Paddington Complete Novels

by Michael Bond

  Paddington looked crestfallenly at the pile of parcels as the others disentangled his wand from the banisters and helped him down the stairs. Now that Mr Brown mentioned it there did seem to be rather a lot of things.

  “Perhaps I could lock some of them in the cupboard under the stairs,” he said, amid general agreement.

  But even with several of Paddington’s parcels gone, by the time Mr Brown had finished loading the car with suitcases and beach balls, a tent, fishing-rods, and a thousand and one other things it didn’t seem possible they would get to the end of Windsor Gardens let alone reach France.

  “I thought the idea of a holiday was to have a good rest,” gasped Mrs Bird as she was wedged into the back seat alongside Jonathan and Judy. “I’m worn out already.”

  “It’s all right, Mrs Bird,” exclaimed Paddington importantly from the front seat as he consulted his ‘doings list.’ “We stop for a snack soon.”

  “We stop for a snack?” echoed Mr Brown. “But we haven’t even started yet!”

  Mrs Brown sighed as she removed Paddington’s Union Jack from her left ear. She was quite sure other families didn’t have so much bother when they went on holiday.

  But for all the grumbling it was a happy party of Browns who shortly afterwards sailed through the streets of London on their way to the coast.

  Soon they were speeding through the hop-fields and orchards of Kent, and it seemed no time at all before Mr Brown turned off the main road and drove into the airport.

  It was the first time Paddington had ever visited an airport, and although he had often seen and heard aeroplanes in the sky he had never given them much thought before. As Mr Brown brought the car to a stop and they all climbed out he looked around excitedly at all the planes standing on the runways waiting to take off.

  From where he was standing they looked much smaller than he had expected. Even through his opera-glasses they weren’t a great deal bigger, and when he heard that not only were they all about to go up in one but that Mr Brown’s car was going as well, a thoughtful expression came over his face.

  “Come along everyone,” called Mr Brown briskly, as he led the way towards the airport buildings. “We haven’t much time.”

  The Browns trooped in through the entrance door and followed Mr Brown across the hall to a desk marked RECEPTION.

  “A party of Browns for the Continent,” said Mr Brown, as he handed the girl behind the desk a pile of tickets.

  “This way, please,” said the girl, leading the way down a corridor and through yet another door marked IMMIGRATION, to where a man in a dark suit was standing.

  “Have your passports ready, please.”

  As the girl spoke, Mrs Bird stopped suddenly in her tracks and clutched Mrs Brown’s arm. “Mercy me!” she exclaimed.

  “Whatever’s the matter, Mrs Bird?” asked Mrs Brown, looking most concerned. “You’ve gone quite pale.”

  “Passports!” exclaimed Mrs Bird. “What about Paddington’s passport?”

  “Paddington’s?” echoed Mrs Brown, turning pale herself.

  The Browns looked at each other in alarm. In the general excitement of planning the holiday and filling in all the forms no one had even given a thought to the idea of Paddington needing a passport.

  “Do bears have them?” asked Mr Brown vaguely. “After all, he’s got a label.”

  “I don’t know about their having them,” replied Mrs Bird ominously. “The question is, knowing Paddington, will they give him one? After all, think of his circumstances!”

  The others fell silent as the full meaning of Mrs Bird’s remarks sank in, for Paddington’s circumstances were a trifle unusual to say the least. He had travelled by himself to England all the way from Peru as a stowaway in a lifeboat, and although he hadn’t taken up much room and had used his own marmalade, the Browns were quite sure that the owners of the boat, not to mention the customs men and all kinds of other officials, would be most upset if they ever found out.

  As if in answer to their thoughts, the man in the dark blue suit grew very stern as he listened to their conversation. “What’s all this?” he exclaimed. “Did I hear you say there’s someone here without a passport? I’m afraid we can’t have that sort of thing, you know. You can’t go abroad without a passport – it’s against the regulations. Ask him to step forward.”

  “Oh dear,” groaned Judy as the Browns looked round, only to discover that Paddington was nowhere in sight. “Wherever has he got to now?”

