by Michael Bond
Paddington didn’t know what to say, but Mr Gruber waved his thanks to one side. “I know how you enjoy writing about your adventures, Mr Brown,” he said. “And you have so many I’m sure your present scrapbook must be almost full.”
“It is,” said Paddington, earnestly. “And I’m sure I shall have lots more. Things happen to me, you know. But I shall only put my best ones in here!”
When he made his way up to bed later that evening, his mind was in such a whirl, and he was so full of good things, he could hardly climb the stairs – let alone think about anything. He wasn’t quite sure which he had enjoyed most. The presents, the Christmas dinner, the games, or the tea – with the special marmalade-layer birthday cake Mrs Bird had made in his honour. Pausing on the corner half way up, he decided he had enjoyed giving his own presents best of all.
“Paddington! Whatever have you got there?” He jumped and hastily hid his paw behind his back as he heard Mrs Bird calling from the bottom of the stairs.
“It’s only some five pence pudding, Mrs Bird,” he called, looking over the banisters guiltily. “I thought I might get hungry during the night and I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“Honestly!” Mrs Bird exclaimed, as she was joined by the others. “What does that bear look like? A paper hat about ten sizes too big on his head – Mr Gruber’s scrapbook in one paw – and a plate of Christmas pudding in the other!”
“I don’t care what he looks like,” said Mrs Brown, “so long as he stays that way. The place wouldn’t be the same without him.”
But Paddington was too far away to hear what was being said. He was already sitting up in bed, busily writing in his scrapbook.
First of all, there was a very important notice to go on the front page. It said:
PADINGTUN BROWN,
32 WINDSOR GARDENS,
LUNDUN,
ENGLAND,
YUROPE,
THE WORLD.
Then, on the next page he added, in large capital letters: MY ADDVENTURES. CHAPTER WUN.
Paddington sucked his pen thoughtfully for a moment and then carefully replaced the top on the bottle of ink before it had a chance to fall over on the sheets. He felt much too sleepy to write any more. But he didn’t really mind. Tomorrow was another day – and he felt quite sure he would have some more adventures – even if he didn’t know what they were going to be as yet.
Paddington lay back and pulled the blankets up round his whiskers. It was warm and comfortable and he sighed contentedly as he closed his eyes. It was nice being a bear. Especially a bear called Paddington.
* See A Bear Called Paddington
Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Paddington sat up in bed with a puzzled expression on his face. Happenings at number thirty-two Windsor Gardens, particularly breakfast, always followed a strict timetable and it was most unusual for anything to waken him quite so early.
He took a careful look around his room, but everything seemed to be in its place.
The photograph of his Aunt Lucy, taken shortly before she entered the home for retired bears in Lima, was on the table beside the bed, along with his jar of special marmalade and several other items.
His old hat and duffle coat were both hanging on the door peg, and his Peruvian centavos were under the pillow.
Most important of all, when he lifted the bedclothes and peered underneath, his small leather suitcase with its secret compartment containing his scrapbook and a number of important papers was still at the bottom of the bed.
Paddington heaved a sigh of relief. Although he had lived with the Browns for over a year he had never quite got used to having a room of his own and he wasn’t the sort of bear who believed in taking chances.
It was at that point, just as he was absentmindedly dipping his paw into the marmalade jar before going back to sleep, that Paddington pricked up his ears and listened.
There were voices – quite a number of voices – coming from the garden. Several times he heard a door bang, and then, in the distance, he heard a noise remarkably like that of clinking plates followed by the sound of Mr Brown shouting orders.
Paddington scrambled out of bed and hurried across the room to the window. It sounded most interesting and he didn’t like to think he might be missing anything. As he peered through the glass he nearly fell over backwards with astonishment at the sight which met his eyes. He breathed heavily on the window-pane and rubbed it with his paw to make sure he wasn’t dreaming the whole thing.
