Mary Poppins Comes Back by P. L. Travers
“Mr Smith,” said the fat man in a fat, confident voice, “if you find so much as a postage stamp when the Fair’s over, I’ll – well, I’ll be surprised. You’ll be able to eat your dinner off that Fair Ground, or my name’s not Willie Mudge.”
And he stuck his thumbs into the armholes of his jacket and swaggered off, looking very important.
“Last year,” the Park Keeper shouted after him, “I swept up sacks of postage stamps! And I don’t eat me dinner there. I go ’ome for it!”
He turned to his work again with a sigh and the lawn-mower went up and down with a steady, sleepy drone. At the last stripe, where the lawn ended in the Rose Garden, he glanced cautiously round. Now was the moment, he felt, if there was nobody about to report him to the Lord Mayor, to take a little rest.
The Rose Garden was a ring of rose-beds enclosing a little green space. In the middle was a pool, and in the pool stood a fountain of white marble shaped like an open rose.
The Park Keeper peered through the flowering bushes. There, by the fountain, lay Jane and Michael. And just beyond the Rose Garden, on a marble seat, sat an elderly gentleman. He seemed to have forgotten his hat, for his bald head was sheltered from the sun by a peaked cap made of newspaper. His nose was deep in an enormous book, which he was reading with the aid of a magnifying–glass. He muttered to himself as he turned the pages.
Jane and Michael too, had a book. And Jane’s voice mingled with the sound of the fountain as she read aloud to Michael. It was a peaceful scene.
“Quiet for once,” the Park Keeper murmured. “I shall just snatch Forty Winks!” And he lay down cautiously among the bushes hoping that if anyone passed they would mistake him for a rose.
Had he looked in the other direction he might have thought better of behaving so recklessly. For, away under the wisterias, pushing the perambulator backwards and forwards in a rhythmic, soothing movement, was Mary Poppins.
Creak, creak, went the wheels.
Whimper, whimper, went Annabel, who was cutting her first tooth.
“Shoo now! Shoo now!” murmured Mary Poppins, in an absent-minded voice.
She was thinking about her new pink blouse, with the lace-edged handkerchief stuck in the pocket. How nicely it harmonised, she thought, with the tulip in her hat. And she could not help wishing there were more people in the Park to appreciate the spectacle. On every bench and under every tree there should have been an admiring onlooker. “There’s that charming Miss Poppins,” she imagined them saying, “always so neat and respectable!”
But there were only a few scattered strangers hurrying along the paths and taking no notice of anybody.
She could see the Policeman forlornly gazing up at the windows of Number Seventeen. And the fat man with the large cigar who, in spite of all the Park Keeper’s warnings, was walking on the grass. She prinked a little as Bert, the Match Man, biting into a rosy apple, came sauntering through the Gate. Perhaps he was looking for her, she thought, smoothing her neat black gloves.
She could also see Miss Lark, whose two dogs were taking her for an afternoon run. They rushed down the Long Walk laughing and barking, while Miss Lark, with the two leads in her hands, came tumbling behind. Her hat was over one ear and her scarf flapped about like a flag in the breeze. Gloves and spectacles scattered from her, and her necklaces and beads and bracelets were swinging in all directions.
Mary Poppins sniffed. Miss Lark, she thought, was not so tidy as somebody she could mention! She smiled a small self-satisfied smile and went on rocking Annabel.
Now that the lawn-mower was silent, there was hardly a sound in the Park. Only the music of the fountain and Jane’s voice coming to the end of a story.
“So that,” she concluded, “was the end of the Witch. And the King and the Maiden were married next day and lived happily ever after.”
Michael sighed contentedly and nibbled a leaf of clover.
Away beyond the Rose Garden, the elderly gentleman took off his glasses, spread his handkerchief over his face and dozed on the marble seat.
“Go on, Jane. Don’t stop!” urged Michael. “Read another one.”
Jane turned the pages of The Silver Fairy Book. It was worn and faded, for its life had been long and busy. Once it had belonged to Mrs Banks, and before that it had been given to her mother by her mother. Many of the pictures had disappeared and the drawings had all been coloured with crayons, either by Jane and Michael or by their mother. Perhaps, even, by their Grandmother too.
