The Life and Times of the Real Winnie-the-Pooh

by Shirley Harrison

  From time to time in the early days, he explained, the family escaped from London to the country. One of their haunts was the pretty South Downs hamlet of Poling in Sussex not far from Arundel.

  The entry on Google for Poling is amusing. It claims Poling ‘has few public facilities apart from an historical Norman church, a phone box and two post boxes. The only industry is farming and a mushroom factory. You can buy eggs from Peckham’s Farm but that’s about it. You should definitely stock up well before you arrive.’

  The family rented a pretty seventeenth-century thatched cottage called ‘The Decoy’, on the estate of the Duke of Norfolk. The cottage itself overlooked a large pond which was the home of a swan.

  Blue said that Moon had named the bird ‘Pooh’. He had decided that Pooh was a very good sort of name for a swan because, with childish logic, he explained that if the swan didn’t want to stop what he was doing and come over for a chat, you could show him that you didn’t want him anyway by shouting ‘POOH!’

  So, when they left The Decoy they took the name with them and it later became attached to the bear.

  But where did the WINNIE come from?

  In 1914, at the outbreak of World War I Harry Colebourn, a British-born veterinary surgeon left the Department of Agriculture in Winnipeg, Canada and joined the 34th Regiment of Cavalry. This was to become the 34th Fort Garry Horse.

  According to his diary, on 24 August, Lieutenant Colebourn stopped off at White River, Ontario, on his way to join the Second Canadian Infantry Brigade.

  From The Book of Duck Decoys

  The Decoy cottage is on the edge of a lake and is named after a decoy which has been disused since 1868. A decoy is a living or artificial bird or other animal used to entice wildfowl or other game into a trap or within shooting range.

  In 1825 Joseph Hume, M.P. the well-known radical statesman and author wrote: ‘There is a Decoy at Angmering. It has been established for two centuries, and from November to March supplies all the neighbourhood with Ducks, Teal, and Wigeon. The pool is square, of about one acre, in a hollow surrounded by plenty of trees of different kinds, and is a secluded, quiet spot. There a small rill of water runs down the hollow, and two or three large fishponds are on the N. E. of it, from which, one year with another eight cwt of fish are drawn.

  The Decoy pool has a strong spring of water in it, and they have the power of raising the water 12in or 14in when required. One man has attended this Decoy for 50 years, and his son is now assisting him’.

  In 1976, The Wildlife and Wetlands Trust took over the conservation and management of the reed beds near the decoy which, in the days when the Milnes were on holiday, were much wilder.

  There the Lieutenant met a hunter with a small black bear cub whose mother had been shot. He bought the cub and called her ‘Winnie’ after his adopted home town.

  The Lieutenant’s diary entries for that momentous purchase are briefly matterof-fact. Yet the terrible journey young Winnie was about to make was more memorable than Lieutenant Colebourn could have imagined.

  Bought (Winnie) cub Bear at White River Ont. Paid $20.00

  The seven-week journey to England first by train across Canada and by boat over the Atlantic must have been as traumatic for the little bear cub as it was for the soldiers. One month later the Lieutenant’s diary records:

  Sept 24th

  Making Preparations to leave Canada

  Sept 25th

  Standing by all day ready to Embark. Raining like Hell all day

  Sept 28th

  Embark S.S. Manitou in the afternoon

  Oct 3rd

  Left Gaspe Bay en route for England

  Oct 15th

  Arrived in England

  Oct 17th

  Disembarked and left Devonport 7 P.M. for Salisbury Plains

  Oct 19t

  Arrived on Plains in the Mud

  Winnie had become very tame and as the unofficial mascot of the regiment she was a popular tourist attraction on Salisbury Plain. But when orders came for the regiment’s embarkation to France, Lieutenant Colebourn decided to give his bear to the London Zoological Society, in Regent’s Park.

  Dec 9th

  Took Winnie to the Zoo.

  But it was not as simple as that! The newspapers recorded that Winnie had travelled by car from Salisbury to London with Lieutenant Colebourn but on arrival was obviously suffering from claustrophobia and escaped her escort! Although she was a docile animal, there was naturally panic among spectators who weren’t too happy about a bear having fun and games in their midst. Eventually she was caught and led quietly to her new home. Winnie was not alone in London Zoo. A number of other regiments had donated mascot-bears to the safe-keeping of the curators for the duration of the War but none of the other bears was to achieve her fame.

