Love from Paddington Read online

  I’m very well off now, so I may try doing some more decorating if I ever run short.

  P. S. Thank you very much for the postcard you sent me showing a picture of Lima harbor with the tide going out. I keep it by the side of the bed in my new room alongside the picture I have of you. Yours is in a frame, of course.

  32 WINDSOR GARDENS, LONDON W2

  Letter No. 5

  Dear Aunt Lucy,

  I’m sorry you haven’t heard from me lately, but after my last letter, Jonathan and Judy went back to school, and I have been kept very busy.

  Mrs. Bird told me there is an old proverb which says, “Young bears ought not to be idle. It’s bad for them.” So when I told her they are very good at shopping, she first of all persuaded Mr. Brown to buy me a basket on wheels then she showed me round the market in the Portobello Road.

  I soon got to know all the stall keepers, and in no time at all I found myself going there every day of the week except Sundays.

  That’s because I have made friends with someone extraspecial. His name is Mr. Gruber, and he keeps an antique shop. The Browns are all lovely people, but Mr. Gruber is especially nice. He was born in Hungary, but he spent some time in South America before coming to England as a refugee. So as he says, “We have a lot in common.”

  Mrs. Bird is so pleased with my shopping she says I am worth my weight in gold, which is very nice to know.

  I tested myself on the bathroom scales the other day. I won’t tell you how much I weigh, but I always look both ways now before I cross the road in case I get run over.

  In the meantime she gives me extra pocket money, so I now have what’s known as a standing order for buns in the bakers near Mr. Gruber; and because we both like cocoa, he has some ready every day, and we share our “elevenses” sitting on a sofa at the back of his shop.

  His shop is usually full of interesting things. You would think that being old they would be cheaper than something new, but the reverse is true; very often the older they are, the better.

  They come and they go, and I sometimes wonder where they all come from in the first place. Then one day I happened to notice that it was less full than usual.

  Mr. Gruber looked very pleased when I told him.

  “It’s nice that you take such an interest in my business, Mr. Brown,” he said. “I had a busy day yesterday after you left. A big party of American visitors descended on me. As a matter of fact, I’m going to an auction sale this very afternoon in order to stock up.”

  I told him we didn’t have auction sales in Darkest Peru, and he thought for a moment. “It’s hard to explain, Mr. Brown,” he said. “They are places where things are sold to the highest bidder. Why don’t you come with me and see one for yourself.”

  Can you imagine, Aunt Lucy? I was so excited I ran all the way back to Windsor Gardens and had a bath specially so that I wouldn’t let him down.

  Mrs. Bird thought I was sickening for something, but when I told her the reason, she was excited too. “I hope Mr. Gruber recognizes you,” she said.

  He certainly did, and as we entered a big hall, lots of people recognized him, even though he was wearing his best suit.

  He led me through the crowd towards a big platform where there was a man shouting out things through a microphone.

  He was talking so fast I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, and nearby there was a man waving in our direction.

  I must say I was a bit surprised Mr. Gruber didn’t wave back because he’s always so polite, so I raised my hat for him instead.

  The man who was waving looked rather cross and he waved even harder, so I raised my hat again. If I did it once, I did it a dozen times before he stopped.

  At which point the man on the platform changed his tune. “GOING,” he shouted, waving a hammer in the air. “GOING . . . GOING . . . GONE!” And he hit a table with a very loud bang. “Sold to the young bear gentleman who’s just arrived.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Mr. Gruber. “I’m afraid you have just bought a boxful of old carpentry tools.”

  I very nearly fell over backwards with my legs in the air.

  Mr. Gruber looked most embarrassed. “It was entirely my fault, Mr. Brown,” he said. “I should have warned you before we came. It’s very dangerous giving any kind of signal at an auction sale.

  “If you nod your head or even scratch your nose, the auctioneer takes it as a sign that you are making a bid for what is on sale.”

  I tell you, Aunt Lucy, I didn’t blink an eyelid for the rest of the time we were there.

  P. S. For some reason Mrs. Bird didn’t look too pleased when she heard what I had bought. “I think you had better do any carpentry in the garden,” she said, and it was put in Mr. Brown’s shed for the time being.

  32 WINDSOR GARDENS, LONDON W2

  Letter No. 6

  Dear Aunt Lucy,

  I haven’t told you about the Browns’ next-door neighbor before now because they don’t like talking about him if they can help it, and I can see why. His name is Mr. Curry, and he is always wanting something for nothing.

  Jonathan thinks that when he was small, he must have fallen out of his cot on the wrong side one day, and he’s been in a bad mood ever since.

  He also likes peering through knot holes in our garden fence to see what’s going on.

  I didn’t realize it at the time, but he must have been looking through one the very next morning when I had my carpentry outfit out on the lawn and I was going through all the tools to see what they looked like.

  I was testing the hammer on some concrete, pretending I was an auctioneer, when there was a shout from next door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin with fright when I looked up and saw Mr. Curry glaring at me over the top of the fence.

  “What are you doing, BEAR?” he bellowed. “I can’t hear myself think.”

  “Do it yourself, Mr. Curry!” I said. It was the first time I have ever seen anyone’s face go purple just like that.

