Paddington Complete Novels

by Michael Bond

  Mrs Bird held very strong views about people who tried to take advantage of others and she usually took Paddington’s side in anything to do with Mr Curry.

  “Anyway,” she concluded, in a voice which left no room for argument, “I’m certainly not having the lunch spoiled by Mr Curry or anyone else, so just you all sit down while I fetch it.”

  With that argument the Browns had to agree and they meekly arranged themselves round the table.

  Paddington in particular thought it was a very good idea. He was a bit fed up with carpentry. Sawing was hard work – especially for a small bear – and even more so when it was sawing through a kitchen table. Besides, he was hungry after his morning’s work and he didn’t want to offend Mrs Bird by not eating her lunch down to the very last mouthful.

  “I’m afraid,” said the lady in the cash desk at the Podium Super Cinema, “you can’t come in. It’s an ‘A’ film.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said Paddington, looking puzzled.

  “‘A’,” said the lady.

  “Eh?” repeated Paddington, looking even more puzzled. “But that’s what I said.”

  “Not ‘eh’,” said the lady impatiently. “‘A’. That means bears under sixteen aren’t allowed in unaccompanied.”

  “Sixteen!” exclaimed Paddington, hardly able to believe his ears. “Sixteen! But I’m only two. That’s another fourteen years. I might not even want to come then.”

  “Well, that’s the law,” said the lady sternly. She looked down with some distaste at the top of Paddington’s hat. It still had one or two pieces of river weed sticking to it and the warmth of the cinema was bringing out the smell. “Now, come along, please,” she said hastily. “You’re holding up the queue.

  “And no coming back later on wearing long trousers,” she called as Paddington turned to go. “I know all the tricks.”

  Paddington felt most disappointed as he made his way slowly across the foyer. There was a nice warm feeling about the cinema and he particularly liked the way his feet sank into the thick pile of the carpet. After staring hungrily at the sweet counter for a few moments he made his way towards the entrance, giving the attendant a hard stare as the man held the door open for him.

  Paddington had never been to the pictures before. In fact he wasn’t at all sure what they were. But he enjoyed anything new and for some weeks he had been saving hard out of the one pound a week bun money Mr Brown gave him, in case an interesting programme came along.

  Paddington was a bear who liked getting his money’s worth and he’d carefully studied the advertisements outside the Podium until this week, when there was a ‘Super Double Feature’ programme showing—with two long films, a cartoon and a newsreel. Not only that, but a notice outside said there was a special added attraction that evening when Reginald Clove would be playing the theatre organ during the intervals.

  Paddington hung about outside the cinema for several minutes breathing heavily on the glass until he caught sight of a policeman watching him suspiciously and then he hurried home. It was all most disappointing and his carefully saved coins were burning a hole in his duffle coat pocket.

  “Do you mean to say you’ve never been to the pictures, Paddington?” said Mr Brown over tea that afternoon.

  “Never,” said Paddington firmly, as he helped himself to a crumpet. “And now I can’t go for another fourteen years unless I’m accompanied.”

  Mr Brown looked at his wife. “It’s a long time since we all went to the pictures, Mary,” he said. “And it’s still quite early. Shall we go?”

  “Gosh, Dad – let’s!” exclaimed Jonathan and Judy together.

  “Do you think it’s a good programme, Paddington?” asked Mrs Brown.

  “Very good, Mrs Brown,” said Paddington knowledgeably. “There’s a cowboy film and a cartoon and an ‘I beg your pardon film’ as well.”

  “A what film?” exclaimed Mr Brown.

  “An ‘I beg your pardon film’,” repeated Paddington. “That means bears under sixteen aren’t allowed in by themselves.”

  “Oh, you mean an ‘A’ film,” said Jonathan.

  “That’s right,” agreed Paddington. “That’s what I said.”

  The Browns looked at one another. Sometimes it was a bit difficult explaining things to Paddington.

  “And there’s a man playing the organ,” continued Paddington. “It’s a special attraction – so I think it’s a good bargain, Mr Brown.”

