by Michael Bond
“Mercy me, I do believe that bear’s right,” said Mrs Bird. “We’ve seen the ordinary lights several times, and we’ve seen the decorations during daylight when we’ve been doing our Christmas shopping, but we’ve never been up specially. Not at night.”
“Gosh, Dad,” exclaimed Jonathan. “Can we go tonight? It’s years since we went.”
Mr Brown looked first at his watch and then at his wife and Mrs Bird. “I’m game,” he said. “How about you?
Mrs Brown looked at Mrs Bird. “I’ve done everything I want to do,” said their housekeeper. “I’m very well advanced this year. I only have to take my mince pies out of the oven and I shall be ready.”
“May we go, Daddy?” implored Judy. “Please?”
Mr Brown glanced round the room with a twinkle in his eye. “What do you say, Paddington?” he asked. “Would you like to?”
“Yes, please, Mr Brown,” exclaimed Paddington eagerly. “I should like that very much indeed.”
Paddington was always keen on trips, especially unexpected ones with the whole family, and when Mr Brown announced that he would call in on the way and pick up Mr Gruber into the bargain he grew more and more excited.
For the next half an hour there was great pandemonium at number thirty-two Windsor Gardens as everyone rushed around getting ready for the big event and even Paddington himself went so far as to rub a flannel over his whiskers while Judy gave his fur a brush down.
It was a very merry party of Browns that eventually set off in Mr Brown’s car and shortly afterwards the hilarity was increased still further as Mr Gruber emerged from his shop carrying a camera and some flashbulbs, several of which he used in order to take photographs of the assembly.
“You’re not the only one who hasn’t been to see the Christmas decorations, Mr Brown,” he said, addressing Paddington as he squeezed into the back seat alongside Mrs Bird, Jonathan and Judy. “I’ve never been either and I want to make the most of it.”
If the Browns had been surprised to discover that Paddington had never seen the lights they were even more astonished at this latest piece of information and Paddington himself was so taken aback he quite forgot to give his usual paw signal as they swung out of the Portobello Road.
Mr Gruber chuckled at the effect of his words. “People never do see things that are on their own doorstep,” he said wisely. “I must say it’ll be a great treat. I’ve heard they’re particularly good this year.”
As they drove along Mr Gruber went on to explain to Paddington how each year all the big shops in London got together in order to festoon the streets with huge decorations made up of hundreds of coloured lights, and also how each year an enormous Christmas tree was sent from Norway as a gift to the people of London, and how it was always placed in a position of honour in Trafalgar Square.
It all sounded most interesting and the excitement mounted as they drew nearer and nearer to the centre of London.
Mr Gruber coughed as Paddington jumped up in his seat and began waving his paws in the direction of a cluster of green lights some distance ahead.
“I have a feeling those are traffic lights, Mr Brown,” he said tactfully, as they changed to amber. “But just you wait until you see the real thing.”
At that moment the lights suddenly changed again, this time to red, and the car screeched to a halt. “I’m not surprised he mistook them,” grumbled Mr Brown. “It’s a wonder he could see anything at all. If we’re not careful we shall have a nasty accident.” Rather pointedly he picked up a duster and began wiping the glass in front of him. “Bear’s steam all over my windscreen! People will begin to think we’re boiling a kettle in here or something.”
“It’s always worse when he’s excited, Henry,” said Mrs Brown, coming to Paddington’s rescue as he sank back into his seat looking most offended.
“If I were you,” she continued, “I’d stop somewhere. We shall see much more if we walk.”
Mrs Brown’s suggestion met with whole-hearted approval from the rest of the family. They were beginning to feel a bit cramped, and some while later, having disentangled the car from the maze of traffic and found somewhere to park, even Mr Brown had to agree that it was a good idea as they climbed out and set off on foot down one of the busy London thoroughfares.
It was a crisp, clear night and the pavement on either side of the street was thronged with people gazing into shop windows, staring up at the decorations which seemed to hang overhead like a million golden stars in the sky, or simply, like the Browns, strolling leisurely along drinking it all in.
