by Orr, Aileen;
There are several important Alan Herriot public sculptures in Scotland, including one of another animal who served with the military: Bamse, the St Bernard mascot of Norway’s World War II resistance forces in Scotland, who were based in the east coast town of Montrose.
In that first conversation we had talked about Alan’s statue of Bamse. I was familiar with the story, having read the book about him. Before his death in Montrose, Bamse had lifted the morale of the ship’s crew, and had become a kenspeckle figure to the local civilian population. When standing to battle quarters, he would take his place on the front gun tower of the Norwegians’ ship, kitted out in a metal helmet the crew had specially made for him.
There were some striking parallels in Wojtek and Bamse’s ‘human’ behaviour. Like the bear, Bamse was capable of acting without supervision and didn’t need to be ordered around. His was a peace-making and morale-boosting presence. Once he saved the life of a young Norwegian officer who was under attack from a man wielding a knife. Bamse pushed the officer’s assailant into the sea. On another occasion the dog rescued a sailor who had fallen overboard by leaping into the water and dragging him ashore.
He was legendary for doing his rounds of the town and gathering up his Norwegian companions to take them back to their ship when they were the worse for drink; similarly, he was well known for breaking up quarrels among his shipmates. Witnesses said he would rear up on two legs and put two massive paws on their shoulders to calm them down. He was quite well travelled, too. He hopped on local buses unaccompanied, and would regularly make journeys to Dundee where he would get off at the bus stop nearest to his crew’s favourite public house, the Bodega Bar, and go in to fetch them back before curfew. His shipmates even bought him a bus pass, which they attached to his collar, to allow him to carry out his patrols. If Bamse couldn’t find his shipmates he would simply take the bus back to base.
At the end of our conversation I put down the phone feeling elated and excited; an artist who already had experience of capturing the essence of a well-loved animal in the military for a public statue was likely to produce something of great artistic merit. And so it transpired.
Within an hour of our telephone conversation, Alan had faxed over an image he felt summed up everything I had told him. I was delighted with the sketch; in a matter of minutes he had achieved what I had been wrestling with for months. Many locals remember well the sight of a soldier and a bear walking down the long straight road to Sunwick – a stretch which was used by the late Formula One racing hero Jim Clark, a local farmer and another local legend. Alan depicted the two as wandering figures, the soldier with his hand on the bear’s back, casual, peaceful but not at the end of their journey. The memorial will be their journey’s end, a new gathering place for all Poles in Scotland, a place to think and wonder.
A few weeks later I visited Alan at his studio to see a plasticine model which he called a starting point. It was stunning. Alan’s studio is lit on three sides, but that day when I walked in, a beam of light streamed down on the maquette, illuminating it alone among all the other works of art. I could see instantly the model worked on a level far beyond my expectations. The power and grace of the relationship between man and bear were magnificent. There were a few minor modifications required, mostly at Alan’s insistence. The greatest change was his decision to remove the soldier’s helmet and have him carry it, which is what the men would have done in real life. The effect of that modification alone was dramatic; it somehow made the whole scene more compassionate.
The next time I saw the maquette it looked like a bronze cast. But when Alan handed it to me, it was as light as a feather. This was to be my sales aid in raising the funds to cover the cost of the final work. Back home my husband, Andrew, who has an eye for good artwork, was equally impressed. His approval was important to me because I had never discussed with him the representation I had had in my mind’s eye. He was seeing the maquette for the first time and if it worked for him then I knew we were on the right track.
But there was one other person whose endorsement was absolutely vital – Augustyn Karolewski, the Pole who had recounted to me so many Wojtek anecdotes. He had been at Winfield Camp and had lived the story; Kay, as he is known to us in the village, had to like it or it would all have been for nothing, or, at the very least, it would be back to the drawing board for Alan and myself.
Kay, for an unconscionably long time, observed the figures of man and bear. Humming softly to himself, turning the model this way and that in his large, work-calloused hands, he carefully scrutinised every detail. Perched on the sofa, I tried to read his face as he pondered over the maquette. The wait was excruciating, even though I sensed Kay, mischievous man that he is, was deliberately prolonging the moment. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, he gave his honest approval and expressed his liking for the whole thing. His only criticism was that the word ‘Poland’ had to be included on the soldier’s lapel badge, a detail which Alan was delighted to accommodate.