  “That settles it,” said Mr Brown, looking at his watch. “It all sounds much too good to miss.”

  Immediately the whole house was in an uproar. Paddington was sent upstairs by Mrs Bird to wash the crumpet stains off his whiskers while the rest of the family hurried off to their respective rooms to change.

  Paddington felt very superior some half an hour later when they all trooped into the Podium Cinema. He raised his hat to the doorkeeper and then led Mr Brown in the direction of the cash desk.

  “I’m accompanied now,” he called out to the lady in charge.

  The lady stared at Mr Brown. “I beg your pardon?” she exclaimed. She sniffed and gave him a very strange look. It was most odd but she could distinctly smell fish again.

  “What did you say?” she repeated.

  “Nothing,” said Mr Brown hastily. “Er… I’d like three and three halves for the front row of the circle, please.”

  “Hurry up, Dad,” called Jonathan. “I think the other programme’s nearly finished.”

  Leaving the lady in the cash desk looking most upset, Mr Brown gathered up a long string of tickets and joined the rest of the family as they hurried up the stairs leading to the circle.

  They went up and up and Paddington soon lost count of the number of steps. In fact there were so many he almost wished they had gone downstairs instead. Not only that, but as he followed the Browns through the entrance to the circle he discovered it was all dark inside.

  “This way, please,” said the usherette, as she led the way down some stairs and shone her torch along a row of seats in the front row. “You’re lucky. There are just six left together.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Mrs Brown, as she made her way along the row. “Excuse me, please. Excuse me. Thank you very much.”

  She sat down and arranged herself comfortably as the others joined her.

  “That’s a bit of luck,” whispered Mr Brown. “Finding six together.”

  “Seven,” said Mrs Brown. “There’s still another one between us.”

  “So there is!” whispered Mr Brown, groping in the dark. “That’s odd. The girl said there were only six.” He looked along the row. “Where’s Paddington?”

  “Paddington?” exclaimed Mrs Brown. “Isn’t he with you, Henry?”

  “No,” replied Mr Brown. “I thought you had him.”

  “Oh, crumbs,” groaned Judy. “Trust Paddington to get lost.”

  “Where on earth can he have got to?” grumbled Mr Brown as he struck a match and began looking under the seats.

  “Here I am, Mr Brown,” called Paddington from the end of the row. “I went all the way along by mistake.”

  “Sssh!” said a nasty-sounding voice from the row behind.

  “It’s all dark and I can’t see,” exclaimed Paddington as he was passed back along the row.

  “Are you all right now, dear?” whispered Mrs Brown, as Paddington sat down beside her.

  “I think so,” said Paddington, peering at the screen.

  “Oi!” said the nasty voice from behind again. “’Ow about taking yer titfer off?”

  Paddington turned and stared in the direction of the speaker. “My titfer?” he exclaimed. “Take my titfer off?”

  “That’s right,” said the voice. “Your tit for tat.”

  “I think he means your hat, dear,” explained Mrs Brown. “It’s probably getting in the way of the screen.”

  Paddington thought for a moment. He wasn’t at all keen on taking his hat off in case it got lost in the dark. “I’
ll turn it round if you like,” he said generously. “Then you can look through one of the holes.”

  Having solved the problem of the man behind, Paddington gave his attention to the screen. It was all very interesting, with people dashing about all over the place and with music that got louder and louder, but Paddington found it difficult to understand what it was all about. To his surprise, after only a few minutes the music suddenly ended and all the lights in the cinema came on.

  “Well,” he exclaimed, looking most disappointed. “I didn’t think much of that!”

  “It’s all right, Paddington,” explained Judy. “That’s what’s showing next week. That was only the trailer.”

  But her words fell on empty ears for Paddington was staring at the screen again and licking his whiskers.

  “Oh dear,” groaned Mr Brown, as he followed Paddington’s gaze. “They would have to advertise ice-cream. They must have known he was coming.” He felt in his pocket. “You’d better get six tubs, and some nougat or something for the big picture, Jonathan.”

