Mary Poppins Comes Back

by P. L. Travers

  “He can’t sing in tune,” the two boys whispered. “But he doesn’t know it and we don’t tell him.”

  “And then there’s the music of the spheres, a sort of steady, droning sound. Rather like that spinning thing I saw you with today.”

  “My humming top! I’ll get it,” said Jane.

  She ran to the perambulator that was like an over-crowded bird’s nest, with John and Barbara and Annabel asleep on each other’s shoulders.

  Jane thrust in her hand and rummaged among them.

  “It’s not here. Oh, I’ve lost my top!”

  “No, you haven’t,” said a gloomy voice, as a thin man and a fat woman came hand in hand into the Garden. “It fell out on to the Long Walk and we found it as we came by.”

  “It’s Mr and Mrs Turvy!” cried Michael, as he dashed away to greet them.

  “Well, it may be and it may not. You can’t be certain of anything. Not today, you can’t. You think you’re this and you find you’re that. You want to hurry, so you crawl like a snail.” The thin man gave a doleful sigh.

  “Oh, Cousin Arthur,” Mary Poppins protested. “It’s not your Second Monday, not one of your upside-down days!”

  “I’m afraid it is, Mary, my dear. And tonight of all nights, when I want to go looking for my own True Love, just like everyone else.”

  “But you’ve already found her, Arthur!” Mrs Turvy reminded him.

  “So you say, Topsy. And I’d like to believe it. But nothing’s sure on the Second Monday.”

  “You’ll be sure tomorrow. Tomorrow’s Tuesday.”

  “And what if tomorrow never comes? It would be just like it to stay away.” Mr Turvy was unconvinced. “Well, here’s your top and much good may it do you.” He turned aside, wiping an eye, as Jane set the coloured top on the path.

  “Not yet, not yet!” Orion cried, suddenly cupping his hand to his ear.

  From somewhere among the surrounding trees a bird gave a quick enquiring chirp that was followed by a rush of half-notes, not so much song as a series of kisses.

  “A nightingale tuning up. Oh, glory!” Orion’s face was alight with joy.

  “It belongs to Mr Twigley,” said Michael. “It’s the only one in the Park.”

  “Some people do have all the luck. To own a nightingale! Think of it! Come on, come on, my lovely boy! Spin your old humming top, Jane! He’ll out-sing it, be sure.”

  The four children fell on the shining toy, shouldering each other aside, arguing and complaining.

  “I’ll start it! No, you won’t, it’s mine! Me! Me! Me!” they all shouted.

  “Is this a Herb Garden or a Bear Pit?” demanded Mary Poppins.

  “Certainly not a Bear Pit. Bears are better behaved,” said the Bear.

  “But, Mary Poppins, it’s not fair!” Castor and Pollux protested. “We haven’t got a top up there. They might give us a chance.”

  “Well, we haven’t got a flying horse!” Jane and Michael were equally indignant.

  Mary Poppins folded her arms and favoured them all with her fierce blue glance.

  “Hooligans, the lot of you!” she said. “You haven’t got this and you haven’t got that. Tops or horses – take what you’re given. Nobody has everything.”

  And in spite, or perhaps because of her fierceness that embraced them all equally, their anger melted away.

  Castor and Pollux sat back on their heels. “Not even you, Mary Poppins?” they teased her. “With your new pink dress and your daisy hat?”

  “And your carpet bag! And your parrot umbrella!” Jane and Michael joined in.

  She preened a little at the compliment as she gave her characteristic sniff. “That’s as may be,” she retorted. “And no affair of yours either. I will start the top myself!”

  She stooped to seize the handle, and pumped it briskly up and down.

  Slowly, the top began to turn and as it turned, it hummed – faintly at first but gradually, as it gathered speed, the sound became one long deep note, filling the Herb Garden with its music, a bee-like humming and drumming.

  “A ring! Make a ring!” cried Castor and Pollux. “The Grand Chain, everyone!”

  And at once they all came into a circle, formally moving round the top as the earth moves round the sun. Right hand to right hand, left hand to left – the Bear with his sugar-stick in his mouth, the Fox dapper in his Foxgloves, the Hare nib-nibbling a sprig of Parsley.

