Piglet explained what Owl had said, and how the dragon was probably on its way already, with nostrils glowing, intent on arriving in the Forest in just a few days.
“More or less,” added Owl, who was beginning to wonder if he had been totally accurate in his prediction. “Give or take.”
“If only Christopher Robin were here,” squeaked Piglet. “Maybe we should disturb him, just for a moment.”
“He was very insis . . . instis . . . he did tell me twice,” said Pooh.
“Then we have to be prepared,” said Rabbit. “We must have a Plan. Someone else must be ready to fight the dragon.”
There was a short pause, followed by a longer one, and interrupted by much shuffling of feet and clearing of throats. A third pause arrived and took over where the previous one had left off.
Piglet shut his eyes and closed his mouth tightly, just in case he squeaked or sneezed and somebody thought he was saying: “Me!” But all of a sudden he did say something.
“Ow!” he burst out, then found himself facedown on the ground again. Something very large was sitting on him. Piglet waited for a blast of fiery breath and hoped that his ears wouldn’t get too singed. But what he heard was Roo’s tiny voice saying:
“Look everybody! Tigger’s playing ‘Squeak, Piglet. Squeak!’”
And Kanga’s not so tiny voice saying, severely:
“Tigger, you must learn not to bounce so. Now let Piglet go.”
And, striding along the path behind them, came Christopher Robin.
Piglet picked himself up. The world was suddenly a wonderful place. Above him the sun was shining, and he felt the joy one can only know when a fierce dragon, or even just a bouncy Tigger, has been lifted off of one’s shoulders.
“Hullo, Pooh!” said Christopher Robin. “And Piglet and Eeyore and Owl and Rabbit. I’ve finished learning my words now. I’m all ready to be St. George.”
There was a short silence, and more shuffling of feet.
“About St. George,” began Pooh. “Well . . . the thing is . . . Owl thinks . . .”
“. . . And Rabbit thinks . . .” said Owl quickly.
“. . . And Piglet thinks . . .” said Rabbit.
“. . . We all think . . .” said Piglet.
“Don’t bring me into this,” said Eeyore. “Nobody asked my opinion.”
“. . . Anyway,” continued Pooh, “there is a fire-breathing dragon coming to the wood a week next Tuesday, possibly in search of damsons. And we hoped, maybe, you might be able to persuade it . . . not to stay too long.”
Christopher Robin tried not to laugh. He looked around at his friends. Rabbit was still holding the Something Interesting.
“My helmet!” cried Christopher Robin. “You’ve found my St. George helmet!” He put the Etruscan container on his head. “I put it down just here a few days ago, then couldn’t find it again. Oh, well done!”
“A helmet?” said Rabbit. “Yes! Of course. We’ve found your helmet.”
There was a loud cough close to Rabbit’s ear.
“I mean . . . Eeyore found your helmet.”
“All on his own,” said Eeyore. “But don’t mention it.”
Christopher Robin hugged Eeyore’s neck.
“You are the very best of donkeys,” he said.
Eeyore looked down at his hooves in an embarrassed sort of way, and his nose turned a slightly pinker shade of grey.
“And about dragons,” continued Christopher Robin. “Well, they’re only in stories . . . and plays of course. And I happen to know, I just do, that there aren’t any real live dragons in this story.”
“There you are,” said Pooh to Piglet, “didn’t I say all along there was nothing to worry about?”
Owl and Rabbit had gone. Kanga had taken Roo and Tigger home for their dose of Strengthening Medicine, and Eeyore had wandered back to his Lonely Place, muttering softly: “Best of donkeys. Me. Eeyore!” Christopher Robin and Pooh and Piglet walked here and there but nowhere in particular, and Christopher Robin explained that mythical was rather like pretend, and that extinct meant creatures that weren’t here any more, and that the dragon he was fighting in the play wasn’t real either, but made of bits of wood and fabric stuck together.
