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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 coloured 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 neighbour leaning out of his bedroom window. Mr Curry was dressed in pyjamas 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 favour 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-jobman. 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 neighbourhood 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-jobman 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 colour 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 colour 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-jobman, 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 the snow I’ll see what I can do to oblige.”

Mr James disappeared from view only to return a moment later carrying a large brown paper parcel. “I’m lending Mr Curry a blowlamp,” he explained. “And I’ve slipped in a book on plumbing as well. He might find a few tips in it if he gets stuck.”

“A blowlamp!” exclaimed Paddington, his eyes growing larger and larger. “I don’t think he’ll like that very much.”

“You can take it or leave it,” said Mr James. “It’s all the same to me. But if you want my advice, bear, you’ll take it. This weather’s going to get a lot worse before it gets any better.”

So saying, Mr James bade a final good morning and closed his door firmly, leaving Paddington standing on the step with a very worried expression on his face as he stared down at the parcel in his paws.

Mr Curry didn’t have a very good temper at the best of times and the thought of waking him in order to hand over a blowlamp or even a book on plumbing, especially when he had a bad cold, filled him with alarm.

Paddington’s face grew longer and longer the more he thought about it but by the time he turned to make his way back to Windsor Gardens his whiskers were so well covered by flakes that only the closest passer-by would have noticed anything amiss.

Mrs Brown paused in her housework as a small figure hurried past the kitchen window. “I suppose,” she said with a sigh, “we can look forward to paw prints all over the house for the next few days.”

“If this weather keeps on, that bear’ll have to watch more than his paws,” said Mrs Bird as she joined her. “He’ll have to mind his p’s and q’s as well.”

The Browns’ housekeeper held very strict views on the subject of dirty floors, particularly when they were the result of bears’ ‘goings on’ in the snow, and she followed Paddington’s progress into Mr Brown’s garage with a disapproving look.

“I think he must be helping out next door,” said Mrs Brown as Paddington came into view again clutching something beneath his duffle coat. “It sounds as if Mr Curry’s having trouble with his pipes.”