  Round and round. Hand to hand. Mary Poppins and the two Banks children, Mrs Corry, her daughters and the Bird Woman, Mr Turvy dragging his feet, Mrs Turvy dancing.

  Round and round. Hand to hand. Orion girt with his lion-skin, Pollux with his tunic full of herbs, and Michael’s string bag, bursting with Coltsfoot, slung about Castor’s neck.

  Round and round, each hand taking the hand of each, and the big Bird flying among them. The top spun and the circle spun round it, and the Park round the circle, the earth round the Park and the darkening sky round the earth.

  The Nightingale, now the night was come, came to the full of his song. Jug, jug, jug, tereu! it went, over and over, from the elder tree, outsinging the hum of the top. The song would never be done, it seemed, and the top would never stop spinning. The circle of humans and constellations would go on turning for ever.

  But suddenly the bird was silent and the top, with a last musical cry, slowed down and toppled sideways.

  Clang! The tin shape crashed upon the flagstones.

  And the Park Keeper sat up with a start.

  He rubbed his eyes as though waking from sleep. Where was he? What had been happening? He had hidden himself from the fading day and all its unbearable problems. And now the day had disappeared. It had passed through its long blue twilight hour and had almost become the night.

  But that was not all. The Herb Garden he knew so well was now another garden. There, in a ring, were people he knew, the familiar solid and substantial shapes of Mary Poppins and her charges, Mrs Corry and her two large daughters, his Mother in her shabby shawl. But who were the others, the bevy of transparent figures, the creatures that seemed to be made of light – insubstantial luminous boys hand in hand with substantial children; a man in a lion-skin, bright as the sun, bending towards Mary Poppins; a Bear and a Hare, both shimmering, a big Bird lifting wings of light and a sparkling Fox with flowers on his paws?

  And suddenly, like a man who has lost, and regained, his senses, the Park Keeper understood. He had known those figures when he was a boy, and many more besides. And he had forgotten what he had known, denied it, made it a thing of naught, something to be sneered at! He put his hands up to his eyes to hide the springing tears.

  Mary Poppins stooped and picked up the top.

  “It’s time,” she said quietly. “The day is gone. You are needed now elsewhere. Castor, put your wreath on straight. And you, Pollux, fasten your collar. Remember who you are!”

  “And who you are, Mary Poppins!” they teased her. “With your ‘spit-spot and away you go!’As if we could ever forget!” They gathered their loads of greenstuff to them.

  “Till next year, Jane and Michael,” they cried. “We’ll be coming to get more Coltsfoot!”

  They flung up shining hands as they spoke and then, like the day, they were gone.

  “And another pair of gloves!” said the Fox.

  “More Barley Sugar!” the Bear bumbled.

  “Parsley!” The one word came from the Hare.

  And they too disappeared.

  “Coo-roo-coo-roo,

  This is for you!”

  The great Bird swooped to Mary Poppins, stuck a wing feather into her hat and then became air and starlight.

  Mary Poppins straightened the glowing feather and glanced up at Orion.

  “Do not linger!” she warned him.

  “Linger longer, Lucy,

  Linger longer, Lou,

  How I long to linger longer,

  To linger longa you.”

  Orion sang tunelessly, and gave her a rueful glance.
>
  “Don’t worry, I’ll be where I belong, just as that fellow said. “But – to leave all this –” He flung out his arms, as if to embrace the whole width of the Park. “Oh, well – the Law’s the Law! But it’s no easy thing to obey it.” He gobbled up his remaining cherries, spat out the stones on the chamomile lawn, and took her hand and kissed it.

  “Fare thee well, my fairy fay,” he said gruffly. And then, like a candle flame blown out, he was there no longer.

  “Next year!” cried Jane and Michael shrilly, to the emptiness he had left.

  And at that the Park Keeper leapt to his feet.

  “No, now!” he cried. “They can have them now – all they want, and more.”

  In a frenzy he dashed from bed to bed, plucking green branches of every kind and tossing them into the air.