“If there were a real fire-breathing dragon,” he said, “which there isn’t, but just if there were, then even the very bravest person, or bear, or Piglet, would be frightened. They would just pretend not to be, because that’s what being brave is all about.”
Pooh asked who the very bravest person, or bear, or Piglet was. Christopher Robin ummed and aahed just a little, and then said that, although he couldn’t say for the whole wide world, he was probably the bravest person in the Forest, and Pooh was the bravest bear, and Piglet was definitely the bravest Piglet. Pooh felt quite happy to be the Bravest Bear now there was no dragon to fight, but Piglet couldn’t help wondering how he could be the bravest Piglet in the Forest when he was also the only Piglet in the Forest. He was just going to ask about this, when Christopher Robin, who always seemed to know what everyone was thinking, said:
“I quite fancy a Little Something. How about you?”
And, of course, they did.
WINTER
in which Penguin arrives in the Forest
BY
BRIAN SIBLEY
ONE MORNING, WINNIE-THE-POOH LOOKED OUT of his window and saw something that took him by surprise. “This is very Strange and Unusual,” said Pooh, “but, unless I’m mistaken, somebody has taken the Forest away and put a lot of Something White there instead.”
This was confusing and, since it was still rather early and he hadn’t yet had his first pot of honey, Pooh thought a moment and said, “No, that can’t be it, because it would be really most unlikely,” and then added, “so what must have happened is that somebody has taken my house and put it somewhere else altogether, where it is very white.”
And then, as there were still bits of Pooh’s brain that were feeling sleepy, he decided that he’d better take another look.
“Ah, now I understand” said Pooh slowly. “It’s been snowing. Yes, that’s it,” he went on, “like that time when Piglet and I nearly caught a Woozle—or was it a Wizzle that nearly caught us? Well, anyway, that explains everything.”
Mentioning Piglet made Pooh think of something else. “The trouble with snow,” he said, “is that, unless you are very careful, you can Get Snowed-In which, if you are a very small animal like Piglet, can be Bothersome and Alarming. So maybe I ought to go and see if Piglet has Got Snowed-In and needs help with Getting Snowed-Out.”
So, off he stumped to the nearest cupboard where he was sure of finding a pot or two of something, and had one jar of honey, and then another one to warm himself because he had just remembered that snow had an unpleasant habit of being cold on the toes. Then, noticing that it was now snowing again, very hard, he decided to have another small jar, “Just in case,” he said.
When he had licked the very last lick, Winnie-the- Pooh put on his scarf, opened his front door into a Hundred Acre Wood that was very white and still.
Heading in what he thought was the general direction of Piglet’s house (it was difficult to be certain with so much snow about), Pooh remembered having once thought up a hum such as could be happily hummed in snowy weather, and decided he would think up a new one. It went:
It can snow just a little
Or it can snow quite a lot,
But it hardly ever snows
When the weather is hot.
Pooh was very pleased that a rhyme had come along just in time to meet the last line as it arrived, and went on . . .
And it’s also said
(And I think it’s right)
That it seldom ever snows
When the sun is bright.
Just then something happened that made him forge
t his hum completely. Someone was coming towards him through the snow with a curious waddling way of walking. It was a strange-looking creature that seemed to be mostly black and white with a hint of yellow about the feet and what was a rather beaky face.
“Hullo,” said Pooh.
The Someone stopped waddling and stood very still in front of Pooh. He opened what was definitely a beak and then snapped it shut again without saying anything.
“I said ‘Hullo,’” said Pooh.
This time, the Someone turned its head to one side, closed its eyes and shifted awkwardly to and fro on its yellow feet, but said nothing.
Thinking that perhaps it might be hard of hearing, Pooh spoke again, only this time slowly and very loudly.
“I SAID, ‘I SAID, “HULLO.”’”
“I heard you the first time,” the Someone muttered in a low, embarrassed voice, still not looking at Pooh, “and, if you’ll forgive me mentioning it, I heard you the second and third times as well!”
