Free Wojtek the Bear [paperback] by Aileen; Orr

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 withwhich 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 muchas 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,