It was five fifty nine pm in old London town and the streets were empty, devoid of any living soul save an 'andful of old soldiers on patrol. What was once a thriving city of hustle and bustle was now a shelter for those fearing the next German attack. Bricks and mortar once comprising great works of architecture lay as piles of debris in the street, a sad ruin of what once was.
A far cry, some might say, from Cherrytree Lane, more specifically number 17, which seemed virtually untouched by the war going on around 'em. One of the livelier homes if you don't mind my saying, and residence of one George Banks, senior partner of Dawes Tomes Mousley Grubbs Fidelity Fiduciary Bank, retired, and something of a character. His home, like many others, 'as been touched by something remarkable, and will be again by the end of the night.
But that's not where our story begins, not on this Christmas Eve of 1943. Instead we begin in the park where a soft snow blows over the grass: unusual for this time of year as London 'asn't seen a proper white Christmas for quite a while. If you were to stop and close your eyes you might just catch a glimpse of a certain magic in the air, and if you were to listen, really listen, you might just hear it too...
Fwoom-tsh-boom! Fwoom-tsh-boom! Fwoom-tsh-boom!
A blue police box sat by the side of the road. Strange as it was that same box hadn't been sitting there yesterday, or the day before, it was as if it had appeared from nowhere. From it stepped a man with long, brown locks and wearing the type of clothes that would better be suited for somebody's granddad back in their hayday. Not that he didn't wear it well, mind.
His hand plummeted into the pocket of his velvet emerald jacket as he hid the police box key within its lining. You could tell from the sparkle in his eyes that he had an affection for this place, but the tight frown painted an entirely different picture to the nature of his arrival. It was the same beleaguered expression worn by many a soldier growing weary of their vigil.
"Seventeen Cherrytree Lane," 'e mused to himself. "I'd heard stories." He looked around, half expecting there to be a companion behind him, but no, for as long as I'd seen 'e was alone. Evidently this is how it should 'ave been as 'e dismissed the absence as normal.
The stranger, if you could really call 'im that, stopped and smiled when 'e heard the familiar tune:
"Chim chim-in-ey, chim chim-in-ey, chim chim cher-ee!
A sweep is as lucky, as lucky can be.
Chim chim-in-ey, chim chim-in-ey, chim chim cher-oo!
Good luck will rub off when I shakes 'ands with you."
Sure enough there I was, old Bert, covered in soot and singing a merry tune. My old knees might not have been able to keep up with my dancing, and even though the world was going through a bit of a rough patch that was no reason not to keep in high spirits. Besides, somebody 'round had to try and boost morale, didn't they?
"Now there's a song I've not heard in a long time," the young feller remarked as he stopped in my path. An eager grin painted his lips, as though 'e were happy to see me. Willing as I was to oblige I was still a mite confused as to the reasons behind his enthusiasm.
I tipped off my hat and offered it forward with a thankful nod. "Ah, a conissuer of the musical variety with a very distinct ear, I see. Might I interest you in a second verse in exchange for a piece of copper then, gov?"
"You don't remember me," 'e accused cheerily and let out a shy giggle. "No, I don't suppose you would. It has been a very, very long time."
Hard as I examined the chap I couldn't put a name to the face, and I 'ad met a lot of folk in my time. "Sorry, gov, can't says I do."
Suddenly he leaped onto the bench beside us and knelt down dramatically towards me. "Think back, Bert. Think back long and hard to the halls of Tralfamador. A lovelorn duchess, an angry prince determined to spoil every meal... a market vendor who exchanged us the same trinket three times over!"
Then it hit me like a stack of bricks. "It can't be..."
He kicked 'is feet high as 'e danced and sung breathlessly. "Kick your knees up, step in time! Kick your knees up, step in time! Never need a reason, never need a rhyme! Kick your knees up, step in time!"
"Doctor?"
Jumping to the ground 'e laughed as mouthfuls of steam shot out onto the nippy winter air. "Sorry, Bert, I never was much of a singer."
I could hardly believe my eyes! To see the Doctor 'ere and not some far away and fantastical place was a sight to behold. It was as though 'e didn't quite belong down here on the ground.
"You know, most blokes get 'emselves a shave, an 'aircut, maybe even a set of eyeglasses, but a whole new face?"
"Yes, well..."
"If you got a new set of knees I can tell you now I'd really appreciate it. I'd even take it in place of that copper I asked for." 'E laughed, I laughed: he still didn't produce any copper. Not that I expected any: Timelords always seemed to 'ave a very strange habit of being short on small change. "So where are you off to this Christmas Eve?"
"Christmas," 'e remarked with surprise. "And it's snowing. London only ever sees a white Christmas barely once a lifetime."
