by Michael Bond
From the expression on his face as he leant over the sill and peered at the ground far below it looked very much as if Paddington would have been the first to agree with Mrs Bird’s remarks on the subject.
Paddington was an optimistic bear at heart but as he clambered back down from the window and viewed Mr Curry’s bathroom even he had to admit to himself that things were in a bit of a mess. In fact, taking things all round he was beginning to wish he’d never started on the job in the first place.
Apart from Mr James’s blowlamp and a large number of tools from Mr Brown’s garage, the floor was strewn with odd lengths of pipe, pieces of solder and several saucepans, not to mention a length of hosepipe which he’d brought up from the garden in case of an emergency.
But it wasn’t so much the general clutter that caused Paddington’s gloomy expression as the amount of water which lay everywhere. In fact, considering the pipes had been completely frozen when he’d started, he found it hard to understand where it had all come from. The only place in the whole of the bathroom where there wasn’t some kind of pool was in a corner by the washbasin where he’d placed one of his Wellington boots beneath a leaking pipe in the hope of getting enough water to fill Mr Curry’s hot-water bottle.
Paddington was particularly anxious to fill the bottle before Mr Curry took it into his head to get up. Already there had been several signs of stirring from the direction of his bedroom and twice a loud voice had called out demanding to know what was going on. Both times Paddington had done his best to make a deep grunting noise like a plumber hard at work and each time Mr Curry’s voice had grown more suspicious.
Paddington hastily began scooping water off the floor with his paw in order to help matters along, but as fast as he scooped the water up, it soaked into his fur and ran back up his arm. Hopefully squeezing a few drops from his elbow into the Wellington boot Paddington gave a deep sigh and turned his attention to the book Mr James had lent him.
The book was called The Plumber’s Mate by Bert Stilson, and although Paddington felt sure it was very good for anyone who wanted to fit pipes in their house for the first time there didn’t seem to be a great deal on what to do once they were in and frozen hard. Mr Stilson seemed to be unusually lucky with the weather whenever he did a job, for in nearly all the photographs it was possible to see the sun shining through the open windows.
There was only one chapter on frozen pipes and in the picture that went with it Mr Stilson was shown wrapping them in towels soaked in boiling water. With no water to boil Paddington had tried holding Mr Curry’s one and only towel near the blowlamp in order to warm it, but after several rather nasty brown patches suddenly appeared he’d hastily given it up as a bad job.
Another picture showed Mr Stilson playing the flame of a blowlamp along a pipe as he dealt with a particularly difficult job and Paddington had found this method much more successful. The only trouble was that as soon as the ice inside the pipe began to melt, a leak appeared near one of the joints.
Paddington tried stopping the leak with his paw while he read to the end of the chapter, but on the subject of leaking pipes Mr Stilson was even less helpful than he had been on frozen ones. In a note about lead pipes he mentioned hitting them with a hammer in order to close the gap, but whenever Paddington hit one of Mr Curry’s gaps at least one other leak appeared farther along the pipe so that instead of the one he’d started with there were now five and he’d run out of paws.
For some while the quiet of the bathroom was broken only by the hiss of the blowlamp and the steady drip, drip, drip of water as Paddington sat lost in thought.
Suddenly, as he turned over a page near the end of the book his face brightened. Right at the end of the very last chapter Mr Stilson had drawn out a chart which he’d labelled ‘Likely Trouble Spots.’ Hurriedly unfolding the paper, Paddington spread it over the bathroom stool and began studying it with interest.
According to Mr Stilson most things to do with plumbing caused trouble at some time or another, but if there was one place which was more troublesome than all the others put together it was where there was a bend in the pipe. At the bottom of the chart Mr Stilson explained that bends shaped like the letter ‘U’ always had water inside them and so they were the very first places to freeze when the cold weather came.
Looking around Mr Curry’s bathroom Paddington was surprised to see how many ‘U’ bends there were. In fact, wherever he looked there appeared to be a bend of one kind or another.