  In July 1915, Lieutenant Colebourn returned to London from France and made several visits to his friend but at the end of the War Harry Colebourn (by then a Captain) hoped to take Winnie home with him to Canada. However, she had become such a celebrity that he hadn’t the heart and so he decided to let her stay in London.

  That was where the bear called Winnie was living, when the little boy known as Moon paid her a visit.

  E.V. Lucas, chairman of Methuen, was a Member of the Zoological Society at the time and had special privileges. He would have been able to open doors and gates not accessible to the public. His friend Laurence Irving, grandson of the renowned actor Sir Henry Irving, claimed in a letter to The Times in 1981 that through him he had been able to organise a birthday outing to the London Zoo for his daughter Pamela and that Moon was invited.

  The children were taken by the Zoo keeper into a dark cavern and up some steep steps, through narrow passages, to the grille at the back of the bear pit. This was opened for them and the now large, furry animal ambled out to greet them and they were allowed into its den to play.

  At first Moon was timid and tearful but very soon they were all hugging and rolling around with the docile people-friendly animal who apparently never needed to have her toe nails cut and who loved golden syrup and condensed milk – but not ‘Hunny’.

  No Health and Safety worries in those days!

  According to Laurence Irving, Pamela reacted strongly to the smell of Winnie’s fur and let out a disgusted cry of ‘POO!’ That was the answer! Moon’s bear became Winnie-the-Pooh.

  As in so many good detective mysteries there is another even less likely explanation for the origins of the teddy bear’s full and final name, but one which is accepted by many people in Canada. It emerged recently in an old family album. The album was left to Pauline Mori from Burnaby in Canada by her uncle John (Jack) Hewat. Jack was only 17 years-old when he lied to the authorities in order to join the Second Canadian Rifles.

  Pauline’s story was published in 2009. In that album, she says, she found a photograph showing her uncle Jack with a group of young soldiers, including Lieutenant Colebourn, laughing at the sight of a young black bear sitting on a Harley Davidson motorcycle. The bear was Winnie.

  She told how Jack used to describe to her that long, arduous journey from White River to England. He said all the men took pity on Winnie and used to take food to her in the ship’s hold.

  One of their less pleasant tasks was dealing with large quantities of ‘poo’ which had to be shovelled overboard and so, by the time she reached London and met Moon she was already known by them all as Winnie the Poo! Could this really have been the name by which keepers introduced her to Moon? It seems unlikely and sadly the Zoo records don’t say.

  Wherever that unforgettable name came from, with the help of Blue, the voice of Daff and, eventually, with the drawings of E.H. Shepard, that teddy began to develop his personality.

  Somewhat belatedly in 1981 a statue in Winnie’s memory by Lorne McKean was unveiled at London Zoo by Christopher Milne himself. There is also a statue to the famous animal in Winnipeg. It seems a very odd sculpture indeed to come across in such a robustly multicultural and
bracingly matter-of-fact prairie city as Winnipeg.

  Then, in 2000, the Pavilion Gallery in Winnipeg paid $243,000 for the only known oil painting of Pooh by E.H Shepard. The picture was to be hung in what was described as a ‘Poohzeum’. The bid was made by art dealer David Lock on the phone from Toronto to Sotheby’s in London and the extravagant gesture was justified to the press as the ‘Pooh meaning of Friendship’ towards an ‘Ambassador to the United Nations’ – they meant Pooh!

  The local press reported that children were breaking open their piggy banks, seniors were dropping off $20 bills and well-heeled Winnipeggers were brandishing their cheque-books so the city could buy the oval-shaped painting of the famous bear, paw in honey pot. ‘A poll conducted by a local radio station hasn’t turned up one person who is against the idea’, said Mayor Glen Murray. ‘People here are very attached to Winnie-the-Pooh and Winnipeggers get downright indignant when people don’t know that the Winnie in Pooh is the same Winnie as in Peg.’

