Mary Poppins Comes Back

by P. L. Travers

  “Deep within me is a bird

  And in that bird another me,

  And in that me a bird again –

  Now what am I, in letters three?”

  “That’s easy!” Michael gave a shout. “The answer’s an Egg, of course!”

  Again the cats swivelled their eyes.

  “You are right,” said the King unwillingly. He seemed to be only faintly pleased. “But I wonder –” he arched his dappled back –“I wonder what you will make of the third!”

  “Silence!” commanded the Lord Chamberlain, though there wasn’t a sound in the hall.

  “Elegant the jungle beast

  That lives in field and fold.

  He’s like the sun when he is young

  And like the moon when old.

  He sees no clock, he hears no chime

  And yet he always knows the time.”

  “This is more difficult,” Michael murmured. “The third is always the worst. H’m, let me see – a jungle beast – he’s elegant and he knows the time. Oh, dear, it’s on the tip of my tongue. I’ve got it! Dandelion!”

  “He’s guessed it!” cried the King, rising.

  And at once the cats all leapt to life. They surrounded Michael with fur and whiskers and arched themselves against him.

  “You are cleverer than I thought,” said the King. “Almost as clever as a cat. Well, now I must go and divide the kingdom. And as to a bride – the Princess Crocus, it seems to me, would be the most suitable choice.”

  “Oh, thank you,” said Michael cheerfully – he was feeling quite himself again – “but I must be getting home now.”

  “Home!” cried the King in astonishment.

  “Home?” the Queen echoed, raising her eyebrows.

  “Well, I have to be back for tea,” explained Michael.

  “Tea?” repeated the courtiers, gaping.

  “Fancy!” the three Princesses tittered.

  “Are you so certain you still have a home?” said the King in a curious voice.

  “Of course I am,” said Michael, staring. “What could have happened to it? From the Park to – er – here, it was just a jump. And it only took me a minute.”

  “You’ve forgotten, I think,” said the King smoothly, “that our minutes last for two hundred years. And as you’ve been here at least half an hour—”

  “Two hundred?” Michael’s cheek paled. So it hadn’t been a joke after all!

  “It stands to reason,” the King continued, “that many changes must have occurred since you were on the Earth. Number Seventeen Apple-bush Avenue—”

  “Cherry Tree Lane,” the Lord Chamberlain muttered.

  “Well, whatever its name, you may be sure it isn’t the same as it was. I dare say it’s overgrown with brambles—”

  “Briars!” added the Queen, purring.

  “Nettles,” suggested the courtiers.

  “Blackberries,” murmured the three Princesses.

  “Oh, I’m sure it isn’t!” Michael gulped. He was feeling such a longing for home that the thought of it made him choke.

  “However,” the King went blandly on, “if you’re certain you can find your way – I’m afraid we can’t spare Malkin again – by all means set out!” He waved his paw towards the door.

  Michael ran to the entrance. “Of course I’m certain!” he cried stoutly. But his courage ebbed as he looked out.

  There were the shining steps of the palace, but below them, as far as he could see, there was nothing but wreathing mist. What if he jumped? he thought to himself. And if he jumped, where would he land?

  He bit his lip and turned back to the hall. The cats were softly creeping towards him, gazing at him mockingly from black-and-yellow eyes.

  “You see!” said the King of the Cats, smiling – and not a kindly smile either. “In spite of being so clever at guessing, you do not know the way back! You wished to be miles from everywhere, but you foolishly neglected to add that you would also like to return home. Well! Well! Everyone makes mistakes at times – unless, of course, they are cats! And think how fortunate you are! No kitchen work – you have solved the riddles. Plenty of rats and bats and spiders. And you can settle down with the Princess Crocus and live happily ever after.”

  “But I don’t want to marry the Princess Crocus! I only want to go home!”

  A low growl came from every throat. Every whisker bristled.

  “You. . . don’t. . . want. . . to. . . marry. . . the. . . Princess. . . Crocus?”

  “Word by word the King came nearer, growing larger at every step.

  “No, I don’t!” declared Michael. “She’s only a cat!”

  “Only a cat!” the cats squealed, swelling and rearing with rage.

