P.L. TRAVERS Mary Poppins Opens the Door

ISBN 13: 9780006743088

Mary Poppins Opens the Door

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9780006743088: Mary Poppins Opens the Door
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[MP3-CD audiobook format in Vinyl case. NOTE: The MP3-CD format requires a compatible audio CD player.]

[Read by Rosalyn Landor]

Another timeless story about Mary Poppins, the world's most exciting nanny, and her magical adventures with the Banks family.

From the moment Mary Poppins arrives at Number Seventeen Cherry Tree Lane, everyday life at the Banks house is forever changed. Jane, Michael, and the twins have never had such a wonderful nanny, who brings enchantment and excitement everywhere she goes. -- In Mary Poppins Opens the Door, Mary Poppins reappears just in time! According to her tape measure, Jane and Michael have grown ''Worse and Worse'' since she went away. But the children won't have time to be naughty with all that Mary has planned for them. A visit to Mr. Twigley's music box-filled attic, an encounter with the Marble Boy, and a ride on Miss Calico's enchanted candy canes are all part of an average day out with everyone's favorite nanny.

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About the Author:

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

Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

The Fifth of ­November
  
 
It was one of those bleak and chilly mornings that remind you winter is coming. Cherry-Tree Lane was quiet and still. The mist hung over the Park like a shadow. All the houses looked exactly alike as the grey fog wrapped them round. Admiral Boom’s flagstaff, with the telescope at the top of it, had entirely ­disappeared.
 
           The Milkman, as he turned into the Lane, could hardly see his ­way.
 
           “Milk Be­-­l­-­o­-­o­-­ow!” he called, outside the Admiral’s door. And his voice sounded so queer and hollow that it gave him quite a ­fright.
 
           “I’ll go ’ome till the fog lifts,” he said to himself. “’Ere! Look where you’re goin’!” he went on, as a shape loomed suddenly out of the mist and bumped against his ­shoulder.
 
           “Bumble, bumble, bum­-­bur­-­um­-­bumble,” said a gentle, muffled ­voice.
 
           “Oh, it’s you!” said the Milkman, with a sigh of ­relief.
 
           “Bumble,” remarked the Sweep again. He was holding his brushes in front of his face to keep his moustache ­dry.
 
           “Out early, aren’t you?” the Milkman ­said.
    The Sweep gave a jerk of his black thumb towards Miss Lark’s ­house.
 
           “Had to do the chimbley before the dogs had breakfast. In case the soot gave them a cough,” he ­explained.
 
           The Milkman laughed rudely. For that was what everybody did when Miss Lark’s two dogs were ­men­tioned.
 
           The mist went wreathing through the air. There was not a sound in the ­Lane.
 
           “Ugh!” said the Milkman, shivering. “This quiet gives me the ­’Orrors!”
 
           And as he said that, the Lane woke up. A sudden roar came from one of the houses and the sound of stamping ­feet.
 
           “That’s Number Seventeen!” said the Sweep. “Excuse me, old chap. I think I’m needed.” He cautiously felt his way to the gate and went up the garden ­path. . . .
 
 
 
Inside the house, Mr. Banks was marching up and down, kicking the hall ­furniture.
 
           “I’ve had about all I can stand!” he shouted, waving his arms ­wildly.
 
           “You keep on saying that,” Mrs. Banks cried. “But you won’t tell me what’s the matter.” She looked at Mr. Banks ­anxiously.
AMILY: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'" 
           “Everything’s the matter!” he roared. “Look at this!” He waggled his right foot at her. “And this!” he went on, as he waggled his ­left.
 
           Mrs. Banks peered closely at the feet. She was rather short­-­sighted and the hall was ­misty.
 
           “I—er—don’t see anything wrong,” she began ­timidly.
 
           “Of course you don’t!” he said, sarcastically. “It’s only imagination, of course, that makes me think Robertson Ay has given me one black shoe and one brown!” And again he waggled his ­feet.
 
           “Oh!” said Mrs. Banks hurriedly. For now she saw clearly what the trouble ­was.
 
           “You may well say ‘Oh!’ So will Robertson Ay when I give him the sack ­tonight.”
 
           “It’s not his fault, Daddy!” cried Jane, from the stairs. “He couldn’t see—because of the fog. Besides, he’s not ­strong.”
 
           “He’s strong enough to make my life a misery!” said Mr. Banks ­angrily.
 
           “He needs rest, Daddy!” Michael reminded him, hurrying down after ­Jane.
 
           “He’ll get it!” promised Mr. Banks, as he snatched up his bag. “When I think of the things I could have done if I hadn’t gone and got married! Lived alone in a Cave, perhaps. Or I might have gone Round the ­World.”
 
           “And what would we have done, then?” asked ­Michael.
 
           “You would have had to fend for yourselves. And serve you right! Where’s my ­overcoat?”
 
           “You have it on, George,” said Mrs. Banks, ­meekly.
 
           “Yes!” he retorted. “And only one button! But anything’s good enough for me! I’m only the man who Pays the Bills. I shall not be home for ­dinner.”
 
           A wail of protest went up from the ­children.
 
           “But it’s Guy Fawkes’ Day,” wheedled Mrs. Banks. “And you so good at letting off ­rockets.”
 
           “No rockets for me!” cried Mr. Banks. “Nothing but trouble from morning till night!” He shook Mrs. Banks’ hand from his arm and dashed out of the ­house.
 
           “Shake, sir!” said the Sweep in a friendly voice as Mr. Banks knocked into him, “It’s lucky, you know, to shake hands with a ­Sweep.”
 
           “Away, away!” said Mr. Banks wildly. “This is not my lucky ­day!”
 
           The Sweep looked after him for a moment. Then he smiled to himself and rang the door­-­bell. . . .
 
 
“He doesn’t mean it, does he, Mother? He will come home for the fireworks!” Jane and Michael rushed at Mrs. Banks and tugged at her ­skirt.
 
           “Oh, I can’t promise anything, children!” she sighed, as she looked at her face in the front hall ­mirror.
 
           And she thought to herself—Yes, I’m getting thinner. One of my dimples has gone already and soon I shall lose the second. No one will look at me any more. And it’s all her fault!
 
           By her, Mrs. Banks meant Mary Poppins, who had been the children’s nurse. As long as Mary Poppins was in the house, everything had gone smoothly. But since that day when she had left them—so suddenly and without a Word of Warning—the family had gone from Bad to ­Worse.
 
           Here am I, thought Mrs. Banks miserably, with five wild children and no one to help me. I’ve advertised. I’ve asked my friends. But nothing seems to happen. And George is getting crosser and crosser; and Annabel’s teething; and Jane and Michael and the Twins are so naughty, not to mention that awful Income Tax——
 
           She watched a tear run over the spot where the dimple had once ­been.
 
           “It’s no good,” she said, with sudden decision. “I shall have to send for Miss ­Andrew.”
 
           A cry went up from all four children. Away in the Nursery, Annabel screamed. For Miss Andrew had once been their Father’s governess and they knew how frightful she ­was.
 
           “I won’t speak to her!” shouted Jane, in a ­rage.
 
        “I’ll spit on her shoes if she comes!” threatened ­Michael.
 
           “No, no!...

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P.L. TRAVERS
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ISBN 10: 0006743080 ISBN 13: 9780006743088
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