by Michael Bond
“There you are,” said the demonstration man triumphantly. “My first sale of the morning. Fancy all of you being put to shame by a young bear gentleman.”
“I can see you know your frying-pans as well as your onions, sir,” he continued, as Paddington gripped the frying-pan firmly in both paws and closed his eyes as he prepared to test it. “Now, just a quick flick of the paw, and don’t forget to catch the pancake on the way down otherwise …”
Whatever else the man had been about to say was lost as a gasp went up from the audience. “Here,” he cried anxiously, “what have you done with it?”
“What have I done with it?” said Paddington with interest as he opened his eyes and peered at the empty pan.
“That was my demonstration pancake,” cried the man, looking all around. “And now it’s gone!”
The problem of where the pancake had disappeared to was suddenly solved as a disturbance broke out at the back of the crowd and a woman started to push her way through to the front.
“My best hat!” she exclaimed. “Covered in pancake mixture!”
“Never mind your hat,” cried someone else. “What about my coat?”
As more and more voices joined in the uproar Paddington decided to take advantage of the confusion. Picking up his suitcase and carrier bag he hurried out of the Household department casting some extremely anxious glances over his shoulder as he went. He didn’t like the look of things at all and he decided he’d had quite enough of free demonstrations for one day.
It was as he was hurrying in the direction of the stairs and safety that Paddington suddenly stopped in his tracks again and peered up at the wall. In front of him was a large poster which he hadn’t noticed before showing a man in a white beard and a long red coat sitting astride a rocket. But it wasn’t so much the picture which caught his eye as the wording underneath.
It said:
TRIPS TO THE MOON
VISIT FATHER CHRISTMAS IN THE MOON ROCKET
GET YOUR FREE PRESENT
TEN PENCE RETURN!
After the wording a broad red arrow decorated with holly pointed the way towards a door in front of which stood a group of people.
Paddington considered the matter for a moment. Ten pence seemed very cheap for a trip to the moon, especially as it had cost Mrs Brown almost as much for the three of them on the bus and they hadn’t even been given a present at the end.
Although he’d promised Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird to stay in the bargain basement Paddington felt sure they wouldn’t mind in the circumstances if he took a short trip. At that moment the doors opened and the matter was decided for him as he was caught up in the rush of people all pushing and shoving to get through. In fact it all happened so quickly he only just found time to hand his ten pence piece to the man in uniform before the doors clanged shut behind him.
“Thank you very much,” called the man, touching his cap as Paddington was swept past him. “A Merry Christmas to you.”
Paddington tried to raise his hat in reply but by that time he was so tightly jammed against the wall at the back that he hardly had room to breathe let alone move his paws. In fact he was so squashed that it only took him a moment or two to decide very firmly indeed that he didn’t think much of rockets. Apart from the fact that it kept stopping, it was so crowded he couldn’t see a thing. And when it did finally reach the top of its travel even more people pushed their way in before he had a chance to clamber out and it started to fall back down again without his having so much as caught a glimpse of Father Christmas.
Altogether Paddington wasn’t sorry when he heard the man in charge announce the fact that they were back in the bargain basement again and it was time to get out.
“I’d like my present now, please,” he exclaimed, as he pushed his way out behind the other passengers.
“Your present?” said the man in uniform. “What present?”
Paddington gave the man a hard stare. “The one the notice says you get,” he explained.
The man looked puzzled for a moment and then his face cleared as Paddington pointed to the poster. “You want Father Christmas on the fourth floor,” he said. “We don’t give presents here. This is the lift, not a rocket.”
“What!” cried Paddington, nearly falling over backwards with surprise. “This is a lift? But I gave you ten pence.”
“That’s right, sir,” said the man cheerfully. “Thank you very much. It isn’t often we liftmen get a Christmas box.”
“A Christmas box?” echoed Paddington, his eyes getting larger and larger.
“Very kind of you it was,” said the liftman. “And now if you’ll excuse me I’ve another load to take up.”
