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 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 references—” 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.
“Well, that’s all settled, then.” A sigh of relief came from the children’s Mother.
“Quite. As long as I’m satisfied,” said the other, wiping her nose with a large red and white bandanna handkerchief.
“Why, children,” said Mrs Banks, noticing them suddenly, “what are you doing there? This is your new nurse, Mary Poppins. Jane, Michael, say how do you do! And these” – she waved her hand at the babies in their cots – “are the Twins.”
Mary Poppins regarded them steadily, looking from one to the other as though she were making up her mind whether she liked them or not.
“Will we do?” said Michael.
“Michael, don’t be naughty,” said his Mother.
Mary Poppins continued to regard the four children searchingly. Then, with a long, loud sniff that seemed to indicate that she had made up her mind, she said:
“I’ll take the position.”
“For all the world,” as Mrs Banks said to her husband later, “as though she were doing us a signal honour.”
“Perhaps she is,” said Mr Banks, putting his nose round the corner of the newspaper for a moment and then withdrawing it very quickly.
When their Mother had gone, Jane and Michael edged towards Mary Poppins, who stood, still as a post, with her hands folded in front of her.
“How did you come?” Jane asked. “It looked just as if the wind blew you here.”
“It did,” said Mary Poppins briefly. And she proceeded to unwind her muffler from her neck and to take off her hat, which she hung on one of the bedposts.
As it did not seem as though Mary Poppins was going to say any more – though she sniffed a great deal – Jane, too, remained silent. But when she bent down to undo her bag, Michael could not restrain himself.
“What a funny bag!” he said, pinching it with his fingers.
“Carpet,” said Mary Poppins, putting her key in the lock.
“To carry carpets in, you mean?”
“No. Made of.”
“Oh,” said Michael. “I see.” But he didn’t – quite.
By this time the bag was open, and Jane and Michael were more than surprised to find it was completely empty.
“Why,” said Jane, “there’s nothing in it!”
“What do you mean – nothing?” demanded Mary Poppins, drawing herself up and looking as though she had been insulted. “Nothing in it, did you say?”
And with that she took out from the empty bag a starched white apron and tied it round her waist. Next she unpacked a large cake of Sunlight Soap, a toothbrush,