  “How dare you talk to me like that, BEAR!” he spluttered. “I’ve a good mind to report you to Mrs. Bird.”

  That was when I made my second mistake.

  “I thought you were an antique,” I said. “Mr. Gruber often says old things are worth much more.”

  I thought his eyes were going to pop out, and I did my best to explain that Mr. Brown had given me some plywood and a book of instructions to go with my carpentry outfit so that I could make him a magazine rack.

  The book was called Delight Your Family and Surprise Your Friends, and I was about to start work.

  It seemed to do the trick. Mr. Curry calmed down, and for a moment or two I thought he was trying to wash his hands, but I couldn’t see any soap.

  “A magazine rack?” he repeated. “I wouldn’t mind one of those, bear. If you make me a magazine rack, I shan’t report you to Mrs. Bird.”

  He went on to say he would be out for the rest of the morning, but I could use his kitchen table to work on. It would be so much better than trying to do it on the lawn. “Besides,” he said, “I’d rather you didn’t tell the others or they will all want one. I suggest we keep it a secret between ourselves.”

  Unfortunately, although it seemed a good idea at the time, Mr. Curry’s kitchen table was much smaller than Mr. Brown’s sheet of plywood.

  The plywood was so big it needed to be cut in half anyway, if I was going to make two magazine racks, so after I had put it on the table, I climbed on top of it armed with the saw.

  It went through the first bit like a knife through butter, but after that things seemed to get harder and harder. In fact, I had to stop and mop my brow several times before it suddenly got easier again.

  That was when I had my second shock of the morning. I just managed to jump clear before everything collapsed around me.

  I sat where I had landed for a while, surrounded by bits and pieces, wondering if I could persuade Mr. Curry that two small tables with two legs each was better value than one table with four legs.

/>   In the end I decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to make his face go purple twice in one day, so, having found a tube of glue, I used up the whole lot on both the newly sawn edges of the table. Then I propped them together and put some old saucepans underneath to support it while the glue dried.

  With the lights out and the curtains drawn, it could have looked worse, especially after I spread some marmalade over the join as a finishing touch, so I went back to making the magazine racks and hoped for the best.

  A lot more happened before the end of the story, Aunt Lucy, but I am running out of ink. However, as Mr. Brown’s instruction book said, my family were delighted with the magazine racks I made, and Mr. Curry couldn’t have been more surprised.

  The last I saw of him he was running round and round his garden brandishing half a table shouting, “BEAR! Where are you, BEAR?”

  It was Mrs. Bird who came to my rescue while I hid behind the dining-room curtains.

  She told Mr. Curry it wasn’t true to say you can’t please all the people all the time, and she made him a present of my carpentry outfit, so everyone was happy, including me!

  32 WINDSOR GARDENS, LONDON W2

  Letter No. 7

  Dear Aunt Lucy,

  You will never guess what happened to me last week. Mr. Gruber took me to see the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace. He had his camera with him, and he gave me a Union Jack flag on a stick in case I saw the Queen.

  I tried waving it through the railings, but I think she might have been out doing her shopping, because nobody waved back, and a policeman moved me on in case I got my head stuck.

  The palace is much bigger than the Home for Retired Bears. Instead of having a caretaker like ours who’s away most of the time and, as you sometimes say, needs changing when he is there, this one is so good I don’t see why they want to change him.

  Mind you, there are a lot of them, and they wear big black hats called a “busby.” People come from all over the place to see them, especially when the band plays and they march up and down.

  It was so crowded I had a job to see, so I tried crawling between people’s legs, and a small boy mistook me for a busby. Luckily he didn’t try to put me on his head; otherwise he would have had a shock.

  But the best time of all came after the ceremony was over and most of the crowd had gone. I was invited into the palace courtyard so that Mr. Gruber could take my photograph alongside one of the guards.

  He thinks perhaps the Queen likes bears, and she had seen me out of one of the palace windows after all, but we shall never know.

  Before I went to bed that night, I put my Wellington boots on and tried marching up and down my bedroom, but it wasn’t the same without a band. Then someone—I think it might have been Mrs. Bird—began knocking on the ceiling below me whenever I came to attention, so I had to pretend I was looking for my pajamas, but it had been a very lovely day.

  32 WINDSOR GARDENS, LONDON W2

  Letter No. 8

  Dear Aunt Lucy,

  Mr. Gruber’s shop is usually busiest at the end of the week, except during the summer months when the market is full of tourists, and because most of them are far from home—some from the other side of the world—they aren’t interested in buying antiques, so he often closes his shop for the day.

  When that happens, he likes nothing better than showing me round London, so our next day out was to Hampton Court Palace.

  It makes Buckingham Palace seem small. Everything about it is large, including a king called Henry the Eighth who used to live there. He had a lot of wives, which I expect is why there are so many rooms, because he used to get tired of them very quickly.

  Mr. Gruber showed me a bed where Queen Anne had slept. There was a rope round it which I thought must have been put there to stop her falling out during the night, but he told me it was to stop visitors getting in. I suppose if you are a queen you have to watch out for that kind of thing.

