Mary Poppins--the Complete Collection

by P. L. Travers

  Round the bend in the staircase Michael appeared, looking very bad-tempered and sulky as he bumped heavily down. Behind him, with a Twin on each arm, came Mary Poppins, pushing her knee into his back and sending him with a sharp thud from one stair to the next. Jane followed, carrying the hats.

  “Well begun is half done. Down you go, please!” Mary Poppins was saying tartly.

  Mr Banks turned from the barometer and looked up as they appeared.

  “Well, what’s the matter with you?” he demanded.

  “I don’t want to go for a walk! I want to play with my new engine!” said Michael, gulping as Mary Poppins’ knee jerked him one stair lower.

  “Nonsense, darling!” said Mrs Banks. “Of course you do. Walking makes such long, strong legs.”

  “But I like short legs best,” grumbled Michael, stumbling heavily down another stair.

  “When I was a little boy,” said Mr Banks, “I loved going for walks. I used to walk with my Governess down to the second lamp-post and back every day. And I never grumbled.”

  Michael stood still on his stair and looked doubtfully at Mr Banks.

  “Were you ever a little boy?” he said, very surprised.

  Mr Banks seemed quite hurt.

  “Of course I was. A sweet little boy with long yellow curls and a lace collar and velvet breeches and button-up boots.”

  “I can hardly believe it,” said Michael, hurrying down the stairs of his own accord and staring up at Mr Banks.

  “What was the name of your Governess?” asked Jane, running downstairs after Michael. “And was she nice?”

  “She was called Miss Andrew, and she was a Holy Terror!”

  “Hush!” said Mrs Banks reproachfully.

  “I mean –” Mr Banks corrected himself – “she was – er – very strict. And always right. And she loved putting everybody else in the wrong and making them feel like a worm. That’s what Miss Andrew was like!”

  Mr Banks mopped his brow at the mere memory of his Governess.

  Ting! Ting! Ting!

  The front door bell pealed and echoed through the house.

  Mr Banks went to the door and opened it. On the step, looking very important, stood the Telegraph Boy.

  “Urgent Telegram. Name of Banks. Any answer?” He handed over an orange-coloured envelope.

  “If it’s good news I’ll give you sixpence,” said Mr Banks as he tore the Telegram open and read the message. His face grew pale.

  “No answer!” he said shortly.

  “And no sixpence?”

  “Certainly not!” said Mr Banks bitterly. The Telegraph Boy gave him a reproachful look and went sorrowfully away.

  “Oh, what is it?” asked Mrs Banks. “Is somebody ill?”

  “Worse than that!” said Mr Banks miserably.

  “Have we lost all our money?” By this time Mrs Banks, too, was pale and very anxious.

  “Worse still! Didn’t the barometer say thunder? And further outlook unsettled? Listen!”

  He smoothed out the telegram and read aloud:

  Coming to stay with you for a month. Arriving this afternoon three o’clock. Please light fire in bedroom.

  EUPHEMIA ANDREW

  “Andrew? Why, that’s the same name as your Governess!” said Jane.

  “It is my Governess!” said Mr Banks, striding up and down and running his hands nervously through what was left of his hair. “Her other name is Euphemia. And she’s coming today at three!”

  He groaned loudly.

  “But I don’t call that bad news,” said Mrs Banks, feeling very relieved. “It will mean getting the spare room ready, of course, but I don’t mind. I shall like having the dear old soul—”

  “Dear old soul!” roared Mr Banks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Dear old – my Jumping Godfathers, wait till you see her, that’s all. Just wait till you see her!”

  He seized his hat and waterproof.

  “But, my dear!” cried Mrs Banks. “You must be here to meet her. It looks so rude. Where are you going?”

  “Anywhere. Everywhere. Tell her I’m dead!” he replied bitterly. And he hurried away from the house looking very nervous and depressed.

  “My goodness, Michael, what can she be like?” said Jane.

  “Curiosity killed the Cat,” said Mary Poppins. “Put your hats on, please!”

  She settled the Twins into the perambulator and pushed it down the garden path. Jane and Michael followed her out into the Lane.

  “Where are we going today, Mary Poppins?”

