A Bear Called Paddington

by Michael Bond

  “Can you smell the sea yet, Paddington?” asked Mrs Brown after a while.

  Paddington poked his head out and sniffed. “I can smell something,” he said.

  “Well,” said Mr Brown. “Keep on sniffing, because we’re almost there.” And sure enough, as they reached the top of a hill and rounded a corner to go down the other side, there it was in the distance, glistening in the morning sun.

  Paddington’s eyes opened wide. “Look at all the boats on the dirt!” he cried, pointing in the direction of the beach with his paw.

  Everyone laughed. “That’s not dirt,” said Judy. “That’s sand.” By the time they had explained all about sand to Paddington they were in Brightsea itself, and driving along the front. Paddington looked at the sea rather doubtfully. The waves were much bigger than he had imagined. Not so big as the ones he’d seen on his journey to England, but quite large enough for a small bear.

  Mr Brown stopped the car by a shop on the esplanade and took out some money. “I’d like to fit this bear out for a day at the seaside,” he said to the lady behind the counter. “Let’s see now, we shall need a bucket and spade, a pair of sunglasses, one of those rubber tyres…” As he reeled off the list, the lady handed the articles to Paddington, who began to wish he had more than two paws. He had a rubber tyre round his middle which kept slipping down around his knees, a pair of sunglasses perched precariously on his nose, his straw hat, a bucket and spade in one hand, and his suitcase in the other.

  “Photograph, sir?” Paddington turned to see an untidy man with a camera looking at him. “Only one pound, sir. Results guaranteed. Money back if you’re not satisfied.”

  Paddington considered the matter for a moment. He didn’t like the look of the man very much, but he had been saving hard for several weeks and now had just over three pounds. It would be nice to have a picture of himself.

  “Won’t take a minute, sir,” said the man, disappearing behind a black cloth at the back of the camera. “Just watch the birdie.”

  Paddington looked around. There was no bird in sight as far as he could see. He went round behind the man and tapped him. The photographer, who appeared to be looking for something, jumped and then emerged from under his cloth. “How do you expect me to take your picture if you don’t stand in front?” he asked in an aggrieved voice. “Now I’ve wasted a plate, and” – he looked shiftily at Paddington – “that will cost you one pound!”

  Paddington gave him a hard stare. “You said there was a bird,” he said. “And there wasn’t.”

  “I expect it flew away when it saw your face,” said the man nastily. “Now where’s my pound?”

  Paddington looked at him even harder for a moment. “Perhaps the bird took it when it flew away,” he said.

  “Ha! Ha! Ha!” cried another photographer, who had been watching the proceedings with interest. “Fancy you being taken in by a bear, Charlie! Serves you right for trying to take photographs without a licence. Now be off with you before I call a policeman.”

  He watched while the other man gathered up his belongings and slouched off in the direction of the pier, then he turned to Paddington. “These people are a nuisance,” he said. “Taking away the living from honest folk. You did quite right not to pay him any money. And if you’ll allow me, I’d like to take a nice picture of you myself, as a reward!”

  The Brown family exchanged glances. “I don’t know,” said Mrs Brown. “Paddington always seems to fall on his feet.”

  “That’s because he’s a bear,” said Mrs Bird darkly. “Bears always fall on their feet.” She led the way on to the beach and carefully laid out a travelling rug on the sand behind a breakwater. “This will be as good a spot as any,” she said. “Then we shall all know where to come back to, and no one will get lost.”

  “The tide’s out,” said Mr Brown. “So it will be nice and safe for bathing.” He turned to Paddington. “Are you going in, Paddington?” he asked.

  Paddington looked at the sea. “I might go for a paddle,” he said.

  “Well, hurry up,” called Judy. “And bring your bucket and spade, then we can practise making sand-castles.”

  “Gosh!” Jonathan pointed to a notice pinned on the wall behind them. “Look… there’s a sand-castle competition. Whizzo! First prize ten pounds for the biggest sand-castle!”

  “Suppose we all join in and make one,” said Judy. “I bet the three of us together could make the biggest one you’ve ever seen.”

