Sebastian

by Alan Field

  Title Page

  SEBASTIAN

  A Travelling Bear

  by

  Alan Field

  Publisher Information

  First published in 2016 by

  Chaplin Books

  1 Eliza Place

  Gosport PO12 4UN

  www.chaplinbooks.co.uk

  Digital edition converted and distributed by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Copyright © 2016 Alan Field

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder for which application should be addressed in the first instance to the publishers. No liability shall be attached to the author, the copyright holder or the publishers for loss or damage of any nature suffered as a result of the reliance on the reproduction of any of the contents of this publication or any errors or omissions in the contents.

  Dedication

  To Mandy and Biffo

  Chapter 1: Making Plans

  I can’t remember when I first thought of becoming a travelling bear instead of one that just simply sits and sits. The trouble with a stuffed bear is really the rain: once you’ve been out in a shower you never feel quite the same again. For one thing your squeaker gets rusty and turns into a croaker. So the first thing I thought of was an umbrella.

  Not, of course, like Amanda’s umbrella: even though it was meant for children it was far too big for a bear. I wanted one meant for a bear. But as Toots said (Toots is one of the menagerie, as Amanda calls us), hanging upside-down from the bookshelf, “That jersey from Auntie Vi was meant for you, but it covers up all your paws and goes round you three times.”

  No, it was going to be difficult finding something that would do. Perhaps a sugar bowl? Or a leaf from the African rubber plant in the dining room? Amanda’s Mummy had said it was threatening to take over the whole room so they wouldn’t miss one leaf. And being rubber it would be just the thing.

  Well, that was settled.

  Another thing I fancied was the old brass telescope. It used to belong to a fierce sea captain who came to the house from time to time to see Amanda’s Daddy, but now it was Amanda’s. She had given up using it for seeing the time on the church clock after last Christmas when her Uncle Alec had made her a present of a watch.

  A rather useful thing about the telescope was looking at things through the wrong end. Everything went small. Toots looked just like a mouse and Amanda had to put it away quickly when she heard Muffin the cat coming. And another thing, if you put the telescope to your ear, you could even hear the sea; and that made me even more anxious to set off on my travels.

  “Before you go,” Diddy said, (Diddy is the baby of the menagerie and fond of making wise remarks on things he knows nothing about), “before you go you will need to have a Passport.” Fortunately I remembered that Amanda had already made one for me when we were playing Post Offices. The photograph was one she took of me sitting in her bicycle basket just before we had gone shopping. It was rather a good likeness, I thought, and my ears and nose looked particularly fine, though she had insisted that I put on an old pair of Uncle Alec’s spectacles. She said it would give me a distinguished air.

  “ ... allow the bear to pass freely without let or hindrance and to afford the bear such assistance and protection as may be necessary”

  it said, which was very grand.

  PROFESSION: House Bear

  PLACE AND DATE OF BIRTH: Not known

  COUNTRY OF RESIDENCE: England

  HEIGHT: 21 inches

  COLOUR OF EYES: Black

  COLOUR OF HAIR: Golden brown

  SPECIAL PECULIARITIES: Loose stuffing in right paw

  On the cover of the passport, it said ‘Sebastian’. Of course, Sebastian wasn’t my original name. I found my original name on a little label on my paw: it was ‘Genuine Kapok’. Rather majestic as names go, but I think I prefer the one Amanda gave me, even though it was not quite as exclusive.

  The passport said - in the part marked Profession - ‘House Bear’. Well, I was going to change all that. When I came back from wherever I was going they would have to call me ‘Travelling Bear’. The trouble was I had not really made up my mind exactly where I was going.

  “The North Pole,” said Toots, “and then you could see some Pole-a-bears.”

  “The Quator,” said Diddy, trying out a word he could just see inside Amanda’s geography book.

  “The Equator isn’t a place, silly,” said Toots. “It’s a menagerie line drawn around the earth’s tummy.”

  “It’s too hot anyway,” I said, remembering that I would probably have to take off my jersey and then everybody would see that the fur had worn off my chest. “I think I prefer a temperate zone,” I said loudly, and both bears went very quiet. Of course, they had never heard of a temperate zone: neither had I really, but I could just see it in Amanda’s book next to ‘Equator’.

  Diddy changed the subject: he always does when there is something he does not understand. Our subjects get changed every few minutes.

  “Amanda’s coming,” he said, pointing a paw towards the stairs.

  It was bedtime. We always had to pretend to share Amanda’s cocoa or warm milk, and then she would choose one of us to take to bed. Being the biggest bear, I usually sat up guarding at the bottom of her bed.

  Amanda knew there was excitement in the air as soon as she came into the nursery.

  “What have you bears been up to?” she asked, putting her head on one side and giving us a quizzical smile. Of course, we could not answer even though we could understand: that’s the trouble with being a stuffed bear. We all looked rather guilty but I couldn’t prevent my eyes from twinkling - a bad habit because it always gives me away. She soon found the travel leaflets and the geography book, which Toots was sitting on.