With that he clanged the doors shut leaving Paddington fixed to the spot as if he had been turned into a pillar of stone. He was still rooted to the spot several minutes later when Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird came hurrying up accompanied by an important-looking man in striped trousers.
“Where on earth have you been?” cried Mrs Bird. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Are you all right?” asked Mrs Brown anxiously. “You don’t look very well.”
“Oh, I’m all right, thank you, Mrs Brown,” said Paddington vaguely as he recovered himself. “And I haven’t been on earth – at least, I have, but I didn’t think I had and it cost me ten pence.”
The rest of Paddington’s explanations were lost as the man in the striped trousers bounded forward and shook him warmly by the paw. “My dear young bear,” he exclaimed, “I’m the floor manager. Allow me to thank you for all you’ve done.”
“That’s all right,” said Paddington, looking most surprised as he raised his hat.
“Non-stick frying pans have never been one of our most popular lines,” said the floor manager as he turned to Mrs Brown. “And as for the cleaning fluid … now look at them both.” He waved his hand in the direction of two large crowds in the distance. “They’re both selling like hot cakes.
“Since this young bear demonstrated the frying-pan our man can’t wrap them fast enough. And after our other assistant removed the pancake stains from the customers’ clothes he’s been rushed off his feet. Anything that gets a young bear’s pancake stain out without leaving a mark must be good.
“You must let me know if there’s anything we can do to repay you,” he continued, turning back to Paddington.
Paddington thought for a moment. “I was doing some special Christmas shopping,” he explained. “Only I’m not really sure what I want to buy. It’s a bit difficult for bears to see over the edge of the counters.”
“In that case,” said the floor manager, snapping his fingers in the direction of one of the assistants, “you shall have the services of one of our expert shopping advisers. She can look after you for the rest of the day and I’m sure she’ll be only too pleased to help you with all your needs.”
“Thank you very much,” said Paddington gratefully. He wasn’t at all sure what it was all about but whatever the reason he felt certain that with the help of anyone as important-sounding as a shopping adviser he ought to be able to get some very good Christmas presents indeed.
As she bent down to pick up her shopping Mrs Brown caught Mrs Bird’s eye. “I wish someone would tell me how Paddington gets away with it,” she said.
“You’d have to be a bear yourself to answer that one,” said Mrs Bird wisely. “And if you were the question wouldn’t arise anyway. Bears have much more important things to think about.”
“Harold Price?” said Mrs Brown. “Wants to see me? But I don’t know anyone called Harold Price, do I?”
“It’s the young man from the big grocery store in the market,” said Mrs Bird. “He said it had something to do with their amateur dramatic society.”
“You’d better show him in then,” said Mrs Brown. Now that Mrs Bird mentioned it she did vaguely remember Harold Price. He was a rather spotty faced young man who served behind the jam counter. But for the life of her she couldn’t imagine
what that had to do with amateur dramatics.
“I’m so sorry to trouble you,” said Mr Price as Mrs Bird ushered him in to the dining-room. “But I expect you know there’s a drama festival taking place in the hall round the corner this week.”
“You’d like us to buy some tickets?” asked Mrs Brown, reaching for her handbag.
Mr Price shifted uneasily. “Well … er … no, not exactly,” he said. “You see, we’ve entered a play for the last night – that’s tomorrow – and we’ve been let down at the last moment by the man who was going to do the sound effects. I was told you have a young Mr Brown who’s very keen on that sort of thing but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten his christian name.”
“Jonathan?” asked Mrs Brown.
Mr Price shook his head. “No, it wasn’t Jonathan,” he said. “It was a funny sort of name. He’s been on television.”
“Not Paddington?” said Mrs Bird.
“That’s it!” exclaimed Mr Price. “Paddington! I knew it was something unusual.
“I wrote this play myself,” he continued eagerly. “It’s a sort of mystery pantomime and we’re hoping it may win a prize. The sound effects are most important and we must have someone reliable by tomorrow night.”
