Chapter 13

"I am simply concerned for the boy," Major Anderson protested. He had gathered the Matron and the Sergeant in the Matron's office and had immediately launched into a monologue outlining his thoughts on the two Banks children. "I have nothing against his contribution here, he'll prove immensely helpful. But, he is a boy. Should he not be in school?"

"I think it's quite clear why Michael Banks has not gone returned to school for the semester," Bert said upfront. He exchanged a look with Mary who was obviously shared the same thought.

"Whatever do you mean?" The Major responded.

"Their father, George Banks, has still not been found," Mary replied. "Their mother died some years ago and at present, Michael cannot enter any school without any means to fund his tuition."

The room fell very quiet.

"Unless George Banks is found, the closest thing to a guardian Michael will have is Jane, who is not yet out and is barely old enough to enter the workforce. She is too old to go to an orphanage and Michael would refuse to go anyway."

"The boy may not have a choice," Major Anderson said, flatly. "I don't want to see him cast off like this, but I must follow orders from the War Office. The Banks children–" although, everyone present knew they weren't really children – "are victims of war crimes, along with the other children remaining in that ward. Which, I might add, we will not have the liberty of trespassing on for much longer. During the summer there were no problems, what with school holidays, but we must decide what to do with the remaining children soon."

"The school knows the war effort comes first," Bert cut in.
"The war effort, Sergeant Albert. The school assumed we would be housing soldiers there!"

"You said yourself, those children are victims of war crimes!"

"Bert, please!" Mary cut in, not realising she had addressed him by his first name. "Major Anderson is right. We cannot debate the issue when it has already been decided."

The Major sat down in the chair beside the Matron's desk, his hands wiping sweat from his greying hairs. "My hands are tied," he said quietly. "Miss Banks is a member of staff here, she is safe."

"What of Michael's work with me?" Bert asked. "We cannot send him to school or the orphanage. He too should not be forced to enter the workforce at this age. He can learn from me until his father returns."

"If his father returns, Sergeant," the Major interrupted. "It has been five months. We can only assume the worst has happened."

"For now, the boy can work with me," Bert said, almost demandingly. "And if the War Office won't allow it, he can work for me."

A knock was heard at the door and one of the nurses entered asking after the Major. He reluctantly rose and turned to leave, but he turned to the pair to say "we have access to the school's facilities until the new year. We have until then to make a decision on the Banks boy." As he turned to finally walk out, Mary spoke.

"Major Anderson. In your next letter to the War Office, please kindly remind them that this is a public hospital. While we must and we do help the war effort in every way possible, we still have a duty to the people of London and to the people of England. While men are suffering tremendously at the front, on our own soil, women are still giving birth, children are still falling sick and the elderly are still facing the natural trials of life. The world does not stop for war. And if we let it slip between our fingers, there will be nothing left worth fighting for."

The Major heeded her words as he left her office. Mary and Bert stood quietly for a time. Eventually, she sat down at her desk, she looked distraught.

"I feel sorry for him," she admitted. "He's right. His hands are tied."

"Mary," Bert began.

"We all wish we could help everyone but–"

"Mary," Bert repeated as she brought her hands to her face. Bert came and sat by her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He won't send Michael off. I'll make sure he doesn't."

"It's not that," she said, very quietly. She moved her palms revealing her face. She looked so different. Yes, age was beginning to show in her, but it was distress in her eyes that made her look so distorted. Bert had never seen her like this.

"There was a time I could do anything. I could fix anything I wanted to, I could help anyone. And now, when people really need me–" she couldn't finish her sentence. Her eyes were welling up, but she stifled her tears. Bert knew her too well. Mary Poppins would never cry in front of anyone. "I have never felt so useless, Bert," she said inaudibly.

Bert sat quietly. His hand was still on her shoulder, he felt her shivering. Without thinking, he began to soothe her. Without her realising it, her shoulders relaxed.

"We mustn't blame ourselves for what the war has done," he reminded her. He lowered his voice as he added "and you mustn't blame yourself for your loss."

Her eyes shot up at this. She looked full at him revealing her face, clear as day, drenched with tears. "If I haven't got magic, then what have I got, Bert!"

"A desire to help others and the will to do so!" He reminded her. "We did not all fall in love with Mary Poppins the magician! I fell in love with Mary Poppins, the nanny!" He spoke the words before realising exactly what he had said. She shifted her shoulder from his grasp, his hand hovered in the air, his face transformed into utter dread.

"Mary, I–"

"You promised, Bert."

"I–" he began, but he could say nothing.

"You promised you would not love me."

That's a pie crust promise, his thoughts echoed her own words. Easily made, easily broken.

He stood up without speaking and went to leave. He gripped the handle before turning back to her. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her he knew everything. He had known all along. Even before his leg, he had guessed. He wanted to blurt it all out, but he turned the handle and walked away. He had long missed his chance. He had missed it years ago.

He had learned the truth too late.

Hello again dear readers. I was receiving lots of feed back that I was neglecting Bert and Mary a bit and I realised that to be quite true. I was very lucky I was able to add in this chapter with the rest of the stuff I've written (I have the next two chapters drafted, so expect them soon). I will try to give them more focus but Jane is technically the protagonist. None the less, you were right and I apologise and was glad I could fit this in. I think it will work better too.

Also, another apology to history buffs who can see all the inaccuracies in this story. If this were the only piece I were writing, and if I were writing it for publication, I would make more of an effort. But I am currently researching my novel which is a different historical period and location altogether (1890's Melbourne, Australia) and while I do look things up in this context, and this context does fascinate me to no end, unfortunately I have not given it the attention that it needs and I do apologise. I know fanfiction is renowned for its unprofessional nature, but I am an aspiring author, and this is a legit massive scale writing exercise for me that I do take seriously. So yes, I will apologise for it not being as perfect as it deserves. I love this story, that is why I am sad I won't do it justice. None the less, I hope you continue to enjoy it because I love writing it, more than any fic I have ever done.

Anyway, expect more chapters soon. Also lots of feels. Again, I am sorry most of this story is quite sad, I promise it will end well, hahaha! I also don't think I've ever said, I love you guys. Really, thank you so much for everything.