  “So you want to go and seek your fortune, do you?” she said, looking rather sternly through all the papers. “Well, I suppose if Puss in Boots can do it, you can. But first of all we must make a list of all the things you’ll need.”

  She began to write a list on a piece of paper she had torn out of a notebook, frowning and biting her pencil every now and then.

  This was the list:

  Change of jersey

  Change of trousers

  Brush and comb

  Clean handkerchief

  Magnet

  Sticking plasters

  Compass

  Telescope

  Treacle toffees

  Money box

  Passport

  Reel of cotton

  I looked rather puzzled about the reel of cotton.

  “It’s for if you get lost in a maze,” she said. “You tie one end to the beginning and you can’t possibly go wrong. The magnet is for finding things you’ve dropped down wells and drains and things like that. The compass is in case you are lost in the desert. You always come to the North Pole if you walk far enough.”

  I looked rather doubtful.

  “The sticking plasters are for your stuffing. Don’t ever let your stuffing leak out!” She wagged a finger. “Put a plaster on straight away. And the treacle toffees are for sticking things together. You’ve no idea how well one stuck Uncle Alec’s plate to the table the other day. It’s for things you don’t want to lose.”

  This was all very well, but I still hadn’t decided where to go.

  “How abo
ut Cheltenham Spa,” she said, “or Moreton-in-Marsh, or Weston-super-Mare? Or even,” she went on with an expression of great excitement, “or even Paris?”

  Paris! Where they have those funny round kiosks all covered in posters and where they painted letter-boxes yellow instead of red. What an adventure that would be!

  Amanda was serious again, nibbling her pencil. “The only problem now is where you could stay.”

  I hadn’t really thought of staying anywhere, just moving about, but I supposed she was right. I had to have an address after all, for my post, as well as having somewhere to unpack.

  “There’s always Géraldine,” she said. “When she came last August for her school holidays she offered to put up any member of the family. That must mean you too.”

  Géraldine wasn’t too bad. A bit flippant perhaps, and with an annoying habit of standing you on your head, or covering you with a tea cosy, and then running off.

  “Well, you don’t seem very keen, but it’s all I can think of. Unless we write to the French President and ask him.”

  No, Géraldine would have to do; and she did live in a flat with a balcony and shutters at the windows, which sounded very interesting.

  “Getting you there is another problem though,” said Amanda thoughtfully. “You can’t just go like a human bean would. Think of all the changing of trains and boats and buses, and all that sort of thing. You would probably end up in Arabia or somewhere like that, where they had never even seen a bear before.”

  We all sat round rather glumly. Arabia would not suit me at all, especially my squeaker, with all that sand.

  Amanda’s Mummy came in then with the hot milk and biscuit.

  “Well, your menagerie does look serious tonight, dear,” she said. “Hurry up with your drink, and don’t forget to clean your teeth afterwards. Oh, and remember tomorrow we must pack up that present for Géraldine.”

  Amanda was halfway through drinking her milk when suddenly she let out a whoop of excitement.

  “I’ve got it! I’ve got it! We’ll pack you up in the box to Géraldine. You can go by air mail!”

  Chapter 2: Off to Paris

  Well, being posted off just like a parcel was not my idea of how to set off to seek my fortune. All other animals I had read about started in a very grand fashion with horses to ride, or at least with their things tied up in a little bundle and a stick to carry. I remembered seeing pictures of them waving farewell to their masters - cats, dogs, rabbits, mice - all kinds of things.

  But now I come to think of it - no bears. I suppose it is because bears are always content with what they happen to be doing at the time, like climbing trees, or eating, or just sitting thinking.

  The box that Amanda had found for me had been sent round by the grocer that morning. It had a very cross word written all over it in large letters. ‘ZAG’, it said. And then in smaller letters: ‘Don’t Flag - Take Zag’.

  I found out later it was a sort of breakfast food because bits kept falling in my ears every time the box tipped up.

  Amanda had done her best to make me comfortable with lots of corrugated paper and I was sitting on Géraldine’s present - a patchwork bedspread - and my things were packed underneath. Amanda had even cut out breathing holes for me. “It’s in the Regulations,” she said, reading off an official-looking list called CARRIAGE OF ANIMALS BY AIR. But her mummy insisted on covering the holes with sticky tape.

  Setting off the next day I caught a glimpse of thumbs and buttons, and dark blue uniforms like policemen through the holes.

  On the aeroplane it was dark, but when we arrived in France the uniforms changed to a bright blue - a much more cheerful colour I thought. Voices were sharper and everybody seemed to be arguing.

  After a few minutes I realised they were arguing. About me!

  “The importing of bears is forbidden under the Regulations,” said the loudest voice, and I supposed he was the one-in-charge. “It says here,” and I could hear the crackle of pages being turned over. “It says: ‘It is strictly against the rules to import the bears unless to employ in a zoo or circus’.”

