More about Mary Poppins / И снова о Мэри Поппинз

“Fannie! Annie! Where are you?” Her voice seemed to echo back to them from each dark wall of the shop.

And as she called, two of the largest people the children had ever seen rose from behind the counter and shook hands with Mary Poppins. The huge women then leant down over the counter and said, “How de do?*” in voices as large as themselves, and shook hands with Jane and Michael.

“How do you do, Miss —?” Michael paused, wondering which of the large ladies was which.

“Fannie’s my name,” said one of them. “My rheumatism is about the same; thank you for asking.” She spoke very mournfully, as though she were unused to such a courteous greeting.

“It’s a lovely day – ” began Jane politely to the other sister, who kept Jane’s hand imprisoned for almost a minute in her huge clasp.

“I’m Annie,” she informed them miserably. “And handsome is as handsome does.”

Jane and Michael thought that both the sisters had a very odd way of expressing themselves, but they had not time to be surprised for long, for Miss Fannie and Miss Annie were reaching out their long arms to the perambulator. Each shook hands solemnly with one of the Twins, who were so astonished that they began to cry.

“Now, now, now, now!* What’s this, what’s this?” A high, thin, crackly little voice came from the back of the shop. At the sound of it the expression on the faces of Miss Fannie and Miss Annie, sad before, became even sadder. They seemed frightened and ill at ease, and somehow Jane and Michael realised that the two huge sisters were wishing that they were much smaller and less conspicuous.

“What’s all this I hear?” cried the curious high little voice, coming nearer. And presently, round the corner of the glass case the owner of it appeared. She was as small as her voice and as crackly, and to the children she seemed to be older than anything in the world, with her wispy hair and her stick-like legs and her wizened, wrinkled little face. But in spite of this she ran towards them as lightly and as gaily as though she were still a young girl.

“Now, now, now – well, I do declare! Bless me if it isn’t Mary Poppins, with John and Barbara Banks. What – Jane and Michael, too? Well, isn’t this a nice surprise for me? I assure you I haven’t been so surprised since Christopher Columbus discovered America – truly I haven’t!”

She smiled delightedly as she came to greet them, and her feet made little dancing movements inside the tiny elastic-sided boots. She ran to the perambulator and rocked it gently, crooking her thin, twisted, old fingers at John and Barbara until they stopped crying and began to laugh.

“That’s better!” she said, cackling gaily. Then she did a very odd thing. She broke off two of her fingers and gave one each to John and Barbara. And the oddest part of it was that in the space left by the broken-off fingers two new ones grew at once. Jane and Michael clearly saw it happen.

“Only Barley-Sugar* – can’t possibly hurt ’em,” the old lady said to Mary Poppins.

“Anything you give them, Mrs Corry, could only do them good,” said Mary Poppins with most surprising courtesy.

“What a pity,” Michael couldn’t help saying, “they weren’t Peppermint Bars*.”

“Well, they are, sometimes,” said Mrs Corry gleefully, “and very good they taste, too. I often nibble ’em myself, if I can’t sleep at night. Splendid for the digestion.”

“What will they be next time?” asked Jane, looking at Mrs Corry’s fingers with interest.

“Aha!” said Mrs Corry. “That’s just the question. I never know from day to day what they will be. I take the chance, my dear, as I heard William the Conqueror say to his Mother when she advised him not to go conquering England.”

“You must be very old!” said Jane, sighing enviously, and wondering if she would ever be able to remember what Mrs Corry remembered.

Mrs Corry flung back her wispy little head and shrieked with laughter.

“Old!” she said. “Why, I’m quite a chicken compared to my Grandmother. Now, there’s an old woman if you like. Still, I go back a good way. I remember the time when they were making this world, anyway, and I was well out of my teens then. My goodness, that was a to-do, I can tell you!”

She broke off suddenly, screwing up her little eyes at the children.

“But, deary me – here am I running on and on and you not being served! I suppose, my dear” – she turned to Mary Poppins, whom she appeared to know very well – “I suppose you’ve all come for some Gingerbread?”

“That’s right, Mrs Corry,” said Mary Poppins politely.

“Good. Have Fannie and Annie given you any?” She looked at Jane and Michael as she said this.

Jane shook her head. Two hushed voices came from behind the counter.

“No, Mother,” said Miss Fannie meekly.

“We were just going to, Mother,” began Miss Annie in a frightened whisper.

