Shirley Clarkson: my life with Paddington Bear
I now know what it feels like to be James Bond. The scene was the Belgian customs house at Ostend. Eddie, my husband, and I were on an ill-conceived and ill-fated trip to Cologne. God! I can’t believe how stupid we were.
We approached customs with a cheery smile. They were more than a little concerned about the contents of the car; hobbyhorse heads poking out of the rear windows, Paddington Bears along the parcel shelf. We explained that we were toy makers on our way to a trade fair. Silly move!
Apparently you need “green forms” for this – odd how the colour sticks in my mind, nearly 40 years on. To obtain said forms required a visit to some office that was closed until Monday morning. It was now Friday evening; our fair opened on Saturday.
Say what you like about the Belgians, but there is, or was, a customs officer at Ostend in 1972 with a heart the size of a bucket. Seeing my tear-stained face, he took Eddie to one side and told him to keep the engine running, wait until the man on the gate went into the cabin for his cocoa, and then make a dash for it.
Our Audi made nought to 60 in less than a second in a haze of blue smoke. We belted off to Cologne.
When we got there the Germans couldn’t see the point of Paddington Bear.
