by Michael Bond
Leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him, he hurried down the Portobello Road as fast as he could in order to tell Mr Gruber about his latest adventure.
“I sometimes think people see you coming, Mr Brown,” said his friend, as he busied himself getting the cocoa ready for their elevenses, while Paddington dealt with the buns. “Things do seem to happen when you’re out and about.”
“It’s a bit early in the day too,” said Paddington. “It’s only just past eleven o’clock.”
A thoughtful look came over Mr Gruber’s face as he settled himself down on the horsehair sofa at the back of the shop. “This hot weather isn’t good news when you’re trying to run a business,” he mused. “People want to be out and about, not stuck inside an antique shop. I had been toying with the idea of putting our deck chairs out on the pavement like we used to, but all this talk of dipping your feet into ice-cold water has given me an idea.”
He paused. “Seeing Jonathan and Judy are home for the summer holidays, perhaps you had better see what they feel about it first of all, but I think a nice peaceful picnic in the park this afternoon will do us all the world of good.”
“A picnic in the park!” exclaimed Judy, when Paddington rushed home to tell the others. “What a lovely idea. Trust Mr Gruber to invite us along too.” She got up off the lawn and brushed herself down. “I’d better make some sandwiches.”
“May I help,” asked Paddington excitedly. “Bears are good at sandwiches.”
Jonathan licked a forefinger and held it over his head. “There’s a nice breeze,” he announced. “I might take my kite. I haven’t flown it for years.”
He rushed upstairs and returned a moment or so later armed with a multicoloured object almost as tall as Paddington.
“It’s what’s known as a double butterfly kite,” he said. “The frame is made of balsawood and the rest of it is Japanese tissue paper. I made it myself,” he added proudly. “And I painted it!”
“I expect bears would be good at flying kites,” said Paddington hopefully.
Jonathan eyed him dubiously. “We’ll see,” he replied vaguely. “It isn’t always as easy as it might sound.”
“You wouldn’t want to be carried off by the wind,” said Judy, coming to her brother’s rescue.
“There’s no knowing where you might end up,” agreed Jonathan gratefully.
Both Mrs Bird and Mrs Brown were only too pleased to have the house to themselves, so Mr Gruber’s suggestion met with all-round approval, and it was a happy party that eventually set off early that afternoon.
Paddington gazed around with interest as they entered the park. There were all manner of things going on. To start with there was a children’s playground full of climbing frames, which looked very tempting. Then there were several outdoor restaurants; but best of all, there was a large lake with boats on it, so he made a beeline for that.
“I think I might test my follicles first of all,” he announced, as he dipped his toes into the water.
But once again it seemed as though it wasn’t meant to be, for his feet had hardly entered the water before a man in uniform emerged from behind a bush.
“What’s all this going on?” he asked severely. “Can’t you read?”
He pointed to a nearby sign emblazoned with the words: NO BATHING, FISHING OR DOGS ALLOWED IN THIS WATER in large letters.
“It doesn’t say anything about bears,” protested Judy, coming to Paddington’s rescue. “Or dipping your feet in the water, come to that.”
“That’s as may be,” said the man. “But it has to do with Health and Safety. Health on account of the fact that we don’t know where that young bear’s feet have been, and safety on account of the fact that some of the fish around here have got very sharp teeth and they might fancy partaking of a toe or two for their afternoon tea.”
Paddington hastily withdrew his feet from the water just as there was a splash of something breaking the surface nearby.
“See what I mean,” said the man. “That was a narrow squeak if ever there was one. Probably a passing pike with an eye on your digits.”
He glanced at Jonathan’s kite. “And the same applies to that contraption,” he said. “There’s a time and place for everything. What goes up must come down. And when that happens it might land on someone’s head.
“If I were you,” he added, not unkindly. “I’d take it somewhere quiet where you can’t be seen.”
“Oh dear,” said Mr Gruber, as the inspector turned on his heels and went on his way. “That wasn’t a very good start.”
