Paddington Bear in Kherson

Paddington Bear following military orders in Kherson

By Paddington Bear

It had been a long journey for Paddington Bear, much longer than his usual travels on the number 32 bus from Notting Hill. But Paddington had made up his mind — ever since he’d heard Mr Brown reading the newspaper at breakfast about the people of Kherson, he’d known he simply had to go and help. “Relentless shelling”, the headline had said. “Civilians under constant threat.” It simply wouldn’t do. Not when there were marmalade sandwiches to be shared and kindnesses to be offered.

So, with his duffle coat neatly buttoned, and a fresh jar of marmalade safely stowed in his suitcase, Paddington made his way through airports, across snowy fields, and onto a military vehicle that was heading south. The soldiers looked surprised to see a small bear among them, but when he offered them half a sandwich and his most polite smile, they let him squeeze in between their rucksacks.

Kherson was grey and battered when they arrived. The streets bore the marks of recent shelling: windows blown out, walls pockmarked, and electricity lines sagging. Still, life pulsed within the city. People moved quietly between buildings, carrying water, food parcels, and hope.

Paddington was greeted by a volunteer named Kateryna, who gently patted his head and asked if he was cold.

“Oh no,” said Paddington cheerfully, “I have a very thick coat, thank you. But I would like to help. I’ve come a very long way.”

Kateryna smiled at him, a bit teary-eyed, and led him to a shelter where children huddled with their mothers in a candle-lit basement. Paddington read stories to them in soft English, his voice calm despite the distant thunder of artillery. The children didn’t understand every word, but they giggled at his serious expression and his talk of marmalade. One little boy gave Paddington a crumpled sweet from his pocket in return.

During the day, Paddington helped carry loaves of bread from the field kitchens to apartment blocks where elderly residents waited in the cold. At night, he brewed tea — strong and sweet — and served it with careful paws and a bow. He listened to stories of missing homes, of long winters and short moments of joy. And every now and then, when someone looked particularly down, he would pull from his case a sandwich he had saved, wrapped neatly in wax paper, and offer it with the solemnity of an embassy gift.

One morning, after a long night of drone strikes, Paddington walked with a group of volunteers to check on an orphanage that had lost its roof in the blast. The children had been safely evacuated, but their toys were scattered in the snow, silent victims of the chaos. Paddington sat for a moment on a broken step, looking around quietly.

“This is very sad”, he murmured, mostly to himself. “But we must not let the sadness stop us from helping.”

He found a broom and began sweeping. Others joined him. By the afternoon, they had cleared the rubble and stacked bricks into a new wall. A local baker brought them pastries still warm from the oven. Paddington bowed and took a small one, saving the rest for the shelter children.

That night, as he sat under a heavy blanket with his new friends in the shelter, someone asked him why he had come all this way.

Paddington thought for a moment. “Because it’s important to be there when people need you”, he said quietly. “Even a small bear can help in big ways.”

And as another explosion echoed across the city, someone whispered, “Kherson has a bear now. A brave one.”

And Paddington, hearing this, looked down at his paws and blushed.

But secretly, he was very proud.