P. Travers: Mary Poppins Opens the Door

The Sweep looked after him for a moment. Then he smiled to himself and rang the door-bell….

"He doesn't mean it, does he, Mother? He will come home for the fireworks!" Jane and Michael rushed at Mrs. Banks and tugged at her skirt.

"Oh, I can't promise anything, children!" she sighed, as she looked at her face in the front hall mirror.

And she thought to herself — Yes, I'm getting thinner. One of my dimples has gone already and soon I shall lose the second. No one will look at me any more. And it's all her fault!

By her, Mrs. Banks meant Mary Poppins, who had been the children's nurse. As long as Mary Poppins was in the house, everything had gone smoothly. But since that day when she had left them — so suddenly and without a Word of Warning — the family had gone from Bad to Worse.

Here am I, thought Mrs. Banks miserably, with five wild children and no one to help me. I've advertised. I've asked my friends. But nothing seems to happen. And George is getting crosser and crosser; and Annabel's teething; and Jane and Michael and the Twins are so naughty, not to mention that awful Income Tax—

She watched a tear run over the spot where the dimple had once been.

"It's no good," she said, with sudden decision. "I shall have to send for Miss Andrew."

A cry went up from all four children. Away in the Nursery, Annabel screamed. For Miss Andrew had once been their Father's governess and they knew how frightful she was.

"I won't speak to her!" shouted Jane, in a rage.

"I'll spit on her shoes if she comes!" threatened Michael.

"No, no!" wailed John and Barbara miserably.

Mrs. Banks clapped her hands to her ears. "Children, have mercy!" she cried in despair.

"Beg pardon, ma'am," said Ellen the housemaid, as she tapped Mrs. Banks on the shoulder. "The Sweep is 'ere for the Drawing-room Chimbley. But I warn you, ma'am, it's my Day Out! And I can't clean up after 'im. So there!" She blew her nose with a trumpeting sound.

"Excuse me!" said the Sweep cheerfully, as he dragged in his bags and brushes.

"'Oo's that?" came the voice of Mrs. Brill as she hurried up from the kitchen. "The Sweep? On Baking Day? No, you don't! I'm sorry to give you notice, ma'am. But if that Hottentot goes into the chimney, I shall go out of the door."

Mrs. Banks glanced round desperately.

"I didn't ask him to come!" she declared. "I don't even know if the chimney wants sweeping!"

"A chimbley's always glad of a brush." The Sweep stepped calmly into the Drawing-room and began to spread out his sheet.

Mrs. Banks looked nervously at Mrs. Brill. "Perhaps Robertson Ay could help—" she began.

"Robertson is asleep in the pantry, wrapped in your best lace shawl. And nothing will wake him," said Mrs. Brill, "but the sound of the Last TYombone. So, if you please, I'll be packing my bag. 'Ow! Let me go, you Hindoo!"

For the Sweep had seized Mrs. Brill's hand and was shaking it vigorously. A reluctant smile spread over her face.

"Well — just this once!" she remarked cheerfully. And she went down the kitchen stairs.

The Sweep turned to Ellen with a grin.

"Don't touch me, you black heathen!" she screamed in a terrified voice. But he took her hand in a firm grip and she, too, began to smile. "Well, no messing up the carpet!" she warned him, and hurried off to her work.

"Shake!" said the Sweep, as he turned to the children. "It's sure to bring you luck!" He left a black mark on each of their palms and they all felt suddenly better.

Then he put out his hand to Mrs. Banks. And as she took his warm black fingers her courage came flowing back.

"We must make the best of things, darlings," she said. "I shall advertise for another nurse. And perhaps something good will happen."

Jane and Michael sighed with relief. At least she was not going to send for Miss Andrew.

"What do you do when yon need luck?" asked Jane, as she followed the Sweep to the Drawing-room.

"Oh, I just shake 'ands with meself," he said, cheerfully, pushing his brush up the chimney.

All day long the children watched him and argued over who should hand him the brushes. Now and again Mrs. Banks came in, to complain of the noise and hurry the Sweep.

And all day long, beyond the windows, the mist crept through the Lane. Every sound was muffled. The birds were gone. Except for an old and moulting Starling who kept on peering through the cracks in the blinds as if he were looking for someone.

At last the Sweep crept out of the chimney and smiled at his handiwork.

"So kind of you!" said Mrs. Banks hurriedly. "Now, I'm sure you must want to pack up and go home—"

" I 'm in no 'Urry," remarked the Sweep. "Me Tea isn't ready till six o'clock and I've got an hour to fill in—"

"Well, you can't fill it in here!" Mrs. Banks shrieked. "I have to tidy up this room before my husband comes home!"

"I tell you what—" the Sweep said calmly. "If you've got a rocket or two about you, I could take them children into the Park and show 'em a few fireworks. It'd give you a rest and meself a TVeat. I've always been very partial to rockets, ever since a boy— and before!"

A yell of delight went up from the children. Michael ran to a window and lifted the blind.

"Oh, look what's happened!" he cried in triumph.

For a change had come to Cherry-Tree Lane. The chill grey mist had cleared away. The houses were lit with warm soft lights. And away in the West shone a glimmer of sunset, rosy and clear and bright.

"Remember your coats!" cried Mrs. Banks, as the children darted away. Then she ran to the cupboard under the staircase and brought out a nobbly parcel.

"Here you are!" she said breathlessly to the Sweep. "And, mind, be careful of sparks!"

"Sparks?" said the Sweep. "Why, sparks is my 'Obby. Them and the soot wot comes after!"

The children leapt like puppies about him as he went down the garden path. Mrs. Banks sat down for two minutes' rest on one of the sheet-covered chairs. The Starling looked in at her for a moment. Then he shook his head disappointedly and flew away again….

Daylight was fading as they crossed the road. By the Park railings Bert, the Matchman, was spreading out his tray. He lit a candle with one of his matches and began to draw pictures on the pavement. He nodded gaily to the children as they hurried through the Gates.

"Now, all we need," the Sweep said fussily, "is a clear patch of grass—"

"Which you won't get!" said a voice behind them. "The Park is closed at 5:30."

Out from the shadows came the Park Keeper, looking very belligerent.

"But it's Guy Fawkes' Day — the Fifth of November!" the children answered quickly.

"Orders is orders!" he retorted, "and all days are alike to me."

"Well, where can we let off the fireworks?" Michael demanded impatiently.

A greedy look leapt to the Keeper's eyes.

"You got some fireworks?" he said hungrily. "Well, why not say so before!" And he snatched the parcel from the Sweep and began to untie the string. "Matches — that's what we need!" he went on, panting with excitement.

"Here," said the Matchman's quiet voice. He had followed the children into the Park and was standing behind them with his lighted candle.

The Park Keeper opened a bundle of Squibs.

"They're ours, you know!" Michael reminded him.

"Ah, let me help you — do!" said the Keeper. "I've never 'ad fun on Guy Fawkes' Day — never since I was a boy!"

And without waiting for permission, he lit the Squibs at the Matchman's candle. The hissing streams of fire poured out, and pop, pop, pop, went the crackers. The Park Keeper seized a Catherine Wheel and stuck it on a branch. The rings of light began to turn and sparkled on the air. And after that he was so excited that nothing could stop him. He went on lighting fuse after fuse as though he had gone mad.