“Don’t worry, Mr Gruber,” said Judy. “No matter what, they can’t stop us from having our sandwiches.”
“I know a good place for a picnic,” broke in Jonathan. “It’s where I used to go when I was small. Follow me…” And without further ado he led the way round the lake.
“We must be getting near the Open Air Theatre,” said Judy, when they reached the far side.
Paddington pricked up his ears. “I’ve never heard of a theatre in the open air before,” he said.
Jonathan pointed towards a poster. “Well, there you are,” he said. “They’re doing Hamlet today. The wind’s blowing the right way, so with a bit of luck you might be able to hear some of it.”
Paddington licked his lips. Privately, he thought Hamlet sounded like a small ham sandwich, but he didn’t let on. “What is it about?” he asked.
“Most of the play takes place in a castle called Elsinore,” said Jonathan. “And it’s very bloodthirsty. Hamlet’s father was King of Denmark and when he slew the King of Norway, his son vowed to avenge him.”
“Meanwhile,” said Judy, “Hamlet’s mother, Gertrude, marries someone called Claudius, who is none other than the brother of Hamlet’s father.”
“Then,” said Mr Gruber, “Hamlet’s father appears as a ghost and tells his son that he was in fact murdered by Claudius… and he must take his revenge.”
“It sounds very complicated,” said Paddington.
“That’s only the beginning,” said Jonathan. “There’s someone called Polonius, who is always in the way, so he has to go…”
“And then there’s Polonius’ daughter, Ophelia,” said Judy. “She’s keen on Hamlet, but after he says, ‘Get thee to a nunnery’, she ends up drowning herself.”
“Don’t forget Yorick,” broke in Mr Gruber. “He gets killed by mistake. Hamlet has a lot to say about that when some grave diggers come across his skull and give it to him.”
Jonathan struck a pose. “Alas, poor Yorick,” he proclaimed. “I knew him well…”
It struck Paddington that there couldn’t be many people left by the end.
Mr Gruber laughed. “You are quite right, Mr Brown,” he said. “And those who are still alive don’t fare too well. Ophelia’s brother, Laertes, gets killed in a sword fight with Hamlet, and at the end even Hamlet himself falls foul of a poisoned sword.”
“It’s really a play about a man who couldn’t make up his mind,” explained Judy. “‘To be or not to be’ is one of Hamlet’s great lines. Actors often milk it for all it’s worth and make it last for ever.”
“When we were doing it as our end of term play last year, someone called out, ‘Hurry up, I’ve got a train to catch’,” said Jonathan. “It didn’t half get a laugh.”
“I don’t think you ought to tell Paddington things like that,” whispered Judy. “He takes these things so seriously. Remember the very first time he went to the theatre and got terribly upset when Sir Sealy Bloom threw his daughter out of the house. He went round to his dressing room during the interval and complained.”
“Not much chance of that happening today,” said Jonathan cheerfully.
He led the way round to the back of the theatre where there was a large area of grass, most of which had been worn away through lack of rain. A few deck chairs stood abandoned, but there wasn’t a soul in sight, and apart from a distant sound of voices they might have been on a desert island.
&n
bsp; “It’s often like this once everyone has gone in to see the show,” said Jonathan knowledgeably. “The great thing is, if there is any wind at all, the theatre itself helps to deflect it upwards, so it’s ideal for flying a kite.”
And while Mr Gruber and Judy set about arranging the deck chairs and getting ready for the picnic, he led Paddington towards the far end in order to explain the ins and outs of it all.
“This shape of kite is particularly good,” he explained. “Even if I say so myself. On a good day it’s almost as though it has a life of its own; something inside it that makes it want to fly.
“It really needs two people, of course,” he continued, handing Paddington a reel of string attached to the kite so that he could get the feel of it. “Whoever is flying it holds the reel in one hand and lets the string slide through the fingers of the other hand as it takes off. In that way they can stay in control by giving a tug every now and then to make the kite fly higher still. In your case, of course, you would have to do it all by paw.
