Paddington Marches On. Michael Bond
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First published in Great Britain
by William Collins Sons and Co. Ltd. in 1964
This edition first published by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 1998 This edition published in 2018
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd, 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF
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Text copyright © Michael Bond 1964
Illustrations copyright © Peggy Fortnum
and William Collins Sons and Co. Ltd. 1964
The author and illustrator assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work.
Cover illustration adapted and coloured by Mark Burgess from the original by Peggy Fortnum
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Source ISBN: 9780006753629
eBook Edition © JANURARY 2012 ISBN: 9780007402588
Version: 2018-05-23
Contents
1. Paddington and the ‘Cold Snap’
3. Paddington Makes a Clean Sweep
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