“Oh, why didn’t you answer me?” asked Pooh.
“Because,” it replied apologetically, “we have not been properly introduced.”
“Well, I’m Winnie-the-Pooh,” said Bear, “or Pooh for short. Who are you?”
“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” muttered the Someone, anxiously, looking as if he would rather have been somewhere else. “The thing is, you see,” he said, giving a nervous flap of what looked like a small pair of wings, “you can only be introduced to Someone by Someone Else.”
Pooh didn’t know what to say to this, so instead he arranged his scarf, hoping to stop more snow from going down the back of his neck in that uncomfortable, tickly way.
“You see,” the creature went on, “it’s a matter of etiquette.”
Pooh was about to ask, “Eti-what?”, wondering whether it might have anything to do with food, when Rabbit came hurrying through a snowdrift that had once been a forest path, looking very flustered.
“Hullo, Rabbit,” said Pooh.
“Do you happen to have a spade I can borrow?” replied Rabbit who, having a front door and a back door, had Got Snowed-In twice over, as it were.
Pooh said that the last time he’d needed one he’d borrowed Christopher Robin’s and so Rabbit said he’d go and ask him instead.
“Rabbit,” said Pooh, “may I ask you something?”
“Can’t it wait until I’ve shifted the snow out of my second-best bedroom?”
“Not really,” said Pooh. And then, holding up his paw so he could whisper behind it, he asked Rabbit if he knew anything about the Black-and-White Whatever-it-was that was standing nearby in the snow.
“Of course,” said Rabbit. “He’s new. Christopher Robin said he was coming.” Lowering his voice, he added: “He’s very shy and very proper. Christopher Robin said he needs Bringing Out of Himself. And now,” said Rabbit, in his normal voice again, “I really have to be going, because when you’ve got snow under your bed, you just have to do something about it.”
“Yes, of course,” said Pooh, adding in a whisper again, “but would you mind introducing us before you go?”
Rabbit tutted impatiently. “Pooh, meet Penguin,” he said. “Penguin, meet Pooh.” And with that he vanished in a whirl of snowflakes. . . .
“Hullo, Penguin!” said Pooh.
“Hullo, Pooh!” said Penguin. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
And, having got over the difficult business of introductions, Penguin seemed a little more at ease, and stopped hopping awkwardly from one foot to another. Wondering if it might help Bring Penguin Out of Himself, Pooh asked whether, if he weren’t in a hurry to do anything else, he might like to come along with him to visit Piglet. Penguin politely replied that, yes, thank you, if that wasn’t too much trouble, he should like that very much indeed.
So off they went, Pooh stumping along with Penguin waddling by his side.
“Where did you come from?” asked Pooh.
“Oh, you know,” replied Penguin vaguely.
“Ah,” said Pooh, who didn’t.
“The Usual Place actually,” added Penguin.
There was an awkward silence for a few minutes while Pooh tried to remember where that was and, when he couldn’t, he said: “Oh, well, I expect Christopher Robin knows.”
“Oh, yes,” said Penguin, “Christopher Robin knows everything. He said that, most of the time, Generally Speaking, Penguins are found at the South Pole.”
“Well, well,” said Pooh, very much surprised. “A South Pole? I didn’t know there was another one at the other end.” And then, because Penguin looked puzzled, he explained, “I discovered the North Pole, you know.”
“Really?” said Penguin, sounding impressed. “I should rather like to discover something someday. But I expect it takes a lot of Brain.”
Pooh was about to explain that he had really only discovered the North Pole by accident, and that actually he was a Bear of No Brain at all, when he saw Piglet battling his way through the blizzard towards them.
Now, Piglet was on his way to see Pooh to ask whether he thought it was going to Go On Snowing for Very Long. His little head was down and the snow was getting in his eyes and his ears and making it difficult to see and hear anything. So, when Pooh suddenly said, “Hullo, Piglet, this is Penguin,” he jumped with surprise.
