by Michael Bond
“We could try a strong dose of castor oil, I suppose,” she continued, turning to Mrs Bird.
“I’ve a feeling it’ll need more than castor oil,” said Mrs Bird ominously, as Paddington jumped up hurriedly with a ‘feeling better’ expression on his face and then gave a loud groan as he promptly sat down again. “I’ve sent for the ambulance.”
“The ambulance!” cried Mrs Brown, going quite pale. “Oh dear.”
“We should never forgive ourselves,” said Mrs Bird wisely, “if anything happened to that bear.”
So saying she put her arms underneath Paddington and lifting him gently, carried him into the dining-room and placed him on the sofa where he lay with his legs sticking up in the air.
Leaving Paddington where he was, Mrs Bird disappeared upstairs and when she returned she was carrying a small leather suitcase. “I’ve packed all his washing things,” she explained to Mrs Brown. “And I’ve put in a jar of his special marmalade in case he needs it.”
Mrs Bird mentioned the last item in a loud voice in the hope that it would cheer Paddington up but at the mention of the word marmalade a loud groan came from the direction of the sofa.
Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird exchanged glances. If the thought of marmalade made Paddington feel worse then things must be very bad indeed.
“I’d better ring Henry at the office,” said Mrs Brown as she hurried out into the hall. “I’ll get him to come home straight away.”
Fortunately, as Mrs Brown replaced the telephone receiver, and before they had time to worry about the matter any more, there came the sound of a loud bell ringing outside followed by a squeal of brakes and a bang on the front door.
“Ho dear,” said the ambulance man as he entered the dining-room and saw Paddington lying on the sofa. “What’s this? I was told it was an emergency. Nobody said anything about it being a bear.”
“Bears have emergencies the same as anyone else,” said Mrs Bird sternly. “Now just you bring your stretcher and hurry up about it.”
The ambulance man scratched his head. “I don’t know what they’re going to say back at the hospital,” he said doubtfully. “They’ve got an ‘out-patients’ and an ‘in-patients’ department, but I’ve never come across a ‘bear-patients’ department before.”
“Well, they’re going to have one now,” said Mrs Bird. “And if that bear isn’t in it by the time five minutes is up I shall want to know the reason why.”
The ambulance man looked nervously at Mrs Bird and then back at the sofa as Paddington gave another loud groan. “I must say he doesn’t look too good,” he remarked.
“He’s all right when he’s got his legs in the air,” explained Mrs Brown. “It’s when he tries to put them down it hurts.”
The ambulance man came to a decision. The combination of Mrs Bird’s glares and Paddington’s groans was too much for him. “Bert,” he called through the open door. “Fetch the number one stretcher. And look slippy. We’ve a young bear emergency in here and I don’t much like the look of him.”
Nobody spoke in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Mrs Bird, Mrs Brown, and the man in charge travelled in the back with Paddington, and all the while his legs got higher and higher until by the time the ambulance turned in through the hospital gates they were almost doubled back on themselves.
Even the ambulance man looked worried. “Never seen anything like it before,” he said.
“I’ll cover him over with a blanket, Ma’am,” he continued to Mrs Bird as they came to a stop. “It’ll save any explanations at the door. We don’t want too many delays filling in forms.”
Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird hurried in after the stretcher but the ambulance man was as good as his word and in no time at all Paddington was being whisked away from them down a long white corridor. In fact he only had time to poke a paw out from under the blanket in order to wave goodbye before the doors at the end of the corridor closed behind him and all was quiet again.
“Oh dear,” said Mrs Brown, as she sank down on a wooden bench. “I suppose we’ve done all we can now.”
“We can only sit and wait,” said Mrs Bird gravely as she sat down beside her. “Wait and hope.”
The Browns and Mr Gruber sat in a miserable group in the corridor as they watched the comings and goings of the nurses. Mr Brown had arrived soon after the ambulance, bringing with him Jonathan and Judy, and shortly after that Mr Gruber had turned up carrying a bunch of flowers and a huge bag of grapes.
