by Michael Bond
“I’m very sorry,” he said, “but I don’t think I can allow that. It really has to be someone from the country concerned.”
“I come from Peru,” said Paddington firmly. “Darkest Peru. And I’m very concerned.”
“It’s true, sir,” broke in the school captain. “I’m sure the Head wouldn’t mind.”
The Games teacher ran his fingers round his collar. “It’s all highly irregular,” he said. “I’m really supposed to know the names of any substitutes before the match, but . . .” he looked round nervously as sounds of unrest came from the crowd, “it is in aid of charity, and . . . er . . . if no one objects . . .”
“We certainly don’t,” said the St. Luke’s captain sportingly.
“All right,” said the Games teacher, turning to Paddington. “I’ll hold up play for a moment while you get rid of your duffle coat.”
“Get rid of my duffle coat!” exclaimed Paddington hotly. He gave the teacher a hard stare. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Mrs. Bird said I had to wrap up well.”
The Games teacher gave a sigh. He knew he was fighting a losing battle. “Perhaps,” he said, as the other players gathered round, “you’d better meet the rest of your side.”
“You are good at rugby, no?” asked the Peruvian captain as he shook Paddington’s paw while he introduced the other members of his team.
“Well, no,” agreed Paddington. “You see, I haven’t actually played before. But I’ve read all about it in a book Mr. Gruber lent me, and I practiced some tackles in my bedroom yesterday with one of my pillows.”
Fortunately the visiting team’s command of English wasn’t quite up to Paddington’s explanations, otherwise they might not have greeted the arrival of their new teammate with quite so much enthusiasm.
In any case, there was no time to dwell on the matter, for with the crowd beginning to stamp and whistle at the long delay, the players quickly formed up again and waited for the referee to blow his whistle.
Paddington watched as they formed a scrum and one of the St. Luke’s team threw the ball into the tunnel formed by their legs.
There was a flurry of movement and almost immediately the ball came flying out again and, as luck would have it, landed right at his feet.
Paddington raised his hat politely to thank the player who had thrown it, and then picked the ball up in order to examine it more closely. He’d never actually seen one close to before and he hadn’t expected it to be quite so oval in shape. He was just wondering if he ought to tell the referee in case it had been squashed with all the rough play, when there was a pounding of feet from somewhere behind and what seemed like a ton weight suddenly landed on top of him.
For a moment, Paddington lay where he had fallen, all the breath knocked from his body, and with a hard lump in the middle of his chest which, as he came to, he gradually realized came about because he was still clutching the ball.
“Very good,” said the Peruvian captain as he helped Paddington to his feet. “We have gained two meters. Only eighty more to go. Now we have another scrum.”
“Another one!” exclaimed Paddington in alarm. He began to move back in case the same thing happened again; but before he had time to get very far, let alone regain his second wind, the game was in full swing once more, and one of the Peruvian forwards was already racing full pelt towards him.
“Catch!” he shouted, throwing the ball to Paddington.
“I don’t want it, thank you very much,” cried Paddington, and as the ball landed in his paws he threw it up the field as hard as he could.
Almost immediately, the referee blew his whistle.
“You’re not supposed to throw it forwards,” he said. “You’re supposed to throw it back down the field.”
Paddington stared at him in astonishment. If that was the sort of rule the Peruvians were up against, it was no wonder they were losing.
“Perhaps,” said the captain, as the players formed up again, “you would like to be our ‘hooker’?”
“That’s the chap who has to try and get the ball when it’s thrown into the scrum,” explained one of the St. Luke’s side, catching sight of the puzzled look on Paddington’s face.
Paddington eyed the other players doubtfully. He didn’t like the way some of them were looking at him at all. All the same, he was a game bear at heart, and after a moment’s hesitation he joined in the scrum and waited for the ball to arrive.
To his surprise it landed somewhere in the middle of the legs and then bounced straight back into his paws.