At that Mrs Corry drew herself up to her full height and regarded her gigantic daughters furiously. Then she said in a soft, fierce, terrifying voice,

“Just going to? Oh, indeed! That is very interesting. And who, may I ask, Annie, gave you permission to give away my gingerbread?”

“Nobody, Mother. And I didn’t give it away. I only thought – ”

“You only thought! That is very kind of you. But I will thank you not to think. I can do all the thinking that is necessary here!” said Mrs Corry in her soft, terrible voice. Then she burst into a harsh cackle of laughter.

“Look at her! Just look at her! Cowardy-custard!* Cry-baby!” she shrieked, pointing her knotty finger at her daughter.

Jane and Michael turned and saw a large tear coursing down Miss Annie’s huge, sad face, but they did not like to say anything, for, in spite of her tininess, Mrs Corry made them feel rather small and frightened. But as soon as Mrs Corry looked the other way Jane seized the opportunity to offer Miss Annie her handkerchief. The huge tear completely drenched it, and Miss Annie, with a grateful look, wrung it out before she returned it to Jane.

“And you, Fannie – did you think, too, I wonder?” The high little voice was now directed at the other daughter.

“No, Mother,” said Miss Fannie trembling.

“Humph! Just as well for you! Open that case!”

With frightened, fumbling fingers, Miss Fannie opened the glass case.

“Now, my darlings,” said Mrs Corry in quite a different voice. She smiled and beckoned so sweetly to Jane and Michael, that they were ashamed of having been frightened of her, and felt that she must be very nice after all. “Won’t you come and take your pick, my lambs? It’s a special recipe today – one I got from Alfred the Great*. He was a very good cook, I remember, though he did once burn the cakes. How many?”

Jane and Michael looked at Mary Poppins.

“Four each,” she said. “That’s twelve. One dozen.”

“I’ll make it a Baker’s Dozen – take thirteen,” said Mrs Corry cheerfully.

So Jane and Michael chose thirteen slabs of gingerbread, each with its gilt paper star. Their arms were piled up with the delicious dark cakes. Michael could not resist nibbling a corner of one of them.

“Good?” squeaked Mrs Corry, and when he nodded she picked up her skirts and did a few steps of the Highland Fling for pure pleasure.

“Hooray, hooray, splendid, hooray!” she cried in her shrill little voice. Then she came to a standstill* and her face grew serious.

“But remember – I’m not giving them away. I must be paid. The price is threepence for each of you.”

Mary Poppins opened her purse and took out three threepenny-bits. She gave one each to Jane and Michael.

“Now,” said Mrs Corry. “Stick ’em on my coat! That’s where they all go.”

They looked closely at her long black coat. And sure enough they found it was studded with threepenny-bits as a Coster’s* coat is with pearl buttons.

“Come along. Stick ’em on!” repeated Mrs Corry, rubbing her hands with pleasant expectation.

“You’ll find they won’t drop off.”

Mary Poppins stepped forward and pressed her threepenny-bit against the collar of Mrs Corry’s coat.

To the surprise of Jane and Michael, it stuck.

Then they put theirs on – Jane’s on the right shoulder and Michael’s on the front hem. Theirs stuck, too.

“How very extraordinary,” said Jane.

“Not at all, my dear,” said Mrs Corry chuckling. “Or rather, not so extraordinary as other things I could mention.” And she winked largely at Mary Poppins.

“I’m afraid we must be off now, Mrs Corry,” said Mary Poppins. “There is Baked Custard* for lunch, and I must be home in time to make it. That Mrs Brill – ”

“A poor cook?” enquired Mrs Corry interrupting,

“Poor!” said Mary Poppins contemptuously. “That’s not the word.”

“Ah!” Mrs Corry put her finger alongside her nose and looked very wise. Then she said,

“Well, my dear Miss Poppins, it has been a very pleasant visit and I am sure my girls have enjoyed it as much as I have.” She nodded in the direction of her two large mournful daughters. “And you’ll come again soon, won’t you, with Jane and Michael and the Babies? Now, are you sure you can carry the Gingerbread?” she continued, turning to Michael and Jane.

They nodded. Mrs Corry drew closer to them, with a curious, important, inquisitive look on her face.

“I wonder,” she said dreamily, “what you will do with the paper stars?”

“Oh, we’ll keep them,” said Jane. “We always do.”

