Having put the socks and gloves in the very back of the drawer, he turned to 1001 Things to Do in the Holidays. On page three it suggested clearing out the potting shed, and on page five it suggested putting toys in boxes with sticky labels on them, and on page seven it suggested: Why not make a list of all the people you most admire from your history books?

Christopher Robin did not know what it said on page nine, because after reading pages even he had closed the book and never opened it again.

But there had been one present that he had liked very much. This had been a cricket bat, a cricket ball, and two sets of stumps with bails that assembled into a wicket. There was also a pair of batting gloves, some shin pads, a pair of wicket-keeping gloves, a scoring book with pencils, a pencil sharpener, an eraser, a tin of linseed oil, and some squares of cotton for rubbing the oil into the bat. All of which fitted very neatly into a splendid sausage-shaped bag. Everything you needed to play cricket.

This time, when he wrote his thank-you letter, he had added pictures in coloured crayons, and his batting average for the past two summers, and signed the letter, Love from Christopher Robin. And he meant it too.

On this particular day—it may have been a Tuesday, because it often was—he brought the bag to a clearing in the Forest halfway between his house and Owl’s house and setup the stumps and the bails on a patch of ground which was not too bumpy. Then he went around the edge of the playing area with a bag of stones, laying them out to mark the boundary. It was not long before most of the others had gathered around, and Christopher Robin began to explain the rules. “Cricket is a game between two teams. Each team bats once—that’s called an innings—and tries to score as many runs as possible.

“The batter faces the bowler from the opposite team, who bowls the ball at him like this.” Christopher Robin turned his arm and opened his fingers as if he was letting a ball fly out of his hand. “If he hits the ball, the batter sprints towards where the bowler was standing, and back again. If he reaches the bowler, he scores a run, and if he gets back to where he started from he scores another. If the ball goes right outside the boundary without bouncing, he’s scored six runs. But if it bounces, then he only gets four.”

“That’s easy,” said Piglet. “You could just keep going backwards and forwards and getting loads of runs.”

“Ah, yes, but the other team is trying to stop you. If you miss the ball and it knocks over your stumps, you’re out. If you hit the ball and one of the fielders catches it before it bounces, then you’re out too. The same goes if the fielder throws the ball and hits the stumps while you are running. When all the first team is out, everyone changes places, and the batters become the bowlers and fielders.”

“Seems like a lot of running up and down,” said Eeyore, “for no very good purpose.”

“No, no,” said Christopher Robin, getting excited. “You see, it’s like this...”

So he told them more strange things, about having a Short Leg and a Silly Point, and Run Outs, and when a ball was a no-ball and things like that. And while the animals felt that this cricket business was not entirely sensible, they definitely started to get the idea that it was fun.

Over the next few days, from morning until night, while the bees buzzed contentedly around the hollow oak and the gentle whine of an airplane looping the loop above the Hundred Acre Wood throbbed in the scented air, it was cricket, cricket, and ever more cricket.

Finally, Kanga, who had relatives in Australia, proposed that a proper match should be arranged and that it should be a Test Match. Pooh asked what that was.

Christopher Robin said: “A Test Match is a very important game played between England and Australia. The winner gets the Ashes.”

“What ashes are those?” asked Rabbit.

“I’m not quite sure, Rabbit.”

“I’ve got the ashes of my Uncle Robert in a vase on my mantelpiece,” said Owl. “It blew over in the great gale and the vase broke, but I got a new vase and most of the ashes.”

“I think we should have a Test Match,” said Kanga. “Me and Roo can be Australia and the rest of you can be England.”

“There can’t be just the two of you,” said Christopher Robin, “that wouldn’t be fair at all.”

“We’re very good,”said Roo. “Really we are. Watch me,watchme!”Saying which, he swung the bat in the air and fell over backwards as he aimed it at the ball. “That was just a practice swing!” he explained, and tried again and fell over backwards again.

