremely fit, and over longer distances could usually outrun him, possibly because the bear let them. When capture seemed imminent, Wojtek would stop and do a swift about-turn. He would head back to the swimming pool and then suddenly stop to shake himself, drenching his pursuers. Then he would clamber up over the railing and dive back in the pool. Once that was accomplished he would grab the floating tyre that he used as an aquatic toy and mock the soldiers by bouncing and bobbing around the edges. It was a glorified game of water ‘tig’ and he never tired of it.
Swimming was most certainly one of Wojtek’s greatest pleasures; the old concrete storage tank and the River Tweed were both superb for a large bear. He liked to include everyone in his frolics and some of these happy times were captured in photographs which show the incredible affection his companions had for him, and he for them.
Once the aquatic gambols were over, Wojtek did everything he could to dry himself quickly. This even included climbing trees to let the breeze ripple through his fur, creating a wind-blown look. He looked a lot smaller when wet, with his fur plastered to his body, but as it dried his coat fluffed up in the sun and wind, transforming him into a huge, fluffy teddy bear.