Mary Poppins Comes Back

by P. L. Travers

  Michael hopped excitedly. “Was it a message, Mary Poppins?”

  “That’s as may be,” said Mary Poppins, turning up her nose to the sky.

  “But we caught them!” Jane protested.

  “C. caught it. G. got it,” she answered, with annoying calm.

  “Will you show us when we get home?” screamed Michael, his voice floating away.

  “Home is the sailor, home from the sea!” The Admiral took off his hat with a flourish. “Au revoir, messmates and Miss Poppins! Up with the anchor, Pompey!”

  “Ay, ay, sir!” Pompey seemed to be saying, as he galloped after his master.

  Michael rummaged in his package.

  “Mary Poppins, why didn’t you wait? I wanted to give you a toffee-apple.”

  “Time and Tide wait for no man,” she answered priggishly.

  He was just about to ask what Time and Tide had to do with toffee-apples, when he caught her disapproving look.

  “A pair of rag dolls – that’s what you are! Just look at your hair! Sweets to the sweet,” she added conceitedly, as she took the sticky fruit he offered and nibbled it daintily.

  “It’s not our fault, it’s the wind!” said Michael, tossing the hair from his brow.

  “Well, the quicker you’re into it the quicker you’re out of it!” She thrust the perambulator forward under the groaning trees.

  “Look out! Be careful! What are you doin’?”

  A howl of protest rent the air as a figure, clutching his tie and his cap, lurched sideways in the dusk.

  “Remember the Bye-laws! Look where you’re goin’! You can’t knock over the Park Keeper.”

  Mary Poppins gave him a haughty stare.

  “I can if he’s in my way,” she retorted. “You’d no right to be there.”

  “I’ve a right to be anywhere in the Park. It’s in the Regulations.” He peered at her through the gathering dark and staggered back with a cry.

  “Toffee-apples? And bags o’ nuts? Then it must be ’Allowe’en! I might ’ave known it.” His voice shook. “You don’t get a wind like this for nothin’. O-o-ow!” He shuddered. “It gives me the ’Orrors. I’ll leave the Park to look after itself. This is no night to be out.”

  “Why not?” Jane handed him a nut. “What happens at Hallowe’en?”

  The Park Keeper’s eyes grew as round as plates. He glanced nervously over his shoulder and leant towards the children.

  “Things,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “come out and walk in the night. I don’t know what they are quite – ghosts, perhaps, or h’apparitions. Anyway, it’s spooky. Hey – what’s that?” He clutched his stick. “Look! There’s one of them up there – a white thing in the trees!”

  A light was gleaming among the branches, turning their black to silver. The wind had blown the clouds away and a great bright globe rode through the sky.

  “It’s only the moon!” Jane and Michael laughed. “Don’t you recognise it?”

  “Ah!” The Park Keeper shook his head. “It looks like the moon and it feels like the moon. And it may be the moon – but it may not. You never can tell on ’Allowe’en!”

  And he turned up his coat-collar and hurried away, not daring to look behind him.

  “Of course it’s the moon,” said Michael stoutly. “There’s moonlight on the grass!”

  Jane gazed at the blowing, shining scene.

  “The bushes are dancing in the wind. Look! There’s one coming towards us – a small bush and two larger ones. Oh, Mary Poppins, perhaps they’re ghosts?” She clutched a fold of the blue coat. “They’re coming nearer, Mary Poppins! I’m sure they’re apparitions!”

  “I don’t want to see them!” Michael screamed. He seized the end of the parrot umbrella as though it were an anchor.

  “Apparitions, indeed!” shrieked the smallest bush. “Well, I’ve heard myself called many things – Charlemagne said I looked like a fairy and Boadicea called me a goblin – but nobody ever said to my face that I was an apparition. Though I dare say –” the bush gave a witch-like cackle – “that I often look like one!”

  A skinny little pair of legs came capering towards them and a wizened face, like an old apple, peered out through wisps of hair.

  Michael drew a long breath.

  “It’s only Mrs Corry!” he said, loosing his hold on the parrot umbrella.

  “And Miss Fannie and Miss Annie!” Jane waved in relief to the two large bushes.

  “How de do?” said their mournful voices, as Mrs Corry’s enormous daughters caught up with their tiny mother.