With the maquette to everyone’s satisfaction, it was now time for me and my supporters to turn our attentions to the not insignificant matter of formally setting up a charity, finding trustees and finding funding. However, other events interposed themselves.
The maquette’s first public outing was to Biggar Museum in South Lanarkshire, in September 2008, to launch the Wojtek Memorial Trust. The museum had mounted a first-rate exhibition about the life and times of Wojtek, including rare black-and-white pictures of the bear interacting with his soldier companions. For that display we had to thank the energy and drive of Biggar Museum’s young and enthusiastic museum supervisor Suzanne Rigg. Her research had unearthed a great deal of interesting material that, coupled with Suzanne’s sunny nature, predicted the exhibition launch was going to be an enjoyable experience. As guests of Suzanne, her mum, co-worker Janella Glover, and museum chairman James Dawnay, Alan and I went along to the opening and the night proved a great success.
This was the first time either of us had made official speeches about the project, and we both found the experience surprisingly emotional. I suppose it was because we realised how closely people identified with what we had done. We were also slightly unnerved by the reaction of the very first member of the public to view the maquette: on seeing it, the woman burst into tears. The beauty of what Alan had captured evoked an immense depth of feeling among Poles which never ceases to amaze me. First there is a sense of shock on their faces at the sight of the two figures together and then their features soften as memories flood in. Almost timidly, their hands reach out to touch Wojtek. Even in model form, the bear weaves a potent spell; people cannot stop themselves from stroking his head and ears. Both Alan and I still get huge satisfaction out of watching people’s reactions to the model.
Biggar Museum was an important, and appropriate, starting place for the launch of the Wojtek Memorial Trust. Camps in nearby Symington and Douglas hosted a large contingent of Polish soldiers during the war years.
After the launch, time seemed to flash by without much being accomplished. I thought things were going quite well but I was deluding myself. It wasn’t until I sat down and took stock that I realised how much there was to do. Television, press and radio interviews concerning the bear were all very well, but fully establishing the Trust and appointing suitable trustees seemed as distant as ever. Having allowed myself an official panic, I pulled myself together and did what I am trained to do (among other things, I’m a qualified accountant): I wrote a professional business plan for the Trust. My first task was to find trustees who understood the story of Wojtek in the same way that Alan had. He, of course, had already been co-opted to the cause. My husband Andrew assured me that trustees would turn up when I least expected it, and so they did.
The first was Krystyna Szumelukowa, a board member of Edinburgh World Heritage and an international elections observer for the United Nations. She was someone I knew by name, but had never met. Government minister and MSP Mike Russell, t
o whom I was then political advisor, was giving a speech to mark the start of the annual Polish Cultural Festival in Edinburgh, and I also attended. The event was crowded, colourful, lively and noisy. Large numbers of exuberant Poles and their friends turned up and everyone enjoyed themselves.
As we moved down one side of a stairway in the Queen’s Hall in a slow, human wave, Krystyna was being swept upwards along the other side. Mike introduced us almost in passing, saying I was the founder of the Wojtek Memorial Trust. Krystyna looked at me in disbelief, and when I said Wojtek had lived on our farm, she caught my arm with both hands and shouted: ‘We’ve got to meet,’ before being swept away in a tide of people. She may not have known it then, but I knew I had my next trustee.
As I was quickly to learn, Krystyna is one of those highly energetic people who have many strings to their bow, as well as a huge array of invaluable international contacts. Born of Polish parents, Krystyna’s father was a paratrooper in the 1st Polish Parachute Brigade based in Fife, having made the epic journey from his home in Wołyń via Siberia, Iran, the Middle East and South Africa. Her mother was displaced from her home near Lublin to a farm near Hamburg, from which she was liberated by Scottish soldiers. Krystyna, herself, was born in Germany; the family came over to the UK as part of the Polish resettlement programme.
