Mary Poppins in the Park

by P. L. Travers and Mary Shepard

With Mary Poppins, every day is full of enchantment and excitement!

  • Format: Hardcover
  • ISBN-13/EAN: 9780152058289
  • ISBN-10: 0152058281
  • Pages: 304
  • Publication Date: 06/01/2006
  • Carton Quantity: 24

About the book

By P.L. Travers, the author featured in the major motion picture, Saving Mr. Banks


From the moment Mary Poppins arrives at Number Seventeen Cherry-Tree Lane, everyday life at the Banks house is forever changed. This classic series tells the story of the world's most beloved nanny, who brings enchantment and excitement with her everywhere she goes. Featuring the charming original cover art by Mary Shepard, these new editions are sure to delight readers of all ages. 


Only the incomparable Mary Poppins can lead the Banks children on one marvelous adventure after another. Together they meet the Goosegirl and the Swineherd, argue with talking cats on a distant planet, make the acquaintance of the folks who live under dandelions, and celebrate a birthday by dancing with their own shadows. And that’s just for starters!

About the author
P. L. Travers

P. L. Travers (1899-1996) was a drama critic, travel essayist, reviewer, lecturer, and the creator of Mary Poppins. Ms. Travers wrote several other books for adults and children, but it is for the character of Mary Poppins that she is best remembered.

Mary Shepard

MARY SHEPARD (1910-2000) was the daughter of Ernest Shepard, illustrator of the Winnie the Pooh books and The Wind in the Willows. She illustrated P. L. Travers's Mary Poppins books for more than fifty years.


Every Goose a ­Swan



The summer day was hot and still. The cherry­-­trees that bordered the Lane could feel their cherries ripening—the green slowly turning to yellow and the yellow blushing ­red.


           The houses dozed in the dusty gardens with their shutters over their eyes. “Do not disturb us!” they seemed to say. “We rest in the ­afternoon.”


           And the starlings hid themselves in the chimneys with their heads under their ­wings.


           Over the Park lay a cloud of sunlight as thick and as golden as syrup. No wind stirred the heavy leaves. The flowers stood up, very still and shiny, as though they were made of ­metal.


           Down by the Lake the benches were empty. The people who usually sat there had gone home out of the heat. Neleus, the little marble statue, looked down at the placid water. No goldfish flirted a scarlet tail. They were all sitting under the lily­-­leaves—using them as ­umbrellas.


           The Lawns spread out like a green carpet, motionless in the sunlight. Except for a single, rhythmic movement, you might have thought that the whole Park was only a painted picture. To and fro, by the big magnolia, the Park Keeper was spearing up rubbish and putting it into a litter­-­basket.


           He stopped his work and looked up as two dogs trotted ­by.

            They had come from Cherry-Tree Lane, he knew, for Miss Lark was calling from behind her ­shutters.


           “Andrew! Willoughby! Please come back! Don’t go swimming in that dirty Lake! I’ll make you some Iced ­Tea!”


           Andrew and Willoughby looked at each other, winked, and trotted on. But as they passed the big magnolia, they started and pulled up sharply. Down they flopped on the grass, panting—with their pink tongues lolling ­out.


           Mary Poppins, neat and prim in her blue skirt and a new hat trimmed with a crimson tulip, looked at them over her knitting. She was sitting bolt upright against the tree, with a plaid rug spread on the lawn around her. Her hand-bag sat tidily by her side. And above her, from a flowering branch, the parrot umbrella ­dangled.


           She glanced at the two thumping tails and gave a little ­sniff.


           “Put in your tongues and sit up straight! You are not a pair of ­wolves.”


           The two dogs sprang at once to attention. And Jane, lying on the lawn, could see they were doing their very best to put their tongues in their ­cheeks.


           “And remember, if you’re going swimming,” Mary Poppins continued, “to shake yourselves when you come out. Don’t come sprinkling us!”


           Andrew and Willoughby looked ­reproachful.


           “As though, Mary Poppins,” they seemed to say, “we would dream of such a ­thing!”

           “All right, then. Be off with you!” And they sped away like shots from a ­gun.


           “Come back!” Miss Lark cried ­anxiously.


           But nobody took any ­notice.


           “Why can’t I swim in the Park Lake?” asked Michael in a smothered voice. He was lying face downwards in the grass watching a family of ­ants.


           “You’re not a dog!” Mary Poppins reminded ­him.


           “I know, Mary Poppins. But if I were—” Was she smiling or not?—he couldn’t be sure, with his nose pressed into the ­earth.


           “Well—what would you do?” she enquired, with a ­sniff.


           He wanted to say that if he were a dog he would do just as he liked—swim or not, as the mood took him, without asking leave of anyone. But what if her face was looking fierce! Silence was best, he ­decided.


           “Nothing!” he said in a meek voice. “It’s too hot to argue, Mary ­Poppins!”


           “Out of nothing comes nothing!” She tossed her head in its tulip hat. “And I’m not arguing, I’m talking!” She was having the last word, as ­usual.


          The sunlight caught her knitting­-­needles as it shone through the broad magnolia leaves on the little group below. John and Barbara, leaning their heads on each other’s shoulders, were dozing and waking, waking and dozing. Annabel was fast asleep in Mary Poppins’ shadow. Light and darkness dappled them all and splotched the face of the Park Keeper as he dived at a piece of ­newspaper.


           “All litter to be placed in the baskets! Obey the rules!” he said ­sternly.


           Mary Poppins looked him up and down. Her glance would have withered an oak­-­tree.


           “That’s not my litter,” she ­retorted.


           “Oh?” he said ­disbelievingly.


           “No!” she replied, with a virtuous ­snort.


           “Well, someone must ’ave put it there. It doesn’t grow—like ­roses!”


           He pushed his cap to the back of his head and mopped behind his ears. What with the heat, and her tone of voice, he was feeling quite ­depressed.


           “’Ot weather we’re ’avin’!” he remarked, eyeing her nervously. He looked like an eager, lonely ­dog.


           “That’s what we expect in the middle of summer!” Her knitting­-­needles ­clicked.


         The Park Keeper si...


"As good as ever, and that's very good."--Providence Sunday-Journal