  “Well, here we are again, my dears – as I heard St. George remark to the Dragon. Just the kind of night for—” Mrs Corry looked at Mary Poppins and gave her a knowing grin. “For all sorts of things,” she concluded. “You got a message, I hope!”

  “Thank you kindly, Mrs Corry. I have had a communication.”

  “What message?” asked Michael inquisitively. “Was it one on a leaf?”

  Mrs Corry cocked her head. And her coat – which was covered with threepenny-bits – twinkled in the moonlight.

  “Ah,” she murmured mysteriously. “There are so many kinds of communication! You look at me, I look at you, and something passes between us. John o’Groats could send me a message, simply by dropping an eyelid. And once – five hundred years ago – Mother Goose handed me a feather. I knew exactly what it meant – ‘Come to dinner. Roast Duck’!”

  “And a tasty dish it must have been! But, excuse me, Mrs Corry, please – we must be getting home. This is no night for dawdling – as you will understand.” Mary Poppins gave her a meaningful look.

  “Quite right, Miss Poppins! Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and. . . Now, who was it first told me that – Robert the Bruce? No, I’ve forgotten!”

  “See you later,” said Fannie and Annie, waving to Jane and Michael.

  “Later?” said Jane. “But we’re going to bed.”

  “There you go – you galumphing giraffes! Can’t you ever open your mouths without putting your feet into them? They mean, my dears,” said Mrs Corry, “they’ll be seeing you later in the year! November, perhaps, or after Christmas. Unless, of course –” her smile widened – “unless you are very clever! Well, goodnight and sleep well!”

  She held out her little wrinkled hands and Jane and Michael both sprang forward.

  “Look out! Look out!” she shrieked at them. “You’re stepping on my shadow!”

  “Oh – I’m sorry!” They both jumped back in alarm.

  “Deary goodness – you gave me a turn!” Mrs Corry clapped her hand to her heart. “Two of you standing right on its head – the poor thing will be distressed!”

  They looked at her in astonishment and then at the little patch of black that lay on the windy grass.

  “But I didn’t think shadows could feel,” said Jane.

  “Not feel! What nonsense!” cried Mrs Corry. “They feel twice as much as you do. I warn you, children, take care of your shadows or your shadows won’t take care of you. How would you like to wake one morning and find they had run away? And what’s a man without a shadow? Practically nothing, you might say!”

  “I wouldn’t like it at all,” said Michael, glancing at his own shadow rippling in the wind. He realised, for the first time, how fond he was of it.

  “Exactly!” Mrs Corry snorted. “Ah, my love,” she crooned to her shadow. “We’ve been through a lot together – haven’t we? – you and I. And never a hair of your head hurt till these two went and stepped on it. All right, all right, don’t look so glum!” She twinkled at Jane and Michael. “But remember what I say – take care! Fannie and Annie, stir your stumps. Look lively – if you possibly can!”

  And off she trotted between her daughters, bending sideways now and again to blow a kiss to her shadow.

  “Now, come along. No loitering,” said Mary Poppins briskly.

  “We’re keeping an eye on our shadows!” said Jane. “We don’t want anything to hurt the
m.”

  “You and your shadows,” said Mary Poppins, “can go to bed – spit-spot!”

  And, sure enough, that was what they did. In next to no time they had eaten their supper, undressed before the crackling fire and bounced under the blankets.

  The Nursery curtains blew in and out and the nightlight flickered on the ceiling.

  “I see my shadow and my shadow sees me!” Jane looked at the neatly brushed head reflected on the wall. She nodded in a friendly way and her shadow nodded back.

  “My shadow and I are two swans!” Michael held his arm in the air and snapped his fingers together. And upon the wall a long-necked bird opened and closed its beak.

  “Swans!” said Mary Poppins, sniffing, as she laid her coat and tulip hat at the end of her camp bed. “Geese more like it, I should say!”

  The canvas creaked as she sprang in.

  Michael craned his neck and called: “Why don’t you hang up your coat, Mary Poppins, the way you always do?”

  “My feet are cold, that’s why! Now, not another word!”

  He looked at Jane. Jane looked at him. They knew it was only half an answer. What was she up to tonight? they wondered. But Mary Poppins never explained. You might as well ask the Sphinx.

