Mary Poppins Comes Back

by P. L. Travers

  A cackle of laughter rent the air. “Some gooseberry bush!” jeered another voice he would rather not have heard.

  With a groan, the Park Keeper opened his eyes and, as though unwilling to believe what they told him, hurriedly closed them again.

  He was in the Herb Garden, he realised, with its marble seats and its paved path round a square of chamomile lawn. There was nothing new in that, of course. He had planned and planted it himself. But now on the sward he had mown so often, among the remains of a recent picnic – egg-shells, cake, sausage rolls – were Mary Poppins and the Banks children, Mrs Corry and her two daughters, and his own mother sitting on one of the seats, smiling her welcoming smile.

  Nothing new in all that either. But had he seen – yes, he had indeed – he could not deny his own eyes – a Bear sitting snugly beside the hedge, licking a trumpet of Honeysuckle; a Fox on its hind legs picking the Foxgloves; and a Hare in the Parsley patch!

  And as if all this were not enough, Jane and Michael, wearing wreaths of green, together with two unknown boys, scantily clad and similarly crowned, were plucking armfuls of herbs; a big man, armed with a club and dressed in strips of leather, a studded belt about his waist and a lion-skin round his shoulders, was decking Mary Poppins’ ear with a double stem of cherries; and a large bird, perched on a bough above her – this to him was the last straw! – was being regaled by the Bird Woman with a sprig of flowering Fennel!

  “Mother, how could you?” the Park Keeper cried. “No Picking of Herbs allowed in the Park. You know the Bye-laws and you break them!”

  This was the first time she had failed him and he felt he could never forgive her.

  “Well, you got to make allowances, lad. He only comes down once a year.”

  “I’m not allowed allowances, Mum! And birds are coming down all the time. They can’t make nests up there in the sky. After all, it stands to reason.”

  “Nothing stands to reason, Fred – not tonight, it doesn’t.”

  She glanced from the bird to the animals.

  “Well, isn’t it very reasonable to come and get the things you need? I would!” said Michael stoutly.

  “But how did they get here to get what they need? Somebody let them out of the Zoo!” The cages had been unlocked! The Park Keeper was sure of it.

  “No, no. They came down with Castor and Pollux.” Jane waved her hand at the two boys, as she plucked a spray of Soloman’s Seal and tucked it into her looped-up skirt.

  “Castor and Pollux! Get along! They’re characters in a story. Lily-white boys turned into stars. Tamed horses, that’s what they did. I read it when I was a boy.”

  “And we came down with Orion,” said the boys, speaking as though with a single voice. “We came to get fresh herbs for our horse, and he to pick cherries in the Lane. He always does on Midsummer’s Eve.”

  “Oh, does he indeed?”The Park Keeper smiled a withering smile. “Just descends, like, out of the sky, to steal what belongs to the County Council! What do you take me for, then – an April Fool in the middle of June? Orion’s up there, like he always is.” He flung up a pointing finger.

  “Where?” demanded the big man. “Show me!”

  The Park Keeper craned his head backwards, but all he could see was emptiness, a large, vacant, unanswering sky, blue as the bloom on a plum.

  “Well, you’ll have to wait. It’s not dark enough yet. But he’ll be there, don’t you worry – up there where he belongs.”

  Mrs Corry let out a cackle of laughter. “Who’s worrying?” she shrieked.

  “You’re right,” said the big man with a sigh, as he sat down on a marble seat and laid his club beside him. “Orion will be where he belongs. He can’t do otherwise, poor chap.” He took a cherry from the hoard in his hand, ate it and spat out the stone. “But not yet – ah, no, not yet. There’s still a little time.”

  “Well, you’d better get off where you belong – a circus tent, I wouldn’t wonder, with all that fol de rol fancy dress. And you!” the Park Keeper waved at the boys. “Tight-rope walkers or I’m a Dutchman!”

  “You’re a Dutchman then! We’re Gallopers!” The boys burst into a peal of laughter.

  “One thing or the other, it makes no difference. Leave the leaves and I’ll burn them tomorrow. We don’t want no ragamuffins here.”

  “They’re not ragamuffins! Oh, can’t you see?” Jane was almost in tears.

  “But what will Pegasus do?” cried Michael, angrily stamping his foot. “They wanted a meal of Coltsfoot for him. So I gathered it. I don’t want it burnt!” He hugged the herb-filling string bag to him, determined to defy the Bye-laws.