Piglet jumped again when he saw Penguin for the first time and noticed how very beaky he was, but not wanting the strange creature to think him of a Nervous Disposition, he decided to jump up and down in a Keeping Warm sort of way.
“This is Piglet, Penguin.”
“Hullo, Piglet,” said Penguin, looking almost as nervous as Piglet.
Piglet didn’t answer, but just kept looking at Penguin’s beak.
“You have to say, ‘Hullo,’ back,” whispered Pooh. “It’s all to do with something that sounds as if it were to do with eating, but probably isn’t.”
Piglet said “Oh,” and then, “Hullo, Penguin.” And Penguin said, “Very nice to meet you,” and Piglet said, “Likewise, I’m sure.” And then, in a whisper, asked Pooh, “I was wondering about the beak. Is he safe?”
“I think so,” Pooh whispered back, adding, “Christopher Robin knows all about him, but says he needs Bringing Out of Himself. He’s from the Usual Place, you know.”
“Ah,” said Piglet, who didn’t, and in order to keep from thinking about Penguin’s beak, he asked him whether he had met Owl, who also had a beak, even though it wasn’t anywhere near as beaky as this one.
“I’m afraid not,” said Penguin apologetically.
“In that case,” said Pooh, who had been trying to think of ways to Bring a Penguin Out of Himself, “I shall introduce you.”
So Pooh led the way through the Hundred Acre Wood, stopping every now and then to help Piglet, who only had short legs and, as the snow was falling heavily, kept finding himself up to his nose and, sometimes, his ears. Penguin, on the other hand, waddled happily along without any difficulty at all.
When they reached The Chestnuts, Pooh climbed up to Owl’s front door and knocked. And knocked. And knocked. It took a great deal of knocking to get an answer from Owl, who was sitting by the fire studying the newspaper, which he did with it spread out over his closed eyes while making a thoughtful snoring sound.
“Hullo, Owl,” said Pooh, when Owl finally opened the door, “there’s a new bird come to live in the Forest and we’ve brought him to see you because he needs Bringing Out of Himself.”
“Aha!” replied Owl. “Well, as they say, birds of a feather flock together! Where is he?”
“Down there, with Piglet,” said Pooh, adding helpfully, “the taller black-and-white one on the left.”
Owl put on his glasses, peered over the top of them, then took them off quickly, saying in a low voice: “Sorry, Pooh, can’t help. Most regrettable, but quite impossible.”
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“But,” said, Pooh, “I thought you said, ‘Birds of a feather . . .’”
“Yes,” said Owl, “usually, but I didn’t know your friend was a . . .” he hesitated and then started spelling out the word.
“P – E – N . . .” he began and then stopped, trying to remember exactly what came next, before realising that it didn’t matter because Pooh couldn’t spell anyway.
Covering his confusion with a cough, Owl went on: “The trouble is, Pooh, your friend down there has tiny little wings that are, unfortunately, Aerodynamically Inadequate.”
Pooh was about to ask what that meant when Owl added, “Or, to put it simply, some birds can fly and some can’t, and that’s all there is to it!”
It was at this precise second that an agitated Rabbit suddenly came scurrying along, talking so excitedly that he was fast running out of breath.
“He wasn’t in . . . Went to borrow his spade . . . For the snow, you see . . . But he’s not there . . . Gone!”
“Who’s gone?” asked Pooh, climbing down from Owl’s front door.
“Christopher Robin, of course,” said Rabbit.
“Gone where?” asked Piglet anxiously.
“And why?” added Owl, flying down to join the others.
“That,” said Rabbit, “is what I have been asking myself ever since I found the note.”
“Note?” asked Pooh, Piglet, and Owl all at once.
“Pinned on his door,” explained Rabbit, producing a piece of paper with large letters written on it.
“This requires looking into,” said Owl pompously, and taking the paper he examined it this way and that, finally deciding that the best way of reading it was upside down.
“What does it say?” asked Pooh.
The Best Bear in All the World Page 2