“If there were just the two of you, with one of you bowling and one of you keeping wicket, there would be nobody left to field,” said Christopher Robin. “I need to think about this.”

He went to sit on a large boulder, which was an excellent place to think because it was just the right height and did not interrupt. Eventually he climbed down, and announced, “We will have a Test Match, but we won’t be playing for the ashes of Owl’s Uncle Robert and it won’t be England against Australia. The match will be between the four-legged and the two-legged animals. It will be held on the day after tomorrow and will begin at eleven.”

“Cricket under the trees and having fun. Count me out,” grumbled Eeyore.

“But, Eeyore,” said Pooh. “We won’t be able to manage without you.”

Eeyore raised an eyebrow.

“These are theteams,”continued Christopher Robin. “The Four Legs: Pooh, Tigger, Rabbit, and Piglet.

The Two Legs: Kanga, Roo, and me. Owl is to be the umpire.”

“I will captain the Four Legs team,” said Rabbit immediately, while some of the others counted their legs.

Lottie cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said quietly.

“Oh, Lottie, I am sorry,”said Christopher Robin, but the truth of it was that he couldn’t remember whether Lottie had four legs or two, and it seemed rude to look.

“I know my legs are quite short,” Lottie continued, “but that is the way with otters. There are four of them and they have been much admired.”

“Of course, Lottie,” said Christopher Robin, “I was only hesitating because the Four Legs already outnumber the Two Legs.”

“Then I shall play for the Two Legs of course,” said Lottie.

After Christopher Robin had thought about it, and Rabbit had got tired of waiting and had gone to clear out the larder—there was never much in it because he liked it to be clean—and Pooh had had several smackerels of honey and Piglet had become quite pink with excitement thinking about the match and Tigger had had a swallow of the linseed oil and not cared for it at all, a team sheet was produced with the teams set out impressively like this:

“What does the scorer do?” asked Henry Rush, the beetle.

“He adds things up and writes everything down in a book. How is your adding?” said Christopher Robin.

“It’s very good some of the time,” replied Henry Rush, “ but it’s difficult when you haven’t got fingers.”

“Just do your best,” said Christopher Robin, patting him gently on the shell.

Christopher Robin made several copies of the team sheet, and decorated them with bats and balls and stumps and bails, and pinned them to the trees around the clearing. Piglet took a copy and showed it to Eeyore.

“It’s good, isn’t it, Eeyore? We’re all on it,” he pointed. “This is where it says my name. And your name, Eeyore, is here and here...”

“Here and here?” inquired Eeyore.

“Yes, Eeyore, because Christopher Robin says you are to be wicket-keeper for both sides.”

“A wicked-keeper, little Piglet? Well, well, well.” Eeyore did not know what a “wicked-keeper” was, or what it did, but it sounded necessary.

It was time for the umpire to toss a coin to decide who would bat first. Captain Rabbit had not come back after going to clean his larder, so Tigger was sent to retrieve him, and Pooh was selected as Acting Captain for the Four Legs team.

“Heads or tails?” asked Owl, the umpire.

“I don’t know, Owl,” said Pooh. “Which is better?”

“Whichever is going to come down on top.”

“But I don’t know that.”

“Which is why I am asking you to guess, Pooh Bear.”

Poohcalledheads but the coin came down tails up, and Christopher Robin annouced that the Two Legs would bat first with Kanga and Lottie opening the innings.

“Where does the wicked-keeper go?” Eeyore asked.

“Behind the wicket, of course,” said Christopher Robin. “You have to catch the ball.”

“How do I do that?” asked Eeyore, looking at his hooves.

“Any way you can, Eeyore. You have pads and gloves.”

“I hardly like to mention this, Christopher Robin, but there only appear to be two pads and others are wearing them.”

“You’ll just have to do the best you can,” said Christopher Robin, who was beginning to think that there was too much talking and not enough playing.