  In London, Christie’s also sold a 14.5 cm by 19 cm ink drawing of Pooh by Shepard for $112,500 (U.S.) The catalogue estimate was $30,000 to $45,000 (U.S.), the same as that for the 93 cm by 71 cm oil painting.

  Winnie died in 1934 and her obituaries in Canada and in London occupied many column inches in the newspapers. She too had become a star.

  Chapter Six

  Pooh and Friends

  MEANWHILE LIFE IN Mallord Street had continued fairly quietly. The Milnes often entertained at home and although Pooh was not generally present for their small, intimate dinner parties, he was sometimes introduced informally when Moon was brought down to say 'howdyerdo' politely to guests.

  That guest list was star-spangled. Friends such as H.G. Wells, who had taught young A.A. Milne at Henley House School, Kenneth Grahame and J.M. Barrie, were among those who came to dinner.

  The Milnes’ neighbour, author Denis MacKail, a grandson of Burne Jones and related to both Rudyard Kipling and Stanley Baldwin, has recalled how he first met A.A. Milne at a disastrous lunch party in Mallord Street. He and Milne were squashed elbow to elbow at a too-small refectory table and both were dull and tongue-tied. Despite this the two men eventually overcame their inhibitions and were to remain lifelong friends.

  Round the corner lived the composer H. Fraser Simson with his wife Cicely, and their spaniel Mr. Henry Woggins. He would one day set the verses from When We Were Very Young to music. Journalist and drama critic, W.A. Darlington, was only a short distance away, living with his wife and young daughter, Anne, in Beaufort Mansions.

  But the idea of dropping in was not the Milnes’ custom at all. ‘We don’t call very well. I hate knowing people for geographical reasons’.

  Theodore and Kermit Roosevelt, sons of the former American President, popped in to meet Pooh for tea just after When We Were Very Young was published. They were on their way to shoot tigers in Turkestan, and Milne wrote to his brother Ken afterwards saying that Theodore almost wept because he only had an American and not an English first edition to be signed. The poems, having taken America by storm, were being quoted at official banquets, university seminars and dinner parties.

  In the Middle East, grown-up Arab merchants were ‘hoppity-hopping’ around the bazaars (Hoppity). Children everywhere were trying to avoid walking on the lines in the street (Lines and Squares) and asking for butter for the royal slice of bread (The King’s Breakfast).

  At this time Moon’s own excitements were very simple. He liked to stand on the ottoman with Pooh and watch the happenings in the street below, through the bars of the window. Not that much happened in Mallord Street in those days. There were very few people and even fewer cars so he would wait for a noise to alert him to some event about to happen.

  There were certainly no bears waiting to gobble up boys who walked on the lines, as his father had described (not that he would have dared to tempt them!).

  The log man with his horse and cart yodelled to announce his arrival, a handbell introduced the muffin man and a roaring noise meant the coalman was shooting his wares into the cellar next door. There was also the organ grinder, which made Moon feel so sad that he threw him a penny. But the melancholy harp man, with his black hair and small moustache, made him feel even sadder and he was allowed to go down and put two pennies into his velvet bag.

  Best of all was the sound of a ‘coo-ee’ down below which announced the arrival of Anne Darlington who lived twenty minutes away.

  For forty-eight years, her father was the acerbic theatre critic of the Daily Telegraph, who once wrote that Richard Briers played Hamlet like a ‘demented typewriter’. He was no less caustic about some of Milne’s own later plays, which he thought were lacking in content and somewhat superficial. A.A. Milne hated criticism and so when Darlington first called at Mallord Street, both were overcome by shyness and embarrassment.

  Anne Darlington was eight months older than Moon and rather bossy, so she tended to take charge of whatever was going on. It was she who broke the shocking news to him that there was NO Father Christmas! She had an infectious giggle as a little girl. Friends and family remember her laugh, and recall how as a beautiful grown-up, she became a very feisty lady.

  In the Mallord Street days, Anne, like Moon, was an only child. She became his constant companion in London and later in Sussex, after the Milnes bought their country home in Hartfield: Anne’s sister, Phoebe, was twelve years her junior.

