History does not record which anthropomorphic mammal served as psychopomp to the late George VI. Some sort of bulldog in a Union Flag hat, one imagines.
There is no doubt who has taken this role for his daughter. Early last week, mourners were urged not to leave Paddington Bear toys or marmalade sandwiches as a tribute to Britain’s Queen Elizabeth. Quite sensibly, the royal parks asked the public to “only lay organic or compostable material”. It would be easy to use this story as a platform to expound on the infantilisation of contemporary grief (all the more reason to do so, you may quip). Columnists had much fun doing just that as the teddy bears piled up outside Kensington Palace following the death of Princess Diana.
And, yes, some of the Paddington-related mourn-porn is as nauseating as it is bizarre. One particular drawing tested the stomachs of even the most lachrymose recreational griever. The queen walks away from the artist with a corgi to her left and the popular Peruvian bear to her right. “I’ve done my duties, Paddington. Please take me to my husband,” the queen commands.
Hang on. At what point did Paddington take on the role of Grim Reaper to the royal family? Of Anubis? Of Charon? Will he escort all of us across the river Styx? Is he coming back or has he been ritually immolated on a pyre outside his eponymous railway station? Even if stories about the image being tattooed on monarchists’ calves are exaggerated, this is one heck of a deranged promotion for Michael Bond’s hitherto humble creation.
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For all the madness on display, there are, however, reasons to cautiously celebrate what has become of Paddington – and not just because it didn’t happen to that (literal) bell-end Noddy or, sticking with the ursine, the perennially sinister Rupert.
Paddington is nearly as old as the queen’s now completed reign. Bond, a veteran of the Middlesex Regiment in the second World War, was inspired by a teddy bear he bought for his wife in 1956. As you won’t need to told, the character is found, attached to a note bearing the words “please look after this bear”, by the Brown family in Paddington Station. They name him for that terminus and take him to their home, where he fast becomes an invaluable companion. He enjoys marmalade sandwiches and cocoa. He is invariably polite to people who deserve such treatment. The rude and the needlessly bureaucratic get one of his famous hard stares. A Bear Called Paddington, featuring never-bettered illustrations by Peggy Fortnum, emerged in 1958 and he has been part of British culture ever since.
[ Queen reveals marmalade sandwiches in handbag to Paddington in comic sketchOpens in new window ]
Right from the start, the bear – as often noted, an immigrant himself – was a friend to the dispossessed and the dislocated. He gets on well with a Hungarian refugee named Mr Gruber. Bond drew on memories of wartime evacuees when creating Paddington and, decades later, was happy to hear he had become a mascot for those supporting displaced people. “Well, why not, I suppose? One likes to think of one’s country that child refugees are well treated,” he said. “I think they’re probably not as well treated as they might be.”
The character exhibits what the English like to think of as a decency unique to their island nation (every country has such delusions). He is not the sort of characteristic English creature who enjoys slaughtering Zulus, force-feeding suffragettes or flinging Gandhi in prison. He is the sort of characteristic English creature who values decency, politeness and tolerance of difference. That amiable personality survived the lovely TV adaptation in the 1970s and was, if anything, enhanced for the admired films of the current century. The breathlessly lauded Paddington 2 – a superior sequel to compare with Bride of Frankenstein and The Godfather Part II – was a model of diversity and openheartedness throughout.
This is where the queen comes in. Ponder two fictional guests of similar vintage she welcomed to the palace over the past decade. In 2012, for the opening ceremony of the London Olympics, she had a bit of fun with the then-current incarnation of James Bond (not as well kept a secret as is now pretended, by the way). Earlier this year, in celebration of her platinum jubilee, she and the duffel-coated bear – the version voiced by Ben Whishaw in the films – shared marmalade sandwiches to agreeably comic effect. It was not the Aston-Martin-driving, Martini-guzzling, imperial thug who ended up as unofficial mascot of her lying in state. It was the soft-spoken, open-hearted, generously-minded bear who, six years into her reign, arrived in West London with little else but a hat and a label. As I type these words, the BBC is announcing that both Paddington films will screen this weekend in the queen’s honour.
Suppress your gag reflex. Better that character than many others. It could have been Harry stupid Potter.
