Mary Poppins Comes Back

by P. L. Travers

  “The Door! The Door!” A breathless cry went up from the crowd in the Lane.

  What door? Jane and Michael stared at each other. And suddenly – they knew!

  “Oh, Michael! It isn’t her friends who are going away!” cried Jane in an anguished voice. “It’s – oh, hurry, hurry! We must go and find her!”

  With trembling hands they hauled out the Twins and dragged them through the gate. Panting with anxiety they ran up the garden path. They tore at the Front Door, rushed upstairs and burst into the Nursery.

  Their faces fell as they stared at the room, for everything in it was quiet and peaceful as it had always been. The fire was crackling behind its bars and, cosily tucked inside her cot, Annabel was softly cooing. The bricks they had used for the morning’s Castle were neatly piled in a corner. And beside them lay the precious box of Mary Poppins’ dominoes.

  “Oh!” they panted, surprised and puzzled to find everything just the same.

  Everything? No! There was one thing missing.

  “The camp bed!” Michael cried. “It’s gone! Then – where is Mary Poppins?”

  He tore through the Nursery, calling her name. He ran to the bathroom and out on the landing and back to the Nursery again.

  “Mary Poppins! Mary Poppins! Mary Poppins!”

  Then Jane glanced up from the fire to the window and gave a little cry.

  “Oh, Michael, Michael! There she is! And there is the Other Door!”

  He followed the line of her pointing finger and his mouth opened wide.

  For there, on the outer side of the window, another Nursery glimmered. It stretched from Number Seventeen to the wall of Miss Lark’s house; and everything in the real Nursery was reflected in that shining room. There was Annabel’s gleaming cot and the table made of light. There was the fire, leaping up in mid-air; and there, at last, was the Other Door, exactly the same as the one behind them. It shimmered like a panel of light at the other side of the garden. Beside it stood their own reflections and towards it, along the airy floor, tripped the figure of Mary Poppins. She carried the carpetbag in her hand; and the Match Man’s flowers and the parrot umbrella were tucked beneath her arm. Away she stalked through the Nursery’s reflection, away through the shimmering likenesses of the old familiar things. And as she went, the daisies nodded on the crown of her black straw hat.

  A loud cry burst from Michael’s mouth as he rushed towards the window.

  “Mary Poppins!” he cried. “Come back! Come back!”

  Behind him the Twins began to grizzle.

  “Oh, please, Mary Poppins, come back to us!” called Jane, from the window-seat.

  But Mary Poppins took no notice. She strode on swiftly towards the Door that shimmered in the air.

  “She won’t get anywhere that way!” said Michael. “It will only lead to Miss Lark’s wall.”

  But even as he spoke, Mary Poppins reached the Other Door and pulled it wide open. A gasp of surprise went up from the children. For the wall they had expected to see had entirely disappeared. Beyond Mary Poppins’ straight, blue figure there was nothing but field on field of sky, and the dark spreading night.

  “Come back, Mary Poppins!” they cried together, in a last despairing wail.

  And as though she had heard them, she paused for a minute, with one foot on the threshold. The starfish sparkled on her collar as she glanced back swiftly towards the Nursery. She smiled at the four sad, watching faces and waved her bouquet of flowers. Then she snapped the parrot umbrella open and stepped out into the night.

  The umbrella wobbled for a moment and the light from the fire shone full upon it as it swayed in the air. Then, with a bound, as though glad to be free, it soared away through the sky. Up, up went Mary Poppins with it, tightly holding the parrot handle as she cleared the tops of the trees. And as she went, the Hurdy-gurdy broke out with a peal of music, as loud and proud and triumphant as any wedding march.

  Back in the Nursery the great blaze faded and sank into crimson coals. The flames went down and with them went the shining other room. Soon there was nothing to be seen but the Cherry Trees waving through the air and the blank brick wall of Miss Lark’s house.

  But above the roof a bright form rose, flying higher every minute. It seemed to have gathered into itself the sparkle and flame of the fire. For it glowed like a little core of light in the black frosty sky.