  The Darlingtons also had a rural retreat on the South Downs in Sussex, not so far away from Hartfield. Their home was a beautiful eighteenth-century house. A mile from the sea, at the end of a no-through lane, it was a haven in those days, not only for the Darlingtons. The Asquiths had a house there, as did the McKails. The Milnes, too, loved the tranquility of the flint cottages and old English gardens. The village has not altered in any way since those times.

  Anne had a toy monkey, known, illogically, as ‘Jumbo’, who was as dear to her as was Pooh to Moon and the four went everywhere together with their nannies. They were inseparable.

  Anne’s nanny, like Nou, was a family institution. But with her black-rimmed glasses and a black straw hat, was a far more formidable figure than Moon’s nanny. When they were feeling wicked, the children giggled behind her back because of the way her many chins wobbled when she spoke, so they called her ‘Jam Puff’’ and she pretended not to hear.

  Blue adored Anne; she was the Rosemary he and Daff would never have and they both secretly hoped that when the time was right Moon and Anne would marry. Their wish never came true. Anne eventually became an almoner and married Peter Ryde, golf correspondent for The Times. The first time that the Milnes accepted a dinner invitation to their house in London, Peter remembered how Anne rushed around cleaning and polishing. Oysters and smoked salmon were on the menu but although Blue was as ever, courteous and polite, he made very little effort to be entertaining and remained locked within himself. Moon was not there.

  Peter and Anne had two daughters, Julia and Katie. They remember, with affectionate nostalgia, visits to their Darlington grandparents in the country, lovingly safeguarding the moving memorabilia and photographs of that time.

  Back in 1924, standing on the ottoman, clutching the safety rails over the window four–year- old Moon would respond to that ‘coo-ee’ and wave as Anne and her nanny arrived for the day’s outing.

  Chapter Seven

  Hand in Hand

  LONDON OUTINGS FOR Anne and Moon, usually with skipping ropes or hoops and always with Pooh and Jumbo, would be either to the Peter Pan statue or the Albert Memorial, in Kensington Gardens. Sometimes they would turn right from Mallord Street into Church Street, then down towards the Embankment and over the Albert Bridge to Battersea Park. They would hold hands and talk about all the things they would do when they were grown up.

  One of the children’s favourite outings was to watch Changing the Guard outside Buckingham Palace.

  Buckingham Palace is the first poem in When We Were Very Young. Vespers is the last an
d these two verses were to rip four-year-old Moon from his untroubled,

  The Albert Memorial

  After the death of Prince Albert in 1861, the distraught Queen Victoria ordered that a competition be held for a suitable memorial to his life. The winner was George Gilbert Scott, who was later knighted for his magnificent design. The elaborate Gothic memorial was to be 175 feet high topped with a bronze gilded figure of the Prince Consort by Marochetti. The aim was that the 150 life-sized figures and surrounding friezes and mosaics should represent not only Albert’s wide interests in the arts, commerce, agriculture, engineering and science but also offer a unique opportunity for British artistic talent.

  The Memorial was finally inaugurated in 1872. It cost £120,000 and subscriptions were collected from all over the country.

  Peter Pan’s Statue

  The statue of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens, which had been erected in the middle of the night, was never formally unveiled because Barrie wished to preserve the sense of magic surrounding his story. The Times announced on May Day 1912 that there would be a gift from J.M. Barrie for children going to feed the ducks, down by the little bay on the south-western side of the Serpentine. This was the very spot where Peter flew in to Kensington Gardens.

  Sure enough the children found the figure of Peter Pan blowing his pipe on the stump of a tree surrounded by animals of the English countryside and delicate winged fairies.

  anonymous childhood on to the pages of newspapers and magazines world-wide. Everyone was chanting ‘Christopher Robin went down with Alice’. Nou was saved from unwanted publicity as even Blue could not find a rhyme for Olive. Alice rhymed with Palace.

  This was not Blue’s only use of poetic licence. The Guards outside the Palace do not wear busbies but readers weren’t worried about all that. When in the poem, At Home, Blue described Moon’s childish longing for a soldier – a soldier in a busby, to come and play with him – he made the mistake of many grown ups then and now. The soldiers outside Buckingham Palace wear bearskins, a rather unfortunate fact in view of the proximity of Pooh, since these were then made from animal fur!