"Maybe it's a sign. Maybe after this old Adolf will have a change of 'eart and turn all of them planes around, send 'em back where they came from."
"One can only hope." The Doctor let loose a knowing smile. 'E knew things, the Doctor did, about things that had not yet happened. It was 'is job not to let on too much, but I took it to mean there were brighter times ahead.
"Seventeen Cherrytree Lane," 'e replied, returning to my earlier question.
"Seventeen Cherrytree Lane," I parroted and pretended to search my memory. "Ah, you mean the honorable house of George Banks! Why, I haven't been over there since..." I stopped and cleared my throat. The Doctor was clearly interested.
"Since..."
"Since young Michael and Harrisson got shipped off to the front line," I said heavily. "Oh well. I'm sure he can take care of 'imself. If 'e's anything like his old pop he'll be able to keep his head and respond appropriately to whatever crops up."
The Doctor didn't seem so convinced, though. The thought seemed to weight rather heavily, in fact.
"I'm sorry, who's Harrisson?" 'e asked vaguely.
"Harrisson," I reminded 'im. "You know, the young feller who married 'imself to our Jane. Course, she's not so young anymore. Good thing she got married when she did, too. Some folk was worried she might turn into a lonely old maid."
The Doctor, of course, 'e let it pass as if to say 'and what's so wrong with being an old maid?' Nothing, I supposed. Not much in this day and age would stop a woman from 'aving a go at it, especially with most of the men folk off overseas.
He studied his watch carefully as if something were amiss. "Something troubling you there, Doctor?"
"It's six o'clock."
"Is it? I'll take your word for it then."
Standing curiously 'e listened to the silent wind. Something, 'e probably thought, was definitely awry. "Six o'clock, on the dot. Bert..."
"Yes, gov?"
"Where's the kaboom?" 'e asked sullenly. "If I'm not mistaken, and I usually make a point of being correct, there was supposed to be an ear-splitting, earth-shaking kaboom."
"Ah," I mused widely. "You would, of course, be referring to our local time keeper, Vice Admiral Boom."
The Doctor fixed his gaze curiously upon me. "Vice Admiral? Good grief, don't tell me they gave a retired navy man with a spotless record a demotion. That's no less than absolutely scandalous."
"What? No, no, no. You're talking about the late Admiral Boom. Vice Admiral Boom is 'is son, and sure enough he inherited his father's sense of punctuality, 'e did. And what's more, 'e took it upon himself to carry on in his father's tradition." The world gets it's time from Greenwhich, but Greenwhich, they say, get their time from Vice Admiral Boom. A colourful character, 'e was, just like his pop.
"Oh," said the deflated Doctor. "I'm sorry, I hadn't heard about his passing."
"'Tis no great tragedy, though he will be missed. 'E wasn't a young man, even when you last saw 'im, and that 'ad to have been, what? At least twenty odd year ago."
The Doctor furrowed. "I suppose not, but that still doesn't explain why it's now three past the hour and I haven't heard any cannon fire."
I coughed most uncomfortably. Our dear friend 'ad stumbled upon a very touchy subject. "Well, funny story that. You see, the cannons, they haven't been firing from the Vice Admiral's house for a few years now. Since back in, oh, '39, a few months before the war began."
"May I ask as to why?"
"Dunno," I shrugged. "They just wouldn't fire. Didn't stop the Vice Admiral from trying, though. Every hour 'e's up there, scratching 'is head, trying to get the fuse to light, but no such luck. Still, there's always next time, eh?"
You could tell from the curt smile of the Doctor that 'e knew something the rest of us didn't, something perhaps that we wasn't supposed to know. Again 'e replied vaguely, "Yes, yes, there's always a next time."
Filled with a mix bag of emotion the Doctor then tottled off in the direction of Cherrytree Lane, leaving this old chimney sweep trailing behind. Something strange was going to happen with the Doctor 'round, as I suppose was custom. I'd hate to miss out on any of that.
As we walked I continued to sing my merry tune with the Doctor swaying along to it:
"Chim chim-in-ey, chim chim-in-ey, chim chim cher-ee!
When you're with a sweep you're in glad company.
Chim chim-in-ey, chim chim-in-ey, chim chim cher-oo!
Nowhere is there a more 'appier crew."
Cherrytree Lane was quiet, as was the rest of London during these trying times. A few blocks away there was a soldier patrol moving through the streets and avenues, keeping their eye out for ol' Adolf's men lurking 'bout. Not that they'd want anything 'round 'ere, mind.
With me hot on his heels we walked up the steps of number seventeen and knocked quite sensibly on the door three times. The Doctor folded his 'ands politely while I grinned beside 'im. "You don't think we should of called ahead, do you?"
"Nonsense," he scolded lightly. "It's Christmas Eve, and we're here to see family."
"Eh?"