“Have you ever met Paddington?” asked Mrs Bird.
“Well, no,” said Mr Price. “But I’m sure he could do them, and if he’ll come I can let you all have free seats in the front row.”
“That’s most kind of you,” said Mrs Brown. “I don’t know what to say. Paddington does make rather a noise sometimes when he’s doing things – but I don’t know that you’d exactly call them sound effects.”
“Please!” appealed Mr Price. “There just isn’t anyone else we can ask.”
“Well,” said Mrs Brown doubtfully, as she paused at the door. “I’ll ask him if you like – but he’s upstairs doing his accounts at the moment and I’m not sure that he’ll want to be disturbed.”
Mr Price looked somewhat taken aback when Mrs Brown returned, closely followed by Paddington. “Oh!” he stammered. “I didn’t realize you were a … that is … I … er … I expected someone much older.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Mr Price,” said Paddington cheerfully, as he held out his paw. “I’m nearly four. Bears’ years are different.”
“Er … quite,” said Mr Price. “I’m sure they are.” He took hold of Paddington’s outstretched paw rather gingerly. Mr Price was a sensitive young man and there were one or two old marmalade stains he didn’t like the look of, not to mention a quantity of red ink from the debit side of Paddington’s accounts which somehow or other managed to transfer itself to his hand.
“You’re sure you hadn’t anything else planned?” he asked hopefully.
“Oh no,” said Paddington. “Besides, I like theatres and I’m good at learning lines.”
“Well, they’re not actually lines, Paddington,” said Mrs Brown nervously. “They’re noises.”
“Noises?” exclaimed Paddington, looking most surprised. “I’ve never heard of a ‘noises’ play before.”
Harold Price looked at him doubtfully. “Perhaps we could use you in some of the crowd scenes,” he said. “We’re a bit short of serfs.”
“Serfs?” exclaimed Paddington.
“That’s right,” said Mr Price. “All you have to do is come on and say ‘Odds bodikins’ every now and then.”
“Odds bodikins?” repeated Paddington, looking more and more surprised.
“Yes,” said Mr Price, growing more enthusiastic at the idea. “And if you do it well I might even let you say ‘Gadzooks’ and ‘Scurvy knave’ as well.’
“Perhaps you’d both like to go into it all down at the hall,” said Mrs Brown hastily, as she caught sight of the expression on Paddington’s face.
“A very good idea,” said Mr Price. “We’re just about to start a rehearsal. I can explain it as we go along.”
“He did say it’s a pantomime?” said Mrs Bird, when she returned from letting Paddington and Mr Price out.
“I think he did,” replied Mrs Brown.
“Hmm,” said Mrs Bird. “Well, if Paddington has a paw in it there’ll be plenty of pantomime – you mark my words!”
“Here we are,” said Mr Price, as he showed Paddington through a door marked PRIVATE – ARTISTS ONLY. “I’ll take you along and introduce you to the others.”
Paddington blinked in the strong lights at the back of the stage and then sniffed. There was a nice smell of greasepaint and it reminded him of the previous time he had been behind the scenes in a theatre, but before he had time to investigate the matter he found himself standing in front of a tall, dark girl who was stretched out on a couch.
“Deirdre,” said Mr Price. “I’d like you to meet the young Mr Brown I was telling you about. He’s promised to lend a paw with the sound effects.”
The dark girl raised herself on one elbow and stared at Paddington. “You didn’t tell me he was a bear, Harold,” she said.
“I didn’t know myself … actually,” said Mr Price unhappily. “This is Miss Flint, my leading lady,” he explained, turning to Paddington. “She’s in bacon and eggs.”
“How nice,” said Paddington, raising his hat politely. “I should like to be in bacon and eggs myself.”
“You look rather as if you have been,” said Miss Flint, shuddering slightly as she sank back on to the couch. “I suppose the show must go on, Harold – but really!”