  “Crikey!” said Jonathan. “Trust old Paddington to disappear when he’s most wanted.”

  “What’s his name?” asked the official, taking a piece of paper and a pen.

  “Well,” said Mr Brown, “it’s Brown – Paddington Brown – in a way…”

  “In a way?” repeated the man suspiciously. “In what way?”

  “We called him that when we found him on Paddington Station,” began Mrs Brown. “He’s a bear and he comes from Darkest Peru and…” Her voice trailed away as she caught sight of the expression on the immigration man’s face.

  “A bear without a passport,” clucked the man. “And travelling under a false name. This is a serious matter.”

  But before he had time to go on and tell the Browns just how serious a matter it was the door at the far end of the corridor burst open and Paddington hurried through with an anxious expression on his face and a red-faced commissionaire hard on his paws.

  “I found ’im,” said the commissionaire, breathing heavily, “looking at some aeroplanes through these ’ere h’opera-glasses. And what’s more,” he added sternly, handing Paddington’s notebook to the immigration man,” ’e was writing down notes in this ’ere book.”

  “That’s my scrapbook,” exclaimed Paddington, looking most upset.

  “H’mm!” said the commissionaire. “I don’t know about that. There’s some funny-looking scraps if you ask me. Don’t know as I like the look of some of them at all.

  “Carrying a disguise outfit wrapped up in brown paper he was too!” he continued, placing a parcel on the counter.

  “Oh dear,” groaned Mrs Brown. “I knew he should have left it at home.”

  “If you asks me,” said the commissionaire,“’e was up to no good. ’Ighly suspicious it was.

  “Well, bear,” said the immigration man. “What have you to say?”

  Paddington took a deep breath and raised his hat. “I was only making notes for Mr Gruber,” he began.

  There was a nasty silence as something white and sticky landed with a plop on the floor. The commissionaire picked it up between thumb and forefinger and stared at it.

  “It seems to be some kind of marmalade sandwich,” said the immigration man doubtfully, as he looked up at the ceiling.

  “It is a marmalade sandwich,” explained Paddington. “I expect it fell out of my hat. I usually keep one under there when I go out in case of an emergency.”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone smuggling marmalade sandwiches before,” said the man. “I think this is a matter for the customs.”

  “And that’s not all,” said the commissionaire, as he placed Paddington’s suitcase on the counter and gave it a smart rap with his knuckles. “There’s something funny about this ’ere. It’s a lot thicker on the outside for what there is inside – if you see what I mean.”

  “Looking at aeroplanes through opera-glasses,” said the immigration man sternly, as he reached down and picked up a telephone. “Carrying a disguise outfit. Smuggling marmalade sandwiches… all this will have to be gone into.”

  “Perhaps he’s one of them international bears,” said the commissionaire hopefully. “Probably got stuff hidden in his fur. I don’t suppose that’s real marmalade in them sandwiches if the truth be known.”

  “We shall have to examine the shreds very carefully,” said the immigration man as he replaced the telephone.

  Paddington looked at the man as if he could hardly believe his ears. “Examine my shreds!” he exclaimed hotly. �
�That’s some of my special marmalade from the cut-price grocer!”

  Paddington gave the man a number of hard stares from under his hat. The immigration man began fingering his collar nervously and he looked very relieved when a door opened behind him and an even more important-looking official came into the room.

  “That’s him,” said the immigration man, pointing at Paddington. “The short, furry one with the hat.”

  “There’s something funny with his circs,” said the commissionaire.

  “My circs!” exclaimed Paddington, looking more and more alarmed. “But I felt all right at breakfast this morning.”

  “He means your circumstances, dear,” said Mrs Brown, glaring at the commissionaire.

  “Now, look here…” began Mr Brown.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said the second official firmly. “I’m afraid I must ask you to wait here while we question the young, er… gentleman.” He motioned the Browns to one side as he lifted up a flap in the counter and led the way towards his office.