Holding Mr Stilson’s book in one paw Paddington picked up the blowlamp in the other and settled himself underneath the washbasin where one of the pipes made itself into a particularly large ‘U’ shape before it entered the cold tap.
As he played the flame along the pipe, sitting well back in case he accidentally singed his whiskers, Paddington was pleased to hear several small cracking noises coming from somewhere inside. In a matter of moments the crackles were replaced by bangs, and his opinion of Mr Stilson went up by leaps and bounds as almost immediately afterwards a loud gurgling sound came from the basin over his head and the water began to flow.
To make doubly sure of matters Paddington stood up and ran the blowlamp flame along the pipe with one final sweep of his paw. It was as he did so that the pleased expression on his face suddenly froze almost as solidly as the water in Mr Curry’s pipes had been a second before.
Everything happened so quickly it all seemed to be over in the blink of an eyelid, but one moment he was standing under the basin with the blowlamp, and the next moment there was a hiss and a loud plop and before his astonished gaze Mr Curry’s ‘U’ bend disappeared into thin air. Paddington just had time to take in the pool of molten lead on the bathroom floor before a gush of cold water hit him on the chin, nearly bowling him over.
Acting with great presence of mind he knocked the hot flexible remains of the pipe and turned it back into Mr Curry’s bath, leaving the water to hiss and gurgle as he turned to consult Mr Stilson’s book once more. There was a note somewhere near the back telling what to do in cases of emergency which he was particularly anxious to read.
A few seconds later he hurried downstairs as fast as his legs would carry him, slamming the front door in his haste. Almost at the same moment as it banged shut there came the sound of a window being opened somewhere overhead and Mr Curry’s voice rang out. “Bear!” he roared. “What’s going on, bear?”
Paddington gazed wildly round the snow-covered garden. “I’m looking for your stop-cock,” he exclaimed.
“What!” bellowed Mr Curry, putting a hand to his ear to make sure he’d heard right. “Cock! How dare you call me cock! I shall report you to Mrs Bird.”
“I didn’t mean you were to stop, cock,” explained Paddington desperately. “I meant…”
“Stop?” repeated Mr Curry. “I most certainly will not stop. What’s going on? Where’s Mr James?”
“You’re having trouble with your ‘U’ bends, Mr Curry,” cried Paddington.
“Round the bend!” spluttered Mr Curry. “Did I hear you say I’m round the bend?”
Mr Curry took a deep breath as he prepared to let forth on the subject of bears in general and Paddington in particular, but as he did so a strange look came over his face and before Paddington’s astonished gaze he began dancing up and down, waving his arms in the air.
“Where’s all this water coming from, bear?” he roared. “I’ve got ice cold water all over my feet. Where’s it all coming from?”
But if Mr Curry was expecting an answer to his question he was unlucky, for a second later the sound of another front door being slammed punctuated his remarks, only this time it was the one belonging to number thirty-two.
Paddington had been thinking for some while that he’d had enough of plumbing for one day and the expression on Mr Curry’s face quite decided him in the matter.
Mr Brown looked up from his morning paper as a burst of hammering shook the dining-room. “I shall be glad when they’ve finished next
door,” he said. “They’ve been at it for days now. What on earth’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs Brown, as she poured out the coffee. “Mr Curry’s got the builders in. I think it’s something to do with his bathroom. He’s been acting strangely all week. He came round specially the other evening to give Paddington ten pence, and several mornings he’s sent the baker round with a bun.”
“Mr Curry gave Paddington ten pence?” echoed Mr Brown, lowering his paper.
“I think he had a nasty accident during the cold weather,” said Mrs Bird. “He’s having a complete new bathroom paid for by the insurance company.”
“Trust Mr Curry to get it done for nothing,” said Mr Brown. “Whenever I try to claim anything from my insurance company there’s always a clause in small print at the bottom telling me I can’t.”
“Oh,” said Mrs Bird. “I have a feeling this was more of a paws than a clause. It’s what Mr Curry calls an ‘act of bear’.”