  “Take them! I’ll let the Bye-laws be! Rosemary for Remembrance, mister. All the fodder you need, lads, for the horse! Foxgloves for the Foxy! Sweet savours for the beasts and the Bird.”

  He flung the herbs wildly towards the sky. And to the surprise of Jane and Michael, not a leaf, not a branch, came down – except a small spray of something that Mary Poppins caught in her hand and tucked into her belt.

  “Forgive me, friends! I didn’t reckernise you!” the Park Keeper called to the nothingness. “And I didn’t reckernise meself, neither. I forgot what I knew when I was a boy. It needed the dark to show things plain. But I know who you are now, all of you. And I know who I am, Orion, sir! Cucumber or no cucumber, I’m the Park Keeper with or without my hat!”

  And off he darted among the herbs, gathering, bellowing their names, tossing them into the air.

  “St John’s Wort! Marigold! Coriander! Cornflower! Dandelion! Marjoram! Rue!”

  “Really, Smith, you should be more careful! You might have knocked my eye out.”

  Mr Banks, entering the Herb Garden, removed a sprig of Marjoram from the brim of his bowler hat. “And of course you are the Park Keeper! Whoever said you weren’t?”

  The Park Keeper took no notice. On he went, madly tossing and yelling. “Good King Henry! Rampion! Sage! Sweet Cicely! Rocket! Basil!”

  Up into the air went leaves and flowers and none of them came down.

  Mr Banks stared after him.

  “What’s he doing, throwing herbs around? A Park Keeper breaking the Bye-laws! The poor chap must have lost his wits.”

  “Or found them!” said the Bird Woman softly.

  “Aha! So this is where you are!” Mr Banks turned and raised his hat. “I missed you as I came by St Paul’s. Your birds were making an awful to-do. Don’t they ever stop eating? And no one was there to take my tuppence, so now, of course, they’re starving. Well, what are all of you doing here?”

  He held out his arms to the children. “A Midsummer picnic, I presume. You might have left me a sausage roll.” He picked up a discarded piece of pastry and munched it hungrily.

  “Are you looking for your own True Love?” Jane asked, hugging him.

  “Of course not. I know where she is. I’m on my way to her now, as it happens. And how are you, Mary Poppins?” he asked, glancing at the upright figure as it rocked the perambulator. “You’re looking very sprightly tonight, with a spray of forget-me-not in your belt and your cherry earrings and Sunday-best hat. That feather must have cost a pretty penny!”

  “Thank you, I’m sure.” She tossed her head, and smiled her self-satisfied smile. Compliments were no more than her due and she always accepted them calmly.

  He gave her a thoughtful, puzzled glance. “You never get older, Mary Poppins, do you? What’s the secret? Tell me!” he teased her.

  “Ah, that’s because she’s eaten Fern seed! “The Bird Woman eyed him slyly.

  “Fern seed? Nonsense! An Old Wives’ Tale. ‘Eat Fern seed and you’ll live for ever’, they told me when I was a boy. And I used to come and look for it, here in this very garden.”

  “I can’t imagine you as a boy.” Jane measured her height against his waistcoat button.

  “I don’t see why not.” Mr Banks was hurt. “I was a very charming boy – about as high as you are now – in brown velveteen and a white collar and black stocking and button-up boots. ‘Fern seed, fern seed, where are you?’ I’d say. But of course I never found it. I’m not even sure that it exists.” Mr Banks looked sceptical.

  “And, what was worse, I lost something – the first half-crown I ever had. Oh, the dreams I dreamed of that half-crown. I was going to buy the world with it. But it must have dropped out of a hole in my pocket.”

  “That must be the one Orion found. He took it away with him,” said Michael. “Just before you came.”

  “O’Ryan? A friend of Smith’s, I suppose! Those Irish fellows have all the luck. He’s probably spent it by now, the wretch! If I had turned up earlier, I’d have made him give it back. I can’t afford to lose pennies, let alone half-crowns.”

  Mary Poppins regarded him sagely. “All that’s lost is somewhere,” she told him.

  Mr Banks stared at her. For a moment he seemed quite mystified and then, of a sudden, his face cleared. He flung back his head and laughed.