  Paddington looked most upset as he picked up his suitcase and parcel and followed the man. “Oh dear,” he said, as he looked forlornly over his shoulder at the others, “I hope my circumstances are all right!”

  “Poor old Paddington,” said Jonathan as the door closed behind him.

  “He does look a bit suspicious sometimes,” said Judy. “Especially if you don’t know him.”

  Mrs Bird gripped her umbrella firmly. “If that bear is in trouble,” she exclaimed, “they’ll have me to deal with – and I don’t care who I have to go and see about it.”

  “I hope they don’t find the secret compartment in his suitcase,” said Judy. “It won’t look too good if they do.”

  “I bet they don’t,” said Jonathan. “No one’s ever seen inside Paddington’s secret compartment. It’s a jolly good one.”

  “It’s all your fault, Henry,” said Mrs Brown, turning to her husband. “It was your idea to go abroad for a holiday.”

  “I like that!” said Mr Brown indignantly. “Everyone else was keen enough at the time.”

  But even Mr Brown began to look more and more serious as the minutes ticked by and there was still no sign of Paddington.

  “You don’t think,” said Mrs Brown, voicing the thoughts of them all, “you don’t think they’d send him back to Peru, do you?”

  “Just let them try,” said Mrs Bird, glaring at the closed door. “Just let them try!”

  But by the time the door did finally open and the head official beckoned them in, the Browns, as they trooped into the office, were prepared for the worst.

  “Well,” said Mr Brown, as he settled back in his aeroplane seat and fastened the safety belt, “all’s well that ends well. But I didn’t think half an hour ago we should all be sitting here. Fancy Paddington having a passport all the time.”

  “It was in the secret compartment in my suitcase, Mr Brown,” said Paddington. “With all my other important papers.”

  “Well,” said Mrs Bird, “I must say I didn’t really think Paddington’s Aunt Lucy would have let him come all this way without one. From all I’ve heard, she sounds a very wise old bear and it would have been most unlike her.

  “Anyway,” she added, “it’s a great load off my mind to know that young bear’s circumstances are all right.”

  “But what I can’t understand, Paddington,” said Mr Brown, “is why you didn’t say you had it in the first place. It would have saved an awful lot of bother.”

  Paddington put on one of his injured expressions. “No one asked me, Mr Brown,” he said. “I thought it was my circumstances.”

  Mr Brown coughed and the others exchanged glances. Fortunately at that moment there was a loud roar from the engines and as the plane started to move along the runway the subject was hurriedly forgotten in the general excitement.

  “Now we can all look forward to a nice holiday abroad with no worries,” said Mrs Bird a few minutes later, as the plane levelled out and she began to undo her safety belt.

  And to that, the Browns, as they looked out of the cabin windows at the blue sea glinting in the sunlight far below, echoed a heartfelt, “Hear! Hear!”

  Paddington was the only one who didn’t join in for he was much too busy consulting his ‘doings list’. He had just discovered that in the excitement at the airport they had forgotten to have lunch. But he was pleased to see that on the very next page there was an entry which said:

  ARRIVE IN FRANCE – SNAK

  “And a very good idea, too,” said Mr Brown approvingly, when Paddington showed it to him. “There’s nothing like a spot of excitement over a young bear’s circumstances to make you hungry.”

  “You wouldn’t think,” said Mrs Brown, looking hard at her husband, “that it would be possible to get lost in such a short space of time. We’ve only been in France half a day.”

  “Are you sure you don’t know where we are, Paddington?” asked Mr Brown for the umpteenth time.

  Paddington shook his head sadly. “I think we must have taken the wrong turning by mistake, Mr Brown,” he admitted.

  The Browns looked gloomily at one another. Until that moment their first day in France had been very jolly and exciting. With so many new things to see, the time had passed very quickly and Paddington in particular had been kept busy following the route with his paw and making notes as they went along.

  On the journey along the coast they had passed through a number of towns and he’d been most impressed by the sight of all the bustling traffic on the wrong side of the road and the people sitting at tables on the pavement outside cafes.