  “Pegasus!” scoffed the Park Keeper. “He’s another of them taradiddles. You learn about them when you’re at school. Astronomy for Boys and Girls. Constellations, comets and such. But whoever saw a horse with wings? He’s just a bunch of stars, that’s all. And Vulpecula, and Ursa Minor and Lepus – all that lot.”

  “What important names.” The two boys giggled. “We call them Foxy and Bear and Hare.”

  “Call them anything you like. Just get out of here, the three of you. And take your circus beasts along or I’ll go to the Zoo and find the Keeper and have them put behind bars.”

  “If a gooseberry bush may make a remark?” Mary Poppins broke in. “You did say gooseberry bush, I believe?” she said with icy politeness.

  The Park Keeper quailed before her glance.

  “It was just a-a kind of manner of speaking. And gooseberry bush is no libel, it’s just a sort of – er – spiky shrub. And anyway, put it in a nutshell –” Why shouldn’t he speak his mind, he thought. “It isn’t as though you’re the Queen of Sheba.”

  The big man sprang from the marble seat.

  “Who says she’s not?” he demanded sternly, and the lion-skin stiffened on his shoulder, the head showing its fangs.

  The Park Keeper hurriedly took a step backwards.

  “Well, no one can say she is, can they? What with turned-up nose and turned-out feet and a knob of hair and—”

  “What’s wrong with them?” The big man glowered, reaching for the club at his side and looming over the Park Keeper, who hurriedly took another step backwards.

  Majestically, a pink and white statue, Mary Poppins inserted herself between them. “If you’re looking for the Keeper of the Zoological Gardens, he is not in the Zoo. He is in the Lake.”

  “In the Lake?” The Park Keeper stared at her aghast. “D-drownded?” he whispered, pale as a lily. Oh, alas, alas!”

  “Paddling. With the Lord Mayor and two Aldermen. Fishing for tiddlers to put in a jam-jar.”

  “J-jam-jar? The Lord Mayor? Oh, no! Oh, no! Not tiddlers. It’s against the B-bye-laws. Isn’t anyone Observing the Rules?” the Park Keeper cried in despair.

  The world, as he knew it, had fallen apart. Where now was the lawful authority that he had always served? To whom could he turn for reassurance? The Policeman? No, he was off with Ellen. The Lord Mayor – oh, horrors! – was in the Lake. The Prime Minister was closeted with the King. And he himself, the Park’s Park Keeper, important though he undoubtedly was, must carry the burden alone.

  “Why should it all depend on me?” He flung his arms wide with the question. “All right, I took off a bit of time, which is owed me, after all. And it wasn’t much to ask,” he lamented. “Only to find my own True Love –”

  “Curly Locks, I suppose, or Rapunzel?” Mrs Corry chuckled. “You’ll find they’re suited, I’m afraid. But I’ve got a couple of soncy girls – Fannie and Annie, take your pick – and I’ll throw in a pound of tea!”

  The Park Keeper put the suggestion aside as being beneath his notice.

  “To find my True Love,” he repeated. “And all Litter placed in the proper baskets. No Stealing of Herbs from here, nor Cherries from the Lane. No one pretending to be what they’re not.” He waved at the intruders. “And everyone keeping the Bye-laws.”

  “If you ask me, that’s a lot to ask.” The big man looked
at him sternly. “True Loves don’t grow on trees, you know.”

  “Or gooseberry bushes,” Mary Poppins put in.

  “And what are cherries for but eating? Herbs too, if it comes to that.” The big man swallowed another cherry, and spat out another stone.

  “But you can’t just pick them because you want them!” The Park Keeper was scandalised.

  “Why else?” enquired the big man mildly. “If we didn’t want them, we wouldn’t take them.”

  “Because you’ve got to think of others. “The Park Keeper, who seldom thought of others himself, was quick to deliver his sermon. “That’s why we have the Bye-laws, see!”

  “Well, we are the others, all of us. And so are you, my man.”

  “Me!” The Park Keeper was indignant. “I’m not somebody else, not me!”

  “Of course you are. Everyone’s somebody else to someone. And what harm have the wild beasts done? A few green leaves one day in the year! It’s true that they’re not used to Bye-laws. We don’t have them up there, thank goodness. “The big man nodded at the sky.

