He was an old man in plaid slippers when they found him wandering in the oilseed rape. He hadn’t known what number to ring, so they’d taken him down the station and made him comfortable in the lost and found. When his niece collected him, six hours later, he wouldn’t relinquish the worn bundle of body and limbs he’d found in the bottom of the bear box.
Bear outlived Albert, as is so often the case. He was handed down from sister to son and his story forgotten, except that everybody – for no reason they could discern – called him Yellow.