Nearby, on the Browns’ side of the street, a long queue of people were waiting to go into a cinema, and somewhere in the background there was the sound of a man’s voice raised in song – a song punctuated every now and then by a rhythmic clicking like that of castanets.
“I do believe it’s someone playing the spoons, Mr Brown,” exclaimed Mr Gruber. “I haven’t seen that for years.”
Paddington, who’d never even heard of anyone playing the spoons before let alone seen it happen, peered around with interest while Mr Gruber explained how some people, who called themselves ‘buskers’, earned their living by entertaining the theatre and cinema queues every evening while they were waiting to go in.
To his disappointment the owner of the spoons appeared to be somewhere out of sight round a corner and so rather reluctantly he turned his attention back to the lights.
There were so many different things to see it was difficult to know which to investigate first and he didn’t want to run the risk of missing anything, but the Christmas lights themselves seemed very good value indeed. After considering the matter for a moment or two he took off his hat so that the brim wouldn’t get in the way and then, holding it out in front of him, he hurried along the pavement after the others with his neck craned back so that he would have a better view.
A little way along the street he was suddenly brought back to earth when he bumped into Mr Gruber, who’d stopped outside the entrance to the cinema in order to set up his camera on a tripod and make a record of the scene.
Paddington was just staggering back after his collision when to his surprise a man in the front of the nearby queue leaned over and dropped a small, round, shiny object into his hat.
“There you are,” he said warmly. “Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you very much,” exclaimed Paddington, looking most surprised. “Merry Christmas to you.”
Peering into his hat to see what the man had given him he nearly fell over backwards on to the pavement in astonishment and his eyes grew rounder and rounder as they took in the sight before them.
For inside his hat was not just one, but a whole pile of coins. There were so many, in fact, that the latest addition – whatever it had been – was lost for all time among a vast assortment of pennies, five-pence pieces, ten pences; coins of so many different shapes, sizes and values that Paddington soon gave up trying to count them all.
“Is anything the matter, dear?” asked Mrs Brown, catching sight of the expression on his face. “You look quite…” Her voice broke off as she too caught a glimpse of the inside of Paddington’s hat. “Good gracious!” She put a hand to her mouth. “What have you been up to?”
“I haven’t been up to anything,” said Paddington truthfully. Still hardly able to believe his good fortune he gave his hat a shake and several five pences and a penny fell out through some holes in the side.
“Crikey!” exclaimed Jonathan. “Don’t say you’ve been collecting money from the queue!”
“They must have thought you were with the man playing the spoons,” said Judy in alarm.
“Look here,” said the man who’d just made the latest contribution to Paddington’s collection. “I thought you were a busker.”
“A busker!” exclaimed Paddington, giving him a hard stare. “I’m not a busker – I’m a bear!”
“In that case I’d like my ten pence back,” said the man sternly. “Collecting money under false pr
etences.”
“’Ear, ’ear,” said a man with a muffler as he pushed his way to the front. “Came round with ’is ’at ’e did. What about my five pence?”
Mrs Brown looked round desperately as the murmurings in the front of the queue began to grow and several people farther down the street began pointing in their direction. “Do something, Henry!” she exclaimed.
“Do something!” repeated Mr Brown. “I don’t see what I can do.”
“Well, it was your idea to come up and see the lights in the first place,” said Mrs Brown. “I knew something like this would happen.”
“I like that!” exclaimed Mr Brown indignantly. “It’s not my fault.” He turned to the queue. “People ought to make sure they know what they are giving their money to before they part with it,” he added in a loud voice.
“Came round with ’is ’at ’e did,” repeated the man who was wearing the muffler.
“Nonsense!” said Mrs Bird. “He only happened to be holding it in his paw. It’s coming to something if a bear can’t walk along a London street with his hat in his paw when he wants to.”