  “I think I’m going to enjoy myself,” announced Paddington a few minutes later as Mr Brown handed him the refreshments.

  He dipped his spoon into the ice-cream tub and stared excitedly at the screen as the lights went down again to herald the start of the cowboy film.

  Paddington enjoyed the cowboy film much more than the trailer, and he soon became quite lost in the story. He stood up on his seat with his paws on the balcony and his eyes glued to the screen. Every now and then he automatically dipped his spoon into the ice-cream tub and several times a lump fell off the spoon before it had even reached his mouth, which was most unusual.

  It was all very complicated at first. Everyone seemed to be shooting at everyone else and Paddington got very worried in case there was no one left and they had to stop the film.

  Each time the villain, who wore a black mask and a black hat, came on to the screen he booed, and when the hero appeared, riding a white horse, he cheered and waved his hat in the air until Mrs Brown became quite embarrassed. She wasn’t at all sorry when at long last the hero rode off into the setting sun and the film came to an end.

  “Most enjoyable,” said Mrs Bird, rather surprisingly. The Browns had somehow never thought of Mrs Bird liking cowboy films. “Did you like it, Paddington?”

  Paddington nodded his head vigorously. “I enjoyed it very much, thank you, Mrs Bird,” he said. “Except I can’t find my nougat anywhere.”

  “Never mind, Paddington,” said Mr Brown, after they had all searched in vain for it. “I’ll buy you some more in a minute. After we’ve heard the organ.”

  He sat back heavily in his seat and then turned to see Paddington. “If you watch,” he explained, “you’ll see it come up through the floor in a moment.”

  “Come up through the floor, Mr Brown?” exclaimed Paddington. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an organ come up through the floor before.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs Bird. “And it doesn’t look as if you’re going to now. Look!”

  She pointed to the screen where an announcement had just been flashed on to say that Mr Reginald Clove was indisposed.

  “What!” cried Paddington hotly as the words sank in. “Reginald Clove indisposed!”

  “That means he’s ill, dear,” explained Mrs Brown. “So he won’t be playing after all.”

  “How very disappointing,” said Mr Brown. “It’s a long time since I heard an organ. I was really looking forward to it.”

  While the rest of the Browns watched the advertisements on the screen Paddington sank back into his seat and listened to Mr Brown explaining what the organ would have looked like had it come up through the floor. Mr Brown liked organs and he went on for a long time about it.

  “Henry,” said Mrs Brown when he had finished. “Where’s Paddington?”

  “Paddington?” exclaimed Mr Brown. “Don’t tell me he’s disappeared again. He was here a moment ago.”

  “I do hope he isn’t long wherever he’s got to,” said Mrs Brown. “We shall never hear the last of it if he misses the start of the big picture.”

  But Paddington was already almost out of sight. He was hurrying up the aisle and out through the door marked EXIT. There was a purposeful expression on his face, one which the Browns would have recognised at once had they been able to see him.

  Paddington wasn’t the only one with a purposeful expression on his face at that moment. As he hurried down the stairs on one side of the cinema the manager of the Podium strode up the stairs leading to the projection box on the other.

  There was something unusual going on in his theatre and he intended finding out what it was. He prided himself that the Podium was normally a very well run cinema but on this particular evening things had gone wrong from the beginning.

  First of all the lady in the cash desk -usually a most reliable person – had complained of a fishy smell and mysterious voices saying they were accompanied coming from underneath her counter. Then Reginald Clove had caught his hand in a swing door and had announced the fact that he couldn’t play the organ. Something to do with his not being able to work the stops and turn the music with only one hand.

  As if that wasn’t enough there had come news of ‘goings on’ in the circle. It was most unusual to have ‘goings on’ in the circle. Occasionally he had a spot of bother in the cheaper seats downstairs – but never in the circle.

