Two almost identical Bears.one is about 25 years older than the other, I believe, but both have a very special place in my heart. For many years the younger one and I were inseparable. Everywhere I went, Miś came too. Especially at night time, of course.

When I was very small, my father was still a student and my mother worked as a waitress in Ognisko Polskie, the Polish Hearth, to make ends meet. Apparently it was worth their while, before my grandmothers were available to look after me, to send me to a Polish nursery in Ealing Common, run by the Sisters of the Resurrection, rather than look after me themselves. So far so good. I remember the nursery well, with lots of children running about, and some very elderly and cross old nuns, but a big garden and a big playroom. I had lots of friends and it was a generally happy place. I even remember liking the cod liver oil they fed us with with big tablespoons. Not so much the p0rridge and custard (no, not at the same time) which came in Bakelite bowls. But you can’t have everything I soon realised. What made us all happier was the arrival of two Irish nuns – girls really, just candidates in their white veils, whose mission was to learn Polish so that they could play with us. they were just 14 – I was 4, so the age gap then was enormous. Not so much now. Anyway, I digress, but they did learn Polish and still are stalwart members of the Polish community in Ealing. ( I sent my children to the same nursery, when it was re-established in London.)

But then there was a crisis. The convent and the nursery moved to Sunningdale. And it seems that most of the parents – there were many in the same position as mine – agreed to send their children to the nursery, but as weekly boarders.

All of a sudden Monday morning – or maybe Sunday night, I was being packed up with bedding and clothes, and left in this new and strange building with a bunch of three to five year olds. I cant imagine what a wrench it must have been for our parents, but for us it was quite traumatic. I have since talked with other children from that era, and they are not blissful reminiscences. I can remember only snippets, sleeping in a big dormitory with a big bucket in the middle for going to the toilet. Horrible . Any homesick crying was dealt with by a very ancient crone hitting the children with a coat hanger. I don’t think I was ever hit, but I was very scared. I still don’t like wooden hangers – as I write this I have just realised why. The two young nuns only looked after us during the day, unfortunately.

Thankfully I always had my teddy with me, and could confide in him to my heart’s content.

I think I lasted about two weeks of this infant hell, before my parents finally made other arrangements. They managed to find a very kind old lady to look after me,(Pani Gebetnerowa) until I started proper school in September.

She played with me and my Miś and all my other dollies and I finally settled.

Which brings me to the older teddy. That was my mother’s. Her companion throughout her time as an exile in Siberia. She was ten when she was deported. I imagine she clung to him like a boa constrictor through thick and thin. She understood my need for mine.

So you can imagine how overjoyed I was to discover them both after their long exile in the attic until last week. (They’d been put away safely for redecorating purposes.) They certainly brought back memories.