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to,” said Mrs Brown, reading the notice. “It says here everyone has to make their own.”

  Judy looked disappointed. “Well, I shall have a go, anyway. Come on, you two, let’s have a bathe first, then we can start digging after lunch.” She raced down the sand closely followed by Jonathan and Paddington. At least, Jonathan followed but Paddington only got a few yards before his life-belt slipped down and he went headlong in the sand.

  “Paddington, do give me your suitcase,” called Mrs Brown. “You can’t take it in the sea with you. It’ll get wet and be ruined.”

  Looking rather crestfallen, Paddington handed his things to Mrs Brown for safekeeping and then ran down the beach after the others. Judy and Jonathan were already a long way out when he got there, so he contented himself with sitting on the water’s edge for a while, letting the waves swirl around him as they came in. It was a nice feeling, a bit cold at first, but he soon got warm. He decided the seaside was a nice place to be. He paddled out to where the water was deeper and then lay back in his rubber tyre, letting the waves carry him gently back to the shore.

  “Ten pounds! Supposing… supposing he won ten whole pounds!” He closed his eyes. In his mind he had a picture of a beautiful castle made of sand, like the one he’d once seen in a picture-book, with battlements and towers and a moat. It was getting bigger and bigger and everyone else on the beach had stopped to gather round and cheer. Several people said they had never seen such a big sand-castle, and… he woke with a start as he felt someone splashing water on him.

  “Come on, Paddington,” said Judy. “Lying there in the sun fast asleep. It’s time for lunch, and we’ve got lots of work to do afterwards.” Paddington felt disappointed. It had been a nice sand-castle in his dream. He was sure it would have won first prize. He rubbed his eyes and followed Judy and Jonathan up the beach to where Mrs Bird had laid out the sandwiches – ham, egg, and cheese for everyone else, and special marmalade ones for Paddington – with ice-cream and fruit salad to follow.

  “I vote,” said Mr Brown, who had in mind an after-lunch nap for himself, “that after we’ve eaten you all go off in different directions and make your own sand-castles. Then we’ll have our own private competition as well as the official one. I’ll give a pound to the one with the biggest castle.”

  All three thought this was a good idea. “But don’t go too far away,” called Mrs Brown, as Jonathan, Judy and Paddington set off. “Remember the tide’s coming in!” Her advice fell on deaf ears; they were all much too interested in sand-castles. Paddington especially was gripping his bucket and spade in a very determined fashion.

  The beach was crowded and he had to walk quite a long way before he found a deserted spot. First of all he dug a big moat in a circle, leaving himself a drawbridge so that he could fetch and carry the sand for the castle itself. Then he set to work carrying bucketloads of sand to build the walls of the castle.

  He was an industrious bear and even though it was hard work and his legs and paws soon got tired, he persevered until he had a huge pile of sand in the middle of his circle. Then he set to work with his spade, smoothing out the walls and making the battlements. They were very good battlements, with holes for windows and slots for the archers to fire through.

  When he had finished he stuck his spade in one of the corner towers, placed his hat on top of that, and then lay down inside next to his marmalade jar and closed his eyes. He felt tired, but very pleased with himself. With the gentle roar of the sea in his ears he
soon went fast asleep.

  “We’ve been all along the beach,” said Jonathan. “And we can’t see him anywhere.”

  “He didn’t even have his life-belt with him,” said Mrs Brown anxiously. “Nothing. Just a bucket and spade.” The Browns were gathered in a worried group round the man from the lifesaving hut.

  “He’s been gone several hours,” said Mr Brown. “And the tide’s been in over two!”

  The man looked serious. “And you say he can’t swim?” he asked.

  “He doesn’t even like having a bath much,” said Judy. “So I’m sure he can’t swim.”

  “Here’s his photograph,” said Mrs Bird. “He only had it taken this morning.” She handed the man Paddington’s picture and then dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “I know something’s happened to him. He wouldn’t have missed tea unless something was wrong.”

  The man looked at the picture. “We could send out a description,” he said, dubiously. “But it’s a job to see what he looks like by that. It’s all hat and dark glasses.”

