by Michael Bond
The Browns settled back to enjoy the show and as the cast went into the opening chorus even Paddington seemed to forget the problem.
He cheered loudly when Dick Whittington arrived on the scene with Sukie, the cat, and when both Dick and Sukie collapsed on the steps of Alderman Fitzwarren’s house, faint with hunger, it was with difficulty that the Browns managed to restrain him from going up on stage.
“I don’t think a marmalade sandwich would help, dear,” whispered Mrs Brown nervously, as Paddington began feeling inside his hat.
“It happens every night,” hissed Mr Brown.
“Twice nightly on Thursdays and Saturdays,” agreed Jonathan.
Paddington fell back into his seat. He found it hard to picture anyone going without food at the best of times, let alone twice nightly on Thursdays and Saturdays, and having already removed the marmalade sandwich from under his hat he decided to make the most of it.
For the rest of the first act, apart from a few boos at appropriate moments, much to everyone’s relief the only sound to be heard from Paddington’s direction was that of a steady munching as he polished off the remains of his emergency supply.
During the interval, while Mr Brown went to fetch some ice-cream, Mr Gruber attempted to explain some of the plot to Paddington.
“You see, Mr Brown,” he said, “Dick Whittington came to London because he thought the streets were paved with gold, but like many others before him he soon found his mistake. Luckily, he was taken in by Alderman Fitzwarren — rather like Mr and Mrs Brown took you in when they found you on Paddington Station. Alderman Fitzwarren was so pleased at the way Sukie drove off all the rats in his house, that when he sent one of his ships to the West Indies he let Dick and Sukie go along, too.”
“The second half is all about how they land on the Boko Islands and how Sukie saves the day there,” said Judy.
“There’s a magic act as well,” broke in Jonathan, reading from his programme. “He’s called the ‘Great Divide.’”
Paddington pricked up his ears as he polished off the remains of his ice-cream. He was keen on conjuring and, all in all, now that he’d got over his first confusion, he decided he liked pantomimes. There was a bit too much singing and dancing for his taste, but some of the scenery was very good indeed, and he applauded no end when Dick and Sukie arrived on the island and in the excitement of a quick change one of the scene shifters got left on stage by mistake.
But he reserved his best claps for the moment when a black velvet cloth came down and in the glow of a single spotlight the majestic figure of the magician, resplendent in top hat and a flowing black cape, strode on to the stage.
After removing several rabbits and a goldfish bowl from his hat, and a seemingly endless string of flags of all nations from his left ear, the Great Divide came forward to address the audience, while behind him several girls in tights and gold costumes wheeled on an assortment of mysterious-looking boxes.
“And now,” he said, silencing a drum roll with his hand, “I would like one volunteer from the audience.”
“Oh dear, Henry,” said Mrs Brown, as there was a sudden flurry of movement from alongside them. “I knew it was a mistake to sit in the front row.”
“Trust Paddington,” agreed Jonathan.
“How was I to know this would happen?” said Mr Brown unhappily.
The Browns watched anxiously as Paddington clambered on to the stage carrying his suitcase. But if the Great Divide was at all taken aback he managed to hide his feelings remarkably well, and after some more chit-chat he opened one of the boxes with a flourish and motioned Paddington to sit inside.
“I don’t think I’ve ever sawn a bear in two before,” he said, as he snapped the box shut.
“What!” exclaimed Paddington in alarm. “You’re going to saw me in two!”
“They don’t call me the Great Divide for nothing,” chuckled the magician in an aside to the audience.
“You’d better watch the toggles on your duffle coat,” he warned, as an assistant handed over one of the largest saws Paddington had ever seen and he pinged it with his finger to show it was genuine. “We don’t want any trouble with splinters. I don’t think there’s a doctor on the island.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs Brown nervously. “I hope he doesn’t damage Paddington’s coat — we shall never hear the last of it if he does.”
“It’s not that bear’s coat I’m worried about,” said Mrs Bird grimly.
The Browns watched in silent fascination as the Great Divide placed his saw in a groove and began moving it rapidly to and fro in time to the ‘Tritsch Tratsch Polka’.
Although they knew nothing could possibly go wrong, the sound of metal going through wood seemed all too realistic. Their sighs of relief as the trick finally came to an end were matched only by Paddington’s as he staggered round the stage feeling himself carefully in order to make sure he was still in one piece.
“And now,” once again the Great Divide raised his hand for silence. “As you have been such a good assistant, I’m going to make you disappear.”
“Thank you very much,” said Paddington gratefully.
He turned to leave, but before he had time to gather his wits about him he found himself being led into an even larger box. A moment later, as the doors slammed shut, he felt himself start to whirl round and round with ever-increasing speed as the magician began turning it on its wheels and the music rose to a crescendo.
A round of applause greeted the Great Divide as he brought the box to a stop and then opened up the doors in order to demonstrate how empty it was.
“Don’t worry,” said Mr Gruber, as he caught sight of the look on Judy’s face. “It’s all done by mirrors. I’m sure young Mr Brown will be all right.”
