Mary Poppins Comes Back

by P. L. Travers

  The Twins began to cry quietly.

  With their free hands Jane and Michael opened the window and made one last effort to stay Mary Poppins’ flight.

  “Mary Poppins!” they cried. “Mary Poppins, come back!”

  But she either did not hear or deliberately took no notice. For she went sailing on and on, up into the cloudy, whistling air, till at last she was wafted away over the hill and the children could see nothing but the trees bending and moaning under the wild west wind. . .

  “She did what she said she would, anyway. She stayed till the wind changed,” said Jane, sighing and turning sadly from the window. She took John to his cot and put him into it. Michael said nothing, but as he brought Barbara back and tucked her into bed he was sniffing uncomfortably.

  “I wonder,” said Jane, “if we’ll ever see her again?”

  Suddenly they heard voices on the stairs.

  “Children, children!” Mrs Banks was calling as she opened the door. “Children – I am very cross. Mary Poppins has left us—”

  “Yes,” said Jane and Michael.

  “You knew, then?” said Mrs Banks, rather surprised. “Did she tell you she was going?”

  They shook their heads, and Mrs Banks went on:

  “It’s outrageous. One minute here and gone the next. Not even an apology. Simply said, ‘I’m going!’ and off she went. Anything more preposterous, more thoughtless, more discourteous—What is it, Michael?” She broke off crossly, for Michael had grasped her skirt in his hands and was shaking her.

  “What is it, child?”

  “Did she say she’d come back?” he cried, nearly knocking his Mother over. “Tell me – did she?”

  “You will not behave like a Red Indian, Michael,” she said, loosening his hold. “I don’t remember what she said, except that she was going. But I certainly shan’t have her back if she does want to come. Leaving me high and dry with nobody to help me and without a word of notice.”

  “Oh, Mother!” said Jane reproachfully.

  “You are a very cruel woman,” said Michael, clenching his fist as though at any minute he would have to strike her.

  “Children! I’m ashamed of you – really I am! To want back anybody who has treated your Mother so badly. I’m utterly shocked.”

  Jane burst into tears.

  “Mary Poppins is the only person I want in the world!” Michael wailed, and flung himself on to the floor.

  “Really, children, really! I don’t understand you. Do be good, I beg of you. There’s nobody to look after you tonight. I have to go out to dinner and it’s Ellen’s Day Off. I shall have to send Mrs Brill up.” And she kissed them absentmindedly, and went away with an anxious little line on her forehead. . .

  “Well, if I ever did! Her going away and leaving you pore dear children in the lurch like that,” said Mrs Brill, a moment later, bustling in and setting to work on them.

  “A heart of stone, that’s what that girl had and no mistake, or my name’s not Clara Brill. Always keeping herself to herself, too, and not even a lace handkerchief or a hatpin to remember her by. Get up, will you please, Master Michael!” Mrs Brill went on, panting heavily.

  “How we stood her so long, I don’t know – with her airs and graces and all. What a lot of buttons, Miss Jane! Stand still do now, and let me undress you, Master Michael. Plain she was, too, nothing much to look at. Indeed, all things considered, I don’t know that we won’t be better off, after all. Now, Miss Jane, where’s your nightgown – why, what’s this under your pillow—?”

  Mrs Brill had drawn out a small nobbly parcel.

  “What is it? Give it to me – give it,” said Jane, trembling with excitement, and she took it from Mrs Brill’s hands very quickly. Michael came and stood near her and watched her undo the string and tear away the brown paper. Mrs Brill, without waiting to see what emerged from the package, went in to the Twins.

  The last wrapping fell to the floor and the thing that was in the parcel lay in Jane’s hand.

  “It’s her picture,” she said in a whisper, looking closely at it.

  And it was!

  Inside a little curly frame was a painting of Mary Poppins, and underneath it was written, “Mary Poppins by Bert”.

  “That’s the Match Man – he did it,” said Michael, and took it in his hand so that he could have a better look.

  Jane found suddenly that there was a letter attached to the painting. She unfolded it carefully. It ran:

  DEAR JANE,

  Michael had the compass so the picture is for you. Au revoir.

