by Michael Bond
“Hallo, Mrs Bird,” said Judy. “It’s nice to see you again. How’s the rheumatism?”
“Worse than it’s ever been,” began Mrs Bird – then she stopped speaking and stared at Paddington. “Whatever have you got there?” she asked. “What is it?”
“It’s not a what,” said Judy. “It’s a bear. His name’s Paddington.”
Paddington raised his hat.
“A bear,” said Mrs Bird, doubtfully. “Well, he has good manners, I’ll say that for him.”
“He’s going to stay with us,” announced Judy. “He’s emigrated from South America and he’s all alone with nowhere to go.”
“Going to stay with us?” Mrs Bird raised her arms again. “How long for?”
Judy looked round mysteriously before replying. “I don’t know,” she said. “It depends on things.”
“Mercy me,” exclaimed Mrs Bird. “I wish you’d told me. I haven’t put clean sheets in the spare room or anything.” She looked down at Paddington. “Though judging by the state he’s in perhaps that’s as well.”
“It’s all right, Mrs Bird,” said Paddington. “I think I’m going to have a bath. I had an accident with a bun.”
“Oh!” Mrs Bird held the door open. “Oh, well in that case you’d best come on in. Only mind the carpet. It’s just been done.”
Judy took hold of Paddington’s paw and squeezed.”She doesn’t mind really,” she whispered. “I think she rather likes you.”
Paddington watched the retreating figure of Mrs Bird. “She seems a bit fierce,” he said.
Mrs Bird turned. “What was that you said?”
Paddington jumped. “I… I…” he began.
“Where was it you said you’d come from? Peru?”
“That’s right,” said Paddington. “Darkest Peru.”
“Humph!” Mrs Bird looked thoughtful for a moment. “Then I expect you like marmalade. I’d better get some more from the grocer.”
“There you are! What did I tell you?” cried Judy, as the door shut behind Mrs Bird. “She does like you.”
“Fancy her knowing I like marmalade,” said Paddington.
“Mrs Bird knows everything about everything,” said Judy. “Now, you’d better come upstairs with me and I’ll show you your room. It used to be mine when I was small and it has lots of pictures of bears round the wall so I expect you’ll feel at home.” She led the way up a long flight of stairs, chattering all the time. Paddington followed closely behind, keeping carefully to the side so that he didn’t have to tread on the carpet.
“That’s the bathroom,” said Judy. “And that’s my room. And that’s Jonathan’s – he’s my brother, and you’ll meet him soon. And that’s Mummy and Daddy’s.” She opened a door. “And this is going to be yours!”
Paddington nearly fell over with surprise when he followed her into the room. He’d never seen such a big one. There was a large bed with white sheets against one wall and several big boxes, one with a mirror on it. Judy pulled open a drawer in one of the boxes. “This is called a chest of drawers,” she said. “You’ll be able to keep all your things in here.”
Paddington looked at the drawer and then at his suitcase. “I don’t seem to have very much. That’s the trouble with being small – no one ever expects you to want things.”
“Then we shall have to see what we can do,” said Judy, mysteriously. “I’ll try and get Mummy to take you on one of her shopping expeditions.” She knelt down beside him. “Let me help you to unpack.”
“It’s very kind of you.” Paddington fumbled with the lock. “But I don’t think there’s much to help me with. There’s a jar of marmalade – only there’s hardly any left now and what there is tastes of seaweed. And my scrapbook. And some centavos – they’re a sort of South American penny.”
“Gosh!” said Judy. “I’ve never seen any of those before. Aren’t they bright!”
“Oh, I keep them polished,” said Paddington. “I don’t spend them.” He pulled out a tattered photograph. “And that’s a picture of my Aunt Lucy. She had it taken just before she went into the home for retired bears in Lima.”
“She looks very nice,” said Judy. “And very wise.” Seeing that Paddington had a sad, far-away look in his eyes, she added hastily, “Well, I’m going to leave you now, so that you can have your bath and come down nice and clean. You’ll find two taps, one marked hot and one marked cold. There’s plenty of soap and a clean towel. Oh, and a brush so that you can scrub your back.”