  “And as for pretending to be what we’re not – or what you presume to think we’re not – how about yourself? Making all this fuss and pother, meddling in things that don’t concern you – isn’t it rather presumptuous? You’re behaving as though you owned the place. Why not look after your own affairs and leave the Park to the Park Keeper? He seems a sensible sort of chap. I always enjoy looking down at him – mowing the lawns, putting waste paper into containers, faithfully going about his job.”

  The Park Keeper stared.

  “But it’s my job he’s going about. I mean that I’m going about it. Don’t you see? He’s me!”

  “Who’s you?”

  “Him. I mean me. I’m the Park Keeper.”

  “Nonsense! I’ve seen him often enough. A decent young fellow, neat and natty. Wears a peaked cap with P.K. on it, not a silly little blue flannel top-knot.”

  The Park Keeper clapped his hand to his head. The Prime Minister’s cap! He had quite forgotten. Perhaps he should never have worn it.

  “Look here,” he said, with the fearful calm of one who is near his wits’ end. “I’m the same man, aren’t I, whatever my cap?” Surely it was obvious. Had circus people no brains at all?

  “Well, are you? Only you can give an answer to that. And it’s not an easy question. I wonder. . .” The big man was suddenly thoughtful. “I wonder, would I be the same person without my belt and lion-skin?”

  “And your club. And your faithful dog-star. Don’t forget Sirius, Orion!’ The two boys laughed and teased him. “Sirius can’t come down with us,” they explained to Jane and Michael. “He’d be chasing all the cats in the Lane.”

  “Yes, yes, the fellow has a point. Even so,” the big man went on, “I can’t believe the Keeper I know, that watchful, conscientious servant, would go walking backwards through the Park, eyes closed, hands outstretched, and bits of crust behind his ears. And on top of that – without a ‘By your leave’ or ‘I beg your pardon’ – go bumping into an elegant lady as though she were a lamp-post.”

  The Park Keeper put his hands to his ears. It was true. They were decked with scraps of sandwich!

  “Well,” he blustered, “how was I to know she was there? And it wasn’t the bread that was important. What I wanted was cucumber.”

  “A proper Park Keeper doesn’t go about bumping. And he knows how to get just what he wants. If cucumber, then why bread? You should be more precise.”

  “I know what I want,” said a voice from the hedge. “A little of something sweet.”

  “Have a finger!” Mrs Corry shrieked, as she broke off one from her left hand and offered it to the Bear. “Don’t worry, it will grow again!”

  His small eyes widened with surprise. “Barley sugar!” he exclaimed with delight, and stuffed it into his mouth.

  “Nothing for nothing!” said Mrs Corry. “Put a shine on my coat for luck!”

  The Bear put his paw upon her collar. “It’ll shine, when it’s time – just wait!” he said.

  “What I want is a pair of gloves. I’m going to a party tonight and I like to look well-dressed. “The Fox prinked and pranced beside the Foxgloves, as he tried on flower after flower.

  “Parsley!” said the Hare from the Parsley patch.

  “For his rheumatism,” the big man explained. “It’s often cold up there and draughty. And Parsley’s good for it.”

  “Coo-roo, coo-roo,” the great Bird crooned as he munched his Fennel.

  “I do

  Like a herb

  Or two,

  Don’t you?”

  The Park Keeper’s eyes, as large as soup plates, swivelled in all directions.

  Had he seen? Had he heard? A finger turned into Barley Sugar? Animals speaking in human voices? No, of course he hadn’t! Yes, he had! Was it a dream? Had he gone mad?

  “It’s the cucumber!” he cried wildly. “I shouldn’t have done it. Not behind the ears. She said it would be witchy. And it is! But whether it’s worth it, I’m not sure. Maybe I’m not the Park Keeper. Maybe I am somebody else. Everything’s head over heels tonight. I don’t know nothing, not any more.”

  And snatching the cricket cap from his head, he flung himself, sobbing, across the lawn and buried his face in his mother’s skirt.

  She smoothed his ruffled hair with her hand. “Don’t take on so vainly, Fred. It’ll come right – you’ll see.”

  The big man regarded him broodingly.

  “A sprig of Heartsease or Lemon balm – either of them would be soothing. Probably needs a rest from himself, whoever he is, poor chap! I even get tired of being Orion.” He sighed and shook his head.

  “We don’t need a rest from ourselves, do we?” Castor and Pollux exchanged a grin.

  “Ah, that’s because you’ve got each other. But it’s often lonely, away up there.”

