Practically Perfect

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

First Published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Katy Brand 2020

Katy Brand asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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Ebook Edition © October 2020 ISBN: 9780008400729

Version 2020-10-05

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 Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008400705

In memory of

Violet Brand, MBE

(1929–2020)

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Introduction

1 Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

2 A Spoonful Of Sugar

3 Stay Awake

4 Sister Suffragette

5 Jolly Holiday

6 A British Bank

7 A Man Has Dreams

8 The Life I Lead

9 Step In Time

10 Let’s Go Fly A Kite

Acknowledgements

About the Publisher

Introduction

Mary Poppins was my favourite film as a child. I was captivated by the songs, the dancing chimney sweeps, the magic. I loved the idea that you could have a day out inside a pavement painting or a tea party on the ceiling. And I was enthralled by the mysterious nanny herself, of course. I liked the crispness of Mary Poppins, the pace, the magical otherness of it and the comfort of an old London I had never known for myself but which somehow felt like home. There were the kindly eccentrics laughing their way through life and the notion that a pair of young children could go missing in a city-centre park and be delivered home by the friendly and familiar local bobby before anyone really had time to panic.

The way I felt after watching Mary Poppins at ten years old was ‘invincible’. I thought I could achieve anything with a bit of stiff resolve and a perky attitude. It always made me want to go upstairs and tidy my room. I felt aflutter with possibilities. A small clear-up would then turn into a total clear-out and I would end up turning all the drawers out, cleaning shelves, pulling furniture away from the wall to see what was behind. Bags of rubbish would accumulate and, when it was done, I would sit on the bed in wonder, gazing at the perfect order in front of me. I’d end up doing my homework too, just to prolong the feeling of virtue. Hell, sometimes I even polished my shoes. I resolved that I would be just like Mary Poppins when I was older – I would run a tight ship, never panic or flap about, and keep a close eye on my own personal care.

Watching the film back as an adult, I have realised that one of the things that I was responding to, which now speaks to me even more loudly, is that Mary Poppins really couldn’t care less about your expectations, your sense of order and rectitude or the perceived societal conventions of the day. She’s here to deliver deeper truths in the manner that she sees fit, whilst appearing immaculately turned out at all times and maintaining constant poise. It’s utterly thrilling.

For me, Mary Poppins is a story about taking practical steps towards happiness. It is about setting boundaries and then upholding those boundaries for a better life. It’s about deciding how you want your life to be and then taking action to make it happen. Even if all that means is a little tidy-up, it’s still a good start.

This has been my small revelation, courtesy of Mary Poppins – I can talk, and think, and imagine all I like, and worlds will be built in my mind; I can engage in necessary introspection and let it tip into indulgent navel gazing from time to time. I can spend all morning saying, ‘I’m going for a run,’ and then decide at lunchtime it’s too late in the day now and I’ll go tomorrow, then spend some more time analysing my emotions to establish why I didn’t go for that run. But until I actually do something practical, and tangible, nothing will change. This, as I have found, is the ‘Poppins Doctrine’ – that recognising a need to change and then taking practical action is what leads to greater happiness. But you must make a start. You could even say, ‘Well begun is half done.’

Just recently, Mary Poppins has started to feel like the answer to a question I have been reaching for but not quite grasping; the solution to a problem I can feel but can’t quite define. We sit at our desks but don’t feel productive – why? We talk about healthy food endlessly but still reach for the crisps – why? We feel tired all the time but we won’t go to bed early – why? I can run up my own list of excuses as long as your arm, and I frequently do. I have got into the habit of excusing myself for anything I don’t feel like doing. But as I watched Mary Poppins, I started to blush as I imagined the look on her face while I whined at her about my foot being a bit sore, or how I can’t write today because I’ve spent all morning googling my chakras and now I’m out of time, or I couldn’t sleep because I was up until 2am arguing with a stranger on Twitter about how to make a proper carbonara.

She would fix me with that glinty, flinty look of hers and I would crumple in a heap of shame. Mary Poppins may be an old film, but it has a fresh message. I think Mary’s still got something to teach us. Her lessons have been lost a little and bringing them back wouldn’t do us any harm at all.

The film Mary Poppins was released by Walt Disney in 1964 and was an immediate success. It takes themes such as parental neglect, women’s rights, poverty, financial power, toxic masculinity, work/life balance, boundaries and the importance of holidays, and brings them all together in a confection as light as a posh meringue with enough chewy stuff in the middle to make to feel you’ve really eaten something proper. It’s entertaining, joyful, moving and satisfying. It’s family entertainment for grown-ups, which is of course the best kind. And it has some of the greatest songs ever written in the history of film. Or indeed songwriting, full stop.