  “Tick!” said the clock on the mantelpiece.

  They were warm as toast inside their beds. And their beds were warm inside the Nursery. And the Nursery was warm inside the house. And the howling of the wind outside made it seem warmer still.

  They leant their cheeks upon their palms and let their eyelids fall.

  “Tock!” said the clock on the mantelpiece.

  But neither of them heard. . .

  “What is it?” Jane murmured sleepily. “Who’s scratching my nose?”

  “It’s me!” said Michael in a whisper. He was standing at the side of her bed with a wrinkled leaf in his hand.

  “I’ve been scratching it for ages, Jane! The front door banged and woke me up and I found this on my pillow. Look! There’s one on yours too. And Mary Poppins’ bed is empty and her coat and hat have gone!”

  Jane took the leaves and ran to the window.

  “Michael,” she cried, “there was a message. One leaf says ‘Come’ and the other ‘Tonight’.”

  “But where has she gone? I can’t see her!” He craned his neck and looked out.

  All was quiet. The wind had dropped. Every house was fast asleep. And the full moon filled the world with light.

  “Jane! There are shadows in the garden – and not a single person!”

  He pointed to two little dark shapes – one in pyjamas, one in a nightgown – that were floating down the front path and through the garden railings.

  Jane glanced at the Nursery walls and ceiling. The nightlight glowed like a bright eye. But in spite of that steady, watchful gleam there was not a single shadow!

  “They’re ours, Michael! Put something on. Quick – we must go and catch them!”

  He seized a sweater and followed her, tiptoeing down the creaking stairs and out into the moonlight.

  Cherry Tree Lane was calm and still, but from the Park came the strains of music and trills of high-pitched laughter.

  The children, clutching their brown leaves, dashed through the Lane Gate. And something, light as snow or feathers, fell upon Michael’s shoulder. Something gentler than air brushed against Jane’s cheek.

  “Touched you last!” two voices cried. And they turned and beheld their shadows.

  “But why did you run away?” asked Jane, gazing at the transparent face that looked so like her own.

  “We’re guests at the Party.” Her shadow smiled.

  “What party?” Michael demanded.

  “It’s Hallowe’en,” his shadow told him. “The night when every shadow is free. And this is a very special occasion. For one thing, there’s a full moon – and it falls on the Birthday Eve. But come along, we mustn’t be late!”

  And away the two little shadows flitted, with the children solidly running behind them.

  The music grew louder every second, and as they darted round the laurels they beheld a curious sight.

  The whole playground was thronged with shadows, each of them laughing and greeting the others and hopping about in the moonlight. And the strange thing was that, instead of lying flat on the ground, they were all standing upright. Long shadows, short shadows, thin shadows, fat shadows, were bobbing, hobnobbing, bowing, kowtowing, and passing in and out of each other with happy cries of welcome.

  In one of the swings sat a helmeted shape, playing a concertina. It smiled and waved a shadowy hand, and Jane and Michael saw at once that it belonged to the Policeman.

  “Got your invitations?” he cried. “No human beings allowed in without a special pass!”

  Jane and Michael held up their leaves.

  “Good!” The Policeman’s shadow nodded. “Bless you!” he added, as a shape beside him was seized with a fit of sneezing.

  Could it be Ellen’s shadow? Yes – and blowing a shadowy nose!

  “Good evening!” murmured a passing shape, “if any evening’s good!”

  Its dreary voice and long face reminded Jane of the Fishmonger. And surely the jovial shadow beside it belonged to the Family Butcher! A shadowy knife was in his hand, a striped apron about his waist, and he led along an airy figure with horns upon its head.

  “Michael!” said Jane in a loud whisper. “I do think that’s the Dancing Cow!”

  But Michael was too absorbed to answer. He was chatting to a furry shape that was lazily trimming its whiskers.

  “My other part,” it said, miaowing, “is asleep on the mantelpiece. So, of course – this being Hallowe’en – I took the evening off!” It adjusted a shadowy wreath of flowers that was looped about its neck.

  “The Cat that looked at the King!” exclaimed Jane. She put out a hand to stroke its head, but all she felt was air.

  “Well, don’t let him come near me!” cried a voice. “I’ve quite enough troubles as it is, without having cats to deal with.”