  “Across the Park and along the Thirty-Nine bus route, up the High Street, and over the Bridge and home through the Railway Arch!” she snapped.

  “If we do that, we’ll be walking all night,” whispered Michael, dropping behind with Jane. “And we’ll miss Miss Andrew.”

  “She’s going to stay for a month,” Jane reminded him.

  “But I want to see her arrive,” he complained, dragging his feet and shuffling along the pavement.

  “Step along, please,” said Mary Poppins briskly. “I might as well be taking a stroll with a couple of snails as you two!”

  But when they caught up with her she kept them waiting for quite five minutes outside a fried-fish shop while she looked at herself in the window.

  She was wearing her new white blouse with the pink spots, and her face, as she beheld herself reflected back from the piles of fried whiting, had a pleased and satisfied air. She pushed back her coat a little so that more of the blouse was visible and she thought that, on the whole, she had never seen Mary Poppins look nicer. Even the fried fish, with their fried tails curled into their mouths, seemed to gaze at her with round, admiring eyes.

  Mary Poppins gave a little conceited nod to her reflection and hurried on. They had passed the High Street now and were crossing the Bridge. Soon they came to the Railway Arch, and Jane and Michael sprang eagerly ahead of the perambulator and ran all the way until they turned the corner of Cherry Tree Lane.

  “There’s a cab!” cried Michael excitedly. “That must be Miss Andrew’s.”

  They stood still at the corner waiting for Mary Poppins and watching for Miss Andrew.

  A Taxi-cab, moving slowly down the Lane, drew up at the gate of Number Seventeen. It groaned and rattled as the engine stopped. And this was not surprising, for from wheel to roof it was heavily weighted with luggage. You could hardly see the cab itself for the trunks on the roof and the trunks at the back and the trunks on either side.

  Suit-cases and hampers could be seen half-in and half-out of the windows. Hat-boxes were strapped to the steps, and two large Gladstone bags appeared to be sitting in the Driver’s seat.

  Presently the Driver himself emerged from under them. He climbed out carefully, as though he were descending a steep mountain, and opened the door.

  A boot-box came bounding out, followed by a large brown-paper parcel, and after these came an umbrella and a walking-stick tied together with string. Last of all, a small weighing-machine clattered down from the rack, knocking the Taxi-man over.

  “Be careful!” a huge, trumpeting voice shouted from inside the Taxi. “This is valuable luggage!”

  “And I’m a valuable driver!” retorted the Taxi-man, picking himself up and rubbing his ankle. “You seen to ’ave forgotten that, ’aven’t you?”

  “Make way, please, make way! I’m coming out!” called the huge voice again.

  And at that moment there appeared on the step of the cab the largest foot the children had ever seen. It was followed by the rest of Miss Andrew.

  A large coat with a fur collar was wrapped about her, a man’s felt hat was perched on her head, and from the hat floated a long grey veil. With one hand she held up the folds of her skirt and from the other swung a circular object covered with a checked cloth.

  The children crept cautiously along by the fence, gazing with interest at the huge figure, with its beaked nose, grim mouth, and small eyes that peered angrily from behind glasses. They were
almost deafened by her voice as she argued with the Taxi-man.

  “Four and threepence!” she was saying. “Preposterous! I could go halfway round the world for that amount. I shan’t pay it. And I shall report you to the Police.”

  The Taxi-man shrugged his shoulders. “That’s the fare,” he said calmly. “If you can read, you can read it on the meter. You can’t go driving in a Taxi for love, you know, not with this luggage.”

  Miss Andrew snorted and, diving her hand into her large pocket, took out a very small purse. She handed over a coin. The Taxi-man looked at it and turned it over and over in his hand, as if he thought it a curiosity. Then he laughed rudely.

  “This for the Driver?” he remarked sarcastically.

  “Certainly not. It’s your fare. I don’t approve of tips,” said Miss Andrew.

  “You wouldn’t!” said the Taxi-man, staring at her. And to himself he remarked: “Enough luggage to fill ’arf the Park, and she doesn’t approve of tips – the ’Arpy!”

  But Miss Andrew did not hear him. The children had arrived at the gate and she turned to greet them, her feet ringing on the pavement and her veil flowing out behind her.