  “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? It couldn’t fall out of the universe, could it? Everything has to be somewhere. Even so,” he sighed, “it would have been useful. Well, no good crying over spilt milk. I must get on. I’m late already.”

  A hen-like screech rent the air. “You always were!” a voice cackled. “Late in the morning. Late at night. You’ll be late for your funeral, if you don’t look out!”

  Mr Banks, startled, peered through the dusk and saw, half-hidden by the elder-tree, a little old woman in a black coat that was covered with – could it be? – threepenny bits! And beside her two large, formless shapes that might, or might not, be younger ladies.

  It was true. He had to admit it. He was in the habit of not being on time. But how did this old person know it? And what right had she, a complete stranger, to meddle in his affairs?

  “Well,” he began defensively, “I’m a busy man, I’d have you know. Making money to keep my family; often working late at the office – it’s hard to wake up in the morning—”

  “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy and wealthy and wise. I said that to Ethelred the Unready. But, of course, he wouldn’t listen.”

  “Ethelred the Unready!” Mr Banks was astonished. “But he was around ten hundred and something!” She’s dotty, poor thing, he thought to himself, I must humour her. “And what about Alfred the Great?” he asked. “Was he a friend of yours too?”

  “Ha! He was worse than Ethelred. Promised to watch my cakes, he did. ‘No need to move them’ I said to him. ‘Just keep the fire going – and watch!’And what did he do? Piled up the logs and then forgot. Just sat there, brooding over his kingdom, while my gingerbread stars were cooked to a crisp.”

  “Gingerbread stars!” Whatever next? Really, Mr Banks told himself, Mary Poppins certainly had a gift for making peculiar friends!

  “Well, never mind,” he said soothingly. “You’ve still got the real stars, haven’t you? They can’t get cooked or move from their places.”

  He ignored her scream of mocking laughter as he glanced up at the sky.

  “Ah, there’s the first one! Wish on it, children. And another! They’re coming thick and fast. Good Lord, they are so bright tonight!” His voice was soft with rapture.

  “Star light, star bright,” he murmured. “It’s as though they were having a party up there. Polaris! Sirius! The Heavenly Twins! And where is – ah, yes, there he is! I can always tell him by his belt with its three great stars in a row. Great Heavens!” He gave a start of surprise. “There are four in a row, or my eyesight’s failing. Jane! Michael! Can you see it? An extra star beside the others?”

  Their eyes followed his pointing finger. And, sure enough, faint and small, there was a something – not, perhaps, to be claimed as a star – and yet, and yet, a something!

  They blinked at it, h
alf-afraid to believe but, even so, half-believing.

  “I think I see it,” they both whispered. They did not dare to be sure.

  Mr Banks threw his hat into the air. He was beside himself with joy.

  “A new star! Clap your hands, world! And I, George Banks, of Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane, have been the first to spot it. But let me be calm, yes, calm’s the word – let me be cool, composed and placid.”

  But, far from being any of these, he was feverish with excitement. “I must go at once to the Admiral and ask for the use of his telescope. Verify it. Tell the Astronomer Royal. You’ll find your way, won’t you, Mary Poppins? This is important, you understand. Goodnight, Mrs Smith!” He bowed to the Bird Woman. “And goodnight to you, madam – er hum—”

  “Corry,” said Mrs Corry, grinning.

  Mr Banks, already streaking away, stopped dead in his tracks.

  When had he heard that name before? He stared at the oddity before him and turned, for some reason, to Mary Poppins.

  The two women were regarding him gravely, silent and motionless as pictured figures in a book, looking out from the page.

  Suddenly, Mr Banks was flooded with a sense of being somewhere else. And, also, of being someone else who was, at the same time, himself.

  White-collared and velvet-suited, he was standing on tiptoe in button-up boots, his nose just reaching a glass-topped counter, over which he was handing to someone he could hardly see, a precious threepenny bit. The place smelt richly of gingerbread; an ancient woman was slyly asking, “What will you do with the gold paper?” and a voice that seemed to be his own was saying, “I keep them under my pillow.”

  “Sensible boy,” the old creature croaked, exchanging a nod with someone behind him, someone wearing a straw hat with a flower or two springing from it.

  “George, where are you?”