“An act of bear?” repeated Mr Brown.“I’ve never heard of that one before.”
“It’s very rare,” said Mrs Bird. “Very rare indeed. In fact it’s so rare I don’t think we shall hear of it again, do you, Paddington?”
The Browns turned towards Paddington, or what little could be seen of him from behind a large jar of his special marmalade from the cut-price grocer in the market. But the only sound to greet them was that of crunching toast as he busied himself with his breakfast.
Paddington could be very hard of hearing when he chose. All the same, there was a look about him suggesting that Mrs Bird was right and that as far as one member of the household was concerned bathrooms were safe from ‘acts of bear’ for many winters to come.
One morning, just as the Browns were sitting down to breakfast, a loud rat-tat-tat sent Mrs Bird hurrying to the front door.
“I didn’t want to push these through the letterbox, ma’am,” said the postman, handing her two large, snow-white envelopes, “in case anything happened to them. One of them is addressed to that young bear of yours.”
The Browns’ postman had once got one of Aunt Lucy’s postcards stuck in their front door and Paddington had given him some hard stares through the letterbox for several days afterwards.
Thanking the man for his trouble, Mrs Bird hurried back into the dining-room clutching the letters. Paddington nearly dropped the marmalade into his tea when he saw that one was addressed to him. He often received a postcard from Peru, and at least once a week a catalogue arrived bearing his name, but he’d never had anything quite as impressive before.
“Here, let me,” said Mr Brown, picking up a knife and coming to his rescue. “You don’t want to get marmalade all over it.”
“Thank you very much, Mr Brown,” said Paddington gratefully. “Envelopes are a bit difficult with paws.”
A gasp of surprise went up from the rest of the family as Mr Brown cut open the envelope and withdrew a large gold-edged card, which he held up for everyone to see.
“Whatever can it be?” exclaimed Mrs Brown. “It looks most important.”
Mr Brown adjusted his glasses. “Sir Huntley Martin,” he read, “requests the pleasure of Mr Paddington Brown’s company at two o’clock on Monday 20th February. There will be a tour of the factory followed by an important ceremony and a special tea.”
“Sir Huntley Martin,” echoed Mrs Bird. “Isn’t he that nice man we met at the Porchester that day Paddington had trouble with his onions?”
“That’s right,” said Judy. “He’s the marmalade king. He said at the time he wanted Paddington to pay him a visit, but that was ages ago.”
“How nice of him to remember,” said Mrs Brown, opening the other envelope.
“Trust old Paddington to get himself invited to a marmalade factory,” said Jonathan. “It’s like taking coals to Newcastle. I wonder what the ceremony is?”
“Whatever it is,” replied Mrs Brown, holding up another card, “he must have known it’s half term. He’s invited the rest of us to see it later in the afternoon.”
“Hmm,” said Mrs Bird, looking at Paddington. “It’s less than a week away. I can see a certain person’s going to have a lot of cleaning up to do.”
“Perhaps it’s a sticky ceremony, Mrs Bird,” said Paddington hopefully.
Mrs Bird began clearing away the breakfast things. “Sticky it may be,” she said sternly. “But no bear goes visiting from this house in the state you’re in at the moment – least of all to a ceremony. You’ll have to have a bath and a good going over with the vacuum.”
Paddington sighed. He always enjoyed going out but he sometimes wished it didn’t involve quite so much fuss being made.
All the same, it was noticeable during the next few days that he paid several trips to the bathroom without once being asked, and as a result his fur became gradually shinier and silkier. By the time the following Monday arrived even Mrs Bird’s eagle eyes could find no fault with his appearance.
It had been arranged that as a special treat Paddington should go on ahead of the others and he felt very excited when he climbed into a specially ordered taxi and settled himself in the back seat, together with his suitcase, the invitation card, several maps and a large Thermos of hot cocoa.
It was the first time he had ever been quite so far afield on his own and after waving goodbye to the others he consulted his map and peered out of the window with interest as the taxi gathered speed on its way through the London streets.