  Black-and-yellow shapes swarmed round him. “Only a cat!” They spat out the words.

  “Oh, what shall I do?” He backed away, shielding his eyes from their gaze.

  “You wissshed!” they hissed at him, padding closer. “You sssought our ssstar! You mussst take the consssequencessses!”

  “Oh, where shall I go?” cried Michael wildly.

  “You will ssstay bessside usss,” the King whispered with a terrible catlike softness. “You guessed our riddlesss, you ssstole our sssecretsss. Do you think we would let you go?”

  A wall of cats was all about him. He flung out an arm to thrust it away. But their arching backs were too much for him. His hand dropped limply to his side and fell upon the rigid shape of Mary Poppins’ whistle.

  With a cry, he snatched it from his pocket and blew it with all his might.

  A shrill peal sounded through the Hall.

  “Sssilence him! Ssseize him! He mussstn’t essscape!”

  The furious cats pressed closer.

  In desperation he blew again.

  A whining caterwaul answered the blast as a wave of cats rolled forward.

  He felt himself enveloped in fur – fur in his nose, fur in his eyes. Oh, which of them had leapt at him – or was it all the cats together? With their screeches echoing in his ears, he felt himself borne upwards. A fur-covered arm, or perhaps a leg, was clasped about his waist. And his face was crushed to a furry something – a breast or a back, he could not tell.

  Wind was blowing everywhere, sweeping him wildly on, with cat to the right of him, cat to the left of him, cat above him and cat below. He was wrapped in a cocoon of cats and the long furry arm that held him was as strong as an iron band.

  With an effort he wrenched his head sideways and blew the whistle so violently that his hat fell off his head.

  The strong arm drew him closer still.

  “Whee-ee!” cried the wind, with a hollow voice.

  And now it seemed that he and the cats were falling through the air. Down, down, down in a furry mass. Oh, where were they taking him?

  Again and again he blew the whistle, struggling madly against the fur and kicking in all directions.

  “Oo’s making all that dreadful rumpus? Mind what you’re doin’! You knocked off me cap!”

  A wonderfully familiar voice sounded in Michael’s ears.

  Cautiously he opened an eye and saw that he was drifting down past the top of a chestnut-tree.

  The next minute his feet touched the dewy grass of the Park and there, on the lawn, was the Park Keeper, looking as though he had seen a ghost.

  “Now, now! Wot’s all this. Wot ’ave you two been up to?”

  You two! The words had a cheerful ring. He was held, it seemed, by only one cat and not, after all, by the whole tribe. Was it the Lord Chamberlain? Or, perhaps, the Princess Crocus!

  Michael glanced from the Park Keeper to the furry arm around him. It ended, to his great surprise, not in a paw – but a hand. And on the hand was a neat glove – black, not tortoiseshell.

  He turned his head enquiringly and his cheek encountered a bone button that was nestling in the fur. Surely he knew that piece of bone! Oh, was it possible? Could it be?

  His glance slid upwards past the button till it c
ame to a neat fur collar. And above the collar was a circle of straw topped with a crimson flower.

  He gave a long-drawn sigh of relief. Cats, he was glad to realise, do not wear tulip hats on their heads, nor kid gloves over their claws.

  “It’s you!” he cried exultantly, pressing his face to her rabbit-skin jacket. “Oh, Mary Poppins – I was up in the star – and all the cats came snarling at me – and I thought I’d never find the way home – and I blew the whistle, and—”

  Suddenly he began to stammer, for her face, beneath the brim of her hat, was cold and very haughty.

  “And here I am,” he concluded lamely.

  Mary Poppins never said a word. She bowed to him in a distant manner as though she had never seen him before. Then in silence she held out her hand.

  He hung his head guiltily and put the whistle into it.

  “So that’s the reason for the hullabaloo!” The Park Keeper spluttered with disapproval. “I warn you, this is your last chance. Blow that whistle once again and I’ll resign – I promise!”

  “A pie-crust promise!” scoffed Mary Poppins, as she pocketed the whistle.

  The Park Keeper shook his head in despair.

