Welcome to Mr. Pye


By the way, there are bears that can sing songs, encourage people and answer questions. Some of them seem happy, others sad; a few claim to be bored, while the really bright ones appear to be interested in everything. About two billion teddies exist on earth. One of them is a fairly hairy type with a long sort of sewn up muzzle, to whom one can confide anything: Mr Pye. Nothing is known of his birthplace; of the rumour that he was adopted by a crippled seamstress and spent his early years from 1903 to 1907 by a river, he has in principle nothing to say.

According to unconfirmed collectors’ reports, Mr Pye stayed for a while in an international city; that may have been fifty or ten years ago and/or in a capital city. Our gentle teddy refuses to confirm such personal biographical details and remains unflustered about the matter precisely because he wishes to go down in history as an ageless cosmopolitan.

Whether Mr Pye speaks several languages, has studied psychology, likes sitting in pubs, wears tinted contact lenses, prefers genuine mohair to cheap plush, suffers from attacks of migraine or moth and has special quirks or none at all, one should not inquire of him. To say nothing of attempts to discover his true gender. In Mr Pye’s circles, such things are unseemly.

Was it Mr. Pye that the President of a World Power used to talk to in particularly serious situations? Did he possibly have a pseudonym for a while and go motor racing up to 1967? Can he claim to have been the favourite travelling companion of a famous authoress? Did Mr Pye even inspire a musician to write the hit Just Want To Be You Teddy Bear? Maybe, or maybe not.

So what can we be sure of? First, of this much: Mr Pye has no sympathy for trick or any other personal questions. He refuses to bare his soul to anyone. But as for personal research into any possible events in his vicinity he always sits or stands at the ready.