On the map the journey to the factory looked no distance at all, only a matter of inches, but Paddington soon found it was much farther than he had expected. Gradually, however, the tall grey buildings gave way to smaller houses and the familiar red buses grew less in number, until at long last the driver turned a corner and brought the taxi to a halt in a side street near a group of large buildings.
“Here we are, guv’,” he said. “Can’t get right up to the gates, I’m afraid. There’s a bit of an obstruction. But it’s only a few yards up the road. Can’t miss it. Just follow yer nose.”
The driver paused and looked down out of his cab with growing concern as Paddington, after stepping down on to the pavement, began twisting about for several seconds and then suddenly fell over and landed with a bump in the gutter.
“’Ere,” he called anxiously. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” gasped Paddington, feeling himself to make sure. “I was only trying to follow my nose, but it kept disappearing.”
“Well, you ’as to point it in the right direction to start with,” said the driver, as he helped Paddington to his feet and began dusting him down. “You’re in a right state and no mistake.”
Paddington examined himself sadly. His fur, which a moment before had been as clean and shiny as a new brush, was now covered in a thick layer of dust and there were several rather nasty-looking patches of oil on his front as well. Worse still, although he still had tight hold of his suitcase with one paw, the other was completely empty.
“I think I’ve dropped my invitation card down the drain,” he exclaimed bitterly.
The driver climbed back into his cab. “It’s not your day, mate,” he said sympathetically. “If I were you I’d get where you’re going to as quickly as possible before anything else happens.”
Paddington thanked the driver for his advice and then hurried off down the road in the direction of an imposing-looking building with a large illuminated jar on its side. As he drew near the entrance he sniffed several times. There was a definite smell of marmalade in the air, not to mention one or two kinds of jam, and he quickened his step as he approached a small office to one side of the gates where a man in uniform was standing.
The man eyed Paddington up and down. “We’re not taking on any bears at the moment,” he said sternly. “I should try the ice-cream factory next door.”
“I haven’t come to be taken on,” exclaimed Paddington hotly, giving the man a hard stare. “I’ve come to see Sir Huntley Martin.”
“Lord Muck!” repeated Paddington. “I’m not a Lord. I’m Paddington Brown.”
“’Ave you seen yourself in a mirror lately?” asked the gatekeeper. “Lord you may not be – but mucky you certainly are. I suppose you’ve left yer Rolls round the corner?”
“My rolls?” said Paddington, looking most surprised. “I didn’t bring any rolls. Only some cocoa. I thought I was going to eat here.”
“’Ere, ’ere, said the gatekeeper, taking a deep breath. “I don’t want no cheek from the likes of you. There’s an important ceremony taking place this afternoon. They’re opening a new factory building and I’ve strict instructions to keep the gates clear. We don’t want no young unemployed bears hanging about letting the place down.
“If you want a job,” he continued, picking up a telephone inside his office, “I’ll call the foreman. Though what he’ll think of it all I don’t know. It says ‘Hands Wanted’ on the board. It doesn’t say anything about paws.”
Paddington looked more and more upset as he listened to the gatekeeper. “But I haven’t come about a job,” he exclaimed,when at long last he could get a word in. “I’ve been invited to Sir Huntley’s ceremony.”
“Ho, yes,” said the gatekeeper disbelievingly. “And I suppose you’ll tell me next you’ve lost yer invitation card?”
“That’s right,” said Paddington. “I had a bit of an accident when I got out of my taxi and it fell down a drain.”
“Look,” said the gatekeeper crossly. “Pull the other leg – it’s got bells on. I’ve met your sort before. After a free tea, no doubt. The only way you’ll get into this factory, my lad, is through the works entrance like anyone else.”
He turned as a figure came hurrying out of the main building. “Here’s the foreman. And I’d advise you to watch your step. He doesn’t stand any nonsense.”
“There’s a young out-of-work bear here, Fred,” he called, as the foreman reached the gate. “I was wondering if you could fix him up.”