  “I never get tired of being myself. I like being Michael Banks,” said Michael. “And so does Mary Poppins. I mean, she likes being Mary Poppins. Don’t you, Mary Poppins?”

  “Who else would I want to be, pray?” She gave him one of her haughty looks. The very idea was absurd.

  “Ah, well, but you’re the Great Exception. We can’t all be like you, can we?” Orion gave her a sidelong glance and picked out another pair of cherries. “That’s for your other ear, my dear.”

  “I’ve no complaints,” the Bear bumbled. “I like showing sailors the way home.”

  “I’m going to be a sailor,” said Michael. “Aunt Flossie sent me this suit for my birthday.”

  “Well, you’ll need the star in my tail to guide you. I am always there.”

  “Not if I have Mary Poppins’ compass. I can go right round the world with that. And she can stay here and look after my children.”

  “Thank you, Michael Banks, I’m sure. If I’ve nothing better to do than that,” she gave a loud, affronted sniff, “I’ll be sorry for myself.”

  “Come to the party, that’s something better – me in my beautiful foxgloves and you in your new pink dress.” The Fox danced on his hind legs and held up his foxgloved paws. “The handsome Mr Vulpecula, arm in arm with Miss Mary Poppins!”

  “Handsome is as handsome does.” Mary Poppins, with a toss of her head, tossed aside the invitation.

  “There’s poison in Foxgloves,” said Michael glibly. “Mary Poppins never let us wear them in case we happen to lick our fingers and then have to go to bed, and be sick.”

  “Foxes do not lick their paws, nothing so vulgar,” said the Fox. “They merely wash them in the evening dew.”

  “Parsley,” said a voice from the Parsley patch, with a coughing, choking sound.

  Orion sprang from his marble seat.

  “Be careful, Lepus, don’t eat it! Spit it out, whatever it is! Ah, that’s better. There’s a good Hare!” He fossicked among the curling fronds and held up a shiny circular object. “A half-crown piece, by all that’s lucky! And he nearly swallowed it.”
>
  The four children clustered about it, gazing greedily at the coin.

  “What will you spend it on?” Jane asked.

  “How could I spend it? There’s nothing to buy. There are no ice cream carts in the sky, no peppermint horses, no balloons, not even. . .” he glanced at Mrs Corry, “not even a gingerbread star.”

  “Well, what is up there? Nothing but nothing?” Michael found that hard to believe.

  “Just space.” Orion shrugged his shoulders. “Though you can’t exactly say space is nothing.”

  “And there’s lots of room,” said Castor and Pollux. “Pegasus gallops everywhere and we take it in turns to ride him.”

  Michael felt a twinge of envy. He wished he could ride a horse through the sky.

  “Room? Who wants room?” Orion grumbled. “Down here you have no room at all. Everything’s close to something else. Houses leaning against each other. Trees and bushes crowding together. Pennies and halfpennies clinking in pockets. Friends and neighbours always at hand. Someone to talk to, someone to listen. Ah, well,” he sighed, “each to his fate.”

  He tossed the silver coin in the air.

  “Tails up, and you two can have it.” He nodded at Jane and Michael. “Heads, and I keep it myself.”

  Down came the coin on his outstretched palm. “Heads it is. Hooray!” he cried. “If I can’t spend it, at least I can wear it. I like a bit of bric-a-brac.”

  He pressed the half-crown against his belt in line with the three studs already there. “How does it look? Too flimsy? Too vulgar?”

  “Oh, it’s lovely!” all four children exclaimed.

  “Neat enough,” said Mary Poppins. “You’ll need to keep it polished.”

  “Gingerbreadish, I’d say,” giggled Mrs Corry. “A souvenir to remember us by.”

  “Souvenir!” Orion growled. “As if I needed reminding.”

  “He’s right. He doesn’t,” said Castor and Pollux. “He pines all the year for Midsummer’s Eve – this is our one night of magic – and the Park and the cherries and the music.”

  “Don’t you have music up there?” asked Jane.

  “Well,” said Orion, “the morning stars sing together, of course. Same old plainsong day in and day out. But none of your cheerful, homely things. Polly Wolly Doodle, Skip to my Lou, Pop Goes the What-you-call-it – all that stuff. Listen! They’re singing down by the Lake. Don’t tell me, I’ll get it in a minute. Ah, yes – Green Grow the Rushes-O.” He hummed a line of the song.