Mary Poppins Comes Back

by P. L. Travers

  The children gave an astonished gasp and turned to see if their Mother had noticed.

  But Mrs Banks had no thought for anything but to get to the telephone.

  “The Drawing-room chimney has been cleaned. We are having Lamb Chops and peas for dinner. And Mary Poppins is back!” she cried breathlessly.

  “I don’t believe it!” crackled Mr Banks’ voice. “I shall come and see for myself!”

  Mrs Banks smiled happily as she hung up the receiver.

  Mary Poppins went primly up the stairs and the children tore past her into the Nursery. There on the hearth lay the carpet-bag. And standing in its usual corner was the parrot-headed umbrella. They had a settled, satisfied air as though they had been there for years.

  In the cradle, Annabel, blue in the face, was tying herself into knots. She stared in surprise at Mary Poppins, and smiled a toothless smile. Then she put on her Innocent Angel look and began to play tunes on her toes.

  “Humph!” said Mary Poppins grimly, as she put her straw hat in its paper bag. She took off her coat and hung it up on the hook behind the door. Then she glanced at herself in the Nursery mirror and stopped to unlock the carpet-bag.

  It was quite empty except for a curled-up Tape Measure.

  “What’s that for, Mary Poppins?” asked Jane.

  “To measure you,” she replied quickly. “To see how you’ve grown.”

  “You needn’t bother,” Michael informed her confidently. “We’ve all grown two inches. Daddy measured us.”

  “Stand straight, please!” Mary Poppins said calmly, ignoring the remark. She measured him from his head to his feet and gave a loud sniff.

  “I might have known it!” she said, snorting. “You’ve grown Worse and Worse.”

  Michael stared. “Tape Measures don’t tell words, they tell inches,” he said protestingly.

  “Since when?” she demanded haughtily, as she thrust it under his nose. There on the Tape were the tell-tale words in big blue letters:

  W-O-R-S-E A-N-D W-O-R-S-E

  “Oh!” he said in a horrified whisper.

  “Head up, please!” said Mary Poppins, stretching the Tape against Jane.

  “Jane has grown into a Wilful, Lazy, Selfish child,” she read out in triumph.

  The tears came pricking into Jane’s eyes. “Oh, I haven’t, Mary Poppins!” she cried. For, funnily enough, she only remembered the times when she had been good.

  Mary Poppins slipped the Tape round the Twins. “Quarrelsome” was their measurement. “Fretful and Spoilt”, was Annabel’s.

  “I thought so!” Mary Poppins said, sniffing. “I’ve only got to turn my back for you to become a Menagerie!”

  She drew the Tape round her own waist; and a satisfied smile spread over her face.

  “Better Than Ever, Practically Perfect,” her own measurement read.

  “No more than I expected,” she preened. And added, with a furious glare, “Now, spit-spot into the Bathroom!”

  They hurried eagerly to obey her. For now that Mary Poppins was back, everything went with a swing. They undressed and bathed in the wink of an eye. Nobody dawdled over Supper, nobody left a crumb or a drop. They pushed in their chairs, folded their napkins and scrambled into bed.

  Up and down the Nursery went Mary Poppins, tucking them all in. They could smell her old familiar smell, a mixture of toast and starchy aprons. They could feel her old familiar shape, solid and real beneath her clothes. They watched her in adoring silence, drinking her in.

  Michael, as she passed his bed, peered over the edge and under it. There was nothing there, except dust and slippers. Then he peeped under Jane’s bed. Nothing there, either.

  “But where are you going to sleep, Mary Poppins?” he enquired curiously.

  As he spoke, she touched the door of the clothes cupboard. It burst open noisily and out of it, with a graceful sweep, came the old camp bed. It was made up, ready to be slept in. And upon it, in a neat pile, were Mary Poppins’ possessions. There were the Sunlight Soap and the hairpins, the bottle of scent, the folding armchair, the toothbrush and the lozenges. The nightgowns, cotton and flannel as well, were tidily laid on the pillow. And beside them were the boots and the dominoes, and the bathing caps and the postcard album.

  The children sat up in a gaping row.

  “But how did it get in there?” demanded Michael.