  Leaning upon the window-seat, the four children watched it. Their cheeks lay heavily in their hands and their hearts were heavy within their breasts. They did not try to explain it to themselves, for they knew there were things about Mary Poppins that could never be explained. Where she had come from nobody knew, and where she was going they could not guess. They were certain only of one thing – that she had kept her promise. She had stayed with them till the Door opened and then she had left them. And they could not tell if they would ever see that trim shape again.

  Michael reached out for the box of dominoes. He put it on the sill beside Jane. And together they held it as they watched the umbrella go sailing through the sky.

  Presently Mrs Banks came in.

  “What – sitting all alone, my darlings?” she cried as she snapped on the light. “Where’s Mary Poppins?” she enquired, with a glance round the room.

  “Gone, ma’am,” said a resentful voice, as Mrs Brill appeared on the landing.

  Mrs Banks’ face had a startled look.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded anxiously.

  “Well, it’s this way,” Mrs Brill replied. “I was listenin’ to a Nurdy-gurdy that’s down in the Lane, when I see’s the empty perambulator and the Match Man wheelin’ it up to the door. ‘Ullo!’ I says, ‘where’s that Mary Poppins?’ And ’e tells me she’s gone again. Lock, stock and barrer gone. Not even a note on ’er pin-cushion!”

  “Oh, what shall I do?” wailed Mrs Banks, sitting down on the old armchair.

  “Do? You can come and dance with me!” cried Mr Banks’ voice, as he raced upstairs.

  “Oh, don’t be so silly, George! Something’s happened. Mary Poppins has gone again!” Mrs Banks’ face was a tragedy. “George! George! Please listen to me!” she begged, wringing her hands.

  For Mr Banks had taken no notice. He was waltzing round and round the room, holding out his coat-tails.

  “I can’t! There’s a Hurdy-gurdy down in the Lane and it’s playing the Blue Danube. Ta-rum pom-pom-pom – de-di, de-dum!”

  And, pulling Mrs Banks from the chair, he waltzed her round, singing lustily. Then they both collapsed on the window-seat among the watching children.

  “But, George – this is serious!” Mrs Banks protested, half-laughing, half-crying, as she pinned up her hair.

  “I see something much more serious!” he exclaimed, as he glanced through the Nursery window. “A shooting star! Look at it! Wish on it, children!”

  Away through the sky streaked the shining spark, cleaving a path through the darkness. And as they watched it, every heart was filled with sudden sweetness. Down in the Lane the music ceased and the dancers stood gazing, hand in hand.

  “My dear Love!” Mr Banks said tenderly, as he touched Mrs Banks’ cheek. And they put their arms around each other and wished on the star.

  Jane and Michael held their breath as the sweetness brimmed up within them. And the thing they wished was that all their lives they might remember Mary Poppins. Where and How and When and Why – had nothing to do with them. They knew that as far as she was concerned those questions had no answers. The bright shape speeding through the air above them would for ever keep its secret. But in the summer days to come and the long nights of winter, they would remember Mary Poppins and think of all she had told them. The rain and the sun would remind them of her, and the birds and the beasts and the changing seasons. Mary Poppins herself had flown away, but the gifts she had brought would remain for always.

  “We’ll never forget you, Mary Poppins!” they breathed, looking up at the sky.

  Her bright shape pause
d in its flight for a moment and gave an answering wave. Then darkness folded its wing about her and hid her from their eyes.

  “It’s gone!” said Mr Banks with a sigh, as he pulled the curtains across the window and drew them all to the fire. . .

  Sussex, England

  New York, U.S.A.

  GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO

  The adventures in this book should be understood to have happened during any of the three visits of Mary Poppins to the Banks Family. This is a word of warning to anybody who may be expecting they are in for a fourth visit. She cannot for ever arrive and depart. And, apart from that, it should be remembered that three is a lucky number.

  Those who already know Mary Poppins will also be familiar with many of the other characters who appear here. And those who don’t – if they want to know them more intimately – can find them in the earlier volumes.

  P.L.T.

  Contents

  Every Goose a Swan

  The Faithful Friends

  Lucky Thursday

  The Children in the Story

  The Park in the Park

  Hallowe’en

  Chapter One

  EVERY GOOSE A SWAN

  THE SUMMER DAY was hot and still. The Cherry-Trees that bordered the Lane could feel their cherries ripening – the green slowly turning to yellow and the yellow blushing red.