  “Well?” she said gruffly, smiling a thin smile. “I don’t suppose you know who I am?”

  “Oh, yes we do!” said Michael. He spoke in his friendliest voice, for he was very glad to meet Miss Andrew. “You’re the Holy Terror!”

  A dark, purple flush rose up from Miss Andrew’s neck and flooded her face.

  “You are a very rude, impertinent boy. I shall report you to your Father!”

  Michael looked surprised. “I didn’t mean to be rude,” he began. “It was Daddy who said—”

  “Tut! Silence! Don’t dare to argue with me!” said Miss Andrew. She turned to Jane.

  “And you’re Jane, I suppose? H’m. I never cared for the name.”

  “How do you do?” said Jane politely, but secretly thinking she did not care much for the name Euphemia.

  “That dress is much too short!” trumpeted Miss Andrew. “And you ought to be wearing stockings. Little girls in my day never had bare legs. I shall speak to your Mother.”

  “I don’t like stockings,” said Jane. “I only wear them in the Winter.”

  “Don’t be impudent. Children should be seen and not heard!” said Miss Andrew.

  She leant over the perambulator, and with her huge hand pinched the Twins’ cheeks in greeting.

  John and Barbara began to cry.

  “Tut! What manners!” exclaimed Miss Andrew. “Brimstone and Treacle – that’s what they need!” she went on, turning to Mary Poppins. “No well-brought-up child cries like that. Brimstone and Treacle. And plenty of it. Don’t forget.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Mary Poppins, with icy politeness, “but I bring the children up in my own way and take advice from nobody.”

  Miss Andrew stared. She looked as if she could not believe her ears.

  Mary Poppins stared back, calm and unafraid.

  “Young woman,” said Miss Andrew, drawing herself up, “you forget yourself. How dare you answer me like that! I shall take steps to have you removed from this establishment! Mark my words!”

  She flung open the gate and strode up the path, furiously swinging the circular object under the checked cloth, and saying “Tut-tut!” over and over again.

  Mrs Banks came running out to meet her.

  “Welcome, Miss Andrew, welcome!” she said politely. “How kind of you to pay us a visit. Such an unexpected pleasure. I hope you had a good journey?”

  “Most unpleasant. I never enjoy travelling,” said Miss Andrew. She glanced with an angry, peering eye round the garden.

  “Disgracefully untidy!” she remarked disgustedly. “Take my advice and dig up those things –” she pointed to the sunflowers – “and plant evergreens. Much less trouble. Saves time and money. And looks neater. Better still, no garden at all. Just a plain, cement courtyard.”

  “But,” protested Mrs Banks gently, “I like flowers best!”

  “Ridiculous! Stuff and nonsense! You are a silly woman. And your children are very rude – especially the boy.”

  “Oh, Michael, I am surprised! Were you rude to Miss Andrew? You must apologise at once.” Mrs Banks was getting very nervous and flustered.

  “No, Mother, I wasn’t. I only—” He began to explain, but Miss Andrew’s loud voice interrupted.

  “He was most insulting,” she insisted. “He must go to a boarding-school at once. And the girl must have a Governess. I shall choose one myself. And as for the young person you have looking after them –” she nodded in the direction of Mary Poppins, “you must dismiss her this instant. She is impertinent, incapable and totally unreliable.”

  Mrs Banks was plainly horrified.

  “Oh, surely you are mistaken, Miss Andrew! We think she is such a Treasure.”

  “You know nothing about it. I am never mistaken. Dismiss her!”

  Miss Andrew swept on up the path.

  Mrs Banks hurried behind her, looking very worried and upset.

  “I – er – hope we shall be able to make you comfortable, Miss Andrew,” she said politely. But she was beginning to feel rather doubtful.

  “H’m. It’s not much of a house,” replied Miss Andrew. “And it’s in a shocking condition – peeling everywhere, and most dilapidated. You must send for a carpenter. And when were these steps white-washed? They’re very dirty.”

  Mrs Banks bit her lip. Miss Andrew was turning her lovely, comfortable house into something mean and shabby, and it made her feel very unhappy.

  “I’ll have them done tomorrow,” she said meekly.