  “Can’t you launch a lifeboat?” asked Jonathan, hopefully.

  “We could,” said the man. “If we knew where to look. But he might be anywhere.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs Brown reached for her handkerchief as well. “I can’t bear to think about it.”

  “Something will turn up,” said Mrs Bird, comfortingly. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

  “Well,” said the man, holding up a dripping straw hat. “You’d better have this, and in the meantime… we’ll see what we can do.”

  “There, there, Mary!” Mr Brown held his wife’s arm. “Perhaps he just left it on the beach or something. It may have got picked up by the tide.” He bent down to pick up the rest of Paddington’s belongings. They seemed very small and lonely, lying there on their own.

  “It’s Paddington’s hat all right,” said Judy, examining it. “Look – it’s got his mark inside!” She turned the hat inside out and showed them the outline of a paw mark in black ink and the words MY HAT – PADINGTUN.

  “I vote we all separate,” said Jonathan, “and comb the beach. We’ll stand more chance that way.”

  Mr Brown looked dubious. “It’s getting dark,” he said.

  Mrs Bird put down the travelling rug and folded her arms. “Well, I’m not going back until he’s found,” she said. “I couldn’t go back to that empty house – not without Paddington.”

  “No one’s thinking of going back without him, Mrs Bird,” said Mr Brown. He looked helplessly out to sea. “It’s just…”

  “P’raps he didn’t get swep’ out to sea,” said the lifesaving man, helpfully. “P’raps he’s just gone on the pier or something. There seems to be a big crowd heading that way. Must be something interesting going on.” He called out to a man who was just passing. “What’s going on at the pier, chum?”

  Without stopping, the man looked back over his shoulder and shouted, “Chap just crossed the Atlantic all by ’isself on a raft. ’Undreds of days without food or water so they say!” He hurried on.

  The lifesaving man looked disappointed. “Another of these publicity stunts,” he said. “We get ’em every year.”

  Mr Brown looked thoughtful. “I wonder,” he said, looking in the direction of the pier.

  “It would be just like him,” said Mrs Bird. “It’s the sort of thing that would happen to Paddington.”

  “It’s got to be!” cried Jonathan. “It’s just got to be!”

  They all looked at each other and then, picking up their belongings, joined the crowd hurrying in the direction of the pier. It took them a long time to force their way through the turnstile, for the news that ‘something was happening on the pier’ had spread and there was a great throng at the entrance. But eventually, after Mr Brown had spoken to a policeman, a way was made for them and they were escorted to the very end, where the paddle-steamers normally tied up.

  A strange sight met their eyes. Paddington, who had just been pulled out of the water by a fisherman, was sitting on his upturned bucket talking to some reporters. Several of them were taking photographs while the rest fired questions at him.

  “Have you come all the way from America?” asked one reporter.

  The Browns, hardly knowing whether to laugh or cry, waited eagerly for Paddington’s reply.

  “Well, no,” said Paddington, truthfully, after a moment’s pause. “Not America. But I’ve come a long way.” He waved a paw vaguely in the direction of the sea. “I got caught by the tide, you know.”

  “And you sat in that bucket all the time?” asked another man, taking a picture.

  “That’s right,” replied Paddington. “And I used my spade as a paddle. It was lucky I had it with me.”

  “Did you live on plankton?” queried another voice.

  Paddington looked puzzled. “No,” he said. “Marmalade.”

  Mr Brown pushed his way through the crowd. Paddington jumped up and looked rather guilty.

  “Now then,” said Mr Brown, taking his paw. “That’s enough questions for today. This bear’s been at sea for a long time and he’s tired. In fact,” he looked meaningfully at Paddington, “he’s been at sea all the afternoon!”

  “Is it still only Tuesday?” asked Paddington, innocently. “I thought it was much later than that!”

  “Tuesday,” said Mr Brown firmly. “And we’ve been worried to death over you!”

  Paddington picked up his bucket and spade and jar of marmalade. “Well,” he said. “I bet not many bears have gone to sea in a bucket, all the same.”