  “You ought to know the Rules by now. All Litter to be placed in the Baskets. No Climbin’ of Trees in the Park!”

  “Litter yourself!” said Mary Poppins. “And I never climbed a tree in my life!”

  “Well, might I enquire where you came from, then? Droppin’ down from the sky like that and knockin’ off me cap?”

  “There’s not a law against enquiring, so far as I am aware!”

  “Been up in the Milky Way, I suppose!” The Park Keeper snorted sarcastically.

  “Exactly,” she said, with a smile of triumph.

  “Huh! You can’t expect me – a respectable man – to believe that tarradiddle!” And yet, he thought uneasily, she had certainly come from somewhere.

  “I don’t expect anything,” she retorted. “And I’ll thank you to let me pass!”

  Still holding Michael close to her side, she gave her head a disdainful toss, pushed the Park Keeper out of the way and tripped towards the Gate.

  An outraged cry sounded behind them as the Park Keeper wildly waved his stick.

  “You’ve broken the Rules! You’ve disturbed the peace! And you don’t even say you’re sorry!”

  “I’m not!” she called back airily, as she whisked across the Lane.

  Speechless at so many broken Bye-laws, the Park Keeper bent to pick up his cap. There it lay on the rainy grass. And beside it sprawled a strange dark object on which was painted, in gleaming white, a design of skull-and-crossbones.

  “When will they learn,” he sighed to himself, “what to do with their litter?”

  And because he was so upset and flustered, he mistakenly put his cap in the basket and walked home wearing the pirate’s hat. . .

  Michael glanced eagerly at Number Seventeen as they hurried across the Lane. It was easy to see – for the mist had cleared – that there wasn’t a bramble near it. The cats had not been right, after all.

  The hall light flooded him with welcome and the stairs seemed to run away beneath him as he bounded up to the Nursery.

  “Oh, there you are,” cried Jane gaily. “Wherever have you been?”

  He had not the words to answer her. He could only gaze at the well-known room, as though he had been away for years. How could he explain, even to Jane, how precious it seemed to him?

  The Twins ran in with open arms. He bent and hugged them lovingly and, putting out his hand to Jane, he drew her into the hug.

  A light footstep made him glance up. Mary Poppins came tripping in, buttoning on her apron. Everything about her tonight – the darting movements, the stern glance, even the way her nose turned up – was deliciously familiar.

  “What would you like me to do, Mary Poppins?” He hoped she would ask for something tremendous.

  “Whatever you like,” she answered calmly, with the same extravagant courtesy she had shown him all day long.

  “Don’t, Mary Poppins! Don’t!” he pleaded.

  “Don’t what?” she enquired, with annoying calm.

  “Don’t speak to me in that elegant way. I can’t bear any more luck!”

  “But luck,” she said brightly, “was what you wanted!”

  “It was. But it isn’t. I’ve had enough. Oh, don’t be polite and kind.”

  The cool smile faded from her face.

  “And am I not usually polite? Have you ever known me to be unkind? What do you take me for – a Hyena?”

  “No, not a hyena, Mary Poppins. And you are polite and you are kind! But today I like you best when you’re angry. It makes me feel much safer.”

  “Indeed? And when am I angry, I’d like to know?”

  She looked, as she spoke, very angry indeed. Her eyes flashed, her cheeks were scarlet. And for once, the sight delighted him. Now that her chilly smile was gone, he didn’t mind what happened. She was her own familiar self and he no longer a stranger.

  “And when you sniff – that’s when I like you!” he added with stupendous daring.

  “Sniff?” she said, sniffing. “What an idea!”

  “And when you say ‘Humph’ – like a camel!”

  “Like a what?” She looked quite petrified. Then she bristled wrathfully. She reminded him of the wave of cats as she crossed the Nursery like an oncoming storm.

  “You dare to stand there,” she accused him sternly, taking a step with every word, just as the King had done, “and tell me I’m a Dromedary? Four legs and a tail and a hump or two?”

  “But, Mary Poppins, I only meant—”

  “That is enough from you, Michael. One more piece of impertinence and you’ll go to bed, spit-spot.”

  “I’m in it already, Mary Poppins,” he said in a quavering voice. For by now she had backed him through the Nursery into his room and on to his bed.