Rabbit, as Captain, made Pooh the bowler, saying he needed the exercise. Lottie hit the first ball of the innings into a clump of heather, and it was only when Friends and Relations joined in the search that the ball was found. At the end of Lottie’s first six balls, Henry Rush’s scoring team put 30 in the scoring book, under instruction from Rabbit, who kept muttering bad-temperedly, “She’s scored three sixes and three fours! Lottie should be on my team.”

On his second go at bowling, Pooh became more confident and bowled a couple of really fast ones, the first of which struck Eeyore on the chest.

“Well stopped, Eeyore!” cried Rabbit, andthere was scattered applause.

“Couldn’t help it,” wheezed Eeyore.

Then it was Tigger’s turn to bowl. He threw the ball high into the air.

“That’s called adonkey-drop,” said Christopher Robin.

“Not by me,” muttered Eeyore.

This time, instead of using the bat to hit the ball, Lottie leapt into the air, twisting and turning, and caught hold of it in mid-flight. Everyone applauded her athleticism but Christopher Robin had to explain that she was not supposed to catch it except when the other side was batting.

“Out!” cried Owl.

“What do you mean by ‘Out’?” Lottie went up to Owl, the umpire, and glared at him.

Owl did not react. Christopher Robin explained that if the umpire said you were out he did not need to tell you why.

“You’re no gentleman,” Lottie told Owl and sulked for a while behind some bluebells, before realizing how pretty they looked and picking herself a bunch.

Now it was Kanga’s turn to bat. She put Roo into her pouch and when she ran she claimed double the score.

“Both Roo and me,” she said.

“Not sure about that,” said Owl, and after several such runs judged Roo to be out because his feet had not touched the ground.

When Kanga challenged him, Owl explained: “It says Two Legs, not No Legs. I can’t allow any of those runs to count for either of you. And you’re out too, Kanga, for arguing with the umpire.”

Fortunately for the Two Legs, Christopher Robin was still to bat against Rabbit, and he thwacked the ball for four sixes, one after another, just like that. When Piglet took his turn as bowler he found the ball so heavy that Owl allowed him to run halfway along the pitch before rolling it along the ground. It was Piglet who finally did it for Christopher Robin, bowled out after thirty-three runs.

This was what Henry Rush, with a little help from Christopher Robin, wrote in the smart new scoring book:

Rabbit and Kanga had spent the morning erecting a sort of shade under the chestnut trees. It consisted of a number of sheets and blankets stitched together. Now, between the two innings, was the time for a refreshing pot of tea and some peppery cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off.

While they ate, they discussed the match. Was seventy-five a winning score? Should Owl have given Roo out, or, for that matter, Kanga? How clever of Piglet to have bowled the ball that knocked over Christopher Robin’s wicket.

A little apart from the others stood Eeyore, grumbling as usual. “This wicked-keeping. Standing there and having things thrown at me. A brick wall would do just as well.”

“Oh, Eeyore,” said Christopher Robin. “We couldn’t have a match without you.”

“Is that what they’re saying, Christopher Robin? Or is it, ‘Let the old donkey do it’?”

“Have a cucumber sandwich, Eeyore,” suggested Christopher Robin.

“Prefer thistles. More chewy on the whole. Have we finished now, Christopher Robin? Can we go home and nurse our bruises?” asked Eeyore.

“We’ve finished the first half, Eeyore.”

“More, is there? Might have guessed there would be. Still, maybe it will rain.”

But it did not even look like rain.

Soon it was time for the Four Legs to take their turn at batting, with seventy-six runs needed to win. Owl slipped on his white umpiring coat and took up his position facing the stumps. Pooh was the first to bat.

Christopher Robin told Kanga to field at a position called Silly Mid-Off and Roo at Silly Mid-On, which meant that Kanga had to glare at Roo for several seconds before he would stop giggling. Then Christopher Robin handed the ball to Lottie.

