Paddington Bear and the Missing Marmalade (a short story from the Donbas)

By Paddington Bear

It all began on a blustery Tuesday in late March. Paddington Bear, having read about the resilience and bravery of the people of Ukraine, decided it was time to do his bit. With his duffle coat neatly buttoned, his old red hat slightly askew, and his suitcase packed with essential supplies (mostly marmalade), he set off to the front line—somewhere near Kharkiv, he was told, though the taxi driver only nodded gravely.

After a long and rather bumpy ride in a convoy of humanitarian vehicles, Paddington arrived at a field kitchen not far from the sound of distant artillery. Soldiers in muddy uniforms waved politely, and a medic gave him a flak jacket several sizes too large. Paddington thanked her warmly, although it did make him waddle more than usual.

“Any tea on?” he asked cheerfully.

But he was distracted. Something wasn’t right. He opened his suitcase to check on his supplies.

His marmalade was gone.

Gone! Vanished! Not a single sticky jar remained.

Paddington sat down on an overturned helmet and took a deep breath. “This is most irregular,” he murmured.

Sergeant Olena, a kind woman with eyes as sharp as her voice was warm, knelt beside him.

“Is something wrong, little friend?”

“I packed at least four jars of marmalade,” Paddington said solemnly. “Emergency rationing, you see. I may be a bear of habit, but war is no excuse for chaos in marmalade logistics.”

Olena tried not to laugh. “Was it in a glass jar?”

“Yes,” Paddington nodded.

“Well, it may have been… repurposed. We use jars for medical kits sometimes. Or perhaps it was shared among the troops. You know, food is scarce here.”

Paddington thought for a moment. “I suppose that’s alright, then,” he said with a sigh. “But I must admit, I had rather hoped for a marmalade sandwich at sunrise.”

Just then, a young Ukrainian soldier named Misha came up, holding something behind his back.

“Is this yours?” he asked.

It was a squashed but unmistakable marmalade sandwich—Paddington’s emergency one, stored under his hat all along.

“My word!” Paddington cried. “I thought I’d lost that months ago!”

The sandwich was ceremoniously cut into pieces and shared among the soldiers, who were bemused but touched by the bear’s quiet dignity. Paddington gave a little speech about kindness, bravery, and the importance of a warm drink, even in difficult times.

And that night, under a tarp and next to a field stove, Paddington Bear sat with new friends, the marmalade crisis resolved, and the stars high above the Donbas flickering like distant lanterns.

He wrote a postcard to Aunt Lucy before bed:

“Ukraine is colder than I expected, but the people are very warm. I lost my marmalade, but found something better—hope. Love, Paddington.”