  MARY POPPINS

  She read it out loud till she came to the words she couldn’t understand.

  “Mrs Brill!” she called. “What does ‘au revoir’ mean?”

  “Au revore, dearie?” shrieked Mrs Brill from the next room. “Why, doesn’t it mean – let me see, I’m not up in these foreign tongues – doesn’t it mean ‘God bless you’? No. No, I’m wrong. I think, Miss Jane dear, it means ‘To Meet Again’.”

  Jane and Michael looked at each other. Joy and understanding shone in their eyes. They knew what Mary Poppins meant.

  Michael gave a long sigh of relief. “That’s all right,” he said shakily. “She always does what she says she will.” He turned away.

  “Michael, are you crying?” Jane asked.

  He twisted his head and tried to smile at her.

  “No, I am not,” he said. “It is only my eyes.”

  She pushed him gently towards his bed, and as he got in she slipped the portrait of Mary Poppins into his hand – hurriedly, in case she should regret it.

  “You have it for tonight, darling,” whispered Jane, and she tucked him in just as Mary Poppins used to do. . .

  Contents

  Dedication

  The Kite

  Miss Andrew’s Lark

  Bad Wednesday

  Topsy Turvy

  The New One

  Robertson Ay’s Story

  The Evening Out

  Balloons and Balloons

  Nellie-Rubina

  Merry-go-round

  To

  PIP

  this Keepsake

  Chapter One

  THE KITE

  IT WAS ONE of those mornings when everything looks very neat and bright and shiny as though the world had been tidied up overnight.

  In Cherry Tree Lane the houses blinked as their blinds went up, and the thin shadows of the Cherry Trees fell in dark stripes across the sunlight. But there was no sound anywhere, except for the tingling of the Ice Cream Man’s bell as he wheeled his cart up and down.

  STOP ME AND BUY ONE

  said the placard in front of the cart. And presently a Sweep came round the corner of the Lane and held up his black, sweepy hand.

  The Ice Cream Man went tingling up to him.

  “Penny one,” said the Sweep. And he stood leaning on his bundle of brushes as he licked out the Ice Cream with the tip of his tongue. When it was all gone, he gently wrapped the cone in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket.

  “Don’t you eat cones?” asked the Ice Cream Man, very surprised.

  “No. I collect them!” said the Sweep. And he picked up his brushes and went in through Admiral Boom’s front gate, because there was no Tradesman’s Entrance.

  The Ice Cream Man wheeled his cart up the Lane again and tingled, and the stripes of shadow and sunlight fell on him as he went.

  “Never knew it so quiet before!” he murmured, gazing from right to left, and looking out for customers.

  At that very moment, a loud voice sounded from Number Seventeen. The Ice Cream Man cycled hurriedly up to the gate, hoping for an order.

  “I won’t stand it! I simply will not stand any more!” shouted Mr Banks, striding angrily from the front door to the foot of the stairs and back again.

  “What is it?” said Mrs Banks anxiously, hurrying out of the Dining-room. “And what is that you are kicking up and down the hall?”

  Mr Banks lunged ou
t with his foot and something black flew halfway up the stairs.

  “My hat!” he said between his teeth. “My Best Bowler Hat!”

  He ran up the stairs and kicked it down again. It spun for a moment on the tiles and fell at Mrs Banks’ feet.

  “Is there anything wrong with it?” said Mrs Banks nervously. But to herself she wondered whether there was not something wrong with Mr Banks.

  “Look and see!” he roared at her.

  Trembling, Mrs Banks stooped and picked up the hat. It was covered with large, shiny, sticky patches, and she noticed it had a peculiar smell.

  She sniffed at the brim.

  “It smells like boot-polish,” she said.

  “It is boot-polish,” retorted Mr Banks. “Robertson Ay has brushed my hat with the boot-brush – in fact, he has polished it.”

  Mrs Banks’ mouth fell with horror.

  “I don’t know what’s come over this house!” Mr Banks went on. “Nothing ever goes right – hasn’t for ages! Shaving-Water too hot, Breakfast Coffee too cold. And now – this!”

  He snatched his hat from Mrs Banks and caught up his bag.