Twisting and turning as she ran up to bowl, Lottie sent the ball in an arc towards the stumps. When it hit the ground it shot up and caught Pooh on the nose, before falling back and landing on the wicket.

“Out!” said Owl, raising a wing sternly into the air.

“Ow!” wailed Pooh.

Then it was Tigger’s turn. It didn’t take him long to score twenty-seven runs. Then, in his excitement at hitting the ball into a bird’s nest in the chestnut tree (they had had to send Owl to fly up and bring it down), Tigger bounced right over the wicket and landed on top of Eeyore.

“How’s that?” cried Christopher Robin.

“Painful,” gasped Eeyore from underneath Tigger.

“Out. Caught by Eeyore,” said Owl.

Rabbit came in to bat, and nudged the ball here, there, and everywhere until he was bowled out by Christopher Robin.

“I thought I’d better give the others a chance,” Rabbit commented.

The last in was Piglet, and it was now up to him to score the six runs needed to win the match for the Four Legs. Lottie was to bowl.

During practice, Piglet had found Christopher Robin’s birthday bat rather too long and heavy for him to wield, and Rabbit had made him a smaller version out of a cut-down broom handle. But with the first ball from Lottie, Piglet’s broom-handle bat shattered.

“Ow!” cried Piglet. “That stung! And what will I bat with now?”

“You’ll have to use the big one,”said Christopher Robin.

“But it’s bigger than I am!” worried Piglet.

“Maybe you can hide behind it, little Piglet,” said Eeyore.

“I’m sure Lottie won’t bowl too fast at you,” said Christopher Robin, but there was a glint in Lottie’s eye that suggested otherwise.

The otter ran in to bowl.

“I don’t want to be here,” muttered Piglet, shrinking behind the bat as Lottie approached, looking huge. “I’d much rather be in bed.”

The ball, released at great speed by Lottie, landed on the beginnings of a molehill and bounced onto the very edge of Piglet’s bat. Piglet dropped the heavy wood with a squawk, but the ball had acquired such momentum that it sailed high into the air and straight over the stones that marked the boundary. A moment of amazed silence was followed by Owl raising his wings and flapping them in the air.

“Six runs,” he announced. “Four Legs win the match.”

“I did it!” Piglet was hopping up and down in excitement. “I hit a six! I won the game!”

The other players on the Four Legs side—Tigger, Pooh, Rabbit, and Eeyore—gathered around Piglet and raised him high into the air. Christopher Robin, Lottie, Kanga, and Roo looked on, smiling despite their disappointment.

“Three cheers for the Four Legs!” cried Christopher Robin. “Hip, hip—”

“Hooray!” cried the others.

“And three more cheers for Piglet!” cried Roo.

So they cheered and cheered some more while Christopher Robin helped Henry Rush and his young assistants to complete the page in the scoring book.

Late into the evening, everyone sat around a bonfire (the shattered bat had come in useful as kindling) and listened as Christopher Robin told them stories of the great cricketers of past generations.

“But,” he added, “in the annals of cricketing legend, whenever and wherever stories are told, they will also mention the mighty six that Piglet hit with a bat taller than he was in the Test Match between the Two Legs and the Four Legs late one summer’s afternoon in the Hundred Acre Wood.”

“Oh...” sighed Piglet happily, as he carelessly toasted a cucumber sandwich. Then he dreamed for a while, until he was roused by Pooh announcing that he had composed a hum to commemorate the occasion.

“I would very much like to hear it,” said Lottie, who had, after all, been the top scorer of the match.

“So would I,” whispered Piglet.

And so here is the hum as hummed by Pooh on the night of the great match, as the eyes of the cricketers shone and glistened in the firelight under the chestnut trees:

“But,” said Pooh, “it wasn’t really like a fish, only I couldn’t think of anything else and then I ran out of time, and sometimes it’s best to have something not quite right in a hum so that everybody can say: ‘Humph! I could have done it better myself.’”

“I couldn’t have,” said Christopher Robin quietly.