What a thing to say! Before I'd 'ad a chance to question 'im further the door came open and there stood Ellen, the maid, complete with frilly apron and thick glasses. She was getting on a bit too, but I think Mr Banks kept her on as a kindness. A maid's wage isn't much to retire on, but if you don't mind my saying, not so rough as that of a chimney sweep.
"'Ello, Ellen and a merry Christmas to you! I hope you don't mind but we were just in the neighbourhood and we just wanted to stop by and impart upon you our holiday wishes!"
Her lips were pursed as only a shrewd woman could do. "Hello, Bert, and merry Christmas to you. I'm sorry, I don't believe I've met your friend."
"Yes, hello, I'm the Doctor," said, well, the Doctor.
"Ellen, who is it?" came a voice from inside. It was old George Banks, most probably a little irate 'aving his tea time interrupted by uninvited guests. Of course, first thing 'e does now 'e no longer has any banking to worry 'bout, is 'e charges forth to take control of the situation.
"It's Bert, Mr Banks, and he's brought a doctor with him!"
"Actually, it's the Doctor," the Doctor corrected her.
"Doctor? We didn't call for a doctor!" Old George marched to the door and furrowed 'is thin moustache. One look up and down of the Doctor and you could tell 'e didn't know 'im from Adam. "I'm sorry, but you seem to have caught us in the middle of our tea, Dr, erm... what, exactly?"
"Smith," the Doctor lied smoothly, "Dr John Smith." Funny, I've never known 'im to be anything but the Doctor. Any other name, if 'e had one, was definitely not so mundane as 'John Smith'.
George nodded curtly. "Yes, well, thank you, Dr Smith, but you've caught us in the middle of a family meal and we really cannot accommodate guests. Perhaps if you would like to come back later..."
"Actually," the Doctor injected, "I'm here on a matter of some urgency."
"There is no medical emergency here, I can assure you, but if you would like to come back at another time I would be more than happy to–"
"Mr Banks," 'e said seriously as he pressed his foot into the door. Ol' George nearly shook as those old, old eyes bore down on 'im, eyes of an unspoken authority which 'e could not rightly explain. "I am not a doctor of medicine, nor is the nature of my visit to treat the sick."
"Then perhaps," stammered George as 'e tried to reassert his self, "you would care to explain what you are doing here."
The Doctor, if he could 'ave done, turned even more serious. "The reason I have come, Mr Banks, is because I have business to attend to with my wife."
It seems that Ellen, Mr Banks and myself all 'ad the same idea when we all exclaimed loudly, "Your wife!?"
"Yes," he stated simply.
Of the three of us George was the first to regain his mode of speech. "I'm sorry, Dr Smith, but I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about. Winifred and I have been happily married for over forty years, Jane's husband is fighting overseas, and both Ellen and Cook have never taken it upon themselves to wed."
"And what of your nanny?"
Old George's eyes blinked open incredulously. "Pardon?"
"Perhaps it's best that I come inside." He didn't even ask before setting foot inside, but then asking permission wasn't exactly something the Doctor did often. He did, 'owever, ask which way the dining hall was and resolved after the series of gasps 'e was met with to find it himself.
Sure enough 'e eventually found the room with the long dinner table lined with a lace tablecloth, fine china, sparkling silverwear and a roast bird with all the trimmings, though since most folk were living off rations you had to wonder where it came from. Sitting at the table there was Mrs Banks and Mrs Noel (also known as our Jane to most folk) staring up in surprise at the neatly dressed man who'd just joined the room.
And sitting between them at the far end of the table by the window was a young, brown haired woman, prim and proper with her hair tied into a bun. She too dressed in the old timey fashion, but like the Doctor that was her way. What's more in the years we'd known her, after all of her comings and goings, it didn't appear as though she'd aged a single day.
The Doctor calmly and casually pulled up a chair at the opposite end of the table and stared menacingly at 'er. He was cross, and to judge the indifferent expression on 'er face it didn't seem she was at all surprised to see 'im.
"Excuse me," Winifred asked, not quite sure how to make 'erself a part of this conversation, "but who might you be?"
"What?" The Doctor snapped out of 'is glaring and shook hands apologetically with Mrs Banks. "I'm so frightfully sorry. I'm the Doctor."
"Doctor?" Jane exclaimed. "Oh dear, there hasn't been any trouble has there?"
"No, Jane, there's no trouble," Mary Poppins said flatly. She glanced between the Doctor and 'er plate as if to silently scold 'im for interrupting their meal. Can't say I blame her, what with Christmas Eve being a big to-do event for some families.
"Allow me to introduce myself properly," the Doctor continued and stared down to the other end of the table again. "I'm Mary Poppin's husband, and I'm here to bring her home."
TO BE CONTINUED...