“The assistant – that’s me in this case – lifts the kite gently into the air and stands with his or her back to the wind, like so… while they wait for an upward rush of air which lifts it out of their hand and…”
“Watch out!” cried Paddington. “Stay where you are. I’m coming through!”
There was pounding of feet as he shot past Jonathan and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
“Did you see that?” cried Jonathan, turning to the others. “Did you see it? It only took one small puff.”
“He did say bears might be good at flying a kite,” said Judy. “But that’s something else again.” She hesitated. “He was going so fast I lost sight of him.”
Mr Gruber coughed. “I have a feeling Mr Brown went round the corner near the theatre by mistake,” he said.
“That’s torn it,” groaned Jonathan, as they made their way back towards the entrance and there was neither sight nor sound of Paddington.
“Where can he be?” said Judy.
“If my kite’s caught up in a tree and they’re in the middle of Hamlet I shall never get it back,” moaned Jonathan. “The play goes on for ever. There are five acts.”
Mr Gruber paused for a moment and put a hand to his ear. “It may not be as bad as you think,” he said. “It sounds to me as though it’s the beginning of Act Three. The important bit Judy was talking about, where Hamlet can’t make up his mind what to do next. Listen…”
“To be…” proclaimed a voice in sonorous tones. There was a long pause, then came the words, “…or not to be…”
“Make up your mind,” shouted a familiar voice from somewhere overhead. “I’ve got a train to catch.”
A gasp went round the audience. It was followed almost immediately by a mixture of scattered applause and catcalls.
A woman’s voice could be heard shouting, “Shame!”
The immediate response, “Get thee to a nunnery…” was greeted by a loud cheer.
Mr Gruber pointed to a dark shape in the foliage high above the back of the stage.
“That looks like Mr Brown,” he said.
It was hard to tell what came next because of the noise from the audience that followed every line of dialogue, but eventually things settled down and there was a shower of leaves as Paddington began his descent.
Judy closed her eyes as the branches began to sway more and more. “I can’t watch,” she said. “Suppose one of his duffle coat toggles gets caught in something?”
“I shouldn’t worry,” said Mr Gruber. “Climbing trees is another thing bears are good at. Mr Brown must have done a lot of it when he was a cub.”
As things turned out, they had rather longer to wait than expected, but eventually he emerged from behind the trees armed with the kite.
“I’m sorry to be such a long time,” he said, as he handed it back to Jonathan. “But I think I know who did it…”
“Did what?” chorused Jonathan and Judy.
“Killed Mr Yorick,” said Paddington. “I had a good view of the stage from where I was sitting and I saw a man putting someone’s skull on to a table. I’ve phoned the police with a description.”
“You’ve done what?” exclaimed Judy.
“Well,” said Paddington. “I didn’t exactly do it myself, but I met the inspector who told me off for putting my feet in the water. I think he must have followed us here. He told me to stay where I was and he would do it for me.
“Then someone from the theatre came along and wanted to see my ticket. When I said I didn’t have one, he showed me the exit. So here I am.”
Mr Gruber glanced at the others. It was rather a lot to take in at one go.
“Can you hear what I can hear?” he asked, as the sound of a distant siren rose above the voices on the stage. “It may not be heading our way, but I suggest we beat a hasty retreat, just in case. We can eat our sandwiches on the way.
“It seemed a good idea at the time,” he added, as they made their way towards the exit, “but better safe than sorry.” He nodded towards Paddington. “I think it’s turned out to be one of those days. These things happen from time to time.”
“It’s a pity they don’t have tree climbing in the Olympics,” said Jonathan. “He was up and down it like a yo-yo.”
“It would have been worth a gold medal for sure,” agreed Judy.
“I don’t think I shall ever be fit enough to go and see the Games,” said Paddington sadly. “Let alone take part in them.”