For there, on the lawn outside, all the Brown family – Mr and Mrs Brown and Jonathan and Judy – were gathered round a large wicker basket. Not only that, but as he watched, Mrs Bird, their housekeeper, came out of the kitchen carrying a huge plate piled high with sandwiches.
Paddington climbed off the window-sill and hurried downstairs. It was all very mysterious and it definitely needed investigating.
“Trust Paddington!” said everyone as he came through the kitchen door just as they were shutting the lid of the hamper.
“That bear can smell out a marmalade sandwich a mile away,” grumbled Mrs Bird.
“Honestly,” said Judy, waving her finger at him. “It was meant to be a surprise. We got up specially early.”
Paddington looked from one to the other with growing surprise.
“It’s all right, Paddington,” laughed Mrs Brown. “There’s no need to be alarmed. We’re only going for a picnic on the river.”
“And we’re having a competition,” cried Jonathan, waving a fishing net in the air. “Dad’s promised a prize to whoever makes the first catch.”
Paddington’s eyes grew rounder and rounder. “A picnic?” he exclaimed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been for a picnic on the river before.”
“That’s good,” said Mr Brown, twirling his moustache briskly. “Because you’re going on one now. So hurry up and eat your breakfast. It’s a lovely day and we may as well make the most of it.”
Paddington needed no second bidding, and while the Browns were busy packing the rest of the picnic gear into the car he hurried back indoors where his breakfast was waiting. He liked doing new things and he was looking forward to the day’s outing. One of the nicest things about living with the Browns was the number of surprises he had.
“I hope I’ve never ever done everything, Mrs Bird,” he said as she came into the dining-room to see if he’d finished his toast and marmalade. “I shouldn’t have any surprises left then!”
“Hmm,” replied Mrs Bird sternly, as she bundled him out of the room. “You’ll be getting a surprise if you don’t wash those bacon-and-egg stains off your whiskers before we go out. I’ve never known such a bear for getting in a mess.”
Paddington put on his injured expression as he disappeared into the hall. “I was only trying to be quick, Mrs Bird,” he explained.
Nevertheless, he hurried upstairs to the bathroom. There were several important things to be done before he went out for the day. First of all there was his suitcase to be packed, and then he had to consult his atlas. Paddington was very keen on geography and he was interested in the thought of having a picnic on the river. It sounded most unusual.
“I don’t know why it is,” said Mrs Bird, as she adjusted her hat for what seemed like the fortieth time, “but whenever this family goes anywhere it always takes enough to keep a regiment for a month.”
The Browns were packed into the car, jogging along the road towards the river. Besides the Browns, Mrs Bird and Paddington, there was the hamper, a gramophone, a pile of records, a number of parcels and some fishing nets – not to mention several sunshades, a tent and a pile of cushions.
Mrs Brown shifted uncomfortably as she agreed with Mrs Bird. Paddington’s leather suitcase was sticking in her back and his old hat, which he insisted on wearing in c
ase of sunstroke, kept tickling the side of her face.
“Is it much farther?” she asked.
Paddington, who was sitting beside her on the front seat, consulted his map. “I think it’s the next turning on the right,” he announced, following the route with his paw.
“I do hope so,” said Mrs Brown. They had already taken one wrong turning that morning when Paddington had followed a piece of dried marmalade peel on his map by mistake.
“Fancy turning right at a piece of dried marmalade peel,” grumbled Mr Brown. “That policeman didn’t like it at all.”
Anxious to make amends, Paddington stuck his head out of the window and sniffed.
“I think we must be getting near, Mr Brown,” he called. “I can smell something unusual.”
“That’s the gas works,” said Mr Brown, following the direction of Paddington’s paw. “The river’s on this side.”
Just as he spoke they swept round a corner and there, straight in front of them, was a broad expanse of water.
Paddington’s eyes lit up as they all clambered out of the car and while the others were unloading the supplies he stood on the water’s edge and surveyed the scene. He was most impressed.
