Somethin' is brewing
London, England, 1910
Bert dreamed of her again. He usually didn't remember his dreams, but Mary Poppins anchored him-once he remembered her presence, all the other details fell into place. They were flying over London at twilight together. She had her parrot umbrella and he probably hitchhiked on her magic somehow-he didn't see what he was holding. An awareness of the deepening darkness weighed on Bert, but it could not overwhelm the joy of flying by her side. Just before slipping into darkness she said something to him, but he didn't catch what it was.
Bert wished he did. It had been a year since he last heard Mary Poppins' voice.
He got out of bed and let out a content sigh. "What shall I be today? I feel rather musical...Let's be a one man band. Yes, a one man band..."
Bert's tiny flat sat on the top floor of a wobbly building in the East End, or the "abyss" of London. It was quite precarious, and an image that captured the lives of many of the poor who lived in the abyss. Everyone here struggled to keep their head above the water. Not that their lives really mattered in the grand scheme of things-if they drowned, they did so silently and their souls slipped down into oblivion with disquieting ease.
For breakfast, Bert toasted some old bread and made some coffee. Then, he went about the task of readying his suit of instruments for the one man band.
He hummed to himself, "I love making music, oh yes I do. / I have drums to beat and a horn to toot…" Bert loved his bass drum-he painted a landscape of a moonlit lake from his childhood on one side of it. Just looking at the scene warmed him inside.
As Bert loudly made his way through the streets of the East End to the corner by the entrance to Regent's Park he usually occupied, he waved to his many friends.
"Top o' the morning, Eamon! Good to see ya, Prue!" Bert tipped his cap as he greeted everyone. Community could be tight-knit in the abyss. The upper class folks of London did not have your back, but your chums down here did.
Bert passed St. Paul's Cathedral and stopped by the steps to pray a bit. Most days, he went inside to pay his respects to the Lord, but Bert thought the drums and horns might not be conducive for a prayerful space.
Once he got to his corner by Regent's Park, Bert got to work making music and improvising songs. He hoped to make enough money this morning to pay for a hearty lunch and dinner today, but as time went by, he feared that goal might be a bit ambitious. Folks were not feeling generous today. They rarely were. When people appeared so engaged during the performance yet avoided looking Bert in the eye when he asked for tuppence for his lunch, it became easy for Bert to let resentment bubble up. Resentment though, is like acid to the soul, corrosive and hungry. The cost is great. Whenever Bert felt it come up in him, he kept his mind on the Scriptures. ...Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…
As he held out his cap to collect tuppence, Bert felt her. A shift in the wind, a dampness. Over the years, Bert became an expert at sensing these changes.
He sang mostly to himself, "Winds in the east, mist coming in, / Like somethin' is brewin' and 'bout to begin. / Can't put me finger on what lies in store, / But I feel what's to happen all happened before."
A knowing grin grew on Bert's face as he searched the sky for a familiar silhouette.