  “There wasn’t a sign of it today. I know, ’cos I hid there from Ellen!”

  He dared not go on with his questions, however, for Mary Poppins looked so haughty that the words froze on his lips.

  With a sniff, she turned away from him and unfolded a flannel nightgown.

  Jane and Michael looked at each other. And their eyes said all that their tongues could not: It’s no good expecting her to explain, they told each other silently.

  They watched her comical scarecrow movements as she undressed beneath the nightgown. Clip, clip – the buttons flew apart. Off went her petticoat – swish, swish, swish! A peaceful feeling stole into the children. And they knew that it came from Mary Poppins. Dreamily watching the wriggling nightgown, they thought of all that had happened. How she had first arrived at the house, blown by the East Wind. How her umbrella had carried her off when the wind went round to the West. They thought how she had come back to them on the day when they flew the Kite; and how she had ridden away once more and left them lonely for her comforting presence.

  Well, now – they sighed happily – she was back again, and just the same as ever. Here she was, settling down in the Nursery, as calmly as though she had never left it. The thoughts he was thinking rose up in Michael like bubbles in soda water. And before he could stop them, they burst right out.

  “Oh, Mary Poppins,” he cried eagerly, “it’s been just awful without you!”

  Her lip quivered. It seemed as though a smile might break out. But it changed its mind and didn’t.

  “You’ve been awful – that’s more like it! This house is nothing but a Bear Garden. I wonder anyone stays in it!”

  “But you will, won’t you?” he said wheedlingly.

  “We’ll be good as gold, if only you’ll stay!” Jane promised solemnly.

  She looked from one to the other calmly, seeing right down inside their hearts and understanding everything.

  “I’ll stay. . .” she said, after a little pause. “I’ll stay till the door opens.” And as she spoke she gazed thoughtfully at the door of the Nursery.

  Jane gave a little anxious cry. “Oh, don’t say that, Mary Poppins!” she wailed. “That door is always opening!”

  Mary Poppins glared.

  “I meant the Other Door,” she said, as she buttoned up her nightgown.

  “What can she mean?” Jane whispered to Michael.

  “I know what she means,” he answered cleverly. “There isn’t any other door. And a door that isn’t there, can’t open. So she’s going to stay for ever.” He hugged himself happily at the thought.

  Jane, however, was not so sure. I wonder, she thought to herself.

  But Michael went on cheerfully babbling.

  “I’m glad I shook hands with the Sweep,” he said. “It brought us wonderful luck. Perhaps he’ll do the Nursery next and shake hands with you, Mary Poppins!”

  “Pooh!” she replied, with a toss of her head. “I don’t need any luck, thank you!”

  “No,” he said thoughtfully, “I suppose you don’t. Anyone who can come out of a rocket – as you did tonight – must be born lucky. I mean – er – oh, don’t look at me!”

  He gave a little beseeching cry, for Mary Poppins was glaring at him in a way that made him shudder. Standing there in her flannel nightgown, she seemed to freeze him in his cosy bed.

  “I wonder if I heard you correctly?” she enquired in an icy voice. “Did I understand you to mention Me – in connection with a Rocket?” She said the word “Rocket” in such a way as to make it seem quite shocking.

  In terror, Michael glanced about him. But no help came fr
om the other children. And he knew he would have to go through with it.

  “But you did, Mary Poppins!” he protested bravely. “The rocket went pop! and there you were, coming out of it down the sky!”

  She seemed to grow larger as she came towards him.

  “Pop?” she repeated furiously. “I popped – and came out of a rocket?”

  He shrank back feebly against the pillow. “Well – that’s what it looked like – didn’t it, Jane?”

  “Hush!” whispered Jane, with a shake of her head. She knew it was no good arguing.

  “I have to say it, Mary Poppins! We saw you!” Michael wailed. “And if you didn’t come out of the rocket, what did! There weren’t any stars!”

  “Pop!” said Mary Poppins again. “Out of a rocket with a pop! You have often insulted me, Michael Banks, but this is the Very Worst. If I hear any more about Pops – or Rockets. . .” She did not tell him what she would do but he knew it would be dreadful.

  “Wee-twee! Wee-twee!”