  “I am going!” he said. “And I don’t know that I shall ever come back. I shall probably take a long sea-voyage.”

  Then he clapped the hat on his head, banged the front door behind him and went through the gate so quickly that he knocked over the Ice Cream Man, who had been listening to the conversation with interest.

  “It’s your own fault!” said Mr Banks crossly. “You’d no right to be there!” And he went striding off towards the City, his polished hat shining like a jewel in the sun.

  The Ice Cream Man got up carefully and, finding there were no bones broken, he sat down on the kerb and made it up to himself by eating a large Ice Cream. . .

  “Oh, dear!” said Mrs Banks as she heard the gate slam. “It is quite true. Nothing does go right nowadays. First one thing and then another. Ever since Mary Poppins left without a Word of Warning everything has gone wrong.”

  She sat down at the foot of the stairs, and took out her handkerchief and cried into it.

  And, as she cried, she thought of all that had happened since that day when Mary Poppins had so suddenly and so strangely disappeared.

  “Here one night and gone the next – most upsetting!” said Mrs Banks, gulping.

  Nurse Green had arrived soon after and had left at the end of the week because Michael had spat at her. She was followed by Nurse Brown, who went out for a walk one day and never came back. And it was not until later that they discovered that all the silver spoons had gone with her.

  And after Nurse Brown came Miss Quigley, the Governess, who had to be asked to leave because she played scales for three hours every morning before breakfast, and Mr Banks did not care for music.

  “And then,” sobbed Mrs Banks to her handkerchief, “there was Jane’s attack of measles, and the bathroom geyser bursting, and the Cherry Trees ruined by frost and. . .”

  “If you please, m’m!” Mrs Banks looked up to find Mrs Brill, the cook, at her side.

  “The kitchen flue’s on fire!” said Mrs Brill gloomily.

  “Oh, dear. What next?” cried Mrs Banks. “You must tell Robertson Ay to put it out. Where is he?”

  “Asleep, m’am, in the broom cupboard. And when that boy’s asleep, nothing’ll wake him – not if it’s an Earthquake or a regiment of Tom-toms!” said Mrs Brill, as she followed Mrs Banks down the kitchen stairs.

  Between them they managed to put out the fire, but that was not the end of Mrs Banks’ troubles.

  She had no sooner finished Luncheon than a crash, followed by a loud thud, was heard from upstairs.

  “What is it now?” Mrs Banks rushed out to see what had happened.

  “Oh, my leg, my leg!” cried Ellen, the housemaid.

  She sat on the stairs, surrounded by a ring of broken china, groaning loudly.

  “What is the matter with it?” said Mrs Banks sharply.

  “Broken!” said Ellen dismally, leaning against the banisters.

  “Nonsense, Ellen! You’ve sprained your ankle, that’s all!”

  But Ellen only groaned again.

  “My leg is broken! What shall I do?” she wailed, over and over again.

  At that moment the shrill cries of the Twins sounded from the Nursery. They were fighting for the possession of a blue celluloid Duck. Their screams rose thinly above the voices of Jane and Michael, who were painting pictures on the wall and arguing as to whether a green horse should have a purple or a red tail. And through this uproar there sounded, like the steady beat of a drum, the groans of Ellen, the housemaid. “My leg is broken! What shall I do?”

  “This,” said Mrs Banks, rushing upstairs, “is the Last Straw!”

  She helped Ellen to bed, and put a cold water bandage round her ankle. Then she went up to the Nursery.

  Jane and Michael rushed at her.

  “It should have a red tail, shouldn’t it?” demanded Michael.

  “Oh, Mother, don’t let him be so stupid! No horse has a red tail, has it?”

  “Well, what horse has a purple tail? Tell me that!” he screamed.

  “My Duck!” shrieked John, snatching the Duck from Barbara.

  “Mine, mine, mine!” cried Barbara, snatching it back again.

  “Children! Children!” Mrs Banks was wringing her hands in despair. “Be quiet or I shall Go Mad!”

  There was silence for a moment as they stared at her with interest. Would she really, they wondered? And what would she be like, if she did?

