“Are you accusing me,” she enquired, “a well-brought-up respectable person, of standing on my head?”
“No, no, of course not. Not on your head. Not like an acrobat. Nothing like that.”
The Park Keeper, thoroughly muddled, was now afraid that he himself was the one that was upside down.
“It just that it’s sort of late in the day, the time when you’re usually coming back – tea and bed and that sort of thing. And here you are, sallying forth, as though you were off on a jaunt.” He eyed the bulging bag and basket. “With all and sundry, so to speak.”
“We are. We’re having a supper picnic.” Jane pointed to the basket. “There’s plenty of everything in here. You never know when a friend will appear – so Mary Poppins says.”
“And we’re staying up for hours and hours,” said Michael, swinging his bag.
“A supper picnic!” The Park Keeper winced. He had never heard of such a thing. And was it even permitted, he wondered. His list of Bye-laws raced through his head and he promptly gave it tongue.
“Observe the Rules!” he warned the group. “All Litter to be placed in the proper containers. No eggshells left lying about on the grass.”
“Are we cuckoos,” demanded Mary Poppins, “to be scattering eggs in every direction?”
“I meant hard-boiled,” said the Park Keeper. “There never was a picnic, ever, that didn’t have hard-boiled eggs. And where are you going, might I ask?” If the picnic was to be in the Park, he felt he had a right to know.
“We’re off to—” Jane began eagerly.
“That will do, Jane,” said Mary Poppins. “We will not hob-nob with strangers.”
“But I’m no stranger!” The Park Keeper stared. “I’m here every day and Sundays. You know me. I’m the Park Keeper.”
“Then why aren’t you wearing your hat?” she demanded, giving the perambulator such a forceful push that if the Park Keeper had not jumped backwards, it would have run over his foot.
“Step along, please!” said Mary Poppins. And the little cavalcade stepped along, orderly and purposeful.
The Park Keeper watched till it disappeared, with a swish of Mary Poppins’ new sprigged dress, behind the rhododendrons.
“Hob-nob!” he spluttered. “Who does she think she is, I wonder?”
There was no one at hand to answer that question and the Park Keeper dismissed it. Uppity – that’s what she was, he thought. And no great bargain to look at either. She could go where she liked for all he cared – the Long Walk led to all sorts of places: the Zoo, St Paul’s, even the River – it might be any of them. Well, he couldn’t patrol the whole of London. His job was to see to the Park. So, ready for any misdemeanour, he cast a vigilant eye about him.
“Hey, you!” he shouted warningly, as the tall man who had washed his face in the fountain bent down to smell a rose – and picked it! “No Picking of Flowers allowed in the Park. Obey the Rules. Remember the Bye-laws!”
“I could hardly forget them,” the tall man answered. “Considering I was the one who made them.”
“Ha, ha! You made them! Very funny!” The Park Keeper laughed a mirthless laugh.
“Well, some of them, I admit, are funny. They often make me chuckle. But, have you forgotten, it’s Midsummer’s Eve? Nobody keeps the Bye-laws tonight. And I myself don’t have to keep them, now or at any time.”
“Oh, no? And who do you fancy you are then?”
“One doesn’t fancy. One just knows. It’s the kind of thing one can’t forget. I’m the Prime Minister.”
The Park Keeper flung back his head and guffawed. “Not in that silly cap, you’re not. Prime Ministers wear black shiny hats and white stripes down their trousers.”
“Well, I’ve been having a game of cricket. I know it’s too small. I’ve grown out of it. But you can’t wear a top hat when you’re batting – or bowling, for that matter.”
“I see. And now you’ve had your little game, you’re off to visit the King, I suppose?”The Park Keeper was sarcastic.
“Well, as a matter of fact, I am. An important letter arrived from the Palace as I was leaving home. Now, where did I put the wretched thing? Drat these skimpy flannel pockets! Not in this one, not in that. Can I have lost it? Ah, now I remember!” He wrenched off the offending cap and took from within it an envelope sealed with a large gold crown.
“DEAR PRIME MINISTER,” he read out. “IF YOU HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO, PLEASE COME OVER TO DINNER. LOBSTER, TRIFLE, SARDINES ON TOAST. I AM THINKING OF MAKING A FEW NEW LAWS AND WOULD BE SO GLAD OF A CHAT.”
“There! What did I tell you? And tonight of all nights! One never gets a moment’s peace. I don’t mind the chat, that’s part of my job. But I can’t stand lobster. It upsets my digestion. Oh, well, I’ll have to go, I suppose. Bye-laws can always be by-passed, but Laws have to be kept. And anyway,” he said haughtily, folding his arms and looking important, “what has it got to do with you? A perfect stranger accosting me and telling me – me! – not to pick the roses! That’s the Park Keeper’s business.”
“I-I am the Park Keeper,” the Park Keeper said, shuddering from head to foot as he stared at the regal letter. He had made a terrible mistake and he trembled to think where it might lead him.
The Prime Minister lifted his monocle, screwed it firmly into his eye and regarded the figure before him.
“I am shocked!” he said sombrely. “Even stupefied. Almost, I might say, speechless. A public servant in a public place failing to array himself in the uniform provided! I don’t know when I have been so displeased. And what, pray, have you done with your hat?”
“I-I dropped it in a Litter-basket.”
“A Litter-basket! A receptacle for orange peel! An employee of the County Council who thinks so little of his hat that he throws it into a – well, really! This kind of thing must not go on. It would bring the country to the verge of ruin. I shall speak to the Lord Mayor.”
“Oh, please, Your Honour, it just happened. A little slip when my mind was elsewhere. I’ll go through the litter tomorrow and find it. Not the Lord Mayor, Your Worship, please! Think of my poor old mother.”
“You should have thought of her yourself. Park Keepers are paid to think. To keep their minds here, not elsewhere. And not to let things just happen. However, as it is Midsummer’s Eve – only once a year, after all.” The Prime Minister glared at his watch. “Dear me, it’s far too late for conditions. You’ll just have to solve the problem yourself. I must hurry home and change my trousers.”
He bent down to pick up his bat. “You a married man?” he enquired, glancing up at the Park Keeper.
“No, my lord, my Prime – er, no.”
“Neither am I.A pity, that. Not from my own point of view, of course. But to think that there’s someone dreaming of me – putting a bunch of herbs under her pillow – Lad’s Love, Lavender, Creeping Jenny – and then not finding me, poor woman. Alas, alas, what a disappointment! Tonight of all nights – you understand.”