  I think little things like that are very interesting.

  From there we saw round the kitchens, where there are huge ovens. Mr. Gruber said it must have been where they made Royal buns. Unfortunately they weren’t doing it the day we were there, which was a pity. He laughed when I said that if they were to engage a few bears, they would have them up and running in no time at all.

  Next on the list of things to see was the Royal maze, which is entirely made of hedges and is said to be the biggest and oldest in the whole wide world.

  I was upset because Mr. Gruber had to pay extra before we were allowed in. I think it’s wrong to charge for going into a place and then make it as hard as possible to find your way out.

  Once again, if they had a bear running it, he would let people go in for free and make them buy a ticket in order to get out, charging extra the longer it took them to find the exit.

  Mr. Gruber looked very impressed when I told him. “I can see I’m in the wrong business, Mr. Brown,” he said. “We had better do it as quickly as possible,” he added, looking at his watch. “Mrs. Bird will wonder where we’ve got to if we take too long.”

  I didn’t want Mr. Gruber to get into trouble, so I made sure we didn’t get lost.

  When we came out, the man in the ticket office said it was the fastest he’d ever seen anyone do it. “You can’t have been right to the middle and back,” he said.

  But we had! I put marmalade chunks on the bushes as we went past them on the way in, and I followed them all the way back on the way out, but don’t tell anybody.

  Mr. Gruber said there are no flies on bears, but I expect there are a lot in the maze by now, especially when it’s a hot day!

  32 WINDSOR GARDENS, LONDON W2

  Letter No. 9

  Dear Aunt Lucy,

  I haven’t told you this before, but a few weeks ago I opened a BANK ACCOUNT!

  It was Mr. Brown’s idea, and he should know what he is talking about. He said it was asking for trouble keeping all my savings in a suitcase, even if it does have a secret compartment. Word would soon get around. It would be much better to put it into a bank and forget all about it. The best thing of all is that while the money is in the bank, it is not only safe but it earns something called “interest,” which means it gets bigger all the time.

  He was right about one thing. I soon forgot all about it, which is why I forgot to tell you, I’m afraid.

  The trouble began last week when I heard the Browns talking about going on a family holiday, and I thought since they have been very kind to me, why don’t I take some money out of my bank account and put it towards the cost.

  Once I got the idea I couldn’t wait to do it, so the next day I had an early-morning bath and took myself along to the nearest Floyds Bank.

  I was the first one in, and the man behind the counter didn’t realize I was there until I took my hat off. As I felt for my account book, he caught sight of a marmalade sandwich underneath it, and I don’t think he was very pleased.

  “What a way to treat a Floyds bankbook!” he said.

  Having explained I always keep a sandwich there in case I have an emergency, I asked him how much interest I had in my account and waited while he looked it up on a computer.

  “Ten pence,” he said.

  “Ten pence!” I repeated, giving him a hard stare.

  I could hardly believe my ears, and having told him I didn’t think it sounded very interesting at all, I asked him how much money there was in my account as a whole.

  “Five pounds and twenty-five pence,” he said. “You can have it back if you like.” And he pushed a note and some coins across the counter.

  I tell you, Aunt Lucy, it was like a nightmare. If I couldn’t believe my ears a moment before, I couldn’t believe my eyes now.

  Not only did the note have a different number on it and the coins a different date to the ones I gave them when I opened my account, but the note was old and full of creases, and the coins were dirty, whereas I had always kept them polished like I do with my Peruvian centavos.


  “That isn’t the note I gave you,” I said. “That one said you promise to pay the bear his money back on demand. It said so in writing.”

  “Not bear,” said the man. “Bearer. That’s quite a different matter. It means whoever happens to have it on them at the time.”

  There was only one thing for it. Mr. Gruber always says when you have a problem you should go straight to the top and don’t take No for an answer, so I asked to see Mr. Floyd; and do you know what the man said?

  “I’m sorry, sir. No one of that name works here! As for your note, there’s no knowing where it is by now. It may not even exist. They burn old notes, you know.”

  That did it! I went straight outside to the nearest telephone kiosk and dialed 999.

  A very nice girl asked me which service I required: Police, Fire, or Ambulance? So I said all three, please, but especially the fire brigade!

  If you ask me, banking isn’t as easy as it sounds; but to cut a long story short, as Mr. Brown might say, you will be glad to know everything was all right in the end. After all the fuss had died down, they gave me some new money and a policeman shook my paw.

  He said, “It’s a pity there aren’t more public-spirited bears about like you, sir. If everyone called for help when they saw anything suspicious, we would have a lot less work to do in the long run.”

  I think he might have had trouble with his bank account at some point, and I feel much better now.

  32 WINDSOR GARDENS, LONDON W2

  Letter No. 10

  Dear Aunt Lucy,

  I’m afraid I have to write this letter standing up, as it was Judy’s end-of-term Sports Day yesterday, and I did a lot of horse riding in one of the events.

  When she apologized for throwing me in at the deep end, I thought she had put my name down for a swimming race, which was a bit of a surprise because I didn’t have my armbands with me. However, it turned out to be something called a “gymkhana.”