Excerpts

East ­Wind If you want to find Cherry­-­Tree Lane all you have to do is ask the Policeman at the cross­-­roads. He will push his helmet slightly to one side, scratch his head thoughtfully, and then he will point his huge white­-­gloved finger and say: "First to your right, second to your left, sharp right again, and you're there. Good­-­morning." And sure enough, if you follow his directions exactly, you will be there--right in the middle of Cherry­-­Tree Lane, where the houses run down one side and the Park runs down the other and the cherry­-­trees go dancing right down the ­middle. If you are looking for Number Seventeen--and it is more than likely that you will be, for this book is all about that particular house--you will very soon find it. To begin with, it is the smallest house in the Lane. And besides that, it is the only one that is rather dilapidated and needs a coat of paint. But Mr. Banks, who owns it, said to Mrs. Banks that she could have either a nice, clean, comfortable house or four children. But not both, for he couldn't afford ­it. And after Mrs. Banks had given the matter some consideration she came to the conclusion that she would rather have Jane, who was the eldest, and Michael, who came next, and John and Barbara, who were Twins and came last of all. So it was settled, and that was how the Banks family came to live at Number Seventeen, with Mrs. Brill to cook for them, and Ellen to lay the tables, and Robertson Ay to cut the lawn and clean the knives and polish the shoes and, as Mr. Banks always said, "to waste his time and my ­money." And, of course, besides these there was Katie Nanna, who doesn't really deserve to come into the book at all because, at the time I am speaking of, she had just left Number ­Seventeen. "Without by your leave or a word of warning. And what am I to do?" said Mrs. ­Banks. "Advertise, my dear," said Mr. Banks, putting on his shoes. "And I wish Robertson Ay would go without a word of warning, for he has again polished one boot and left the other untouched. I shall look very ­lopsided." "That," said Mrs. Banks, "is not of the least importance. You haven't told me what I'm to do about Katie ­Nanna." "I don't see how you can do anything about her since she has disappeared," replied Mr. Banks, "But if it were me--I mean I--well, I should get somebody to put in the Morning Paper the news that Jane and Michael and John and Barbara Banks (to say nothing of their Mother) require the best possible Nannie at the lowest possible wage and at once. Then I should wait and watch for the Nannies to queue up outside the front gate, and I should get very cross with them for holding up the traffic and making it necessary for me to give the policeman a shilling for putting him to so much trouble. Now I must be off. Whew, it's as cold as the North Pole. Which way is the wind ­blowing?" And as he said that, Mr. Banks popped his head out of the window and looked down the Lane to Admiral Boom's house at the corner. This was the grandest house in the Lane, and the Lane was very proud of it because it was built exactly like a ship. There was a flagstaff in the garden, and on the roof was a gilt weathercock shaped like a ­telescope. "Ha!" said Mr. Banks, drawing in his head very quickly. "Admiral's telescope says East Wind. I thought as much. There is frost in my bones. I shall wear two overcoats." And he kissed his wife absentmindedly on one side of her nose and waved to the children and went away to the ­City. Now, the City was a place where Mr. Banks went every day--except Sundays, of course, and Bank Holidays--and while he was there he sat on a large chair in front of a large desk and made money. All day long he worked, cutting out pennies and shillings and half­-­crowns and threepenny­-­bits. And he brought them home with him in his little black bag. Sometimes he would give some to Jane and Michael for their money­-­boxes, and when he couldn't spare any he would say, "The Bank is broken," and they would know he hadn't made much money that ­day. Well, Mr. Banks went off with his black bag, and Mrs. Banks went into the drawing­-­room and sat there all day long writing letters to the papers and begging them to send some Nannies to her at once as she was waiting; and upstairs in the Nursery, Jane and Michael watched at the window and wondered who would come. They were glad Katie Nanna had gone, for they had never liked her. She was old and fat and smelt of barley­-­water. Anything, they thought, would be better than Katie Nanna--if not much ­better. When the afternoon began to die away behind the Park, Mrs. Brill and Ellen came to give them their supper and to bath the Twins. And after supper Jane and Michael sat at the window watching for Mr. Banks to come home, and listening to the sound of the East Wind blowing through the naked branches of the cherry­-­trees in the Lane. The trees themselves, turning and bending in the half light, looked as though they had gone mad and were dancing their roots out of the ­ground. "There he is!" said Michael, pointing suddenly to a shape that banged heavily against the gate. Jane peered through the gathering ­darkness. "That's not Daddy," she said. "It's somebody ­else." Then the shape, tossed and bent under the wind, lifted the latch of the gate, and they could see that it belonged to a woman, who was holding her hat on with one hand and carrying a bag in the other. As they watched, Jane and Michael saw a curious thing happen. As soon as the shape was inside the gate the wind seemed to catch her up into the air and fling her at the house. It was as though it had flung her first at the gate, waited for her to open it, and then had lifted and thrown her, bag and all, at the front door. The watching children heard a terrific bang, and as she landed the whole house ­shook. "How funny! I've never seen that happen before," said ­Michael. "Let's go and see who it is!" said Jane, and taking Michael's arm she drew him away from the window, through the Nursery and out on to the landing. From there they always had a good view of anything that happened in the front ­hall. Presently they saw their Mother coming out of the drawing­-­room with a visitor following her. Jane and Michael could see that the newcomer had shiny black hair--"Rather like a wooden Dutch doll," whispered Jane. And that she was thin, with large feet and hands, and small, rather peering blue ­eyes. "You'll find that they are very nice children," Mrs. Banks was ­saying. Michael's elbow gave a sharp dig at Jane's ­ribs. "And that they give no trouble at all," continued Mrs. Banks uncertainly, as if she herself didn't really believe what she was saying. They heard the visitor sniff as though she didn't ­either. "Now, about reference--" Mrs. Banks went ­on. "Oh, I make it a rule never to give references," said the other firmly. Mrs. Banks ­stared. "But I thought it was usual," she said. "I mean--I understood people always ­did." "A very old­-­fashioned idea, to my mind," Jane and Michael heard the stern voice say. " Very old­-­fashioned. Quite out of date, as you might ­say." Now, if there was one thing Mrs. Banks did not like, it was to be thought old­-­fashioned. She just couldn't bear it. So she said ­quickly: "Very well, then. We won't bother about them. I only asked, of course, in case you --er--required it. The nursery is upstairs--" And she led the way towards the staircase, talking all the time, without stopping once. And because she was doing that Mrs. Banks did not notice what was happening behind her, but Jane and Michael, watching from the top landing, had an excellent view of the extraordinary thing the visitor now ­did. Certainly she followed Mrs. Banks upstairs, but not in the usual way. With her large bag in her hands she slid gracefully up the banisters, and arrived at the landing at the same time as Mrs. Banks. Such a thing, Jane and Michael knew, had never been done before. Down, of course, for they had often done it themselves. But up--never! They gazed curiously at the strange new ­visitor. Copyright © 1981 by P. L. ­Travers Copyright 1934 by P. L. ­Travers Copyright renewed 1962 by P. L. ­Travers All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the ­publisher. Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address: Permissions Department, Harcourt, Inc., 6277 Sea Harbor Drive, Orlando, Florida 32887­-­6777. Excerpted from Mary Poppins by P. L. Travers All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.