The London sky was grey and foggy. Beneath the clouds, Londoners rushed into underground stations and jostled at bus stops, with agitation in the air. Paper sellers hailed passers-by: “British Empire’s pound sterling up in value!” The roads out to the suburbs were busy, as all the hansoms were booked. The Great Clock on Big Ben clock read 6 p.m. The sky was rumbling, and people hurried home as claps of thunder began to chime in the distance, the citizens of Britain’s capital all wishing to be safe and warm in front of their fireplaces. In the midst of this chaotic atmosphere there stood a man named Bert, a lone remaining figure at the entrance to the park. He was a chimney sweep with a hidden talent; here at the park gate, Bert displayed his paintings of English life, hoping a coin or two might be cast into his cap in exchange. Families would often stop for a few moments to observe a picture of a beautiful carrousel, a charming woodland path or a sweeping landscape. Fortunately, the rain had not started yet, but soon Bert would be forced to gather up his canvases and seek shelter. Not far off, in the home of the Banks family, the nanny was announcing her resignation to the parents. The Banks’ little boy and girl would soon be without care; despairing at the news, Mr. Banks wrote a job offer, but in the end he threw it into the fireplace, where it burned until only a few shreds remained. For how would they ever find a qualified nanny for their children? High up above all this commotion, there sat in the clouds a mysterious lady, waiting with her bag at her side and her umbrella closed. Her name was Mary Poppins.
Mary Poppins! How should one describe her? She had long dark hair tied up in the neatest of buns, and she wore a dark hat, a white blouse and a red bow tie. Her bag and scarf were embroidered with flowers. Ms. Poppins was an eccentric, and just the kind of nanny that millions of children dreamed of. Her gift for magic meant she could produce almost anything from her bag, such as a tall brass hat stand (for this was the place to hang a hat, or so she said), a large Victorian mirror in which she could see her entire face, or a beautiful plant, as she liked a little tropical warmth in the cold London weather. Then there was a big lamp for some extra light. The Banks children were flabbergasted as they watched her remove these items from her bag. For Mary Poppins, anything was possible with a click of her fingers. But the magician sought not only to entertain and impress the children: her task was to educate them.
“A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down,” she sang. Indeed, all Mary Poppins’ lessons were sugar-coated. When it came time to show her two little middle-class wards the social reality of life in London, Mary Poppins had tricks aplenty up her sleeve. Soon they were all dancing with the chimney sweeps up on the smoke-stacked rooftops. London was beautiful from on high, glittering against the blackened faces of the sweeps. Their words were poetry; they were joyful, rebellious, and welcoming. The children were delighted with their new friends. Mary Poppins, as the link between these two opposing worlds, made all their lives sweet as sugar. She danced, she sang, she filled all their hearts with joy. But the Banks’ neighbour, a dotty old admiral, took umbrage with the chimney sweeps, claiming they were disturbing the peace and launching fireworks at them. The coloured powders exploded over the rooftops and the sweeps fled, making their way to their natural exit: the chimney. The Banks’ living room was filled with black smoke and dancing chimney sweeps. “What’s going on here?” cried the maid in her white apron. The children were filthy, their clothes stained with coal and their faces caked in soot, yet they sang in in full voice with the chimney sweeps.
When their mother came home from protesting with the Suffragettes, she was astounded. Who were all these common folk in her house? But before she could get angry, a chimney sweep took her by the arm and swung her gaily around the room. After all, Mrs Banks was something of a rebel and a thrill-seeker herself, and so she found herself singing Suffragette slogans in the midst of the cacophony. The feminist and the working class formed a union in song and joy. Mary Poppins did not join in; she observed the commotion she had started with a distant gaze. She was a breath of freedom, but one that blew gently as her person remained stiff and proper. One might wonder what she really thought of it all…yet without her, this fine middle-class home would have remained cold and unchanged.
It was now the turn of the father, an austere banker, to open the front door. His jaw practically hit the floor. Mr Banks’ routine and sense of well-to-do order were being upended. But how could he reprimand this cheerful troupe, who thanked him and called him “boss” so politely? For so he was to men of this ilk. He was the Mister, the banker, the man in charge who lived in luxury. All the same, he grabbed his son who was making to sneak off with the chimney sweeps. That Mary Poppins was making their lives decidedly difficult. This was anarchy, madness! The sugar was beginning to taste sour...
Alan Alfredo Geday
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