  The houses dozed in the dusty gardens with their shutters over their eyes. “Do not disturb us!” they seemed to say. “We rest in the afternoon.”

  And the starlings hid themselves in the chimneys with their heads under their wings.

  Over the Park lay a cloud of sunlight as thick and as golden as syrup. No wind stirred the heavy leaves. The flowers stood up, very still and shiny, as though they were made of metal.

  Down by the Lake the benches were empty. The people who usually sat there had gone home out of the heat. Neleus, the little marble statue, looked down at the placid water. No goldfish flirted a scarlet tail. They were all sitting under the lily-leaves – using them as umbrellas.

  The lawns spread out like a green carpet, motionless in the sunlight. Except for a single, rhythmic movement, you might have thought that the whole Park was only a painted picture. To and fro, by the big magnolia, the Park Keeper was spearing up rubbish and putting it into a litter-basket.

  He stopped his work and looked up as two dogs trotted by.

  They had come from Cherry Tree Lane, he knew, for Miss Lark was calling from behind her shutters.

  “Andrew! Willoughby! Please come back! Don’t go swimming in that dirty Lake. I’ll make you some Iced Tea!”

  Andrew and Willoughby looked at each other, winked, and trotted on. But as they passed the big magnolia, they started and pulled up sharply. Down they flopped on the grass, panting – with their pink tongues lolling out.

  Mary Poppins, neat and prim in her blue skirt and a new hat trimmed with a crimson tulip, looked at them over her knitting. She was sitting bolt upright against the tree, with a plaid rug spread on the lawn around her. Her handbag sat tidily by her side. And above her, from a flowering branch, the parrot umbrella dangled.

  She glanced at the two thumping tails and gave a little sniff.

  “Put in your tongues and sit up straight! You are not a pair of wolves.”

  The two dogs sprang at once to attention. And Jane, lying on the lawn, could see they were doing their very best to put their tongues in their cheeks.

  “And remember, if you’re going swimming,” Mary Poppins continued, “to shake yourselves when you come out. Don’t come sprinkling us!”

  Andrew and Willoughby looked reproachful.

  “As though, Mary Poppins,” they seemed to say, “we would dream of such a thing!”

  “All right, then. Be off with you!” And they sped away like shots from a gun.

  “Come back!” Miss Lark cried anxiously.

  But nobody took any notice.

  “Why can’t I swim in the Park Lake?” asked Michael in a smothered voice. He was lying face downwards in the grass watching a family of ants.

  “You’re not a dog!” Mary Poppins reminded him.

  “I know, Mary Poppins. But if I were—” Was she smiling or not? – he couldn’t be sure, with his nose pressed into the earth.

  “Well – what would you do?” she enquired, with a sniff.

  He wanted to say that if he were a dog he would do just as he liked – swim or not, as the mood took him, without asking leave of anyone. But what if her face was looking fierce! Silence was best, he decided.

  “Nothing!” he said, in a meek voice. “It’s too hot to argue, Mary Poppins!”

  “Out of nothing comes nothing!” She tossed her head in its tulip hat. “And I’m not arguing, I’m talking!” She was having the last word, as usual.

  The sunlight caught her knitting-needles as it shone through the broad magnolia leaves on the little group below. John and Barbara, leaning their heads on each other’s shoulders, were dozing and waking, waking and dozing. Annabel was fast asleep in Mary Poppins’ shadow. Light and darkness dappled them all and splotched the face of the Park Keeper as he dived at a piece of newspaper.

  “All Litter to be placed in the Baskets! Obey the Rules!” he said sternly.

  Mary Poppins looked him up and down. Her glance would have withered an oak-tree.

  “That’s not my litter,” she retorted.

  “Oh?” he said disbelievingly.

  “No!” she replied, with a virtuous snort.

  “Well, someone must ’ave put it there. It doesn’t grow – like roses!”

  He pushed his cap to the back of his head and mopped behind his ears. “What with the heat, and her tone of voice, he was feeling quite depressed.