  A small voice sounded from the window-sill. An old Starling peered into the Nursery and flapped his wings excitedly.

  Mary Poppins bounded to the window.

  “Be off, you sparrer!” she said fiercely. And as the Starling darted away she switched out the light and pounced into bed. They heard her angrily muttering “Pop!” as she pulled the blankets up.

  Then silence settled over them like a soft comforting cloud. It had almost folded them to sleep when the faintest murmur came from Jane’s bed.

  “Michael!” she said in a careful whisper.

  He sat up cautiously and looked in the direction of her pointing finger.

  From the corner by the fireplace came a little glow of light. And they saw that the folds of the parrot umbrella were full of coloured stars – the kind of stars you expect to see when a rocket breaks in the sky.

  Their eyes grew wide with astonishment as the parrot’s head bent down. Then, one by one, its beak plucked the stars from the silken folds and threw them on the floor. They gleamed for a moment, gold and silver, then faded and went out. Then the parrot head straightened upon the handle, and Mary Poppins’ black umbrella stood stiff and still in its corner.

  The children looked at each other and smiled. But they said nothing. They could only wonder and be silent. They knew there were not enough words in the Dictionary for the things that happened to Mary Poppins.

  “Tick-tock!” said the clock on the mantelpiece. “Go to sleep, children! Tick, tock, tick!”

  Then they closed their eyes on the happy day and the clock kept time with their quiet breathing.

  Mr Banks sat and snored in his study with a newspaper over his face. Mrs Banks was sewing new black buttons on his old overcoat.

  “Are you still thinking what you might have done if you hadn’t got married?” she asked.

  “Eh, what?” said Mr Banks, waking up. “Well, no. It’s much too much trouble. And now that Mary Poppins is back, I shan’t have to think about anything.”

  “Good,” said Mrs Banks, sewing briskly. “And I’ll try and teach Robertson Ay.”

  “Teach him what?” Mr Banks said sleepily.

  “Not to give you one black and one brown, of course!”

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Mr Banks insisted. “The mixture was much admired at the Office. I shall always wear them that way in future.”

  “Indeed?” said Mrs Banks, smiling happily. On the whole, she felt glad Mr Banks had married. And now that Mary Poppins was back, she would tell him so more often. . .

  Downstairs in the kitchen sat Mrs Brill. The Policeman had just brought Ellen home and was staying for a Cup of Tea.

  “That Mary Poppins!” he said, sipping. “She’s ’ere today and gone tomorrer, just like them Willy-the-Wisps!”

  “Ow! Don’t say that!” said Ellen, sniffing. “I thought she was come to stay.”

  The Policeman gave her his handkerchief.

  “Maybe she will!” he told her fondly. “You never can tell, you know.”

  “Well, I’m sure I hope so,” sighed Mrs Brill. “This ’ouse is a Model Residence whenever Mary Poppins is in it.”

  “I hope so too. I need a rest,” said Robertson Ay to the brooms. And he snuggled down under Mrs Banks’ shawl and went to sleep again.

  But what Mary Poppins hoped, none of them knew. For Mary Poppins, as everyone knows, never told anyone anything. . .

  Chapter Two

  MR TWIGLEY’S WISHES

  “OH, DO COME on, Mary Poppins!” said Michael impatiently, dancing up and down on the pavement.

  Mary Poppins took no notice. She was standing in the Lane admiring her reflection in the brass plate on Dr. Simpson’s gate.

  “You look quite tidy!” Jane assured her.

  “Tidy!” Mary Poppins snorted. Tidy, in her new black hat with the blue bow? Tidy indeed! Handsome, she thought, would be nearer the mark. Tossing her head, she strode on quickly and they had to run to keep up with her.

  The three of them were walking through the fine May afternoon to find Mr Twigley. For the Drawing-room piano was out of tune and Mrs Banks had asked Mary Poppins to find a piano-tuner.

  “There’s my cousin, ma’am, Mr Twigley. Just three blocks from here,” Mary Poppins had announced.

  And when Mrs Banks said she had never heard of him, Mary Poppins, with her usual sniff, had reminded Mrs Banks that her relatives were composed of the Very Best People.

  And now Jane and Michael, who had already met two members of Mary Poppins’ family, were wondering what Mr Twigley would be like.