As if to prove his statement, there came a loud knocking from somewhere on stage. “Let me out!” cried a muffled voice. “It’s all dark.”
Almost immediately the Great Divide abandoned his intention of producing some more rabbits out of thin air. He gave his assistants a quick glance of warning and hastily closed the cabinet doors. After twirling it round several more times he brought it to a stop again and reopened the doors.
The applause as Paddington staggered out on to the stage was even louder than it had been for the first trick.
“There, now,” said the magician. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Tell everyone you are all right.”
“I’m not,” said Paddington, looking most upset. “I feel sick and I’ve lost my suitcase.”
“You’ve lost your what?” repeated the Great Divide.
“My suitcase,” said Paddington. “It’s got all my important things inside it. I had it with me when I went inside your box — now it’s disappeared.”
The Great Divide’s smile became even more fixed. For a moment or two he looked as if he was about to do a variation of his earlier trick, this time sawing Paddington not only in two, but into as many pieces as possible.
“Fancy taking a suitcase with you,” he hissed, as he closed the doors once again. “In all my years on the stage I’ve never had this happen to me before.
“We’d better make sure everything’s still in there,” he continued sarcastically as he redid the trick, and after removing Paddington’s suitcase from the box, opened it up in order to show the audience.
But as the Great Divide shook the case and nothing fell out his face fell. “I thought you said it was full of things,” he exclaimed.
“It is, Mr Divide,” said Paddington firmly. “I’ll show you.” And taking his suitcase from the magician he turned his back and began feeling in the secret compartment.
“That’s a photograph of my Aunt Lucy,” he announced, waving a postcard in the air. “And that’s my passport. Then there’s my savings. And that’s a map of the Portobello Road … and a photograph I took with my camera … and my opera glasses … and a marmalade chunk … and …”
The rest of Paddington’s remarks were lost in the storm of applause w
hich rang out from all directions as object after object landed at the feet of the Great Divide.
“Bravo!” shouted someone sitting near the Browns. “Best double act I’ve seen in years.”
“Had me fooled,” agreed someone else nearby. “I thought it was just someone ordinary from the audience.”
“Ordinary!” Mrs Bird turned and fixed her gaze on the speaker. “Whatever else he is, Paddington certainly isn’t ordinary. That’s the last thing he is.”
“Mind you,” she remarked, as she settled back in her seat again while Paddington and his belongings were helped off the stage, “I always knew he kept a lot of things in that case of his, but I never dreamed he had quite so much.”
After Paddington’s appearance the rest of the pantomime seemed almost tame by comparison, although it soon picked up again and by the time Dick Whittington and Sukie arrived back in England, triumphant after their long voyage, Paddington was already safely in his seat and joining in the choruses. In fact, when Dick asked Alderman Fitzwarren for his daughter’s hand in marriage and the news was given out that he would soon become Lord Mayor of London, he nearly lost his hat in the general excitement.
When the curtain finally came down some envious glances were cast in the Browns’ direction as they were ushered backstage in order to meet the cast. Several people stopped Paddington and asked for his autograph, and he added his special paw print to show that it was genuine.
“I hope you’ll be very happy, Miss Whittington,” he said, as they had their photograph taken together.
“I don’t know about Dick Whittington being happy,” said the manager. “I certainly am. This picture is going straight into our souvenir programme. It’ll make it even better value than ever and it’ll teach those rascals outside a thing or two.”
Even the Great Divide came out of his dressing-room to say goodbye, and to mark the occasion he presented Paddington with one of his magic saws.
It was a happy party of Browns who eventually climbed into the car for the journey home. To round things off Mr Brown drove through the centre of London so that they could see the Christmas lights, and then on to Westminster Abbey where Mr Gruber pointed out a stained-glass window which showed a picture of Dick Whittington’s cat.
But as they turned for home Paddington grew more and more thoughtful.
“Is anything the matter?” asked Mrs Brown.
Paddington hesitated. “I was wondering if anyone had a large wooden box they don’t want,” he said hopefully.
“A large wooden box?” repeated Mr Brown. “Whatever do you want that for?”
“I think I can guess,” said Mrs Bird, with a wisdom born of long experience of reading Paddington’s mind. “And the answer is ‘no’.”
“I don’t begrudge people their pleasures,” she added, as they turned a corner into Windsor Gardens and she picked up Paddington’s present from the Great Divide. “But I am not having anyone sawn in two in our house, thank you very much. Least of all a certain bear.”
“I quite agree,” said Mr Gruber. “After all, Mr Brown,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye, “there’s a lot of truth in the old saying ‘two’s company, three’s a crowd’. If there were two of you I might have trouble sharing out our elevenses in future, and I wouldn’t want that to happen — not for all the cocoa in the world.”
Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
“MY SHOPPING BASKET on wheels has been towed away!” exclaimed Paddington hotly.
He gazed at the spot where he had left it before going into the cut-price grocers in the Portobello Market. In all the years he had lived in London such a thing had never happened to him before and he could hardly believe his eyes. But if he thought staring at the empty space was going to make it reappear he was doomed to disappointment.