  “’Ot weather we’re ’avin’! he remarked, eyeing her nervously. He looked like an eager, lonely dog.

  “That’s what we expect in the middle of summer!” Her knitting-needles clicked.

  The Park Keeper sighed and tried again.

  “I see you brought yer parrot!” he said, glancing up at the black silk shape that hung among the leaves.

  “You mean my parrot-headed umbrella,” she haughtily corrected him.

  He gave a little anxious laugh. “You don’t think it’s going to rain, do you? With all this sun about?”

  “I don’t think, I know,” she told him calmly. “And if I,” she went on, “were a Park Keeper, I wouldn’t be wasting half the day like some people I could mention! There’s a piece of orange peel over there – why don’t you pick it up?”

  She pointed with her knitting-needle and kept it pointing accusingly while he speared up the offending litter and tossed it into a basket.

  “If she was me,” he said to himself, “there’d be no Park at all. Only a nice tidy desert!” He fanned his face with his cap.

  “And anyway,” he said aloud, “it’s no fault of mine I’m a Park Keeper. I should ’ave been a Nexplorer by rights, away in foreign parts. If I’d ’ad me way I wouldn’t be ’ere. I’d be sittin’ on a piece of ice along with a Polar Bear!”

  He sighed and leant upon his stick, falling into a daydream.

  “Humph!” said Mary Poppins loudly. And a startled dove in the tree above her ruffled its wing in surprise.

  A feather came slowly drifting down. Jane stretched out her hand and caught it.

  “How deliciously it tickles!” she murmured, running the grey edge over her nose. Then she tucked the feather above her brow and bound her ribbon round it.

  “I’m the daughter of an Indian Chief. Minnehaha, Laughing Water, gliding along the river.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not,” contradicted Michael. “You’re Jane Caroline Banks.”

  “That’s only my outside,” she insisted. “Inside I’m somebody quite different. It’s a very funny feeling.”

  “You should have eaten a bigger lunch. Then you wouldn’t have funny feelings. And Daddy’s not an Indian Chief, so you can’t be Minnehaha!”

  He gave a
sudden start as he spoke and peered more closely into the grass.

  “There he goes!” he shouted wildly, wriggling forward on his stomach and thumping his toes.

  “I’ll thank you, Michael,” said Mary Poppins, “to stop kicking my shins. What are you – a Performing Horse?”

  “Not a horse, a hunter, Mary Poppins! I’m tracking in the jungle!”

  “Jungles!” scoffed the Park Keeper. “My vote is for snowy wastes!”

  “If you’re not careful, Michael Banks, you’ll be tracking home to bed. I never knew such a silly pair. And you’re the third,” snapped Mary Poppins, eyeing the Park Keeper. “Always wanting to be something else instead of what you are. If it’s not Miss Minne-what’s-her-name, it’s this or that or the other. You’re as bad as the Goose-girl and the Swineherd!”

  “But it isn’t geese or swine I’m after. It’s a lion, Mary Poppins. He may be only an ant on the outside but inside – ah, at last, I’ve got him! – inside he’s a man-eater!”

  Michael rolled over, red in the face, holding something small and black between his finger and thumb.

  “Jane,” he began in an eager voice. But the sentence was never finished. For Jane was making signs to him, and as he turned to Mary Poppins he understood their meaning.

  Her knitting had fallen on the rug and her hands lay folded in her lap. She was looking at something far away, beyond the Lane, beyond the Park, perhaps beyond the horizon.

  Carefully, so as not to disturb her, the children crept to her side. The Park Keeper plumped himself down on the rug and stared at her, goggle-eyed.

  “Yes, Mary Poppins?” prompted Jane. “The Goose-girl – tell us about her!”

  Michael pressed against her skirt and waited expectantly. He could feel her legs, bony and strong, beneath the cool blue linen.

  From under the shadow of her hat she glanced at them for a short moment and looked away again.

  “Well, there she sat,” she began gravely, speaking in the soft accents that were so unlike her usual voice.

  “There she sat, day after day, amid her flock of geese, braiding her hair and unbraiding it for lack of something to do. Sometimes she would pick a fern and wave it before her like a fan, the way the Lord Chancellor’s wife might do, or even the Queen, maybe.