  There was a pause while everybody thought, and a heavy finger banged on the lid.

  “This bear is addressed to the rue St Quentin in Montmartre. Here there is no zoo. And no circus.”

  Everybody seemed to agree because they said nothing and I trembled to think what was coming next.

  “The bear must be sent home,” the loud voice concluded.

  My stuffing seemed to sink. All this way only to be sent back, without even time to write a postcard.

  “But first,” said another, thin sort of voice, “it is necessary to take particulars of the bear. I must fill up the import form for coming in. And then another form for him to go out again.”

  I could hear the One in Charge looking through his book of regulations, and after a minute he read out, “‘All crates containing live bears to be opened by the animal import officer’.”

  It all went quiet as they went in search of the animal import officer.

  Perhaps I should really have been smuggled in - rowed across the Channel at dead of night and landed in a little cove with barrels of rum and things. Like the story Amanda read to me last week. But it was too late to think about that now.

  The voices were coming back and my stuffing sank lower and lower. Only to see the blue uniforms at Paris airport - and then back home. What a disgrace! I should never be allowed out again.

  But suddenly my squeaker gave a leap. It was Géraldine, arguing in her up-and-down voice with the others.

  “I come to claim my little bear,” she said. “He is not going to a circus, nor to a zoo. He is coming home with me.” There was more rustling of paper.

  “It is the Regulations, Mademoiselle. The animal officer must take charge of the bear.”

  I could hear Géraldine’s foot stamping, but it was no good. It used to work with Amanda when she wanted things, but not here.

  There was a snipping noise and the lid of ZAG cereals fell open.

  A lean, sharp-looking face peered in. It had a little thin moustache, like the ones Amanda painted for pirates, and a funny-looking hat shaped like a saucepan. Its expression changed suddenly and went very dark.

  “This is not a live bear at all. It is a stuffed bear!”

  I felt quite deflated. As though I wasn’t a bear at all.

  “And,” he went on, the face growing more and more purple, “I have filled up the wrong form!”

  I could just see Géraldine’s fair hair over the top of the box and lots of thumping of rubber stamps. Eventually the thin man with the saucepan on his head said, “Ah well, Mademoiselle, I consign the bear to you.”

  Géraldine grabbed me by the ears and I was out of the box in a flash.

  “Ah, babee!” she cried, hugging me so tightly that I thought I would never be the same shape again. I hated being called ‘baby’ anyway. Especially babeeee. A bear has his pride to think of.

  Still, I suppose she was glad to see me. And come to think of it, I had never been so glad to see Géraldine before.

  “Mademoiselle!” called the lean face with the saucepan, “you forget items two, three and four of this packet.”

  He thumped down on the table the patchwork bedspread, the telescope, and my little parcel of things. He passed over a pink form, which Géraldine had to sign. I noticed I was Item One.

  Géraldine scribbled her untidiest signature, seized me round the tummy and we both dashed off down the escalator to the airport bus.

  Well, I had heard of cars driving on the right-hand side of the road in France (the wrong side as Amanda’s Auntie Vi used to say), but it gave me quite a turn all the same. Géraldine didn’t seem to notice. She just kept jigging me up and down on her knees, singing some pert French song.

 
Everything seemed much bigger than I had imagined from the pictures in Toots’s geography book.

  “The Eiffel Tower,” Toots had said in a very knowledgeable voice, “is at least as high as Amanda’s wardrobe. Even as tall as the postman!”

  When I first saw it as the bus came into Paris it looked at least as tall as the moon, let alone the postman. It was shaped just like its picture, only a sort of yellow colour - not all silver as I’d imagined it to be. Perhaps it might be just possible, if you were standing at the top, to see the face of the man in the moon properly. I’d often wondered what he really looked like.

  “Here we are!” said Géraldine as we drew up beside a lot of other buses. “This is the Air Terminal.”

  We all tumbled off the bus with me upside-down. I hoped Géraldine wasn’t going to take me everywhere upside down. It gives you such strange ideas of what places look like.

  “Taxeeee! Taxeeee!” she shouted, in her piercing French voice.

  A long black car came roaring towards us along the cobbled street and just stopped level with Géraldine’s foot. We jumped in and the driver clicked his meter and off we went - much faster than the bus.

  We arrived at last at Géraldine’s house. Well, it wasn’t a house at all. It had no front garden like Amanda’s, only an enormous door set in the wall right next to the pavement, and over it a metal plate with the number seventeen in blue and white enamel. Geraldine pressed the bell, and ‘click!’ the door opened.

  Just like Aladdin’s cave. Being very fond of mysteries and secret passages, I began to get excited. We went up a flight of stone steps, and then round a landing; and up some more steps, and round again; and up even more steps. When at last we stopped I was quite dizzy.

  We were right at the top of the building and through a skylight I could see clouds floating along. What was it Amanda used to sing? ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star ...’ Perhaps at night I should be able to see them more clearly from here. Then I could tell Diddy what they were made of.