“You don’t have to be fit if you’re a spectator,” explained Mr Gruber. “It only applies to the athletes who are taking part.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Paddington, looking most aggrieved. “You’d think they would tell people these things.”
“Anyway,” broke in Jonathan. “You can sit at home and watch them on television.”
“People will have their eyes glued to the screen,” said Judy.
“It sounds a bit painful to me,” said Paddington. “I think I might have another sandwich. I feel better already.”
“I can’t wait to read the reviews in tomorrow’s papers,” said Mr Brown, later that day, when Jonathan and Judy related the tale of their adventure in the park. “There have been a good many versions of Hamlet staged over the years, but it sounds as if this one beats them all.”
“The trouble is, anyone who goes to see it after reading the reviews will be in for a disappointment,” said Mrs Brown. “There won’t be any ‘noises off’.”
Mrs Bird kept her counsel. Something about the way Paddington was behaving caused her to wonder if he might be sickening for something. He was unusually quiet over dinner and it wasn’t long after they had finished before he disappeared upstairs. He didn’t even wait to see if there was a second helping.
Later on that evening, as she followed suit, she noticed a chink of light under his bedroom door so, having knocked on it and received no reply, she tiptoed in.
Everything seemed to be in order. His duffle coat and hat were in their usual place on the back of the door. The framed photograph of Aunt Lucy was on the bedside table, but there was no sign of Paddington himself, although as she went further into the room she realised there was a curious lump in the middle of the bed.
As she drew near she gave a cough and a small figure emerged from under the duvet.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Mrs Bird?” asked Paddington.
“Well,” said Mrs Bird carefully. “I can’t say I have ever actually seen one myself.”
“I’ve been thinking,” said Paddington sleepily. “I wouldn’t like to live in Elsinore. It must be full of ghosts.”
“Elsinore is in Denmark,” said Mrs Bird gravely. “Which is a very long way away. I shouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Paddington. He lay back on his pillow and drew the duvet up round his chin.
“Mind you,” continued Mrs Bird. “I daresay there are good ghosts as well as bad ones. There are certain beings on
this earth who make such a deep impression while they are around you feel they will always be somewhere around, watching over us. It isn’t quite the same thing as being a ghost, of course, but it’s very comforting.”
She didn’t add that she was looking at one such being right now, but by then Paddington was already fast asleep, so having made sure the sheets were well and truly tucked in, she crept quietly off to bed herself.
Tomorrow was another day, and with a bear about the house there was no knowing what might happen next, so it was as well to be prepared.
Chapter Seven
PADDINGTON ON TRACK
IT WAS A few mornings later when Mrs Brown happened to glance out of the downstairs window of number thirty-two Windsor Gardens and she was taken aback to see a group of men behaving very strangely in their front garden.
Two of them were struggling with a large concrete plant pot, while a third, having made a frame with the forefinger and thumb of both hands, peered at them through the opening. For some reason it seemed to be giving him a great deal of pleasure.
She had intended checking the weather before she went shopping, but instead she called out to Mrs Bird.
“Come quickly!” she cried. “There are some men moving Henry’s begonias. That old concrete pot of his is already cracked. If it gets any worse and breaks in half, we shall never hear the last of it.”
Even as she spoke there was a momentary flash as the third man recorded the scene on a digital camera.
“Leave it to me,” called Mrs Bird grimly.
Pausing only to arm herself with a suitable weapon from the hall stand, she flung open the front door and confronted the intruders.
Although she didn’t actually shout ‘en garde’, her sudden appearance brandishing a rolled umbrella had the desired effect. The men froze in their tracks.
“Dear lady,” said the man with the camera nervously. “Please don’t be alarmed. It’s only a recce.” He held out his hand. “Mervyn’s the name. I’m the designer. The thing is, if the director likes the look of your house we may need to rearrange things a bit before we start filming…”