  It was dark when they drove along Brightsea front on their way home. The promenade was festooned with coloured lights and even the fountains in the gardens kept changing colour. It all looked very pretty. But Paddington, who was lying in the back of the car wrapped in a blanket, was thinking of his sand-castle.

  “I bet mine was bigger than anyone else’s,” he said, sleepily.

  “Bet you mine was the biggest,” said Jonathan.

  “I think,” said Mr Brown, hastily, “you’d all better have a pound just to make sure.”

  “Perhaps we can come again another day,” said Mrs Brown. “Then we can have another competition. How about that, Paddington?”

  There was no reply from the back of the car. Sand-castles, paddling his bucket all across the harbour, and the sea air had proved too much for Paddington. He was fast asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  A Disappearing Trick

  “OOOH,” SAID PADDINGTON, “is it really for me?” He stared hungrily at the cake. It really was a wonderful cake. One of Mrs Bird’s best. It was covered with sugar icing and it had a cream and marmalade filling. On the top there was one candle and the words: TO PADDINGTON. WITH BEST WISHES FOR A HAPPY BIRTHDAY – FROM EVERYONE.

  It had been Mrs Bird’s idea to have a birthday party. Paddington had been with them for two months. No one, not even Paddington, knew quite how old he was, so they decided to start again and call him one. Paddington thought this was a good idea, especially when he was told that bears had two birthdays every year – one in the summer and one in the winter.

  “Just like the Queen,” said Mrs Bird. “So you ought to consider yourself very important.”

  Paddington did. In fact, he went round to Mr Gruber straight away and told him the good news. Mr Gruber looked impressed and was pleased when Paddington invited him to the party.

  “It’s not often anyone invites me out, Mr Brown,” he said. “I don’t know when I went out last and I shall look forward to it very much indeed.”

  He didn’t say any more at the time, but the next morning a van drew up outside the Browns’ house and delivered a mysterious-looking parcel from all the shopkeepers in the Portobello Market.

  “Aren’t you a lucky bear,” exclaimed Mrs Brown, when they opened the parcel and saw what was inside. It was a nice new shopping basket on wheels, with a bell on the side that Paddington could ring to let people know he was coming.

>   Paddington scratched his head. “It’s a job to know what to do first,” he said, as he carefully placed the basket with the other presents. “I shall have a lot of ‘thank you’ letters to write.”

  “Perhaps you’d better leave them until tomorrow,” said Mrs Brown hastily. Whenever Paddington wrote any letters he generally managed to get more ink on himself than on the paper, and he was looking so unusually smart, having had a bath the night before, that it seemed a pity to spoil it.

  Paddington looked disappointed. He liked writing letters. “Perhaps I can help Mrs Bird in the kitchen,” he said hopefully.

  “I’m glad to say,” said Mrs Bird, as she emerged from the kitchen, “that I’ve just finished. But you can lick the spoon if you like.” She had bitter memories of other occasions when Paddington had ‘helped’ in the kitchen. “But not too much,” she warned, “or you won’t have room for this.”

  It was then that Paddington saw his cake for the first time. His eyes, usually large and round, became so much larger and rounder, that even Mrs Bird blushed with pride. “Special occasions demand special things,” she said, and hurried off in the direction of the dining-room.

  Paddington spent the rest of the day being hurried from one part of the house to another as preparations were made for his party. Mrs Brown was busy tidying up. Mrs Bird was busy in the kitchen. Jonathan and Judy were busy with the decorations. Everyone had a job except Paddington.

  “I thought it was supposed to be my birthday,” he grumbled, as he was sent packing into the drawing-room for the fifth time after upsetting a box of marbles over the kitchen floor.

  “So it is, dear,” said a flustered Mrs Brown. “But your time comes later.” She was beginning to regret telling him that bears had two birthdays every year, for already he was worrying about when the next one was due.

  “Now just you watch out of the window for the postman,” she said, lifting him up on to the window-sill. But Paddington didn’t seem very keen on this. “Or else,” she said, “practise doing some of your conjuring tricks, ready for this evening.”