For more than two decades Krystyna has been developing links between Poland and the UK. She was instrumental in establishing local government and business links between Humberside and Gdansk, Gdynia and Elblag; she helped establish the Edinburgh–Kraków partnership and built charitable links between Marie Curie Cancer Care and the St Lazarus Hospice in Kraków. The Fields of Hope (Pola Nadziei) campaign she worked on is now being adopted by 37 hospices throughout Poland. For these and a host of cultural projects, Krystyna was awarded the Polish Silver Cross of Merit in 1999. She currently has business and planning interests in Poland which build on her personal career in town planning and economic development.
Shortly after the festival, Krystyna and her friend Jennifer Robertson came to Sunwick Farm for lunch. Jennifer, a Scot with a lifetime interest in Poland, speaks fluent Polish. As well as living in Poland for several years she has travelled quite extensively in what is now West Ukraine, Peter Prendys’ homeland.
Sunwick always looks at its best when bathed in sunshine. The house, itself, is quite distinctive, having been built out of red bricks brought over as ballast in the Dutch ships that plied their trade at the port of Berwick. Indeed, for Poles unfamiliar with the terrain and trying to find their way back to Winfield Camp, the farmhouse was their main landmark. Even if they couldn’t always make out directions delivered in a strong Borders accent, when they sighted the red brick house they knew they were close to home.
After a long lunch, talking in the main about the men and Wojtek, we walked down to the camp and to the irrigation pond which had once been Wojtek’s swimming pool. Some of the surrounding trees, now mature, still have the scars of Wojtek’s razor-sharp claws. Although Wojtek’s activities were usually terminal to trees, the odd one has survived. After our tour I asked Krystyna if she would become a trustee, and as usual, Wojtek worked his magic. She accepted and we moved on to find our next victim.
From early in the project, I had regularly sought the advice of family friends Dr Raj Jandoo and Brian Saddler, both of whom are Scottish advocates. Raj, forever the pragmatist, gave me an excellent grounding in the legal realities of establishing a Trust: once I had been interrogated as if in a courtroom and had survived a merciless grilling I knew I was going to succeed. Raj’s legal boot camp is very good practice for anyone taking on a project such as mine. Then the more gentle-natured Brian suggested Cardinal Keith O’Brien, archbishop of St Andrews and Edinburgh, would make an excellent trustee. It transpired that Cardinal O’Brien had actually conducted the funeral of General Maczek. He very kindly accepted my invitation. Including Alan Herriot as advisor, that made four of us. But we needed one more for a very solid committee.
The final trustee could be said to have been jointly selected by Krystyna and Wojtek. On one of the many days the maquette accompanied me into the Scottish Parliament, Major General Euan Loudon, chief executive of the Edinburgh Military Tattoo, was standing in the main reception. He approached, asking if this was Wojtek, the famous bear that he had heard about from Krystyna. Once again the bear did his stuff. By the end of our conversation, the Major General had agreed to consider being a trustee. Krystyna followed up on that pledge, and with her on the case, the Major General was co-opted in Wojtek’s inner circle. Thus the Wojtek Memorial Trust finally came into being.
From the beginning, I wanted the Trust to be fresh, outward-looking and imbued with a vision of enhancing current relationships between Poland and Scotland through trade, culture and education. There has been no shortage of ideas from the trustees, and as these grow we are now looking at creating memorials in Poland and Monte Cassino as well as Edinburgh. Equally importantly, we hope to dovetail into groups with the same aims as ourselves, and we are finding potential new allies almost daily. It is a very exciting time.
On Wednesday, 25 March 2009, Wojtek was given his own diplomatic reception in the Scottish Parliament, hosted by the presiding officer Alex Fergusson. The presiding officer, himself a farmer, was intrigued by the story and understood immediately its potential impact. The idea for a reception first came from Linda Fabiani MSP, who was then culture minister, and who had a great interest in Monte Cassino, having just been made Cavaliere dell’Ordine della Stella della Solidarietá Italiana (Knight of the Order of the Star of Italian Solidarity) for her work promoting relations between Scotland and Italy. My own boss, Mike Russell MSP, was equally enthusiastic. He thought the relationship between our two countries had long been neglected and he too saw an opportunity to open up historical links. The Wojtek project quietly moved around the Parliament, and I found that people were beginning to approach me on every aspect of Poland and Polish events. Wojtek, it seemed, had taken me in a completely unexpected direction as a fighter for Polish rights. It was new territory but I tried to help where possible.