  There had been complaints of bear’s boos coming from the front row during the cowboy film, and as he’d passed through the stalls he’d also noticed several people immediately underneath the balcony with ice-cream stains on their hats. It was all very disturbing and he wasn’t in the best of moods as he burst into the projection room waving a piece of paper.

  “I want this notice flashed on the screen,” he said crossly. “At once!”

  “Good heavens!” exclaimed Mrs Brown a few moments later. “What on earth can that mean?”

  Mr Brown adjusted his glasses and stared at the screen, “WILL THE OWNER OF THE YOUNG BEAR IN THE CIRCLE KINDLY REPORT TO THE MANAGER’S OFFICE IMMEDIATELY,” he read.

  “I don’t know, Mary,” he said, as he made to get to his feet, “but I’m certainly going to find out.”

  “Owner indeed!” snorted Mrs Bird. “As if anyone owned Paddington.”

  “The boot’s on the other paw, if you ask me,” began Mr Brown. “Paddington owns us.” As he was speaking, a strange expression came over his face.

  “Well, Henry,” said Mrs Brown, staring at her husband, “aren’t you going to do something about it?”

  “I… I… can’t get up,” exclaimed Mr Brown, feeling his seat. “I seem to be stuck to something… Nougat!” he said bitterly. “Paddington’s nougat! No wonder the manager wants to see me in his office.”

  Unaware of all the excitement that was going on, Paddington pushed open a door and made his way down the aisle of the stalls until he came across a girl selling ice-cream.

  “Excuse me,” he said, climbing up on to a seat and tapping her on the shoulder, “can you tell me where the indisposed man is?”

  “The indisposed man?” repeated the girl.

  “That’s right,” said Paddington patiently. “The one who’s supposed to come up through the floor.”

  “Oh, you mean the organist,” said the girl. “Mr Reginald Clove. He’s through that little door there. The one under the stage.”

  Before she could explain that no one was allowed through it without permission Paddington had disappeared again.

  Mr Reginald Clove looked quite startled when Paddington came through the door. He had been expecting someone to come, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to be a bear.

  “Are you from the first aid?” he asked, looking at Paddington rather doubtfully.

  “Oh, no,” said Paddington, politely raising his hat. “I’m from number thirty-two Windsor Gardens and I’ve come about the organ.”

  Mr Clove stepped back a pace. “You’ve come about
the organ?” he repeated, trying to humour Paddington.

  “Yes,” said Paddington. “I wanted to see it come up through the floor.”

  “Oh!” Mr Clove’s face cleared. “Is that all?”

  “All!” exclaimed Paddington hotly. “It’s very important. Mr Brown was looking forward to it.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mr Clove, idly sorting through a pile of music with his good hand. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could oblige. But I’ve hurt my hand, you see, and I’ve no one to turn the music for me, and…” He looked thoughtfully at Paddington. “Do you like music, bear?” he asked suddenly.

  “Oh, yes,” replied Paddington. “But I don’t really play anything except the comb and paper and I’m not very good at that because I get my whiskers caught in the comb.”

  “Do you think you could turn the music for me?” asked Mr Clove.

  “Well,” said Paddington doubtfully, “it’s a bit difficult for bears because of their paws, but if you could tell me when to do it I could try.

  Mr Clove came to a decision. “You’ll do,” he said briskly. “Come with me.”

  “Goings on!” exclaimed Mrs Bird, waving her handbag at the manager. “They weren’t ‘goings on’. He was only enjoying himself.”

  “Bear’s boos,” said the manager sternly. “In the Podium circle. And nougat on one of my best seats.”

  “Then you shouldn’t sell it,” replied Mrs Bird. “It’s asking for trouble.”

  “Well, where is he now?” demanded the manager. “Tell me that. I want to start the big picture. We’re five minutes late already.”

  The Browns exchanged anxious glances. Knowing Paddington, he might be anywhere, but before they had time to reply they were all startled into silence by a loud rumbling from the front of the cinema which grew and grew in volume until the whole place began to shake.