“They’re from the traders in the market,” he explained. “They all send their best wishes and hope he soon gets well.”
“It won’t be long now,” said Mr Brown as several nurses entered the room at the end of the corridor. “I think things are beginning to happen.”
As Mr Brown spoke a tall, distinguished-looking man dressed from head to foot in green came hurrying down the corridor and with a nod in their direction disappeared through the same door.
“That must be Sir Mortimer Carroway,” said Judy knowledgeably. “That ambulance man said he’s the best surgeon they have.”
“Crikey!” said Jonathan in a tone of awe. “Fancy Paddington having him!”
“Quite right too,” said Mrs Bird decidedly. “There’s nothing like going to the top. People at the top are always more understanding.”
“I feel so helpless,” said Mrs Brown, voicing the thoughts of them all as they sat on the bench and prepared themselves for a long wait. They were each of them busy with their own thoughts and although not one of them would have admitted it to the others, even the knowledge that such a famous person as Sir Mortimer Carroway was in charge didn’t help matters.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Mr Brown a few minutes later as the door at the end of the corridor opened once again and the figure of Sir Mortimer appeared. “That was quick.”
Mrs Brown clutched her husband’s arm. “You don’t think anything’s gone wrong do you, Henry?” she asked.
“We shall soon know,” said Mr Brown, as Sir Mortimer caught sight of them and came hurrying along the corridor holding a piece of fur in his hand.
“Are you that young bear’s … er … next of kin?” he asked.
“Well, he lives with us,” said Mrs Brown.
“He is going to be all right?” exclaimed Judy, looking anxiously at the piece of fur.
“I should think,” said Sir Mortimer in a grave voice, but with the suspicion of a twinkle in his eyes, “there’s every chance he’ll pull through.”
“Gracious me!” exclaimed Mrs Bird as there was a sudden commotion at the end of the corridor. “There is Paddington. Don’t tell me he’s up already.”
“A bad case of galloping toffee drips,” said Sir Mortimer. “Most unusual. On the stomach too. Worst possible place.”
“Galloping toffee drips?” repeated Mr Brown.
“I think I must have spilt some on my fur when I was testing it, Mr Brown,” explained Paddington as he joined them.
“They probably set when he was sitting down,” said Sir Mortimer. “No wonder he couldn’t get up again.”
Sir Mortimer chuckled at the look on everyone’s face. “I’m afraid he’ll have a bare patch for a week or so but I don’t doubt if you keep him on a diet of marmalade for a while it’ll start to grow again. It should be all right by Christmas.”
“If you don’t mind, bear,” he said as he made to leave, “I’d like to keep this piece of fur as a souvenir. I’ve done a good few operations in my time but I’ve never had a bear’s emergency before.”
“What a good job Sir Mortimer had a sense of humour,” said Mrs Brown as they all drove home in Mr Brown’s car. “I can’t imagine what some surgeons would have said.”
“Fancy keeping Paddington’s fur as a souvenir,” said Judy. “I wonder if he’ll have it framed.”
Looking out from behind Mr Gruber’s bunch of grapes Paddington gave the rest of the carload one of his injured expressions. He felt very upset that everyone was taking his operation so lightly n
ow that it had turned out all right, especially as he had a cold spot in the middle of his stomach where Sir Mortimer had removed the fur.
“Perhaps,” said Mr Gruber, as they turned into Windsor Gardens, “he just likes bears.
“After all, Mr Brown,” he added, turning to Paddington, “joking aside, it might have been serious and it’s nice to know there are people like that in the world you can turn to in times of trouble.”
And to that remark even Paddington had to nod his wholehearted agreement.
Soon after the toffee-making episode a change came over the weather. The air suddenly became crisper and often in the mornings a thin film of ice covered the windows with a pattern of tiny ferns so that Paddington had to breathe quite heavily on his panes before he could see into the garden. Even when he did manage to make a hole large enough to see through his effort was usually only rewarded by the sight of an even larger expanse of white outside.