The decision to hold the reception at the Parliament got some attention from the print press. The story then moved onto TV and became quite a hot topic. Polish journalists were astounded when news reached them that the Scottish Parliament was having a reception for a bear. Wojtek was a legend among Polish families living in the UK but was not widely known in Poland, so many Poles, particularly the younger generations, were hearing Wojtek’s story for the first time. The Polish media coverage brought to the surface new anecdotes about the bear. It also sparked off a number of serious interviews concerning Polish soldiers and their time in Scotland.
Yet more information about Wojtek and the Polish men’s experiences in Scotland emerged at the reception. Meeting new people and networking in the crowded Garden Lobby, the main reception area in the Scottish Parliament, I realised that the bear was a superb ambassador, promoting fresh ties between Scotland and Poland. Adding to the mood of the evening, Biggar Museum had brought along their Wojtek exhibition, including a montage of photographs on a video loop – the pictures supplied by Vic Baczor who runs the excellent Wojtek the Bear website. Guests were also shown a display of wartime Polish uniforms, provided by Sean Szmalc and Margot Corson. Many of the old soldiers present enjoyed seeing and touching those uniforms again and they reminisced about its stiff, uncomfortable serge, which they recalled was much heavier when wet, and incredibly hot to wear if they were carrying out any manual work.
In the aftermath of the reception, when the dust had settled, all the thank-you notes had been dispatched, and the phone calls had been made, I found myself reflecting on the journey on which Wojtek had taken me. It was a personal odyssey that started out in childish innocence and a trip to the zoo and culminated in a new way of looking at the world which will forever remain a part of my life. I had not expected that. Very late in my research I realised how lucky I had been to see him in the flesh. He
was, and still is, my bear.
I can understand the pain of the men who were forced to leave him in Edinburgh Zoo that fateful day and consign him to a life behind bars. Although it is easy to like the story of Wojtek, his was a journey that contained many, many dark passages. I must confess that as my research progressed and I gained greater insights into Wojtek and his character, I became very proprietorial about the bear; I found it difficult to share him with others and wanted him for myself. However, the simple truth is that the bear wouldn’t let me. Gregarious soul that he was, Wojtek loved people and they responded to that.
While I have always been pretty relaxed about the politics of friends whose views diverge from mine, I have never seen a story like that of Wojtek which has inspired so many folk of different political persuasions. And yet, Wojtek may masquerade as a good news story, he may even seem to be a tale offering political opportunity, but those who would use him to their own advantage get short shrift. He keeps me on the straight and narrow.
Through Wojtek, I have been given a radical reawakening to the real-life effects of bad influences of bad government run by bad politicians. Once made, mistakes are very difficult for future governments to rectify. So many people, postwar, were dealt a very cruel hand. That the majority of them have not descended into bitterness, but have had the grace to forgive and build new lives for themselves speaks volumes about their fortitude, resilience, dignity and humanity.
On a purely personal level, Wojtek has done one other thing for which I will always be grateful. In the course of my researches I have met and got to know well many members of the Polish community in Scotland and those communities so ravaged by war through others such as Peter de Vink and Richard Demarco. As their parents and grandparents were cut off from their families during World War II the second and third generations were similarly cut off from their heritage. Through Wojtek, they have been given an opportunity to regain it. My husband Andrew’s cousin, Christine Zajack (Cooper), who had never truly examined her dual heritage, is now doing so because of Wojtek. Her Polish father, Marion, married into my husband’s family and sought to assimilate into his new culture as a Scot, which he did very successfully. In the process, he left his Polish past behind him. Christine, who attended the Wojtek reception, found herself discovering a new multiculturalism. An emotional gap that she was hardly aware existed was being filled. Roots are so important; they define our being, whether we like to think so or not. For many, Wojtek has played a part in a healing process.