Mary Poppins Comes Back

IT WAS ONE of those mornings when everything looks very neat and bright and shiny, as though the world had been tidied up overnight.

In Cherry Tree Lane the houses blinked as their blinds went up, and the thin shadows of the Cherry Trees fell in dark stripes across the sunlight. But there was no sound anywhere, except for the tingling of the Ice Cream Man’s bell as he wheeled his cart up and down.

said the placard in front of the cart. And presently a Sweep came round the corner of the Lane and held up his black, sweepy hand.

The Ice Cream Man went tingling up to him.

“Penny one,” said the Sweep. And he stood leaning on his bundle of brushes as he licked out the Ice Cream with the tip of his tongue. When it was all gone, he gently wrapped the cone in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket.

“Don’t you eat cones?” asked the Ice Cream Man, very surprised.

“No. I collect them!” said the Sweep. And he picked up his brushes and went in through Admiral Boom’s front gate, because there was no Tradesman’s Entrance.

The Ice Cream Man wheeled his cart up the Lane again and tingled, and the stripes of shadow and sunlight fell on him as he went.

“Never knew it so quiet before!” he murmured, gazing from right to left, and looking out for customers.

At that very moment, a loud voice sounded from Number Seventeen. The Ice Cream Man cycled hurriedly up to the gate, hoping for an order.

“I won’t stand it! I simply will not stand any more!” shouted Mr Banks, striding angrily from the front door to the foot of the stairs and back again.

“What is it?” said Mrs Banks anxiously, hurrying out of the Dining-room. “And what is that you are kicking up and down the hall?”

Mr Banks lunged out with his foot and something black flew halfway up the stairs.

“My hat!” he said between his teeth. “My Best Bowler Hat!”

He ran up the stairs and kicked it down again. It spun for a moment on the tiles and fell at Mrs Banks’ feet.

“Is there anything wrong with it?” said Mrs Banks nervously. But to herself she wondered whether there was not something wrong with Mr Banks.

“Look and see!” he roared at her.

Trembling, Mrs Banks stooped and picked up the hat. It was covered with large, shiny, sticky patches, and she noticed it had a peculiar smell.

She sniffed at the brim.

“It smells like boot-polish,” she said.

“It is boot-polish,” retorted Mr Banks. “Robertson Ay has brushed my hat with the boot-brush – in fact, he has polished it.”

Mrs Banks’ mouth fell with horror.

“I don’t know what’s come over this house!” Mr Banks went on. “Nothing ever goes right – hasn’t for ages! Shaving-Water too hot, Breakfast Coffee too cold. And now – this!”

He snatched his hat from Mrs Banks and caught up his bag.

“I am going!” he said. “And I don’t know that I shall ever come back. I shall probably take a long sea-voyage.”

Then he clapped the hat on his head, banged the front door behind him and went through the gate so quickly that he knocked over the Ice Cream Man, who had been listening to the conversation with interest.

“It’s your own fault!” said Mr Banks crossly. “You’d no right to be there!” And he went striding off towards the City, his polished hat shining like a jewel in the sun.