“It sounds very complicated,” said Paddington. “Can’t I just sit in a puddle or something?”
Judy laughed. “Somehow I don’t think Mrs Bird would approve of that! And don’t forget to wash your ears. They look awfully black.”
“They’re meant to be black,” Paddington called indignantly, as Judy shut the door.
He climbed up on to a stool by the window and looked out. There was a large, interesting garden below, with a small pond and several trees which looked good for climbing. Beyond the trees he could see some more houses stretching away into the distance. He decided it must be wonderful living in a house like this all the time. He stayed where he was, thinking about it, until the window became steamed up and he couldn’t see out any more. Then he tried writing his name on the cloudy part with his paws. He began to wish it wasn’t quite so long, as he soon ran out of cloud and it was rather difficult to spell.
“All the same” – he climbed on to the dressing-table and looked at himself in the mirror – “it’s a very important name. And I don’t expect there are many bears in the world called Paddington!”
If he’d only known, Judy was saying exactly the same thing to Mr Brown at that very moment. The Browns were holding a council of war in the dining-room, and Mr Brown was fighting a losing battle. It had been Judy’s idea in the first place to keep Paddington. In this she not only had Jonathan on her side but also her mother. Jonathan had yet to meet Paddington but the idea of having a bear in the family appealed to him. It sounded very important.
“After all, Henry,” argued Mrs Brown, “you can’t turn him out now. It wouldn’t be right.”
Mr Brown sighed. He knew when he was beaten. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of keeping Paddington. Secretly he was just as keen as anyone. But as head of the Brown household he felt he ought to consider the matter from every angle.
“I’m sure we ought to report the matter to someone first,” he said.
“I don’t see why, Dad,” cried Jonathan. “Besides, he might get arrested for being a stowaway if we do that.”
Mrs Brown put down her knitting. “Jonathan’s right, Henry. We can’t let that happen. It’s not as if he’s done anything wrong. I’m sure he didn’t harm anyone travelling in a lifeboat like that.”
“Then there’s the question of pocket money,” said Mr Brown, weakening. “I’m not sure how much pocket money to give a bear.”
“He can have a pound a week, the same as the other children,” replied Mrs Brown.
Mr Brown lit his pipe carefully before replying.
“Well,” he said, “we’ll have to see what Mrs Bird has to say about it first, of course.”
There was a triumphant chorus from the rest of the family.
“You’d better ask her then,” said Mrs Brown, when the noise had died down. “It was your idea.”
Mr Brown coughed. He was a little bit afraid of Mrs Bird and he wasn’t at all sure how she would take it. He was about to suggest they left it for a little while when the door opened and Mrs Bird herself came in with the tea things. She paused for a moment and looked round at the sea of expectant faces.
“I suppose,” she said, “you want to tell me you’ve decided to keep that young Paddington.”
“May we, Mrs Bird?” pleaded Judy. “Please! I’m sure he’ll be very good.”
“Humph!” Mrs Bird put the tray down on the table. “That remains to be seen. Different people have different ideas about being good. All the same,” she hes
itated at the door, “he looks the sort of bear that means well.”
“Then you don’t mind, Mrs Bird?” Mr Brown asked her.
Mrs Bird thought for a moment. “No. No, I don’t mind at all. I’ve always had a soft spot for bears myself. It’ll be nice to have one about the house.”
“Well,” gasped Mrs Brown, as the door closed. “Whoever would have thought it!”
“I expect it was because he raised his hat,” said Judy. “It made a good impression. Mrs Bird likes polite people.”
Mrs Brown picked up her knitting again. “I suppose someone ought to write and tell his Aunt Lucy. I’m sure she’d like to know he’s safe.” She turned to Judy. “Perhaps it would be a nice thought if you and Jonathan wrote.”
“By the way,” said Mr Brown, “come to think of it, where is Paddington? He’s not still up in his room, is he?”
Judy looked up from the writing-desk, where she was searching for some notepaper. “Oh, he’s all right. He’s just having a bath.”