“It’s coming to something if a young bear gent can’t leave ’is shopping basket unattended for five minutes while ’e’s going about ’is business,” said one of the stallholders, who normally supplied Paddington with vegetables when he was out shopping for the Brown family. “I don’t know what the world’s coming to.”
“There’s no give and take any more,” agreed a man at the next stall. “It’s all take and no give. They’ll be towing us away next, you mark my words.”
“You should have left a note on it saying ‘Back in five minutes’,” said a third one.
“Fat lot of good that would have done,” said another. “They don’t give you five seconds these days, let alone five minutes.”
Paddington was a popular figure in the market and by now a small crowd of sympathisers had begun to gather. Although he was known to drive a hard bargain, he was much respected by the traders. Receiving his custom was regarded by many as being something of an honour: on a par with having a sign saying they were by appointment to a member of the Royal Family.
“The foreman of the truck said it was in the way of his vehicle,” said a lady who had witnessed the event. “They were trying to get behind a car they wanted to tow away.”
“But my buns were in it,” said Paddington.
“Were, is probably the right word,” replied the lady. “I dare say even now they’re parked in some side street or other wolfing them down. Driving those great big tow-away trucks of theirs must give them an appetite.”
“I don’t know what Mr Gruber is going to say when he hears,” said Paddington. “They were meant for our elevenses.”
“Look on the bright side,” said another lady. “At least you’ve still got your suitcase with you. The basket could have been clamped. That would have cost you £80 to get it undone.”
“And you would have to hang about half the day before they got around to doing it,” agreed another.
Paddington’s face grew longer and longer as he listened to all the words of wisdom. “Eighty pounds!” he exclaimed. “But I only went in for Mrs Bird’s bottled water!”
“You can buy a new basket on wheels in the market for £10,” chimed in another stallholder.
“I dare say if you haggle a bit you could get one for a lot less,” said another.
“But I’ve only got ten pence,” said Paddington sadly. “Besides, I wouldn’t want a new one. Mr Brown gave mine to me soon after I arrived. I’ve had it ever since.”
“Quite right!” agreed an onlooker. “You stick to your guns. They don’t come like that these days. Them new ones is all plastic. Don’t last five minutes.”
“If you ask me,” said a lady who ran a knickknacks stall, “it’s a pity it didn’t get clamped. My Sid would have lent you his hacksaw like a shot. He doesn’t hold with that kind of thing.”
“Pity you weren’t here in person when they did it,” said another stallholder. “You would have been able to lie down in the road in front of their truck as a protest. Then we could have phoned the local press to send over one of their photographers and it would have been in all the papers.”
“That would have stopped the lorry in its tracks,” agreed someone else from the back of the crowd.
Paddington eyed the man doubtfully. “Supposing it didn’t?” he said.
“In that case you would have been on the evening news,” said the man. “Television would have had a field day interviewing all the witnesses.”
“You’d have become what they call a martyr,” agreed the first man. “I dare say in years to come they would have erected a statue in your honour. Then nobody would have been able to park.”
“What you need,” said the fruit and vegetable man, summing up the whole situation, “is a good lawyer. Someone like Sir Bernard Crumble. He lives just up the road. This kind of thing is just up his street. He’s a great one for sticking up for the underdog…” he broke off as he caught Paddington’s eye. “Well, I dare say he does underbears as well. He’d have their guts for ga
rters. Never been known to lose a case yet.”
“Which street does he live in?” asked Paddington hopefully.
“I shouldn’t get ideas above your station,” warned another trader. “If you’ll pardon the pun. They do say ’e charges an arm and a leg just to open ’is front door to the postman.”
“If I were you,” said a passer-by, “before you do anything else, I suggest you go along to the police station and report the matter to them. I dare say they’ll be able to arrange counselling for you.”
“Whatever you do,” advised one of the stallholders, “don’t tell them you’ve been towed away. Be what they call non committal. Just say your vehicle has gone missing.”
He gazed at the large pack of bottled water Paddington had bought in the grocers. “You can leave those with me. I’ll make sure they don’t come to any harm.”
Paddington thanked the man for his kind offer and after waving goodbye to the crowd he set off at a brisk pace towards the nearest police station.
But as he turned a corner and a familiar blue lamp came into view, he began to slow down. Over the years he had met a number of policemen and he had always found them only too ready to help in times of trouble. There was the occasion when he’d mistaken a television repairman for a burglar, and another time when he had bought some oil shares from a man in the market and they had turned out to be dud.
But he had never actually gone into a police station all by himself before, and not knowing what to expect he began to wish he had consulted his friend, Mr Gruber, before taking the plunge. Mr Gruber was always ready to help, and he most certainly would have done so had he heard their buns were missing. He might even have closed his shop for the morning.
And if he couldn’t do that for any reason, there was always Mrs Bird. Mrs Bird looked after the Browns, and she didn’t stand for any nonsense, especially if she thought Paddington was being hard done by.
However, as things turned out, he was pleasantly surprised when he mounted the steps and pushed the door slightly ajar. Apart from a man in uniform behind a counter, the room was completely empty.