The towpath was crowded with people and there were boats everywhere. Rowing boats, canoes, punts and sailing boats with their white sails billowing in the wind. As he watched, a steamer packed with more people swept by, sending a large wave shooting across the water and causing all the smaller boats to rock. Everyone on board seemed very cheerful and happy and several of them pointed towards Paddington and waved.
Paddington raised his hat in reply and then turned to the others. “I think I’m going to like the river,” he announced.
“I do hope so, dear,” said Mrs Brown uneasily. “It is your treat.”
She looked at the row of boats moored by the landing stage. The day before it had seemed a very good idea of Mr Brown’s to have a picnic on the river. But now they were actually here she had a nasty feeling in the back of her mind and she knew Mrs Bird was feeling the same way. Close to, the boats looked awfully small.
“Are you sure they’re safe, Henry?” she asked, looking at them nervously.
“Safe?” echoed Mr Brown, as he led the way on to the landing stage. “Of course they’re safe, Mary. You just leave everything to me.
“I’ll put you in charge of all the ropes and things, Paddington,” he called. “That means you can steer.”
“Thank you very much, Mr Brown,” said Paddington, feeling most important. His eyes gleamed with excitement as he climbed into the boat and carefully examined everything with his paws.
“The boatman’s rather busy,” said Mr Brown, as he helped the others in. “So I said we would shove off by ourselves.”
“Paddington!” exclaimed Mrs Brown, as she picked Mrs Bird’s best sun hat off the floor of the boat. “Do mind what you’re doing with that fishing net. You’ll have someone’s head off.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs Bird,” said Paddington. “I was only testing it.”
“All right,” said Mr Brown, as he settled himself on his seat and took a firm grip on the oars. “Here we go. Stand by at the helm, Paddington.”
“Do what, Mr Brown?” cried Paddington.
“Pull on the ropes,” shouted Mr Brown. “Come on – left paw down.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs Bird nervously, as she clutched the side of the boat with one hand and gripped her sunshade with the other. Out of the corner of her eye she could already see a number of people staring in their direction.
In the back of the boat Paddington pulled hard on the two ropes tied to the rudder. He wasn’t quite sure whether Mr Brown had meant his, Mr Brown’s, left, or his own left, so he pulled both just to make certain. Everyone waited expectantly while Mr Brown strained on the oars.
“I should have thought, Henry,” said Mrs Brown, after a few moments had gone by, “it would have been much easier if you’d untied the boat from the landing stage first.”
“What!” exclaimed Mr Brown. He mopped his brow and looked crossly over his shoulder. “Hasn’t anyone done that yet?”
“I’ll do it, Mr Brown,” called Paddington importantly, as he clambered along the side of the boat. “I’m in charge of ropes.”
The Browns waited patiently while Paddington examined the rope. He wasn’t very good at knots because they were rather difficult with paws, but eventually he announced that all was ready.
“Right!” shouted Mr Brown, as he braced himself once more. “Here we go. Cast off, Paddington. Hold on, everyone!”
“Do what, Mr Brown?” cried Paddington, above the splashing of the water. Having a picnic on the river was much more complicated than he had expected. There were so many ropes to pull he was getting a bit confused. First of all Mr Brown told him to untie the rope. Now he had shouted to everyone to hold on.
Paddington closed his eyes and held on to the rope with both paws as tightly as he could.
He wasn’t quite sure what happened next. One moment he was standing on the boat -the next moment it wasn’t there any more.
“Henry!” shouted Mrs Brown, as there was a loud splash. “For goodness’ sake! Paddington’s fallen in the water!”
“Bear overboard!” cried Jonathan, as the boat shot away from the bank.
“Hold on, Paddington!” called Judy. We’re coming.
“But I did hold on,” cried Paddington, as he came up spluttering for air. “That’s how I fell in.”
Mrs Brown lunged into the water with her sunshade. “Do hurry, Henry,” she cried.
“I’m sure Paddington can’t swim,” said Judy.
“What did you say?” called Paddington.
“She said ‘you can’t swim’,” yelled Mr Brown.