“Ah – you keep them! And I wonder where you keep them?” Mrs Corry’s eyes were half-closed and she looked more inquisitive than ever.

“Well,” Jane began. “Mine are all under my handkerchiefs in the top left-hand drawer and – ”

“Mine are in a shoe-box on the bottom shelf of the wardrobe,” said Michael.

“Top left-hand drawer and shoe-box in the wardrobe,” said Mrs Corry thoughtfully, as though she were committing the words to memory. Then she gave Mary Poppins a long look and nodded her head slightly. Mary Poppins nodded slightly in return. It seemed as if some secret had passed between them.

“Well,” said Mrs Corry brightly, “that is very interesting. You don’t know how glad I am to know you keep your stars. I shall remember that. You see, I remember everything – even what Guy Fawkes* had for dinner every second Sunday. And now, good-bye. Come again soon. Come again so-o-o-o-n!”

Mrs Corry’s voice seemed to be growing fainter and fading away, and presently, without being quite aware of what had happened, Jane and Michael found themselves on the pavement, walking behind Mary Poppins who was again examining her list.

They turned and looked behind them.

“Why, Jane,” said Michael with surprise, “it’s not there!”

“So I see,” said Jane, staring and staring.

And they were right. The shop was not there. It had entirely disappeared.

“How odd!” said Jane.

“Isn’t it?” said Michael. “But the Gingerbread is very good.”

And they were so busy biting their Gingerbread into different shapes – a man, a flower, a teapot – that they quite forgot how very odd it was.

They remembered it again at night, however, when the lights were out and they were both supposed to be sound asleep.

“Jane, Jane!” whispered Michael. “I hear someone tip-toeing on the stairs – listen!”

“Sssh!” hissed Jane from her bed, for she, too, had heard the footsteps.

Presently the door opened with a little click and somebody came into the room. It was Mary Poppins, dressed in hat and coat all ready to go out.

She moved about the room softly with quick secret movements. Jane and Michael watched her through half-closed eyes without stirring.

First she went to the chest of drawers, opened a drawer and shut it again after a moment. Then, on tip-toe, she went to the wardrobe, opened it, bent down and put something in or took something out (they couldn’t tell which). Snap! The wardrobe door shut quickly and Mary Poppins hurried from the room.

Michael sat up in bed.

“What was she doing?” he said to Jane in a loud whisper.

“I don’t know. Perhaps she’d forgotten her gloves or her shoes or – ” Jane broke off suddenly.

“Michael, listen!”

He listened. From down below – in the garden, it seemed – they could hear several voices whispering together, very earnestly and excitedly.

With a quick movement Jane got out of bed and beckoned Michael. They crept on bare feet to the window and looked down.

There, outside in the Lane, stood a tiny form and two gigantic figures.

“Mrs Corry and Miss Fannie and Miss Annie,” said Jane in a whisper.

And so indeed it was. It was a curious group. Mrs Corry was looking through the bars of the gate of Number Seventeen, Miss Fannie had two long ladders balanced on one huge shoulder, while Miss Annie appeared to be carrying in one hand a large pail of something that looked like glue and in the other an enormous paint-brush.

From where they stood, hidden by the curtain, Jane and Michael could distinctly hear their voices.

“She’s late!” Mrs Corry was saying crossly and anxiously.

“Perhaps,” Miss Fannie began timidly, settling the ladders more firmly on her shoulder, “one of the children is ill and she couldn’t – ”

“Get away in time,” said Miss Annie, nervously completing her sister’s sentence.

“Silence!” said Mrs Corry fiercely, and Jane and Michael distinctly heard her whisper something about “great galumphing* giraffes,” and they knew she was referring to her unfortunate daughters.

“Hist!*” said Mrs Corry suddenly, listening with her head on one side, like a small bird.

There was the sound of the front door being quietly opened and shut again, and the creak of footsteps on the path. Mrs Corry smiled and waved her hand as Mary Poppins came to meet them, carrying a market basket on her arm, and in the basket was something that seemed to give out a faint, mysterious light.

“Come along, come along, we must hurry! We haven’t much time,” said Mrs Corry, taking Mary Poppins by the arm. “Look lively,* you two!” And she moved off, followed by Miss Fannie and Miss Annie, who were obviously trying to look as lively as possible but not succeeding very well. They tramped heavily after their Mother and Mary Poppins, bending under their loads.