Mr Price looked at Paddington again. “Perhaps you’d better come with me,” he said hastily, as he led the way across the stage. “I’ll show you what you have to do.”
After giving Miss Flint a hard stare Paddington followed Mr Price until they came to a small table in the wings. “This is where you’ll be,” said Mr Price, picking up a large bundle of papers. “I’ve marked all the places in the script where there are any sound effects. All you have to do is bang some coconuts together whenever it says ‘horses’ hooves’, and there’s a gramophone for when we have any music or thunder noises.”
Paddington listened carefully while Mr Price explained about the script and he examined the objects on the table with interest.
“It looks a bit difficult,” he said, when Mr Price had finished his explanations, “especially with paws. But I expect it will be all right.”
“I hope so,” said Mr Price. He ran his hands nervously through his hair and gave Paddington a last worried look as he went back on to the stage to join the rest of the cast. “I do hope so. We’ve never had a bear doing the sound effects before.”
Mr Price wasn’t the only one to feel uneasy at the thought of Paddington taking part in his play and by the time the following evening came round everyone in the Brown household was in a high state of excitement as they got ready for their outing. Mr Price had been as good as his word and he’d not only given Paddington a number of tickets for the family, but he’d slipped in an extra one for Mr Gruber as well, and even Mr Curry had promised to put in an appearance.
Paddington went on ahead of the others as he had one or two last minute adjustments to make to his gramophone, but he was waiting at the door to greet them when they arrived just before the start of the performance. He was wearing a large rosette marked OFFICIAL in his hat and he looked most important as he led the way down the crowded aisle to some seats in the front row of the stalls, before disappearing through a small door at the side of the stage.
As the Browns settled down in their seats a roll of thunder shook the hall and Mrs Brown looked up anxiously. “That’s very odd,” she exclaimed. “Thunder at this time of the year. It was just starting to snow when we came in.”
“I expect that was Paddington testing his sound effects,” said Jonathan knowledgeably. “He said he had quite a few claps to do.”
“Well, I wish he’d turn the volume down a bit,” said Mrs Bird, turning her attention to the stage as the curtain began to rise. “That ceiling doesn’t look too safe to me.”
“I think som
eone must have forgotten to pay the electric light bill,” whispered Mr Brown as he adjusted his glasses and peered at the scene.
Mr Price’s play was called The Mystery of Father Christmas and the Disappearing Plans and according to the programme the action all took place one night in the hall of a deserted castle somewhere in Europe.
From where they were sitting the Browns not only found it difficult to see what was going on, but when their eyes did get accustomed to the gloom they found it even harder to understand what the play was about anyway.
Several times Father Christmas came through a secret panel in the wall holding a lighted candle in his hand, and each time he disappeared he was followed after a short interval by Mr Price playing the part of a mysterious butler. If Father Christmas was acting strangely Mr Price’s actions were even more peculiar. Sometimes he came on waving the secret plans with a triumphant expression on his face, and at other times he looked quite sinister as he shook an empty fist at the audience to the accompaniment of a roll of thunder.
Behind the scenes Paddington was kept very busy. Apart from the thunder, there were the coconut shells to be banged together whenever anyone approached the castle, not to mention clanking drawbridge noises and creaking sounds each time a door was opened.
In fact there was so much to do it took him all his time to follow the script let alone watch the action on the stage and he was quite surprised when he looked up suddenly in the middle of one of his thunder records and found it was the interval.
“Very good work, Mr Brown,” said Harold Price, as he came off the stage mopping his brow and stopped by Paddington’s table. “I couldn’t have done it better myself. I don’t think you missed a single cue.”
“Thank you very much,” said Paddington, looking very pleased with himself as he returned Mr Price’s thumb-up sign with a wave of his paw.
Quite a lot of people had come and gone in the first half of Mr Price’s play and altogether he wasn’t sorry to sit down for a while and rest his paws. In any case the serfs had to put in several appearances during the second act and he was anxious to practise his lines while he had the chance.