When he heard what Mr Brown said Paddington began waving his paws wildly in the air and there was a gurgle as he promptly sank.
“There now, Henry,” exclaimed Mrs Brown. “Now look what you’ve done. He was all right until you spoke.”
“I like that!” said Mr Brown, giving his wife an expressive look.
“It’s all right,” shouted Jonathan. “Someone’s thrown him a lifebelt!”
By the time the Browns reached the landing stage Paddington had already been rescued and he was lying on his back surrounded by a large crowd. Everyone was staring down at him making suggestions while the man in charge of the boats pulled his paws back and forth, giving him artificial respiration.
“Thank goodness he’s safe,” exclaimed Mrs Brown thankfully.
“Don’t see why ’e shouldn’t be,” said the man. “If ’e’d layed ’isself down it’d only ’ve come up to ’is whiskers. The water’s only about nine inches deep just ’ere. Probably a lot less now – judging by the amount ’e’s swallowed. Kept ’is mouth open when ’e went under, I dare say.”
Judy bent down and looked at Paddington. “I think he’s trying to say something,” she said.
“Grrr,” said Paddington as he sat up.
“Now just you lay still for a moment, young feller-me-bear,” said the boatman, pushing Paddington back down again.
“Grrr,” said Paddington. “ITHINKI’VELOSTMYHAT.”
“ITHINKI’VELOSTMYHAT,” repeated the man, looking at Paddington with renewed interest. “Are you one of them foreign bears? We get a rare lot of overseas visitors at this time of year,” he said, turning to the Browns.
“I come from Peru,” spluttered Paddington, as he got his breath back. “But I live at number thirty-two Windsor Gardens in London, and I think I’ve lost my hat.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs Brown, clutching her husband’s arm. “Did you hear that, Henry? Paddington’s lost his hat!”
The Brown family stared at each other in dismay. They often grumbled about Paddington’s hat – usually when he wasn’t listening – because it was so old. People had a habit of pointing at it when they were out and it made them feel embarrassed. But all the same, they couldn’t even begin to picture Paddingto
n without it.
“I had it on when I fell in the water,” cried Paddington, feeling on top of his head. “And now it isn’t there any more.”
“Gosh,” said Jonathan. “It had so many holes in it too! Perhaps it’s sunk.”
“Sunk!” cried Paddington in dismay. He ran to the edge of the landing stage and peered at the muddy water. “But it can’t have sunk!”
“He’s always worn it,” explained Mrs Brown to the boatman. “Ever since we’ve known him. It was given to him by his uncle in Peru.”
“Darkest Peru,” said Paddington.
“Darkest Peru,” repeated the boatman, looking most impressed. He turned to Paddington and touched his forelock. “You’ll be wanting the Thames Conservancy, sir.”
“No, I don’t,” said Paddington firmly. “I want my hat.”
“He means they look after the river, dear,” explained Mrs Brown. “They may have found it for you.”
“It’s the current, sir,” explained the boatman. “Once you get away from the bank it’s very strong and it may have got swep’ over the weir.” He pointed along the river towards a row of buildings in the distance.
“Got swep’ over the weir?” repeated Paddington slowly.
The boatman nodded. “If it ain’t already been sucked into a whirlpool.”
Paddington gave the man a hard stare. “My hat!” he exclaimed, hardly able to believe his ears. “Got sucked into a whirlpool?”
“Come along,” said Mr Brown hastily. “If we hurry we may be just in time to see it go over.”
Closely followed by Mr and Mrs Brown, Mrs Bird, Jonathan and Judy, the boatman and a crowd of interested sightseers, Paddington hurried along the towpath with a grim expression on his face, leaving a trail of water behind him.
By the time they reached the weir the news had already spread and several men in peaked caps were peering anxiously into the water.
“I hear you’ve lost a very valuable Persian cat,” said the lock-keeper to Mr Brown.
“Not a cat,” said Mr Brown. “A hat. And it’s from Peru.”