“A bath!” Mrs Brown’s face took on a worried expression. “He’s rather small to be having a bath all by himself.”
“Don’t fuss so, Mary,” grumbled Mr Brown, settling himself down in the armchair with a newspaper. “He’s probably having the time of his life.”
Mr Brown was fairly near the truth when he said Paddington was probably having the time of his life. Unfortunately it wasn’t in quite the way he meant it. Blissfully unaware that his fate was being decided, Paddington was sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor drawing a map of South America with a tube of Mr Brown’s shaving cream.
Paddington liked geography. At least, he liked his sort of geography, which meant seeing strange places and new people. Before he left South America on his long journey to England, his Aunt Lucy, who was a very wise old bear, had done her best to teach him all she knew. She had told him all about the places he would see on the way and she had spent many long hours reading to him about the people he would meet.
It had been a long journey, half-way round the world, and so Paddington’s map occupied most of the bathroom floor and also used up most of Mr Brown’s shaving cream. With the little that was left he tried writing his new name again. He had several attempts and finally decided on PADINGTUN. It looked most important.
It wasn’t until a trickle of warm water landed on his nose that he realised the bath was full and was beginning to run over the side. With a sigh he climbed up on to the side of the bath, closed his eyes, held his nose with one paw, and jumped. The water was hot and soapy and much deeper than he had expected. In fact, he had to stand on tiptoe even to keep his nose above the surface.
It was then that he had a nasty shock. It’s one thing getting into a bath. It’s quite another getting out, especially when the water comes up to your nose and the sides are slippery and your eyes are full of soap. He couldn’t even see to turn the taps off.
He tried calling out “Help”, first in quite a quiet voice, then very loudly: “HELP! HELP!”
He waited for a few moments but no one came. Suddenly he had an idea. What a good thing he was still wearing his hat! He took it off and began baling out the water.
There were several holes in the hat because it was a very old one that had once belonged to his uncle, but if the water didn’t get much less, at least it didn’t get any more.
“That’s funny,” said Mr Brown, jumping up from his armchair and rubbing his forehead. “I could have sworn I felt a spot of water!”
“Don’t be silly, dear. How could you?” Mrs Brown, busy with her knitting, didn’t even bother to look up.
Mr Brown grunted and returned to his newspaper. He knew he had felt something, but there was no point in arguing. He looked suspiciously at the children, but both Judy and Jonathan were busy writing their letter.
“How much does it cost to send a letter to Lima?” asked Jonathan.
Judy was about to reply when another drop of water fell down from the ceiling, this time right on to the table.
“Oh, gosh!” She jumped to her feet, pulling Jonathan after her. There was an ominous wet patch right over their heads and right underneath the bathroom!
“Where are you going now, dear?” asked Mrs Brown.
“Oh, just upstairs to see how Paddington’s getting on.” Judy pushed Jonathan through the door and shut it quickly behind them.
“Crikey,” said Jonathan. “What’s up?”
“It’s Paddington,” cried Judy over her shoulder as she rushed up the stairs. “I think he’s in trouble!”
She ran along the landing and banged loudly on the bathroom door. “Are you all right, Paddington?” she shouted. “May we come in?”
“HELP! HELP!” shouted Paddington.”Please come in. I think I’m going to drown!”
“Oh, Paddington.” Judy leant over the side of the bath and helped Jonathan lift a dripping and very frightened Paddington on to the floor. “Oh, Paddington! Thank goodness you’re all right!”
Paddington lay on his back in a pool of water. “What a good job I had my hat,” he panted. “Aunt Lucy told me never to be without it.”
“But why on earth didn’t you pull the plug out, you silly?” said Judy.
“Oh!” Paddington looked crestfallen. “I… I never thought of that.”
Jonathan looked admiringly at Paddington. “Crikey,” he said. “Fancy you making all this mess. Even I’ve never made as much mess as this!”
Paddington sat up and looked around. The whole of the bathroom floor was covered in a sort of white foam where the hot water had landed on his map of South America. “It is a bit untidy,” he admitted. “I don’t really know how it got like that.”