  “Why not today?” demanded Miss Andrew. “No time like the present. And why paint your door white? Dark brown – that’s the proper colour for a door. Cheaper, and doesn’t show the dirt. Just look at those spots!”

  And putting down the circular object, she began to point out the marks on the front door.

  “There! There! There! Everywhere! Most disreputable!”

  “I’ll see to it immediately,” said Mrs Banks faintly. “Won’t you come upstairs now to your room?”

  Miss Andrew stamped into the hall after her.

  “I hope there is a fire in it.”

  “Oh, yes. A good one. This way, Miss Andrew. Robertson Ay will bring up your luggage.”

  “Well, tell him to be careful. The trunks are full of medicine bottles. I have to take care of my health!”

  Miss Andrew moved towards the stairs. She glanced round the hall.

  “This wall needs re-papering. I shall speak to George about it. And why I should like to know, wasn’t he here to meet me? Very rude of him. His manners, I see, have not improved!”

  The voice grew a little fainter as Miss Andrew followed Mrs Banks upstairs. Far away the children could hear their Mother’s gentle voice, meekly agreeing to do whatever Miss Andrew wished.

  Michael turned to Jane.

  “Who is George?” he asked.

  “Daddy.”

  “But his name is Mr Banks.”

  “Yes, but his other name is George.”

  Michael sighed.

  “A month is an awfully long time, Jane, isn’t it?”

  “Yes – four weeks and a bit,” said Jane, feeling that a month with Miss Andrew would seem more like a year.

  Michael edged closer to her.

  “I say –” he began in an anxious whisper, “she can’t really make them send Mary Poppins away, can she?”

  “Odd!”

  The word sounded behind them like an explosion.

  They turned. Mary Poppins was gazing after Miss Andrew with a look that could have killed her.

  “Odd!” she repeated, with a long-drawn sniff. “That’s not the word for her. Humph! I don’t know how to bring up children, don’t I? I’m impertinent, incapable, and totally unreliable, am I? We’ll see about that!”

  Jane and Michael were used to threats from Mary Poppins, but today there was a
note in her voice they had never heard before. They stared at her in silence, wondering what was going to happen.

  A tiny sound, partly a sigh and partly a whisper, fell on the air.

  “What was that?” said Jane quickly.

  The sound came again, a little louder this time. Mary Poppins cocked her head and listened.

  Again a faint chirping seemed to come from the doorstep.

  “Ah!” cried Mary Poppins triumphantly. “I might have known it!”

  And with a sudden movement, she sprang at the circular object Miss Andrew had left behind and tweaked off the cover.

  Beneath it was a brass bird-cage, very neat and shiny. And sitting at one end of the perch, huddled between his wings, was a small, light-brown bird. He blinked a little as the afternoon light streamed down upon his head. Then he gazed solemnly about him with a round, dark eye. His glance fell upon Mary Poppins, and, with a start of recognition, he opened his beak and gave a sad, throaty, little cheep. Jane and Michael had never heard such a miserable sound.

  “Did she, indeed? Tch, tch tch! You don’t say!” said Mary Poppins, nodding her head sympathetically.

  “Chirp-irrup!” said the bird, shrugging its wings dejectedly.

  “What? Two years? In that cage? Shame on her!” said Mary Poppins to the bird, her face flushing with anger.

  The children stared. The bird was speaking in no language they knew, and yet here was Mary Poppins carrying on an intelligent conversation with him as though she understood.

  “What is it saying—” Michael began.

  “Sh!” said Jane, pinching his arm to make him keep quiet.

  They stared at the bird in silence. Presently he hopped a little way along the perch towards Mary Poppins and sang a note or two in a low, questioning voice.

  Mary Poppins nodded. “Yes – of course I know that field. Was that where she caught you?”

  The bird nodded. Then he sang a quick, trilling phrase that sounded like a question.

  Mary Poppins thought for a moment. “Well,” she said, “it’s not very far. You could do it in about an hour. Flying South from here.”

  The bird seemed pleased. He danced a little on his perch and flapped his wings excitedly. Then his song broke out again, a stream of round, clear notes, as he looked imploringly at Mary Poppins.