Jane and Michael saw all four of them go down Cherry-Tree Lane, and then they turned a little to the left and went up the hill. When they got to the top of the hill, where there were no houses but only grass and clover, they stopped.

Miss Annie put down her pail of glue, and Miss Fannie swung the ladders from her shoulder and steadied them until both stood in an upright position. Then she held one and Miss Annie the other.

“What on earth are they going to do?” said Michael, gaping.

But there was no need for Jane to reply, for he could see for himself what was happening.

As soon as Miss Fannie and Miss Annie had so fixed the ladders that they seemed to be standing with one end on the earth and the other leaning on the sky, Mrs Corry picked up her skirts and the paint-brush in one hand and the pail of glue in the other. Then she set her foot on the lowest rung of one of the ladders and began to climb it. Mary Poppins carrying her basket, climbed the other.

Then Jane and Michael saw a most amazing sight. As soon as she arrived at the top of her ladder, Mrs Corry dipped her brush into the glue and began slapping the sticky substance against the sky. And Mary Poppins, when this had been done, took something shiny from her basket and fixed it to the glue. When she took her hand away they saw that she was sticking the Gingerbread Stars to the sky. As each one was placed in position it began to twinkle furiously, sending out rays of sparkling golden light.

“They’re ours!” said Michael breathlessly. “They’re our stars. She thought we were asleep and came in and took them!”

But Jane was silent. She was watching Mrs Corry splashing the glue on the sky and Mary Poppins sticking on the stars and Miss Fannie and Miss Annie moving the ladders to a new position as the spaces in the sky became filled up.

At last it was over. Mary Poppins shook out her basket and showed Mrs Corry that there was nothing left in it. Then they came down from the ladders and the procession started down the hill again, Miss Fannie shouldering the ladders, Miss Annie jangling her empty pail of glue. At the corner they stood talking for a moment; then Mary Poppins shook hands with them all and hurried up the Lane again. Mrs Corry, dancing lightly in her elastic-sided boots and holding her skirts daintily with her hands, disappeared in the other direction with her huge daughters stumping noisily behind her.

The garden-gate clicked. Footsteps creaked on the path. The front door opened and shut with a soft clanging sound. Presently they heard Mary Poppins come quietly up the stairs, tip-toe past the nursery and go on into the room where she slept with John and Barbara.

As the sound of her footsteps died away, Jane and Michael looked at each other. Then without a word they went together to the top left-hand drawer and looked.

There was nothing there but a pile of Jane’s handkerchiefs.

“I told you so,” said Michael.

Next they went to the wardrobe and looked into the shoe-box. It was empty.

“But how? But why?” said Michael, sitting down on the edge of his bed and staring at Jane.

Jane said nothing. She just sat beside him with her arms round her knees and thought and thought and thought. At last she shook back her hair and stretched herself and stood up.

“What I want to know,” she said, “is this: Are the stars gold paper or is the gold paper stars?”

There was no reply to her question and she did not expect one. She knew that only somebody very much wiser than Michael could give her the right answer…

John and Barbara’s Story

Jane and Michael had gone off to a party, wearing their best clothes and looking, as Ellen the housemaid said when she saw them, “just like a shop window.”

All the afternoon the house was very quiet and still, as though it were thinking its own thoughts, or dreaming perhaps.

Down in the kitchen Mrs Brill was reading the paper with her spectacles perched on her nose. Robertson Ay was sitting in the garden busily doing nothing. Mrs Banks was on the drawing-room sofa with her feet up. And the house stood very quietly around them all, dreaming its own dreams, or thinking perhaps.

Upstairs in the nursery Mary Poppins was airing the clothes by the fire, and the sunlight poured in at the window, flickering on the white walls, dancing over the cots where the babies were lying.

“I say, move over! You’re right in my eyes,” said John in a loud voice.

“Sorry!” said the sunlight. “But I can’t help it. I’ve got to get across this room somehow. Orders is orders.* I must move from East to West in a day and my way lies through this Nursery. Sorry! Shut your eyes and you won’t notice me.”

The gold shaft of sunlight lengthened across the room. It was obviously moving as quickly as it could in order to oblige John.

“How soft, how sweet you are! I love you,” said Barbara, holding out her hands to its shining warmth.

“Good girl,” said the sunlight approvingly, and moved up over her cheeks and into her hair with a light, caressing movement. “Do you like the feel of me?” it said, as though it loved being praised.

“Dee-licious!” said Barbara, with a happy sigh.