  “First a Hyena and then a Camel. I suppose I’ll be a Gorilla next!”

  “But—”

  “Not another word!” she spluttered, giving her head a proud toss as she stalked out of the room.

  He knew he had insulted her, but he couldn’t really be sorry. She was so exactly like herself that all he could feel was gladness.

  Off went his clothes and in he dived, hugging his pillow to him. Its cheek was warm and friendly now as it pressed against his own.

  The shadows crept slowly across his bed as he listened to the familiar sounds – bath-water running, the Twins’ chatter and the rattle and clink of Nursery supper.

  The sounds grew fainter. . . the pillow grew softer. . .

  But, suddenly, a delicious something – a scent of a flavour – filled the room, and made him sit up with a start.

  A cup of chocolate hovered above him. Its fragrance came sweetly to his nose and mingled with the fresh-toast scent of Mary Poppins’ apron. There she stood, like a starched statue, gazing calmly down.

  He met her glance contentedly, feeling it plunging into him and seeing what was there. He knew that she knew that he knew she was not a Camel. The day was over, his adventure behind him. The Cat Star was far away in the sky. And it seemed to him, as he stirred his chocolate, he had everything he wanted.

  “I do believe, Mary Poppins,” he said, “that I’ve nothing left to wish for.”

  She smiled a superior, sceptical smile.

  “Humph!” she remarked. “That’s lucky!”

  Chapter Four

  THE CHILDREN IN THE STORY

  RATTLE! RATTLE! RATTLE!

  Clank! Clank! Clank!

  Up and down went the lawn-mower, leaving stripes of newly cut grass in its wake.

  Behind it panted the Park Keeper, pushing with all his might. At the end of each stripe he paused for a moment to glance round the Park and make sure that everybody was Observing the Rules.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spied a large net waving backwards and forwards behind the laurels.


  “Benjamin!” he called warningly. “Benjamin Winkle, Remember the Bye-laws!”

  The Keeper of the Zoological Gardens thrust his head round a clump of leaves and put his finger to his lips. He was a small, nervous-looking man, with a beard like a ham-frill fringing his face.

  “Sh!” he whispered. “I’m after an Admiral!”

  “A n’ Admiral? Well, you won’t find ’im in a laurel bush. ’E’s over there, at the end of the Lane. Big ’ouse, with a telescope on the flagpole.”

  “I mean a Red Admiral!” hissed the Keeper of the Zoological Gardens.

  “Well, ’e’s red enough for anything. Got a face like a stormy sunset.”

  “It’s not a man I’m after, Fred.” The Keeper of the Zoological Gardens gave the Park Keeper a look of solemn reproach. “I’m catching butterflies for the Insect House, and all I’ve got –” he glanced dejectedly into his net – “is one Cabbage White.”

  “Cabbage?” cried the Park Keeper, rattling off down the lawn. “If you want a cabbage, I’ve some in my garden. H’artichokes too. And turnips! Fine day, Egbert!” he called to the Policeman, who was taking a short-cut through the Park, in the course of his daily duties.

  “Might be worse,” the Policeman agreed, glancing up at the windows of Number Seventeen, in the hope of catching a glimpse of Ellen.

  He sighed. “And might be better!” he added glumly. For Ellen was nowhere to be seen.

  Rattle, rattle! Clank, clank!

  The sunlight spangled the stripy lawn and spread like a fan over Park and Lane. It even went so far as to shine on the Fair Ground, and the Swinging-boats and the Merry-go-round and the big blue banner with MUDGE’S FAIR printed on it in gold.

  The Park Keeper paused at the end of a stripe and sent a hawk-like glance about him.

  A fat man with a face like a poppy was sauntering through the little gate that led from the Fair. He had a bowler hat on the back of his head and a large cigar in this mouth.

  “Keep Off the Grass!” the Park Keeper called to him.

  “I wasn’t on it!” retorted the fat man, with a look of injured innocence.

  “Well, I’m just givin’ you a Word of Warnin’. All Litter to be placed in the Baskets – especially, Mr Mudge, in the Fair Ground!”