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    Paddington Marches On
    Paddington Marches On
    Paddington Marches On
    Ebook129 pages1 hour

    Paddington Marches On

    By Michael Bond and Peggy Fortnum

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Paddington is just the kind of bear to volunteer for a tough job. Whether it’s trying his paw at plumbing, cleaning the Browns’ chimney, or visiting a marmalade factory, Paddington always manages to seek out the unexpected.

    First published in 1964, Paddington Marches On is the sixth novel by Michael Bond chronicling the adventures of this classic character. Paddington has warmed the hearts of generations of readers with his earnest good intentions and humorous misadventures. This edition of the classic novel contains the original text by Michael Bond and illustrations by Peggy Fortnum.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateMay 17, 2016
    ISBN9780062312334
    Author

    Michael Bond

    Michael Bond was born in Newbury, Berkshire on 13 January 1926 and educated at Presentation College, Reading. He served in the Royal Air Force and the British Army before working as a cameraman for BBC TV for 19 years. In 2015, Michael was awarded a CBE for his services to children’s literature, to add to the OBE he received in 1997. Michael died in 2017, leaving behind one of the great literary legacies of our time.

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      Book preview

      Paddington Marches On - Michael Bond

      CONTENTS

      1. Paddington and the Cold Snap

      2. A Most Unusual Ceremony

      3. Paddington Makes a Clean Sweep

      4. Mr. Gruber’s Mystery Tour

      5. Paddington Saves the Day

      6. A Day by the Sea

      7. An Unexpected Party

      Books by Michael Bond

      Credits

      Copyright

      About the Publisher

      Chapter One

      PADDINGTON AND THE COLD SNAP

      Paddington stood on the front doorstep of Number thirty-two Windsor Gardens and sniffed the morning air. He peered out through the gap between his duffle coat hood and a brightly colored scarf which was wound tightly about his neck.

      On the little that could be seen of his face behind some unusually white-looking whiskers there was a mixture of surprise and excitement as he took in the sight which met his eyes.

      Overnight a great change had come over the weather. Whereas the day before had been mild, almost spring-like for early January, now everything was covered by a thick white blanket of snow which reached almost to the top of his Wellington boots.

      Not a sound disturbed the morning air. Apart from the clatter of breakfast things in the kitchen, where Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Bird were busy washing up, the only sign that he wasn’t alone in the world came from a row of milk bottle tops poking through the snow on the step and a long trail of footprints where the postman had been earlier that day.

      Paddington liked snow, but as he gazed at the view in the street outside, he almost agreed with Mrs. Bird, the Browns’ housekeeper, that it was possible to have too much of a good thing. Since he’d been living with the Brown family, there had been several of Mrs. Bird’s cold snaps, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing one before in which the snow had settled quite so deep and crisp and evenly.

      All the same, Paddington wasn’t the sort of bear to waste a good opportunity, and a moment or so later he closed the door behind him and made his way down the side of the house as quickly as he could in order to investigate the matter. Apart from the prospect of playing snowballs, he was particularly anxious to test his new Wellingtons, which had been standing in his bedroom waiting for just such a moment ever since Mrs. Brown had given them to him at Christmas.

      After he reached Mr. Brown’s cabbage patch, Paddington busied himself scooping the snow up with his paws and rolling it into firm round balls which he threw at the clothes post. But after several of the larger ones narrowly missed hitting the next-door greenhouse instead, he hastily turned his attention to the more important task of building a snowman, and gradually peace returned once again to Windsor Gardens.

      It was some while later, just as he was adding the finishing touches to the snowman’s head with some old lemonade bottle tops, that the quiet was suddenly shattered by the sound of a nearby window being flung open.

      Bear! came a loud voice. Is that you, bear?

      Paddington jumped in alarm as he lifted his duffle coat hood and caught sight of the Browns’ next-door neighbor leaning out of his bedroom window. Mr. Curry was dressed in pajamas and a dressing gown, and half of his face seemed to be hidden behind a large white handkerchief.

      I’ve finished throwing snowballs, Mr. Curry, explained Paddington hastily. I’m making a snowman instead.

      To his surprise Mr. Curry looked unusually friendly as he lifted the handkerchief from his face. That’s all right, bear, he called in a mild tone of voice. "I wasn’t grumbling. I just wondered if you would care to do me a small favor and earn yourself ten-pence bun money into the bargain.

      I’ve caught a nasty cold in my dose, he continued as Paddington climbed up on a box and peered over the fence.

      "A cold in your dose, Mr. Curry," repeated Paddington, looking most surprised. He had never heard of anyone having a cold in their dose before, and he stared up at the window with interest.

      Mr. Curry took a deep breath. "Not dose, he said, swallowing hard and making a great effort. Dnose. And as if that isn’t enough, my system is frozen."

      Paddington became more and more upset as he listened to Mr. Curry, and he nearly fell off his box with alarm at the last piece of information. Your system’s frozen! he exclaimed. I’ll ask Mrs. Bird to send for Doctor MacAndrew.

      Mr. Curry snorted. I don’t want a doctor, bear, he said crossly. I want a plumber. It’s not my own pipes that are frozen. It’s the water pipes. There isn’t even enough left in the tank to fill my hot-water bottle.

      Paddington looked slightly disappointed as a heavy object wrapped in a piece of paper landed at his feet.

      That’s my front-door key, explained Mr. Curry. I want you to take it along to Mr. James, the odd-job man. Tell him he’s to come at once. I shall be in bed, but he can let himself in. And tell him not to make too much noise—I may be asleep. And no hanging about the bun shop on the way; otherwise you won’t get your ten pence.

      With that Mr. Curry blew his nose violently several times and slammed his window shut.

      Mr. Curry was well known in the neighborhood for his meanness. He had a habit of promising people a reward for running errands, but somehow whenever the time for payment arrived, he was never to be found. Paddington had a nasty feeling in the back of his mind that this was going to be one of those occasions, and he stood staring up at the empty window for some moments before he turned and made his way slowly in the direction of Mr. James’s house.

      Curry! exclaimed Mr. James as he stood in his doorway and stared down at Paddington. Did you say Curry?

      That’s right, Mr. James, said Paddington, raising his duffle coat hood politely. His system’s frozen, and he can’t even fill his hot-water bottle.

      Hard luck, said the odd-job man unsympathetically. I’m having enough trouble with me own pipes this morning let alone that there Mr. Curry’s. Besides, I know him and his little jobs. He hasn’t paid me yet for the last one I did—and that was six months ago. Tell him from me, I want to see the color of his money before I do anything else, and even then I’ll have to think twice.

      Paddington looked most disappointed as he listened to Mr. James. From the little he could remember of Mr. Curry’s money, it was usually a very dirty color as if it had been kept under lock and key for a long time, and he felt sure Mr. James would be even less keen on doing any jobs if he saw it.

      Tell you what, said the odd-job man, relenting slightly as he caught sight of the expression on Paddington’s face. "Hang on a tick. Seeing you’ve come a long way in

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