  A plump, bird-like shape tripped past, nodding abstractedly at the children.

  “Poor old Cock Robin – and his troubles!” The shadowy Cat gave a shadowy yawn. “He’s never got over that funeral and all the fuss there was.”

  “Cock Robin? But he’s a Nursery Rhyme. He doesn’t exist!” said Jane.

  “Doesn’t exist? Then why am I here?”The phantom bird seemed quite annoyed. “You can have a substance without a shadow, but you can’t have a shadow without a substance – anyone knows that! And what about them – don’t they exist?”

  It waved a dark transparent wing at a group of airy figures – a tall boy lifting a flute to his mouth, and a bulky shape, with a crown on its head, clasping a bowl and a pipe. Beside them stood three phantom fiddlers holding their bows aloft.

  A peal of laughter burst from Michael. “That’s the shadow of Old King Cole. It’s exactly like the picture!”

  “And Tom, the Piper’s son too!” Cock Robin glared at Jane. “If they’re shadows, they must be shadows of something – deny it if you can!”

  “Balloons and balloons, my Dearie Ducks! No arguing tonight!” A cosy little feminine shape, with balloons bobbing about her bonnet, whizzed through the air above them.

  “Have the goodness, please, to be more careful. You nearly went through my hat!”

  A trumpeting voice that was somehow familiar sounded amid the laughter. The children peered through the weaving crowd. Could it be? – yes, it was – Miss Andrew! Or rather, Miss Andrew’s shadow. The same beaked nose, the same small eyes, the grey veil over the felt hat and the coat of rabbit fur.

  “I haven’t come from the South Seas to have my head knocked off!”

  Shaking its fist at the Balloon Woman, Miss Andrew’s shadow protested loudly. “And who’s that pulling my veil?” it cried, turning on two little dark shapes, who dashed away screaming with terror.

  Jane and Michael nudged each other. “Ours!” they whi
spered, giggling.

  “Make way! Move on! The Prime Minister’s comin’!” A shadow in a peaked cap waved the children aside.

  “Oh, it’s you, is it? Well, remember the Bye-laws! Don’t get in anyone’s way.” The phantom face – the moustache and all – was exactly like the Park Keeper’s.

  “I thought you’d have been too frightened to come. You said it was spooky!” Jane reminded him.

  “Oh, I’m not frightened, Miss – it’s ’im. My body, so to speak. A very nervous chap ’e is – afraid of ’is own shadow. Ha, ha! Excuse my little joke! Make room! Move on! Observe the Rules!”

  The Prime Minister’s shadow floated by, bowing to right and left.

  “Greeting, friends! What a wonderful night. Dear me!” He stared at Jane and Michael. “You’re very thick and lumpish!”

  “Hsssst!” The shadow of the Park Keeper muttered in his ear. “Invitation. . . special occasion. . . friends of. . . whisper, whisper.”

  “Ah! If that’s the case, you’re very welcome. But do be careful where you tread. We don’t like to be stepped on.”

  “One of them’s stepping on me, I think!” A nervous voice seemed to come from the grass.

  Michael carefully shifted his feet as the shadow of the Keeper of the Zoological Gardens came crawling past on all fours.

  “Any luck?” cried the crowd excitedly.

  “Hundreds!” came the happy reply. “Red Admirals. Blue Admirals. Spotted Bermudas. Pink Amazons. Chinese Yellows!”

  He waved the shadow of his net. It was full of butterfly shadows.

  “Well, I know one you haven’t got – and that’s an Admiral Boom!” A shadow in a cocked hat, with a spectral dachshund at its heels, elbowed its way through the throng. “Very rare specimen indeed. Largest butterfly in the world! All hail, my hearties!”

  “Yo, ho, ho! And a bottle of rum!” The shadows yelled in reply.

  The Admiral’s shadow turned to the children.

  “Welcome aboard!” it said, winking. “‘Catch a leaf, a message brief’ – only an old wives’ tail – hey? Ah, here she comes! Your servant, ma’am.”

  The cocked hat bowed to a broad shadow that was sailing through the see-saw. It was dressed in a shadowy swirl of skirts, and a swarm of little weightless shapes fluttered about its head.