OPINION
Paddington Bear’s statue was stolen (Image: X/@LeeRJdillon)
Some aspects of British culture are tricky to explain to outsiders aren’t they? Like cheese-rolling, or saying “sorry” instead of “hello”. How about knitting decorative scenes to cover the tops of postboxes? This week, a spectacle of quintessential British eccentricity unfolded in Newbury – the hometown of Paddington Bear creator Michael Bond – when vandals stole and vertically sawed a Paddington sculpture in half. The missing front of the fibreglass statue was quickly recovered by police and two arrests were made.
The investigating officer joked that the battered bear was “heading to Newbury station for a much-needed marmalade sandwich” and I imagine the suspects found themselves on the receiving end of a “very hard stare”. The act itself was undeniably odd, almost like a caper from the pages of a children’s book. But the wave of outrage it sparked was even more extraordinary. Authorities erected a forensic tent over the scene, and distraught fans left pots of marmalade next to it in tribute. Social media erupted in fury, with incensed users demanding jail time for the “twisted, evil, vile creatures” responsible.
It made me wonder how this polite bear from darkest Peru has captured Britain’s heart so completely as to inspire such burning allegiance.
Tens of millions of Bond’s books have sold, and those of a certain age will recall the stop-motion TV series with a fond glow. And six decades after he first appeared, Paddington won over a new generation with the huge success of the recent films.
But the hysterical sentimentalism he inspires can most-likely be traced back to the moment he sat down for tea and marmalade sandwiches at Buck House with the late Queen for her Platinum Jubilee celebrations.
When she passed away a few months later, thousands of Paddington Bear toys were left outside thepalaces. So many that the Royal Parks pleaded for the mourning masses to stop leaving them. The cuddly bears were gathered and donated to charity.
Thus, Paddington’s transformation from beloved children’s character to bona-fide national treasure was complete. As iconically British as Big Ben or sausage rolls, and as fiercely protected. His tag should have a new warning: “Please look after this bear… and do not, under any circumstances, mess with him. Or else.”