“We’re coming!” piping voices answered, from the height of the Park Keeper’s shoulder. “It’s the others who are lagging behind. Come on, Foxy! And you too, Bear! Why must you always be such a slowcoach?”
Foxes? Bears? The Park Keeper trembled. Could it be that the Keeper of the Zoological Gardens, bewitched by this thing called Midsummer’s Eve, had left the cages open? Might he himself, at any moment, be confronted with a jungle beast, a tiger burning bright?
“Oh, help!” he cried, leaping aside, as a furry form brushed his ankle. Not a tiger, he thought, too small and fleecy. A rabbit, it must be, a wild rabbit. No rabbits allowed in the Public Parks. He would set a trap tomorrow.
There were scurryings now all about him and a sudden swoop and clap of wings as an airy shape flew past.
Something that felt like a cherry-stone rapped on his cap and bounced away. It was as though it had been spat out by someone much taller than himself, imagining him – the Park Keeper – to be a Litter-basket. He was humming, this someone, as he strode by, a refrain that sounded familiar. Could it, perhaps, be Pop Goes the Weasel? If so, it was out of tune.
The humming died away behind him. All was silent. The world was still, his footsteps the only thing that moved.
The Park Keeper felt lost and lonely. His outstretched arms were beginning to ache. His eyes were weary of seeing nothing.
Even so, back and back he went. All things come to an end, he knew. And he would not fail whoever it was who was dreaming her Midsummer dream.
Blindly stumbling, backwards, backwards. And, after hours, it seemed, and miles – was he even still in the Park? – he heard about him a distant murmur: nothing festive, no great clamour, merely the friendly, sociable chatter of people at one with each other.
The murmur grew louder as he neared it. Somebody laughed. Voices were raised and then lowered. Conversation went back and forth. How beautiful, the Park Keeper thought, was the sound of human gossip! Whoever these people were, he was sure, the longed-for “she” would be among them. At last, at last, his fate was upon him. The time had come when he, Fred Smith, like everybody else in the world, would go hand in hand, two by two.
Nearer and nearer came the voices. How many more backward steps were needed? Three would do it, the Park Keeper thought. He took them slowly. One. Two. Three.
And suddenly – bump! There she was! His spine sensed the shape of a curving shoulder, slender and warm, and his heart leapt. All he need do now was turn and face her. He swivelled round upon his heel and a firm hand thrust him sideways.
“I’ll thank you not to behave like a carthorse. I am not a lamp-post!” said Mary Poppins.
The voice was only too well known and the Park Keeper, still with his eyes closed, let out a cry of protest.
“Never no luck for me,” he wailed. “I might have known it wouldn’t work. Here I come, looking for my True Love, and I have to bump into a gooseberry bush!”
A cackle of laughter rent the air. “Some gooseberry bush!” jeered another voice he would rather not have heard.
With a groan, the Park Keeper opened his eyes and, as though unwilling to believe what they told him, hurriedly closed them again.
He was in the Herb Garden, he realised, with its marble seats and its paved path round a square of chamomile lawn. There was nothing new in that, of course. He had planned and planted it himself. But now on the sward he had mown so often, among the remains of a recent picnic – egg-shells, cake, sausage rolls – were Mary Poppins and the Banks children, Mrs Corry and her two daughters, and his own mother sitting on one of the seats, smiling her welcoming smile.
Nothing new in all that either. But had he seen – yes, he had indeed – he could not deny his own eyes – a Bear sitting snugly beside the hedge, licking a trumpet of Honeysuckle; a Fox on its hind legs picking the Foxgloves; and a Hare in the Parsley patch!
And as if all this were not enough, Jane and Michael, wearing wreaths of green, together with two unknown boys, scantily clad and similarly crowned, were plucking armfuls of herbs; a big man, armed with a club and dressed in strips of leather, a studded belt about his waist and a lion-skin round his shoulders, was decking Mary Poppins’ ear with a double stem of cherries; and a large bird, perched on a bough above her – this to him was the last straw! – was being regaled by the Bird Woman with a sprig of flowering Fennel!
“Mother, how could you?” the Park Keeper cried. “No Picking of Herbs allowed in the Park. You know the Bye-laws and you break them!”
This was the first time she had failed him and he felt he could never forgive her.
“Well, you got to make allowances, lad. He only comes down once a year.”
“I’m not allowed allowances, Mum! And birds are coming down all the time. They can’t make nests up there in the sky. After all, it stands to reason.”
“Nothing stands to reason, Fred – not tonight, it doesn’t.”
She glanced from the bird to the animals.
“Well, isn’t it very reasonable to come and get the things you need? I would!” said Michael stoutly.
“But how did they get here to get what they need? Somebody let them out of the Zoo!” The cages had been unlocked! The Park Keeper was sure of it.
“No, no. They came down with Castor and Pollux.” Jane waved her hand at the two boys, as she plucked a spray of Soloman’s Seal and tucked it into her looped-up skirt.
“Castor and Pollux! Get along! They’re characters in a story. Lily-white boys turned into stars. Tamed horses, that’s what they did. I read it when I was a boy.”
“And we came down with Orion,” said the boys, speaking as though with a single voice. “We came to get fresh herbs for our horse, and he to pick cherries in the Lane. He always does on Midsummer’s Eve.”
“Oh, does he indeed?”The Park Keeper smiled a withering smile. “Just descends, like, out of the sky, to steal what belongs to the County Council! What do you take me for, then – an April Fool in the middle of June? Orion’s up there, like he always is.” He flung up a pointing finger.
“Where?” demanded the big man. “Show me!”
The Park Keeper craned his head backwards, but all he could see was emptiness, a large, vacant, unanswering sky, blue as the bloom on a plum.
“Well, you’ll have to wait. It’s not dark enough yet. But he’ll be there, don’t you worry – up there where he belongs.”
Mrs Corry let out a cackle of laughter. “Who’s worrying?” she shrieked.
“You’re right,” said the big man with a sigh, as he sat down on a marble seat and laid his club beside him. “Orion will be where he belongs. He can’t do otherwise, poor chap.” He took a cherry from the hoard in his hand, ate it and spat out the stone. “But not yet – ah, no, not yet. There’s still a little time.”
“Well, you’d better get off where you belong – a circus tent, I wouldn’t wonder, with all that fol de rol fancy dress. And you!” the Park Keeper waved at the boys. “Tight-rope walkers or I’m a Dutchman!”
“You’re a Dutchman then! We’re Gallopers!” The boys burst into a peal of laughter.
“One thing or the other, it makes no difference. Leave the leaves and I’ll burn them tomorrow. We don’t want no ragamuffins here.”