Hastily putting it inside his duffle coat for safety, he broke free of the scrum and hurried off down the field as fast as his legs would carry him. As he neared the far end he took a quick glance over his shoulder, but the rest of the players seemed to be having some sort of an argument with the referee, and no one except the crowd was taking the slightest interest in his activities.
The roar which went up as Paddington placed the ball on the outer side of the touchline completely drowned the cries from the other players when they discovered what had happened. But, jumping with joy, the Peruvian side came running down the field in order to pat Paddington on the back.
“Is a very good try,” said the captain. “Is a best try I never seen.
“Now,” he added dramatically, “all you ’ave to do ees improve it and we are ’aving five points.”
“I don’t think I could improve it,” gasped Paddington. “I don’t think I could run any faster if I tried.”
The Games teacher took a deep breath. He still couldn’t understand how Paddington had managed to escape his and the other players’ notice, but seeing was believing.
“He doesn’t mean he wants you to do it all again,” he said wearily. “He means you’ve scored three points for placing the ball over the line. Now, if you manage to kick the ball between the posts and over the cross bar you get two more points. That’s what’s known as ‘improving’ it.”
Paddington gazed up at the goal posts while he considered the matter.
“I think I like it the way it is,” he announced.
“In that case,” said the captain, “I will call on Fernando.”
Signaling to one of the other members of the team he stood back with the rest of the players and waited expectantly.
“Hooray!” shouted Jonathan, as there was the sound of leather hitting leather and the ball sailed between the posts. “Five points to Peru!”
“Darkest Peru!” added Judy.
But their voices were lost amid the renewed cheers which rose from all around at the unexpected turn of events.
“Do you think they’ll do it again?” asked Judy anxiously as the two teams ran back up the field amid a buzz of excitement.
Mr. Brown glanced at his watch. “They’ll have to look slippy,” he said. “We’re into extra time already.”
Although none of the Peruvian side knew how Paddington had managed to fool their opponents, they knew better than to change their luck once it was running their way, and they made sure he was given possession of the ball as soon as it was in play.
Once again, with it safely tucked beneath his duffle coat, he hurried back down the field.
But this time the other side had him marked, and with one half of the team protesting to the referee as they realized what was happening, the rest set off in hot pursuit. Like hounds who had caught the scent of a fox, they gave chase, uttering whoops of revenge.
Paddington ran as fast as he could, but size for size his legs were no match for the sixth formers of St. Luke’s, and they were gaining on him rapidly.
To roars of encouragement from the crowd, he reached the line barely a whisker’s length ahead, and with no time to look over his shoulder let alone stop to put the ball on the ground, he tore on for all he was worth.
He was dimly aware of a figure approaching him across the turf. Whoever it was had come from the crowd behind the goal area and was waving at his pursuers. He only just managed to pull up in time before t
hey collided. As it was, they both fell to the ground, and any remarks they might have exchanged were lost for all time.
At almost the same moment, a long drawn-out blast from the referee’s whistle brought both the St. Luke’s forwards and the game to a halt.
“What rotten luck!” exclaimed Jonathan. “Fancy getting in the way just as Paddington was about to save the game!”
“Rotten luck, nothing!” said Mr. Brown, waving his program in the air. “That’s one of the rules of the game. You don’t have to touch the ground. You can score a try by touching a spectator or an official provided they’re not more than ten meters beyond the goal.”
“That means they’ve drawn, then!” cried Judy excitedly. “Listen to everyone cheering.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Mr. Brown. “Whatever the rights and wrongs of the matter, I think the crowd’s had its money’s worth. I doubt if they’ll see a better game this season.”
“Hear! Hear!” agreed Mr. Gruber. “And I think a draw is a very fair result in the circumstances.” He broke off as he suddenly caught sight of a strange expression on Mrs. Bird’s face. “Is anything the matter?” he asked with concern.
