Paddington Bear and the State Security Service of Ukraine

One fine morning early in the summer, Paddington Bear stood in the bus station in the middle of Kraków, wearing his favourite blue duffle coat and holding his suitcase with the label “Please look after this bear” still neatly tied to the handle. Next to him stood Eva, who was very fond of him and always made sure he had enough marmalade sandwiches for long journeys.

“We mustn’t be late for the bus to Lviv,” said Eva, checking the time on her phone. “Ukrainian buses are extremely punctual.”

Paddington adjusted his hat and nodded solemnly. “I hope they serve tea”, he said. “It’s been a long morning already, and I’m feeling a little peckish.”

The bus soon arrived with a cheery hiss of its brakes. They boarded and found two seats near the window. Paddington sat with his knees politely together and offered Eva a sandwich from his coat lining, which she politely declined. “Thank you, Paddington,” she said, “but I don’t think marmalade goes very well with cabbage soup.”

They passed forests and rivers and little villages with steep church roofs and storks perched on chimneys. Paddington spent most of the journey admiring the view and wondering if the storks might deliver jam by air, the way some owls in books delivered letters.

When they arrived at the border checkpoint, the bus came to a slow halt, and everyone was asked to come down with their passports. Paddington clutched his travel documents tightly in one paw and followed Eva to a little room with a flag above the door and a large notice that said State Security Service of Ukraine.

A serious-looking officer in green camouflage peered over his desk at them. He had a very large moustache, the kind that suggested he could stir his tea with it if necessary.

“Name?” he asked gruffly.

“Paddington Bear,” said Paddington politely. “From Darkest Peru originally, but I’m travelling with my friend Miss Eva, who booked our bus ticket and packed me some boiled eggs.”

The officer raised one eyebrow. “Purpose of visit?”

“To assist with the hugging,” said Paddington. “And marmalade distribution. Also, we are going to help rebuild a primary school and maybe attend a concert.”

Eva, who spoke Ukrainian quite well, began to explain things more clearly, including their charity credentials, Paddington’s small role in morale-building, and their promise to behave sensibly. The officer listened very seriously, then looked at Paddington’s little suitcase, which had a marmalade stain on the side.

“Do you have anything to declare?” he asked.

Paddington opened the suitcase carefully. Inside were two spare hats, a thermos, a copy of Paddington Abroad, and twenty-seven marmalade sandwiches, some of which had become rather squashed in transit.

“Just the sandwiches,” said Paddington. “They’re homemade.”

The officer blinked, then did something quite unexpected — he smiled.

“In that case,” he said, stamping their passports with a loud thump, “welcome to Ukraine. Slava Ukraini.”

“Thank you very much,” said Paddington. “I shall do my best not to get in any trouble.”

As they walked back to the bus, Eva took Paddington’s paw.

“You handled that very well,” she said.

Paddington looked pleased. “It’s always best to be polite at border crossings,” he said. “Especially if one is carrying marmalade.”

And with that, they climbed back aboard the bus and rolled eastward into the Ukrainian spring — two travellers with a suitcase full of sandwiches, a mission of kindness, and the open road ahead.