“Chatter, chatter, chatter! I never heard such a place for chatter*. There’s always somebody talking in this room,” said a shrill voice at the window.

John and Barbara looked up.

It was the Starling who lived on the top of the chimney.

“I like that,” said Mary Poppins, turning round quickly. “What about yourself? All day long – yes, and half the night, too, on the roofs and telegraph poles. Roaring and screaming and shouting – you’d talk the leg off a chair,* you would. Worse than any sparrer, and that’s the truth.”

The Starling cocked his head on one side and looked down at her from his perch on the window-frame.

“Well,” he said, “I have my business to attend to. Consultations, discussions, arguments, bargaining. And that, of course, necessitates a certain amount of – er – quiet conversation – ”

“Quiet!” exclaimed John, laughing heartily.

“And I wasn’t talking to you, young man,” said the Starling, hopping down on to the window-sill. “And you needn’t talk – anyway. I heard you for several hours on end last Saturday week. Goodness, I thought you’d never stop – you kept me awake all night.”

“That wasn’t talking,” said John. “I was – ” He paused. “I mean, I had a pain.”

“Humph!” said the Starling, and hopped on to the railing of Barbara’s cot. He sidled along it until he came to the head of the cot. Then he said in a soft, wheedling voice,

“Well, Barbara B.,* anything for the old fellow today, eh?”

Barbara pulled herself into a sitting position by holding on to one of the bars of her cot.

“There’s the other half of my arrowroot biscuit,” she said, and held it out in her round, fat fist.

The Starling swooped down, plucked it out of her hand and flew back to the window-sill. He began nibbling it greedily.

“Thank you!” said Mary Poppins, meaningly, but the Starling was too busy eating to notice the rebuke.

“I said ‘Thank you!’” said Mary Poppins a little louder.

The Starling looked up.

“Eh – what? Oh, get along, girl, get along. I’ve no time for such frills and furbelows*.” And he gobbled up the last of his biscuit.

The room was very quiet.

John, drowsing in the sunlight, put the toes of his right foot into his mouth and ran them along the place where his teeth were just beginning to come through.

“Why do you bother to do that?” said Barbara, in her soft, amused voice that seemed always to be full of laughter. “There’s nobody to see you.”

“I know,” said John, playing a tune on his toes. “But I like to keep in practice. It does so amuse the Grown-ups. Did you notice that Aunt Flossie nearly went mad with delight when I did it yesterday? ‘The Darling, the Clever, the Marvel, the Creature!’ – didn’t you hear her saying all that?” And John threw his foot from him and roared with laughter as he thought of Aunt Flossie.

“She liked my trick, too,” said Barbara complacently. “I took off both my socks and she said I was so sweet she would like to eat me. Isn’t it funny – when I say I’d like to eat something I really mean it. Biscuits and Rusks and the knobs of beds and so on. But Grown-ups never mean what they say, it seems to me. She couldn’t have really wanted to eat me, could she?”

“No. It’s only the idiotic way they have of talking,” said John. “I don’t believe I’ll ever understand Grown-ups. They all seem so stupid. And even Jane and Michael are stupid sometimes.”

“Um,” agreed Barbara, thoughtfully pulling off her socks and putting them on again.

“For instance,” John went on, “they don’t understand a single thing we say. But, worse than that, they don’t understand what other things say. Why, only last Monday I heard Jane remark that she wished she knew what language the Wind spoke.”

“I know,” said Barbara. “It’s astonishing. And Michael always insists – haven’t you heard him? – that the Starling says ‘Wee-Twe – ee – ee!’ He seems not to know that the Starling says nothing of the kind, but speaks exactly the same language as we do. Of course, one doesn’t expect Mother and Father to know about it – they don’t know anything, though they are such darlings – but you’d think Jane and Michael would – ”

“They did once,” said Mary Poppins, folding up one of Jane’s nightgowns.

“What?” said John and Barbara together in very surprised voices. “Really? You mean they understood the Starling and the Wind and – ”

“And what the trees say and the language of the sunlight and the stars – of course they did! Once,” said Mary Poppins.

“But – but how is it that they’ve forgotten it all?” said John, wrinkling up his forehead and trying to understand.

“Aha!” said the Starling knowingly, looking up from the remains of his biscuit. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Because they’ve grown older,” explained Mary Poppins. “Barbara, put on your socks at once, please.”

“That’s a silly reason,” said John, looking sternly at her.