“I’m not sure,” said the Browns’ housekeeper faintly. “I’m really not sure at all. Will someone please tell me if I’m seeing things?”
As the others turned, they too caught their breath in surprise as they saw Paddington heading in their direction accompanied by his helper from the crowd.
She wore an odd-looking bowler hat and a poncho which was more than a little mud-stained and ruffled, but there was something very familiar about her nevertheless.
“Excuse me,” said Paddington as they drew near, “but I’d like to introduce you to my Aunt Lucy!”
Chapter Seven
COMINGS AND GOINGS AT NUMBER THIRTY-TWO
To say that the Browns could have been knocked down with a feather by Aunt Lucy’s unexpected appearance at the rugby match wouldn’t have been too much of an exaggeration.
They had all become so accustomed to the thought of her being a part and parcel of the Home for Retired Bears in Lima that never in their wildest dreams had they pictured her ever leaving its gates, let alone visiting England.
“Mind you,” said Mrs. Bird, when she came downstairs the next morning carrying Aunt Lucy’s breakfast tray, “the more I think about it the less surprised I am. I can see now where Paddington gets his sense of adventure from.”
“Don’t tell us she stowed away in a lifeboat too!” exclaimed Mr. Brown.
“No,” said Mrs. Bird. “She came by air—on a package tour. She’s a founder member of the Peruvian Reserves Supporters Club, and she gets special privileges.”
“Does that mean she won’t be staying very long?” asked Mrs. Brown.
“Ah, now that I can’t answer,” replied the Browns’ housekeeper. “And I’m not sure if we ought to mention it at this stage. It might sound rather rude.”
It was obvious that as far as Mrs. Bird was concerned, Aunt Lucy could stay as long as she liked, and the Browns hastily changed the subject.
In any case, there were lots of things to talk about, and so many plans to be made that Jonathan, Judy, and Paddington filled up several pages of an old exercise book with a list that included everything from a visit to Paddington Station to watching the Changing of the Guard.
When Aunt Lucy finally appeared she was dressed ready to go out. To the Browns’ surprise she still had a label attached to her poncho. It was not unlike the one Paddington had first worn. On one side it said: PERUVIAN RESERVES SUPPORTERS CLUB, while on the other it had her name, AUNT LUCY, written in large capital letters, and her address: C/O THE HOME FOR RETIRED BEARS, LIMA, PERU.
“Never go out anywhere without a label,” she said firmly, when she saw the others looking at it. “Especially in a foreign country. You never know what might happen.”
“Very wise,” agreed Mrs. Bird. “It’s a pity more people don’t do it.”
The next few days were hectic indeed. With Paddington and Aunt Lucy in tow, the Browns left home early each morning, seldom returning until late in the evening. And every night, over cups of cocoa, Aunt Lucy regaled them with stories of life in Peru, and of the vast plains and mountains that lay beyond the city of Lima. At the end of it all, they were usually so tired they just tumbled into bed and fell asleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows.
All in all, they weren’t sorry when, a few evenings later, she announced before retiring to bed that she would like to spend a quiet time the following day doing some shopping.
Mr. Brown suddenly discovered he had some urgent business to attend to at his office, and it was agreed that Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Bird would take the rest of the family round the shops.
For some reason best known to herself, Aunt Lucy seemed rather pleased when she heard Mr. Brown wouldn’t be coming with them, but it wasn’t until the next day that she revealed exactly why.
“I want to buy him a Christmas present,” she announced.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” began Mrs. Brown.
“But I do,” said Aunt Lucy firmly. “It’s been a great comfort to me over the years to know that Paddington has been in safe hands, and I’d like to do something in return.”
“Perhaps you could get him some pipe cleaners,” said Mrs. Brown vaguely. “He’s always running out.”
“Pipe cleaners!” repeated Aunt Lucy, looking most upset. “I’d like something more than that.”
“How about something for his boat, Mrs. Brown?” suggested Paddington.