“Oh dear,” said Judy. “Look!” She pointed towards the tail end of the queue where another argument appeared to be developing. It was centred around a man dressed in an old raincoat. He was holding an obviously empty hat in one hand while shaking his other fist at a group of people who, in turn, were pointing back up the street towards the Browns.
“Crikey! We’re for it now,” breathed Jonathan, as the man, having been joined by two stalwart policemen who’d been drawn to the scene by all the noise, turned and began heading in their direction.
“That’s ’im! That’s ’im!” cried the busker, pointing an accusing finger at Paddington. “Trying to earn an honest bob to buy meself a loaf of bread for Christmas Day I was… and what ’appens? ’E comes round with ’is ’at and robs me of all me takings!”
The first policeman took out his notebook. “Where do you come from, bear?” he asked sternly.
“Peru,” said Paddington promptly. “Darkest Peru!”
“Number thirty-two Windsor Gardens,” replied Mrs Brown at the same time.
The policeman looked from one to the other. “No fixed abode,” he said ponderously as he licked his pencil.
“No fixed abode!” repeated Mrs Bird. She took a firm grip of her umbrella and glared at the speaker. “I’ll have you know that young bear’s abode’s been fixed ever since he arrived in this country.”
The second policeman viewed Mrs Bird’s umbrella out of the corner of his eye and then glanced round at the rest of the Browns. “I must say they don’t look as if they’ve been working the queues,” he said, addressing his colleague.
“Working the queues!” said Mr Brown indignantly. “We most certainly have been doing nothing of the sort. We came up to show this young bear the lights.”
“What about my takings then,” interrupted the busker. “’Ow do they come to be in ’is ’at?”
“Deliberate it was,” shouted the man with the muffler. “Took my five pence ’e did.”
“It certainly wasn’t deliberate,” said Mr Gruber, stepping into the breach. “I saw the whole thing through my viewfinder.
“I happened to be taking a photograph at the time, officer,” he continued, turning to the first policeman in order to explain the matter, “and I’m quite sure that when it’s developed you’ll see this young bear is in no way to blame.”
Mr Gruber looked as if he would like to have said a good deal more on the subject but at that moment to everyone’s relief a commissionaire appeared at the cinema doors and the queue began to move.
“That’s all very well,” said the busker. “But what about my takings?
“Two choruses of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer I gave ’em on me spoons,” he continued plaintively, “and all for nothing.”
As the last of the queue disappeared into the cinema and the rest of the crowd began to disperse, the first policeman put his notebook away. “It seems to me,” he said, turning to his colleague as they made to leave, “if this young bear here gives up his collection everyone’ll be happy and we can call it a night. Only look slippy, mind,” he continued, addressing himself to Paddington. “Otherwise if certain people are still here when we get back they may find themselves in trouble for causing an obstruction.”
Thanking the policeman very much for his advice Paddington began hastily emptying the contents of his hat into the one belonging to the busker.
As the pile of coins cascaded down in a shower of bronze and silver he began to look more and more disappointed. It was difficult to tell exactly how much was in the collection but he felt sure it would have been more than enough to enable Jonathan, Judy and himself to reach their target for the Children’s Christmas Party Fund.
“I don’t know about no bear’s targets,” said the busker as Paddington explained what he’d been hoping to do with the money. “I’ve got me own targets to worry about.”
“Never mind, Paddington,” said Judy, squeezing his paw. “We’ve done very well. You never know – something may turn up.”
“Tell you what,” said the busker, catching sight of the expression on Paddington’s face. “I’ll give you a tune on me spoons to cheer you up before you go.”
Lifting up his hand he was about to break into the opening bars when to everyone’s surprise Mr Gruber, who had been listening to the conversation with a great deal of interest, suddenly stepped forward. “May I see those spoons a moment?” he asked.
“Certainly, guv’,” said the busker, handing them over. “Don’t tell me you play ’em as well.”
