Alan Alexander Milne

. It is the best way to write poetry, letting things come.”

As soon as he got home, he went to the larder; and he stood on a chair, and took down a very large jar of honey from the top shelf. It had HUNNY written on it, but, just to make sure, he took off the paper cover and looked at it, and it looked just like honey. ‘But you never can tell,’ said Pooh. ‘I remember my uncle saying once that he had seen cheese just this colour.’ So he put his tongue in, and took a large lick. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it is. No doubt about that. And honey, I should say, right down to the bottom of the jar. Unless, of course,’ he said, ‘somebody put cheese in at the bottom just for a joke. Perhaps I had better go a little further … just in case … in case Heffalumps don’t like cheese … same as me … Ah!’ And he gave a deep sigh. ‘I was right. It is honey, right the way down.’

The Sun was still in bed, but there was a lightness in the sky over the Hundred Acre Wood which seemed to show that it was waking up and would soon be kicking off the clothes. In the half-light the Pine Trees looked cold and lonely, and the Very Deep Pit seemed deeper than it was, and Pooh’s jar of honey at the bottom was something mysterious, a shape and no more. But as he got nearer to it his nose told him that it was indeed honey, and his tongue came out and began to polish up his mouth, ready for it.

‘Bother!’ said Pooh, as he got his nose inside the jar. ‘A Heffalump has been eating it!’ And then he thought a little and said, ‘Oh, no, I did. I forgot.’

Indeed, he had eaten most of it. But there was a little left at the very bottom of the jar, and he pushed his head right in, and began to lick. …

By and by Piglet woke up. As soon as he woke he said to himself, ‘Oh!’ Then he said bravely, ‘Yes,’ and then, still more bravely, ‘Quite so.’ But he didn’t feel very brave, for the word which was really jiggeting about in his brain was ‘Heffalumps.’

Eeyore has a birthday and gets two presents
Eeyore, the old grey Donkey, stood by the side of the stream, and looked at himself in the water.

‘Pathetic,’ he said. ‘That’s what it is. Pathetic.’

He turned and walked slowly down the stream for twenty yards, splashed across it, and walked slowly back on the other side. Then he looked at himself in the water again.

‘As I thought,’ he said. ‘No better from this side. But nobody minds. Nobody cares. Pathetic, that’s what it is.’

There was a crackling noise in the bracken behind him, and out came Pooh.

‘Good morning, Eeyore,’ said Pooh.

‘Good morning, Pooh Bear,’ said Eeyore gloomily. ‘If it is a good morning,’ he said. ‘Which I doubt,’ said he.

‘Why, what’s the matter?’

‘Nothing, Pooh Bear, nothing. We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.’

‘Can’t all what?’ said Pooh, rubbing his nose.

‘Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush.’

‘Oh!’ said Pooh. He thought for a long time, and then asked, ‘What mulberry bush is that?’

‘Bon-hommy,’ went on Eeyore gloomily. ‘French word meaning bonhommy,’ he explained. ‘I’m not complaining, but There It Is.’

‘Many happy returns of Eeyore’s birthday,’ said Pooh.

‘Oh, is that what it is?’

‘What are you giving him, Owl?’

‘What are you giving him, Pooh?’

‘I’m giving him a Useful Pot to Keep Things In, and I wanted to ask you—’

‘Is this it?’ said Owl, taking it out of Pooh’s paw.

‘Yes, and I wanted to ask you—’

‘Somebody has been keeping honey in it,’ said Owl.

‘You can keep anything in it,’ said Pooh earnestly. ‘It’s Very Useful like that. And I wanted to ask you—’

‘You ought to write “A Happy Birthday” on it.’

‘That was what I wanted to ask you,’ said Pooh. ‘Because my spelling is Wobbly. It’s good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places. Would you write “A Happy Birthday” on it for me?’

‘It’s a nice pot,’ said Owl, looking at it all round. ‘Couldn’t I give it too? From both of us?’

‘No,’ said Pooh. ‘That would not be a good plan. Now I’ll just wash it first, and then you can write on it.’

Well, he washed the pot out, and dried it, while Owl licked the end of his pencil, and wondered how to spell ‘birthday’.

‘Can you read, Pooh?’ he asked a little anxiously. ‘There’s a notice about knocking and ringing outside my door, which Christopher Robin wrote. Could you read it?’

‘Christopher Robin told me what it said, and then I could.’

‘Good morning, Christopher Robin,’ he said.

‘Good morning, Winnie-ther-Pooh,’ said you.

‘I wonder if you’ve got such a thing as a balloon about you?’

‘A balloon?’

‘Yes, I just said to myself coming along: “I wonder if Christopher Robin has such a thing as a balloon about him?” I just said it to myself, thinking of balloons, and wondering.’

‘What do you want a balloon for?’ you said.

Winnie-the-Pooh looked round to see that nobody was listening, put his paw to his mouth, and said in a deep whisper: ‘Honey!’

‘But you don’t get honey with balloons!’

‘I do,’ said Pooh.

Well, it just happened that you had been to a party the day before at the house of your friend Piglet, and you had balloons at the party. You had had a big green balloon; and one of Rabbit’s relations had had a big blue one, and had left it behind, being really too young to go to a party at all; and so you had brought the green one and the blue one home with you.

‘Which one would you like?’ you asked Pooh. He put his head between his paws and thought very carefully.

‘And many happy returns to you, Pooh Bear.’

‘But it isn’t my birthday.’

‘No, it’s mine.’

‘But you said “Many happy returns” – ’

‘Well, why not? You don’t always want to be miserable on my birthday, do you?’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Pooh.

‘It’s bad enough,’ said Eeyore, almost breaking down, ‘being miserable myself, what with no presents and no cake and no candles, and no proper notice taken of me at all, but if everybody else is going to be miserable too – ’

This was too much for Pooh. ‘Stay there!’ he called to Eeyore, as he turned and hurried back home as quick as he could; for he felt that he must get poor Eeyore a present of some sort at once, and he could