“It’s so hard to choose,” Jane murmured, for she loved every one of the stories.
“Well, read wherever it falls open – the way you always do!”
She closed the book, held it between her hands for a second, and then let it go. With a little thud it fell on the grass and opened right in the middle.
“Hooray!” said Michael. “It’s The Three Princes.” And he settled himself to listen.
“Once upon a time,” read Jane, “there lived a King who had three sons. The eldest was Prince Florimond, the second Prince Veritain, and the third Prince Amor. Now, it so happened that—”
“Let me see the picture!” interrupted Michael.
It was a drawing he particularly liked, for he and Jane had coloured it one rainy afternoon. The Princes were standing at the edge of a forest and the branches that spread above their heads bore fruit and flowers together. A saddled Unicorn stood beside them, with its rein looped round the arm of the eldest.
Prince Florimond was in green crayon with a purple cap. Prince Veritain had an orange jerkin and his cap was scarlet. And little Prince Amor was all in blue, with a golden dagger stuck in his belt. Chrome-coloured ringlets fell about the shoulders of the two elder brothers. And the youngest, who was bareheaded, had a yellow circlet of short curls, rather like a crown.
As for the Unicorn, he was silvery white from mane to tail – except for his eyes, which were the colour of forget-me-nots; and his horn, which was striped with red and black.
Jane and Michael gazed down at the page and smiled at the pictured children. And the three Princes smiled up from the book and seemed to lean forward from the forest.
Michael sighed. “If only I had a dagger like Amor’s. It would just be about my size.”
A breeze rustled the trees of the Park and the coloured drawing seemed to tremble.
“I never can choose between Florimond and Veritain,” Jane murmured. “They are both so beautiful.”
The fountain gave a laughing ripple and an echo of laughter seemed to come from the book.
“I’ll lend it to you!” said the youngest Prince, whipping the dagger from his belt.
“Why not choose us both?” cried the two eldest, stepping forward on to the lawn.
Jane and Michael caught their breath. What had happened? Had the painted forest come to the Park? Or was it that the Rose Garden had gone into the picture? Are we there? Are they here? Which is which? they asked themselves, and could not give an answer.
“Don’t you know us, Jane?” asked Florimond, smiling.
“Yes, of course!” she gasped. “But – how did you get here?”
“Didn’t you see?” asked Veritain. “You smiled at us and we smiled at you. And the picture looked so shiny and bright – you and Michael and the painted roses—”
“So we jumped right into the story!” Amor concluded gaily.
“Out of it, you mean!” cried Michael. “We’re not a story. We’re real people. It’s you who are the pictures!”
The Princes tossed their curls and laughed.
“Touch me!” said Florimond.
“Take my hand!” urged Veritain.
“Here’s my dagger!” cried Amor.
Michael took the golden weapon. It was sharp and solid and warm from Amor’s body.
“Who’s real now?” Amor demanded. “Tuck it into your belt,” he said, smiling at Michael’s astonished face.
“You see – I was right!” said Florimond, as Jane put one hand on his sleeve and t
“But,” she protested. “How can it be? You are in Once Upon a Time. And that is long ago.”
“Oh, no!” said Veritain. “It’s always. Do you remember your Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandmother?”
“Of course not. I am much too young.”
“We do,” said Florimond, with a smile. “And what about your Great-Great-Great-Great-Granddaughter? Will you ever see her, do you think?”
Jane shook her head a little wistfully. That charming far-away little girl – how much she would like to know her!
“We shall,” said Veritain confidently.
“But how? You’re the children in the story!”
Florimond laughed and shook his head.
“You are the children in the story! We’ve read about you so often, Jane, and looked at the picture and longed to know you. So today – when the book fell open – we simply walked in. We come once into everyone’s story – the grandparents and the grandchildren are all the same to us. But most people take no notice.” He sighed. “Or if they do, they forget very quickly. Only a few remember.”
Jane’s hand tightened on his sleeve. She felt she would never forget him, not if she lived to be forty.