“Untidy!” Judy lifted him to his feet and wrapped a towel around him. “Paddington, we’ve all got a lot of work to do before we go downstairs again. If Mrs Bird sees this I don’t know what she’ll say.”
“I do,” exclaimed Jonathan. “She says it to me sometimes.”
Judy began wiping the floor with a cloth. “Now just you dry yourself quickly in case you catch cold.”
Paddington began rubbing himself meekly with the towel. “I must say,” he remarked, looking at himself in the mirror. “I am a lot cleaner than I was. It doesn’t look like me at all!”
Paddington did look much cleaner than when he had first arrived at the Browns. His fur, which was really quite light in colour and not dark brown as it had been, was standing out like a new brush, except that it was soft and silky. His nose gleamed and his ears had lost all traces of the jam and cream. He was so much cleaner that when he arrived downstairs and entered the dining-room some time later, everyone pretended not to recognise him.
“The tradesmen’s entrance is at the side,” said Mr Brown, from behind the paper.
Mrs Brown put down her knitting and stared at him. “I think you must have come to the wrong house,” she said. “This is number thirty-two not thirty-four!”
Even Jonathan and Judy agreed there must be some mistake. Paddington began to get quite worried until they all burst out laughing and said how nice he looked now that he was brushed and combed and respectable.
They made room for him in a small armchair by the fire and Mrs Bird came in with another pot of tea and a plate of hot, buttered toast.
“Now, Paddington,” said Mr Brown, when they were all settled. “Suppose you tell us all about yourself and how you came to Britain.”
Paddington settled back in his armchair, wiped a smear of butter carefully from his whiskers, put his paws behind his head and stretched out his toes towards the fire. He liked an audience, especially when he was warm and the world seemed such a nice place.
“I was brought up in Darkest Peru,” he began. “By my Aunt Lucy. She’s the one that lives in a home for retired bears in Lima.” He closed his eyes thoughtfully.
A hush fell over the room and everyone waited expectantly. After a while, when nothing happened, they began to get restless. Mr Brown coughed loudly. “It doesn’t seem a
very exciting story,” he said, impatiently.
He reached across and poked Paddington with his pipe. “Well I never,” he said. “I do believe he’s fallen asleep!”
PADDINGTON WAS VERY surprised when he woke up the next morning and found himself in bed. He decided it was a nice feeling as he stretched himself and pulled the sheets up round his head with a paw. He reached out with his feet and found a cool spot for his toes. One advantage of being a very small bear in a large bed was that there was so much room.
After a few minutes he poked his head out cautiously and sniffed. There was a lovely smell of something coming under the door. It seemed to be getting nearer and nearer. There were footsteps too, coming up the stairs. As they stopped by his door there was a knock and Mrs Bird’s voice called out, “Are you awake, young Paddington?”
“Only just,” called out Paddington, rubbing his eyes.
The door opened. “You’ve had a good sleep,” said Mrs Bird as she placed a tray on the bed and drew the curtains. “And you’re a very privileged person to have breakfast in bed on a weekday!”
Paddington eyed the tray hungrily. There was half a grapefruit in a bowl, a plate of bacon and eggs, some toast, and a whole pot of marmalade, not to mention a large cup of tea. “Is all that for me?” he exclaimed.
“If you don’t want it I can soon take it away again,” said Mrs Bird.
“Oh, I do,” said Paddington, hurriedly. “It’s just that I’ve never seen so much breakfast before.”
“Well, you’d better hurry up with it.” Mrs Bird turned in the doorway and looked back. “Because you’re going on a shopping expedition this morning with Mrs Brown and Judy. And all I can say is, thank goodness I’m not going too!” She closed the door.
“Now I wonder what she means by that?” said Paddington. But he didn’t worry about it for very long. There was far too much to do. It was the first time he had ever had breakfast in bed and he soon found it wasn’t quite so easy as it looked. First of all he had trouble with the grapefruit. Every time he pressed it with his spoon a long stream of juice shot up and hit him in the eye, which was very painful. And all the time he was worried because the bacon and eggs were getting cold. Then there was the question of the marmalade. He wanted to leave room for the marmalade.