  “Now,” said Mrs Banks, “I will not have this behaviour. Poor Ellen has hurt her ankle, so there is nobody to look after you. You must all go into the Park and play there till Tea-time. Jane and Michael, you must look after the little ones. John, let Barbara have the Duck now and you can have it when you go to bed. Michael, you may take your new Kite. Now, get your hats, all of you!”

  “But I want to finish my horse—” began Michael crossly.

  “Why must we go to the Park?” complained Jane. “There’s nothing to do there!”

  “Because,” said Mrs Banks, “I must have peace. And if you will go quietly and be good children there will be Coconut Cakes for tea.”

  And before they had time to break out again, she had put on their hats and was hurrying them down the stairs.

  “Look both ways!” she called as they went through the gate, Jane pushing the Twins in the perambulator and Michael carrying his Kite.

  They looked to the right. There was nothing coming.

  They looked to the left. There was nobody there but the Ice Cream Man, who was jingling his bell at the end of the Lane.

  Jane hurried across. Michael trailed after her.

  “I hate this life!” he said miserably to his Kite. “Everything always goes wrong always.”

  Jane pushed the perambulator as far as the Lake.

  “Now,” she said,” give me the Duck!”

  The Twins shrieked and clutched it at either end. Jane uncurled their fingers.

  “Look!” she said, throwing the Duck into the Lake. “Look, darlings, it’s going to India!”

  The Duck drifted off across the water. The Twins stared at it and sobbed.

  Jane ran round the Lake and caught it and sent it off again.

  “Now,” she said brightly, “it’s off to Southampton!”

  The Twins did not appear to be amused.

  “Now to New York!” They wept harder than ever.

  Jane flung out her hands. “Michael, what are we to do with them? If we give the Duck to them they’ll fight over it, and if we don’t they’ll go on crying.”

  “I’ll fly the Kite for them,” said Michael. “Look, children, look!”

  He held up the beautiful green-and-yellow Kite and began to unwind the string. The Twins eyed it tearfully and without interest. He lifted the Kite above his head and ran a little way. It flapped along the air for a moment and then collapsed hollowly on the grass.


  “Try again!” said Jane encouragingly.

  “You hold it up while I run,” said Michael.

  This time the Kite rose a little higher. But, as it floated, its long, tasselled tail caught in the branches of a Lime Tree and the Kite dangled limply among the leaves.

  The Twins howled lustily.

  “Oh, dear,” said Jane. “Nothing goes right nowadays.”

  “Hullo, hullo, hullo! What’s all this?” said a voice behind them.

  They turned and saw the Park Keeper, looking very smart in his uniform and peaked cap. He was prodding up stray pieces of paper with the sharp end of his walking-stick.

  Jane pointed to the Lime Tree. The Keeper looked up. His face became very stern.

  “Now, now, you’re breaking the rules! We don’t allow Litter here, you know – not on the ground nor in the trees neither. This won’t do at all!”

  “It isn’t Litter. It’s a Kite,” said Michael.

  A mild, soft, foolish look came over the Keeper’s face. He went up to the Lime Tree.

  “A Kite? So it is. And I haven’t flown a Kite since I was a boy!” He sprang up into the tree and came down holding the Kite tenderly under his arm.

  “Now,” he said excitedly, “we’ll wind her up and give her a run and away she’ll go!” He put out his hand for the winding-stick.

  Michael clutched it firmly.

  “Thank you, but I want to fly it myself.”

  “Well, but you’ll let me help, won’t you?” said the Keeper humbly. “Seeing as I got it down and I haven’t flown a Kite since I was a boy.”

  “All right,” said Michael, for he didn’t want to seem unkind.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you!” cried the Keeper gratefully. “Now, I take the Kite and walk ten paces down the green. And when I say ‘Go!’ you run! See?”

  The Keeper walked away, counting his steps out loud.

  “Eight, nine, ten.”

  He turned and raised the Kite above his head.

  “Go!”

  Michael began to run.

  There was a tug at the string as the winding-stick turned in his hand.

  “She’s afloat!” cried the Keeper.

  Michael looked back. The Kite was sailing through the air, plunging steadily upwards. Higher and higher it dived, a tiny wisp of green-and-yellow bounding away into the blue. The Keeper’s eyes were popping.