“Oh, don’t waste time explaining,” begged Amor. “We want to explore the picture!”
“We’ll lead the way!” cried Michael eagerly, as he seized Amor by the hand. He hardly cared whether he was a real boy or a boy in a story, so long as the golden dagger lay snugly in his belt.
“We’ll follow!” cried Veritain, running behind them.
Florimond gave a piercing whistle and tugged at the rein on his arm.
Immediately, as if from nowhere, the Unicorn appeared at his side. Florimond patted the silky neck and, moving off beside Jane, he glanced about him eagerly.
“Look, brothers – over there is the Lake! Do you see Neleus with his Dolphin? And that must be Number Seventeen. We never could see it clearly before,” he explained to Jane and Michael. “In the picture it’s hidden behind the trees.”
“H’m – a very small house,” said Amor, gazing.
“But it’s solid and friendly,” said Veritain kindly.
“And the grounds are very extensive.” Florimond made a sweeping gesture and bent to sniff at a rose.
“Now, now! Wot are you doin’!” The Park Keeper, roused from his Forty Winks, sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Observe the Rules,” he grumbled, stretching. “No Pickin’ of Flowers allowed.”
“I wasn’t picking. I was just smelling. Though, of course,” said Florimond politely, “I would like to have a rose from Jane’s garden. As a souvenir, you know!”
“Jane’s garden?”The Park Keeper stared. “This is no garden. It’s a Public Park. And it don’t belong to Jane. Souveneer, indeed!” he spluttered. “’Oo do you think you are?”
“Oh, I don’t think – I know!” the Prince replied. “I am Florimond, the King’s eldest son. These are my brothers – don’t you remember? And our task is to fight the Dragon.”
The Park Keeper’s eyes nearly dropped from his head.
“King’s eldest. . .? Dragon? No dragons allowed in the Public Parks. And no horses, neither!” he added, as his eyes fell on the silvery hooves that were lightly pawing the lawn.
A peal of laughter burst from Amor.
Jane and Michael giggled.
“That’s not a horse,” Veritain protested. “Can’t you see? He’s a Unicorn!”
“Now, now!” The Park Keeper heaved to his feet. “I ought to know a Norse when I see one and that’s a Norse or I’m a – Lumme!”
The milk-white creature raised its head.
“It is! It is a Unycorn! ’Orn and all – just like a picture. I never saw such a thing before – at least—” The Park Keeper wrinkled up his brow as though he were trying to remember something. “No, no,” he murmured, “I couldn’t have! Not even when I was a boy. A Unycorn! I must make a report. Winkle, where are you? ’Ere, you boys!” He turned to the astonished Princes. “You ’old ’im quiet till I get back. Don’t let him go wotever you do!”
And off he went, leaping over the flower-beds. “’Orn and all!” they heard him shouting, as he darted among the laurels.
The Princes, their eyes round with surprise, gazed after his disappearing figure.
“Your gardener seems very excitable,” said Florimond to Jane.
She was just about to explain that the Park Keeper was not their gardener, when a shrill voice interrupted her.
“Wait! Wait! Not so fast! My arms are nearly out of their sockets. Oh, what shall I do? There goes my scarf!”
Into the Rose Garden plunged Miss Lark, with the two dogs straining at their leads. Her hat was wobbling dangerously and her hair hung in wisps around her face.
“Oh, goodness! There they go again! Andrew! Willoughby! Do come back!”
But the dogs merely laughed. They tugged the leathers from her hands and, bounding gaily towards the Princes, they leapt up at Amor.
“Oh, Jane! Oh, Michael!” Miss Lark panted. “Do help me, please, to catch the dogs. I don’t like them talking to strangers. Look at that queer boy kissing Andrew! He may have a cold and the dogs will catch it. Who are these children? What very odd clothes! And their hair is much too long!”
“This is Florimond,” said Jane politely.
“This is Veritain,” added Michael.
“And this is Amor!” said Amor, laughing, as he kissed Willoughby’s nose.