Almost overnight great piles of fir trees arrived in the market and on the barrows brightly coloured boxes of figs and dates put in an appearance alongside branches of holly and sprigs of mistletoe.
Inside the house there were changes too, as bowls of fruit and nuts began to appear on the sideboard and mysterious-looking lists were hastily tucked into jugs whenever he came into a room.
“Christmas comes but once a year,” said Mrs Bird, when she met Paddington in the hall one morning on his return from the market, “and when it does it’s time for certain young bears to have a bath, otherwise they may find themselves left behind when we go on our shopping expedition this afternoon.”
As Mrs Bird disappeared into the kitchen Paddington stared with wide-open eyes at the closed door for a moment or two and then hurried upstairs as fast as his legs would carry him.
The year before, Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird had taken him to a big London store in order to do the Christmas shopping, and although for some weeks past he had been keeping his paws firmly crossed in the hope that they would take him again, the news still came as a great surprise.
Paddington spent the rest of the morning hurrying round busily making his preparations for the big event. Apart from having a bath, there was so much to do in the way of making out lists and sorting through the various things he wanted to take with him, not to mention finding space for a hurried lunch, that it seemed no time at all before he found himself being helped off a bus as it stopped outside a large and familiar-looking building in one of the big London streets.
“I thought we would try and do most of our shopping at Barkridges,” explained Mrs Brown, when she saw Paddington’s look of surprise. “It’s so much easier if you can get everything in the one shop.”
Paddington peered up at the building with renewed interest for he hadn’t visited Barkridge’s store since his very first shopping expedition and it looked quite different now all the Christmas decorations were up. Apart from gaily coloured displays in all the windows the outside of the building was a mass of fairy lights which hung from some of the biggest Christmas trees he had ever seen in his life and altogether it looked most inviting.
“I think I’d like to do some shopping by myself, Mrs Brown,” he exclaimed eagerly. “I’ve got one or two special things to buy.”
Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird exchanged glances. “I suppose we could let him go down to the bargain basement,” said Mrs Bird as they entered the shop. “If we wait at the top of the stairs he can’t come to any great harm.”
Paddington pricked up his ears at Mrs Bird’s words. He had never been down to a bargain basement before and it sounded most interesting.
Mrs Brown looked at him doubtfully. “Well,” she said, “it is Christmas. But you must promise to be back here in half an hour. We’ve a lot to do.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs Brown,” said Paddington gratefully as he picked up his belongings and hurried off in the direction of some nearby stairs.
“Hmm,” said Mrs Bird, voicing both their thoughts as Paddington disappeared through a door at the bottom. “That bear was in too much of a hurry for my liking. I’ve a nasty feeling in the back of my mind we’re letting ourselves in for trouble.”
“Even Paddington can’t come to much harm in half an hour,” said Mrs Brown optimistically. “Not with shopping to do.”
“If he gets as far as the shopping,” said Mrs Bird darkly.
Unaware of the way he was being discussed, Paddington stood for a moment blinking happily in the bright lights of the bargain basement. If anything, it was even more crowded than the upstairs had been and there was so much to see it was difficult to take it all in at one glance.
In front of him there was a big signpost with arrows pointing the way to the various departments and after studying it for a moment or two he decided to investigate the one marked KITCHEN AND HOUSEHOLD. Apart from the fact that he felt sure the Household department of a big store like Barkridges would be bound to have something suitable for Mrs Bird’s present, he had just caught sight of another interesting notice pasted on the wall. It said THIS WAY TO THE FREE DEMONSTRATIONS, and it definitely needed looking into.
Following the arrows, Paddington made his way along a corridor until he found himself standing in a large area full of pots and pans. All around people were shouting and jostling and as he put his head down and pushed his way through he suddenly discovered to his surprise that he had come up against a large table behind which stood a man in a white coat. The man appeared to be doing something with a piece of old carpet and a bottle and he didn’t look best pleased at the way things were going.