Mr Gruber shook his head as he took a small spyglass from his pocket and held the spoons up to a nearby lamp so that he could examine them more closely. “You know,” he said, “these could be quite valuable. They may even be very rare Georgian silver…”
“What!” began the busker, staring open-mouthed at Mr Gruber. “My spoons…”
“I have an idea,” said Mr Gruber briskly, silencing the busker with a wave of his hand before he had time to say any more. “If I give you ten pounds for this pair of spoons will you let young Mr Brown keep the collection? After all, he did make it in a way, even if it was an accident.”
“Ten pounds!” exclaimed the busker, eyeing Mr Gruber’s wallet. “For them spoons? Lor’ bless you, sir. Why, ’e can ’ave me ’at as well for that!”
“No, thank you,” broke in Mrs Brown hastily. Paddington’s own hat was bad enough at the best of times but from where she was standing it looked as if the busker’s might well have matched up to it, give or take a few marmalade stains.
“Tell you what, guv’,” said the busker hopefully, as he took Mr Gruber’s ten-pound note in exchange for the spoons and began transferring the money back into Paddington’s hat. “There’s some more where them two came from. ’Ow about…”
Mr Gruber gave him a hard look. “No,” he said firmly. “I think these two will do admirably, thank you.”
A few minutes later, bidding a rather dazed-looking busker goodbye, the Browns resumed their stroll, with Paddington keeping very much to the outside this time.
“Well,” said Mr Brown, “I’m not quite sure what all that was about, but it seems to have worked out all right in the end.”
“Four pounds and ten pence,” exclaimed Jonathan a few minutes later as he finished counting the money. “That’s more than enough to reach our target. I bet they’ll be jolly pleased at the hospital.”
“I didn’t know you were collecting for a children’s party,” said Mrs Brown. “You should have said. We could have given you some towards it.”
“It was really Paddington’s idea,” said Judy, giving the paw by her side another squeeze. “Besides, it wouldn’t have been the same if you’d given it to us. Not the same at all.”
Mr Brown turned to Mr Gruber. “Fancy you noticing those spoons,” he said. “Isn’t it strange how things work out.”
“V
ery strange,” agreed Mr Gruber, taking a sudden interest in some decorations just overhead.
Only Mrs Bird caught a faint twinkle in his eye – a twinkle not unlike the one she’d noticed when he’d been conducting his deal with the busker, and one moreover which caused her to have certain suspicions on the matter – but wisely she decided it was high time the subject was changed.
“Look,” she said, pointing ahead. “There’s the Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square. If we hurry we may be in time for the carols.”
Mr Brown gave a sniff. “I’ll tell you something else,” he said. “I can smell hot chestnuts.”
Paddington licked his lips. Although it wasn’t long since he’d had his tea, all the excitement was beginning to make him feel hungry again. “Hot chestnuts, Mr Brown,” he exclaimed with interest. “I don’t think I’ve ever had any of those before.”
The Browns stopped in their tracks and for the second time that day, stared at Paddington in amazement.
“You’ve never had any hot chestnuts?” repeated Mr Brown.
Paddington shook his head. “Never,” he said firmly.
“Well, we can soon alter that,” said Mr Brown, leading the way towards a coke brazier at the side of the road. “Seven large bags, please,” he announced to the man who was serving.
“What a good thing I brought my camera,” exclaimed Mr Gruber. “Two firsts in one evening,” he continued, as he set up his tripod. “The decorations and now this. I shall have to make some extra copies for your Aunt Lucy in Peru, Mr Brown. I expect she’ll find them most interesting.”
Paddington thanked his friend happily through a mouthful of hot chestnuts. In the distance he could still see some decorations in the busy shopping part of London, while in front, the biggest tree he’d ever seen in his life rose up into the night, supporting a myriad of brightly coloured fairy lights, and from somewhere nearby the sound of a Christmas carol filled the air. All in all, he thought it had been a lovely evening out and it was nice, not only to think that Christmas Day itself was still to come, but to round things off in such a tasty manner.