Recently Mr. Brown had begun taking an interest in boats and he’d even talked about buying an inflatable dinghy large enough to take the family on summer outings. With Christmas looming up the Browns had already started buying some accessories to go with it, in the hope that he wouldn’t change his mind.
“We could go to the place where we bought them,” said Judy.
“It’s jolly good,” agreed Jonathan. “They’ve even got a special machine where they teach you to sail. You put a coin in and it goes up and down just as if you were really at sea.”
Aunt Lucy took all this information in. “I think I like the sound of that,” she said, nodding her approval.
With the rest of the family wanting to do some Christmas shopping as well, it was quite late in the day before they finally reached their destination. As they entered the shop, a salesman detached himself from the counter and came forward to greet them. If he was surprised by the sudden arrival of so many unseasonable visitors, he managed to conceal it well.
“And what can I do for you?” he asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
“We’re really looking for something suitable for an inflatable dinghy,” said Mrs. Brown. “It’s for a small Christmas present.”
The man’s face fell. “Perhaps,” he said, “you’d like a pump . . . or a puncture outfit?”
“A puncture outfit!” exclaimed Paddington, looking most upset. “Mr. Brown hasn’t even got his boat yet!”
He gazed round for Aunt Lucy to see if she had any ideas, but she was already clambering into a large boat which stood in a position of honor in the center of the showroom.
“This is what I would like!” she said.
The salesman’s face lit up. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “I can see I’m dealing with someone who knows about these things. That, madam, is our very best model. It’s our luxury, self-inflating dinghy, as used by the navies and shipping lines all over the world.” He pointed to a small canvas bag standing alongside. “You may find it hard to believe, but that’s the bag it comes in. All you have to do is pull a string and in ten seconds it blows itself up, ready to use.
“It’s practically unsinkable,” he continued, “but should you ever find yourself in trouble, everything has been thought of. It comes complete with an automatic radio distress signal, seasickness tablets, electric torch, fishing line and hook, iron rations, safety pins, and a bag of suitable sweets. I
t isn’t simply a boat—it’s a way of life!”
Paddington and Aunt Lucy exchanged glances. “It sounds very good value,” said Paddington.
“I’ll take one,” said Aunt Lucy, opening her purse.
Mrs. Brown put her hand to her mouth. “But you can’t . . .” she began.
Aunt Lucy fixed her with a stare. “I’ve made up my mind,” she said.
“It’s much too expensive,” warned Mrs. Bird.
“I have my savings,” said Aunt Lucy. “And Paddington’s allowance.”
“Paddington’s allowance?” echoed the Browns.
“He’s always put some money by out of his bun allowance,” said Aunt Lucy. “He’s often sent me a postal order, but I’ve never spent it.”
The Browns looked at each other. They were learning something new with every passing moment.
“It all adds up,” said Aunt Lucy. “Look after the centavos and the pounds will look after themselves,” she added decidedly. “Besides, it will give me a great deal of pleasure.”
The Browns stood back, powerless to intervene. In any case the salesman had already called over another assistant to help deal with his important new customer, and they were both so busy washing their hands in invisible soap it was obvious there was no turning back. The Browns had no idea what the boat cost, for it didn’t actually have a price written on it, and they didn’t dare ask for fear of receiving another shock. But Aunt Lucy’s purse was obviously more than able to withstand the strain, for the transaction was all over in a matter of seconds.
The salesman was so pleased he even let them have some free rides on the training machine, and Aunt Lucy in particular had such an enjoyable time pulling the lever which made it rock to and fro, it looked at one moment as if the boat might even capsize.
But much to everyone’s relief she at last consented to climb out, and with their shopping finished, they made for the nearest bus stop.
The bus was crowded when it arrived, but Aunt Lucy and Paddington managed to find a vacant seat at the front of the top deck; Jonathan and Judy sat just behind them; and Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Bird made do with some seats near the back.