  Between the towns they had driven along miles of straight country roads lined on either side by tall poplar trees and past tiny villages full of men in blue overalls and women hurrying to and fro carrying long loaves of bread.

  Nicest of all, every now and then as they turned a corner, they’d had a glimpse of the blue sea and heard the distant roar of waves breaking on the shore.

  And then, as they crossed into Brittany, not only had the countryside gradually become much wilder, but things had started to go wrong as well.

  First the wide black road had suddenly changed into a narrow lane covered in stones. Then the lane had become a cart-track. Finally the cart-track had come to an end on a piece of common land, and as a final blow the car had punctured one of its back tyres.

  Being in charge of the itinerary, Paddington felt very upset at what had happened and he peered hard at the maps while the Browns gathered anxiously round him.

  “What was the name of the last place we went through, Paddington?” asked Mr Brown. “Perhaps that’s where we went wrong.”

  “I think it was called Gravillons, Mr Brown,” said Paddington. “But I can’t see it on any of the maps.”

  “Gravillons,” repeated Mr Brown. “That’s funny. I seem to remember seeing that written up somewhere too. Are you sure you can’t find it?” He bent over and looked at the map while Paddington examined Mrs Bird’s old tea towel hopefully.

  “Crikey!” exclaimed Jonathan suddenly, as he looked up from his dictionary. “No wonder you can’t find it on the map. Gravillons isn’t a place – it’s a road sign – it means ‘loose chippings’!”

  “What!” exclaimed Paddington hotly. “Loose chippings!”

  “That’s where all those stones were,” said Judy. “They must have been repairing the road.”

  Mrs Bird snorted. “Gravillons indeed!” she exclaimed. “No wonder that poor bear went wrong. It’s a mercy we didn’t all end up in the sea.” Mrs Bird firmly believed that everything abroad should be written in good, plain English.

  “Oh, well,” said Mr Brown, as he folded the map. “At least we know where we’re not, even if we don’t know where we are.”

  He looked down at the pile of luggage which hid the spare wheel in the boot of the car. “Everything will have to come out so I vote we make the best of it and have a picnic while I change the wheel.”

  Mrs Br
own and Mrs Bird, who had been looking forward to having a rest and a nice meal in a comfortable hotel, didn’t look very pleased at the idea, but Jonathan, Judy and Paddington were most excited. Paddington in particular thought it was a very good idea of Mr Brown’s. He liked picnics and it was a long time since he’d had one.

  “It’s a good thing I brought some food along,” said Mrs Bird, as she opened her travelling bag and began to take out an assortment of tins and packets together with a loaf of bread and some knives and forks. “I had a feeling we might need it.”

  “I tell you what,” said Mr Brown. “We’ll have a competition. You can each cook one of the courses and I’ll give a prize for the best one.

  Mr Brown was very keen on competitions. He had a vague idea that it kept people out of mischief.

  “Wizzo!” exclaimed Jonathan. “Bags we have a camp fire.”

  “I’ll collect some firewood if you like, Mr Brown,” said Paddington, waving his paw in the direction of a wood at the top of a nearby hill. “Bears are good at collecting firewood.”

  “Don’t go too far,” called Mrs Brown anxiously, as Paddington picked up his suitcase and hurried off. “We don’t want you getting lost as well.”

  But Paddington was already out of earshot. He was still feeling guilty that the Browns had lost their way and he was anxious to make amends by gathering as much firewood as possible, so he hurried up the hill as fast as his legs would carry him.

  But looking around and sniffing the air as he made his way across the springy turf, Paddington decided that perhaps being lost wasn’t quite such a bad thing after all.

  To start with there was a nice, warm smell about everything which he liked very much indeed. It was an interesting smell – not at all like the one in England, or even in Peru for that matter. It seemed to be made up of coffee and newly baked bread as well as several other things he couldn’t quite place, and for some strange reason it was getting stronger every minute.

  It wasn’t until Paddington reached the top of the hill and looked down over the other side that he discovered the reason for it, and when he did so he had to rub his eyes several times in order to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.