“Peculiar names!” exclaimed Miss Lark. “And yet. . .” Her face had a puzzled expression. “I seem to have heard them before. Where can it have been? In a pantomime?”
She peered at the Princes and shook her head. “They’re foreigners, without a doubt. And what have they got there – a donkey? Gracious!” She gave a shriek of surprise. “It can’t be! Yes! No! Yes – it is! A Unicorn – how wonderful!”
She clasped her hands in ecstasy and trilled away like a lark. “Horn and all! A Unicorn! But why isn’t somebody looking after it?”
“We are looking after him,” said Florimond calmly.
“Nonsense! Ridiculous! Absurd! He should be in charge of responsible people. I shall go myself to the British Museum and find the Chief Professor. Andrew and Willoughby, leave that boy and come along with Mother! Quickly, quickly!” She seized the leads. “We must go at once for help!”
The two dogs exchanged a wink and dashed away at full speed.
“Oh, not so quickly as that,” cried Miss Lark. “You will have me head-over-heels. Oh, dear, oh, dear – there goes my bracelet! Never mind!” she called over her shoulder, as Veritain stooped to pick it up. “Keep it! I’ve no time to waste!”
And off she stumbled behind the dogs with her hair and necklaces flying.
“Officer!” they heard her calling to the Policeman. “There’s a Unicorn in the Rose Garden. Be sure you don’t let him escape!”
“Escape?” said Amor. “But why should he want to! He’d never be happy away from us.”
He smiled lovingly at Michael as the Unicorn thrust his head between them and tickled their cheeks with his mane.
“A Unicorn!” The Policeman stared. “Miss Lark’s gettin’ queerer and queerer!” he muttered, as he watched her fluttering down he path. “’Ere! Look where you’re going, Mr Mudge! You can’t do that to the Law.”
For a large fat man had bumped into him and was breathlessly hurrying by. The Policeman seized him by the arm.
“A Unicorn, the old girl said!” Mr Mudge panted heavily.
“A Unicorn?” cried the passing strangers. “We don’t believe it! We must write to The Times!”
“Of course, I know there’s no such thing. Somebody’s having a bit of a joke.” Mr Mudge mopped his poppy cheeks. “But I thought as I’d go and see.”
“Well, you go quietly,” the Policeman advised him. “And treat the Law with respect.”
He releas
“Come, let us go deeper into the picture,” Florimond was saying. He took Jane gently by the hand and Veritain came to her other side.
“Hurry up, Michael! Let’s try the swings. And then we can paddle in the Lake.” Amor gave a tug to Michael’s hand. “But who are all these people?”
The five children glanced about them. The Park, which had been so quiet before, was now filled with flying figures, all racing towards the Rose Garden and shouting as they came. The Policeman stalked along before them with big, important strides.
As the children turned to leave the garden, his large blue body barred the way.
He gave one glance at the Unicorn and his eyebrows went up to the edge of his helmet.
“Miss Lark was right, after all,” he muttered. Then he eyed the Princes sternly.
“Might I h’ask what you think you’re up to – disturbing the peace in a public place? And I’d like to know how you three tinkers got hold of that there animal!”
“They’re not tinkers!” protested Michael. He was shocked at the Policeman’s words. Couldn’t he see who they were?
“Gypsies, then. You can tell by their clothes. Too gaudy for respectable people.”
“But don’t you remember them?” cried Jane. She was fond of the Policeman and wanted him not to make a mistake.
“Never saw them before in my life.” He took out his notebook and pencil. “Now, I want a few pertickelers. Honesty’s the best policy, lads, so speak up clearly and state the facts. First of all, where do you come from?”
“Nowhere!” giggled Amor.
“Everywhere!” said Veritain.
“East of the sun and West of the Moon,” Florimond added gravely.
“Now, now! This won’t do. I asked a plain question and I want a plain answer. Where do you live? What place on the map?”
“Oh, it’s not on the map,” said Florimond. “But it’s easy to find if you really want to. You only have to wish.”
“No fixed address,” the Policeman murmured, writing in his notebook. “You see! They’re gypsies – just like I said. Now then, young man – your father’s name!”
“Fidelio,” answered Florimond.