“Look at that!” he shouted, holding up the piece of carpet as Paddington stood on tip-toe in order to get a better view. “Only one coating of Instant One-dab cleaning fluid and already this old piece of carpet looks like new!”
“Come on, ladies,” he cried in a hoarse voice. “There must be someone who wants to buy a bottle. It not only cleans carpets – just one dab on your kitchen sink and you’ll be able to see your face in it. Mirrors, furniture, floors – there’s nothing in the world that can’t be improved by Instant One-dab cleaning fluid. I’m not asking fifteen pence for it. I’m not even asking ten pence. All I want for this giant-size economy bottle is the trifling sum of seven pence.”
Pausing for breath the man looked at the sea of faces in front of him. “Some people can’t see a bargain when it’s held in front of their nose,” he said crossly as no one moved.
“Take this piece of stuff here,” he continued, as he reached out across the table and picked up a shapeless-looking object which he held up for everyone to see. “You couldn’t have anything much dirtier than this. Most of you would probably have thrown it away years ago. Yet I guarantee that with one dab of my cleaning fluid it’ll come up as good as new.”
“What!” cried Paddington in alarm, as he clambered up on his suitcase. “That’s my hat you’ve got!”
“Your hat?” exclaimed the man, dropping it hurriedly. “I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t realize anyone was wearing it. I thought it was one of my old scraps I get off the dustman. I keep a few of them by me for demonstrations you know …”
The man’s voice trailed away as he caught Paddington’s eye. “I was only trying to get rid of your stains,” he said lamely.
“Get rid of my stains?” repeated Paddington, hardly able to believe his ears. It had taken him a long time to collect all the different stains on his hat. Some of them were so old he had almost forgotten how they had got there in the first place, and some had even been made by his uncle in Peru.
“Those aren’t ordinary stains,” he exclaimed hotly. “Some of them have been handed down.”
“Handed down?” echoed the man. “You can’t hand a stain down.”
“Bears do,” said Paddington firmly.
The demonstration man gave a nasty look. “Well, if you want to hand them down any more,” he said, waving the bottle of cleaning fluid dangerously close to Paddington’s hat, “I suggest you hop it. This is very powerful stuff
and if the cork comes out accidentally I shan’t answer for the consequences.”
Grabbing his hat Paddington pulled it tightly down over his head and pushed his way through the crowd out of range of the man’s bottle. He didn’t think much of the first demonstration he’d seen, even if it had been free, and he hurriedly made his way in the direction of the second one in the hope that it might prove more interesting.
As he approached the next crowd Paddington paused for a moment and sniffed the air. To his surprise there seemed to be a strong smell of pancakes and as he squeezed his way towards the demonstration it got stronger and stronger until by the time he reached the table he felt quite hungry.
This time the man in charge had a small spirit stove in front of him and he was holding a frying-pan in the air while he addressed his audience.
“How many times,” he cried, as Paddington reached the table. “How many times have you broken your fried eggs in the morning? How many omelets have you spoilt at lunch-time? And have you ever kept count of the number of times you’ve tried tossing a pancake only to find it stuck to the pan?”
Holding up the frying-pan for everyone to see, the demonstration man paused dramatically. “Never again!” he cried, as he waved it in the air. “Go home today and throw your old pans in the dustbin. Buy one of my Magic Non-stick frying-pans and nothing, I repeat, nothing will ever stick again.”
“Why, it’s so simple,” he went on, “even a child of five can’t go wrong.
“Come along sir,” he exclaimed, pointing to Paddington. “Show everyone how to do it.”
“Stand back everyone,” he called, as he handed the frying-pan to Paddington. “The young gentleman with the whiskers is going to show you all how easy it is to toss a pancake with one of my Magic Non-stick frying-pans.”
“Thank you very much,” said Paddington gratefully. “I might buy one for Mrs Bird’s Christmas present,” he explained. “She’s always grumbling about her pans.”