“Who’s that, down there in the Park?” he wondered, as a curious figure went back and forth, blowing a whistle and shouting.
Who else could it be but the Park Keeper? It was no wonder, however, that the sun did not recognise him for, in spite of the heavy heat of June, he was wearing a black, felt, sea-faring hat painted with skull-and-crossbones.
“Obey the Rules! Remember the Bye-laws! All Litter to be placed in the Baskets!” he bellowed.
But nobody took any notice. People went strolling hand in hand; scattering litter as they went; deliberately sauntering on lawns whose notices said KEEP OFF THE GRASS; failing to Observe the Rules; forgetting all the Bye-laws.
The Policeman was marching to and fro, swinging his baton and looking important, as if he thought he owned the earth and expected the earth to be glad of it.
Children went up and down on the swings, swooping like evening swallows.
And the swallows sang their songs so loudly that nobody heard the Park Keeper’s whistle.
Admiral and Mrs Boom, sharing a bag of peanuts between them and dropping the empty shells as they went, were taking the air in the Long Walk.
“Oh, I’m roaming
In the gloaming
with my lassie by my side!”
sang the Admiral, disregarding the signboard’s warning NO HAWKERS, NO MUSICIANS.
In the Rose Garden, a tall man, in a cricketing cap a little too small and skimpy for him, was dipping his handkerchief into the fountain and was mopping his sunburnt brow.
Down by the Lake, an elderly gentleman in a hat of folded newspaper stood turning his head this way and that, sniffing the air like a gun dog.
“Coo-ee, Professor!” called Miss Lark, hurrying across the lawns, with her dogs unwillingly dragging behind her, as though they wished they were somewhere else.
For Miss Lark, to celebrate Midsummer’s Eve, had tied a ribbon upon each head – pink for Willoughby, blue for Andrew – and they felt ashamed and dejected. What, they wondered, would people think? They might be mistaken for poodles!
“Professor, I’ve been waiting for you. You must have lost your way.”
“Well, that’s the way with ways, I suppose. Either you lose them or they lose you. Anyway, you’ve found me, Miss Sparrow. But, alas!” he fanned himself with his hat, “I find the Sahara Desert a little – er – hot.”
“You are not in the Sahara, Professor. You are in the Park. Don’t you remember? I invited you to supper.”
“Ah, so you did. To Strawberry Street. I hope it will be cooler there. For you and me and your two – um – poodles.”
Andrew and Willoughby hung their heads. Their worst fears had been realised.
“No, no. The address is Cherry Tree Lane. And my name is Lucinda Lark. Do try not to be so forgetful. Ah, there you are, dear friends!” she trilled, as she spied the Booms in the distance. “Where are you off to this beautiful evening?”
“Sailing, sailing, over a bounding main,” sang the Admiral. “And many a stormy wind shall blow, till Jack comes home again – won’t it, messmate?” he enquired of his wife.
“Yes, dear,” murmured Mrs Boom. “Unless you would like to wait till tomorrow. Binnacle is making Cottage Pie and there will be Apple Tart for dinner.”
“Cottage Pie! I can’t miss that. Let down the anchor, midshipman. We’ll wait for the morning tide.”
“Yes, dear,” Mrs Boom agreed. But she knew there would be no morning tide. She also knew that the Admiral, although he was always talking about it, would never go to sea again. It was far too far away from land and it always made him seasick.
“Obey the Rules! Observe the Bye-laws!” The Park Keeper rushed past, blowing his whistle.
“Ship ahoy there! Heave to, old salt!” The Admiral seized the Park Keeper’s sleeve. “That’s my hat you’re wearing, skipper. I won it in a hand-to-hand fight off the coast of Madagascar. Didn’t I, messmate?” he demanded.
“If you say so, dear,” murmured Mrs Boom. It was better, she knew, to agree than to argue. But privately she was aware of the facts – that the hat belonged to Binnacle, a retired pirate who kept the Admiral’s ship-shaped house as shipshape as only a pirate could; and, moreover, that neither he nor her husband had ever clapped eyes on Madagascar.
“And I thought I had lost my Skull-and-Crossbones! Where did you find it, you son of a sea-snake?”
“Well, it fell down, sort of, out of the sky.” The Park Keeper shuffled uneasily. “And I put it on by mistake, so to say, not meaning any harm, Admiral, sir.”
“Nonsense! You’re thinking of cannon balls. Pirate hats don’t fall from the sky. Hand it over to Mrs Boom. She carries all the heavy things while I spy out the land.” The Admiral took out his telescope and fixed it to his eye.
“But what am I going to put on my head?” the Park Keeper demanded.
“Go to sea, my man, and they’ll give you a cap. A white thing with H.M.S. Something on it. You can’t have my pirate hat, I need it. For away I’m bound to go – oho! – ’cross the wide Missouri.”
And the Admiral, singing lustily, dragged his wife and the hat away.
The Park Keeper glanced round anxiously. What if the Lord Mayor came along and found him with his head uncovered? He dared not think of the consequences. If only the long day were over. If only all these crowding people, lolling or strolling hand in hand, would go home to their suppers. Then he could lock the Park Gates and slip away into the dark where his lack of a cap would not be noticed. If only the sun would go down!
But the sun still lingered. No one went home. They merely opened paper bags, took out cakes and sandwiches and threw the bags on to the grass.
“You’d think they thought they owned the Park,” said the Park Keeper, who thought he owned it himself.
More people streamed in through the Main Gate, two by two, choosing balloons; or two by two from Mudge’s Fair Ground, buying ice cream from the Ice Cream Man, each one holding the other’s hand as the falling sun threw their long shadows before them on the lawns.
And then, through the Lane Gate, came another shadow that preceded through the two pillars a small but formal procession – a perambulator packed with toys and children; at one side a girl who carried a basket, at the other a boy in a sailor suit with a string bag swinging from his hand.
Basket and bag were both well stocked as though for some lengthy excursion. And, pushing the perambulator, was an upright figure with bright pink cheeks, bright blue eyes and a turned-up nose – a figure that to the Park Keeper was only too familiar.
“Oh, no!” he muttered to himself. “Not at this hour, for Heaven’s sake! What’s she doing setting out when she ought to be going home?”
He crossed the lawn and accosted the group.
“Late, aren’t you?” he enquired, trying, as far as he could, to look friendly. If he had been some kind of dog, his tail would have given a modest wag.
“Late for what?” Mary Poppins demanded, looking right through the Park Keeper as though he were a window.
He quailed visibly. “Well, what I meant to say was – you’re sort of upside down, so to speak.”
The blue eyes grew a shade bluer. He could see he had offended her.