  “I think he will be tall and thin like Mr Turvy,” said Michael.

  “I think he will be round and fat like Mr Wigg,” said Jane.

  “I never knew such a pair for thinking!” said Mary Poppins. “You’ll wear your brains out. Turn here, please!”

  They hurried along and turned a corner, and found themselves standing in a narrow street lined with small, old-fashioned houses.

  “Why, what street is this? I never saw it before! And I’ve been here lots of times!” cried Jane.

  “Well, don’t blame me!” Mary Poppins snapped. “You don’t suppose I put it there!”

  “I shouldn’t wonder if you did!” said Michael, as he gazed at the strange little houses. Then he added, with a flattering smile, “You’re so very clever, you know!”

  “Humph!” she said tartly, though her mouth took on a conceited look. “Clever is as clever does. And it’s more than you are, anyway!” And, sniffing, she led them down the street and rang the bell of one of the houses.

  “Pang!” said the bell loudly. And at the same moment an upstairs window swung open. A large head, with a knob of hair at the back, bobbed out like a Jack-in-the-Box.

  “Well, what’s the matter now?” a harsh voice cried. Then the woman looked down and spied Mary Poppins. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” she said angrily. “Well, you can just turn round and go back to wherever you came from. He isn’t in!” The window swung to and the head disappeared. The children felt very disappointed.

  “Perhaps we can come again tomorrow,” said Jane anxiously.

  “Today – or Never. That’s my motto!” snapped Mary Poppins. And she rang the bell again.

  This time it was the front door that burst open. The owner of the head stood before them, glowering. She wore large black boots, a blue-and-white checked apron and a black shawl round her shoulders. Jane and Michael thought she was the ugliest person they had ever seen. And they felt very sorry for Mr Twigley.

  “What – you again!” the huge woman shouted. “I told you he wasn’t in. And in he is not, or my name’s not Sarah Clump!”

  “Then you aren’t Mrs Twigley!” exclaimed Michael with relief.

  “Not yet,” she remarked, with an ominous smile. “Here! Down you come, all of you!” she added. For Mary Poppins, with the speed of a serpent, had slipped through the doorway and was dragging the children up the stairs. “Do you hear me? I’ll have the Law on
you, bursting into a decent woman’s house like a set of Vampires!”

  “Decent!” said Mary Poppins, snorting. “If you’re decent I’m a Dromedary!” And she rapped three times on a door at her right.

  “Who’s there?” called an anxious voice from within. Jane and Michael trembled with excitement. Perhaps Mr Twigley was at home, after all!

  “It’s me, Cousin Fred. Unlock the door, please!”

  There was a moment’s silence. Then the sound of a key being turned in the lock. The door opened and Mary Poppins, pulling the children after her, shut it and locked it again.

  “Let me in – you Pirate!” roared Mrs Clump, angrily rattling the handle.

  Mary Poppins laughed quietly. The children glanced about them. They were in a large attic littered with scraps of wood, tins of paint and bottles of glue. Every available space in the room was filled with musical instruments. A harp stood in one corner and in another was a pile of drums. Trumpets and violins hung from the rafters; flutes and tin-whistles were stacked on the shelves. A dusty carpenter’s bench by the window was littered with carpenter’s tools. And on the edge of the bench was a small polished box with a tiny screw-driver tossed beside it.

  In the middle of the floor stood five half-finished musical boxes. Brightly they shone in their fresh new colours and round them, chalked on the boards in large white letters, were the words

  WET PAINT

  The whole attic smelt deliciously of wood-shavings, paint and glue. There was only one thing missing from it. And that was Mr Twigley.

  “Will you let me in or shall I go for the Police?” shouted Mrs Clump, banging again. Mary Poppins took no notice. And presently they heard her thumping downstairs, muttering furiously as she went.

  “Has she gone?” a thin voice cackled anxiously.

  “She’s gone downstairs and I’ve locked the door! Now, what have you done with yourself, please, Fred?” Mary Poppins gave an impatient sniff.

  “I’ve wished, Mary!” chirped the voice again.

  Jane and Michael stared round the dusty attic. Where could Mr Twigley be?