Mary Poppins the character, though, was brought to life some three decades before that by a woman called Helen Lyndon Goff, writing under the name Pamela L Travers. Mary Poppins, the first of eight books she would write about Mary, was published in 1934 and told the story of a super-cocky, magical nanny who comes to look after the children of Mr and Mrs Banks of Cherry Tree Lane, London.

Travers continued writing books about Mary Poppins until 1988 but none lived up to the spiky, saucy first and, ultimately, they were all eclipsed (at least in terms of mainstream success) by Disney’s celluloid creation. As fans of the books will know, Disney’s Poppins was different to Travers’ Poppins in some respects – Travers’ creation was plain rather than pretty, she was often brusque and dismissive of the children and she wasn’t much interested in romancing chimney sweeps. She was more singular, perhaps, more alone. The film rather swept these nuances away in favour of a character who was more conventionally appealing.

Although it is sad to lose a little of the original vision of the author and creator, it also shows the power of the genius of Disney. He didn’t take on Mary Poppins out of some cynical, money-making exploitation of the work of another. He loved the books as much as his two daughters did. Disney’s desire to make the movie of Mary Poppins was first ignited around Christmas of 1944, when he heard eleven-year-old Diane laughing with joy at the original 1934 book. She begged her father to get the rights for his animation company.

He tried and tried. For the best part of twenty years, Disney pursued Travers, but she wouldn’t budge. Until finally, in 1959, she changed her mind. Or had it changed for her by a new American lawyer and an offer she couldn’t refuse. A hundred thousand dollars was on the table, plus a percentage of the profits. At this point, Travers was feeling hard up and worried about the future. She signed the deal. By the time the film finally came out, Diane Disney was in her thirties.

Did Travers regret it? Probably. It was certainly bittersweet for her, though she enjoyed the lifetime financial security it brought her. The pre-production, filming and release of Mary Poppins were all fraught with tension, as Travers tried to keep control of her creation. She had script approval as part of the deal and was determined it would not become a cartoon. Travers and Disney had what she later described as an ‘uneasy wedlock’. But I can’t regret her decision to sell, because though the books are dark, unusual, original and funny, the film is just sheer, effervescent delight from start to finish.

It was Julie Andrews’s first Hollywood film and it won her an Oscar. It was as if she was made to play Poppins – a cookie-cutter perfect woman, but with a glint in her eye you could cut diamonds with. And the rest of the cast were equally perfect: Dick Van Dyke, David Tomlinson, Glynis Johns all shine and twinkle through every moment. It’s a Sunday-afternoon film for the ages. It will get you through any rainy day. Or in my experience, any hangover.

Disney was rightly proud of his creation. He used cutting-edge technology, including special cameras of his own design and manufacture, to make the sequences involving a mix of live action and animation, splicing film between painted pieces of glass and then refilming them as composite plates. Nobody else in the world had access to anything similar because Disney had invented it himself.

In her autobiography, Home Work, Julie Andrews writes of the difficulty in filming in a medium that was new to everyone. They would rehearse the dance sequences for songs like ‘Step in Time’ for hours in a baking hot marquee on the Disney lot at Burbank, California, unaware that they would ultimately be seen to be dancing on staircases made of smoke, or jumping down narrow chimney pots only to appear on a roof next door. Andrews describes once being ‘strapped to a pole on a lazy Susan and whipped around like a spinning top’, and ‘hanging from the rafters on wires’. The ‘Spoonful of Sugar’ nursery scene was shot in reverse: wires pulled drawers open and unfolded clothes, and then the film was run backwards to show the messy room tidying itself up on Mary Poppins’ command.

People were amazed when they saw it in cinemas – nobody had ever seen anything like this before. The profits were used to fund the creation of Disney World, following the success of Disneyland – another project that the visionary Walt had been determined to finish, even painting backdrops and rides himself alongside workers who carried on through the night to be ready in time for the official opening. He was dogged, determined and always finding new and creative ways to show what he could do. He was not an easy man, and his decisions were not always popular. But he would not stop for anyone. He would not explain himself. He did what he thought was right and necessary to achieve the results he desired. No wonder he loved Mary Poppins. In this respect at least, they were very similar.

In the process of researching this book and trying to get to grips with what makes this film from 1964 feel both enchanting and still relevant, I have spoken to some friends and fans and included what they told me. One thing that comes up repeatedly is that it is comforting. We return to the film again and again to imbibe that feeling that everything will be all right in the end. Who could fail to be uplifted by Julie Andrews whistling a duet with an improbably large animatronic robin? And then of course there are the visuals. We have become so accustomed to the use of CGI in films, with the aim of making impossible things look real. But there is something so appealing about the mouth-watering painted backdrops of Edwardian London. The crisp and colourful costumes are delightful; the glorious technicolour of it all is so much better than anything more photo-realistic.

Lots of people told me how much they have enjoyed – or are looking forward to – sharing it with their own children, even though it is essentially a film about parents getting everything wrong. There is something so compelling about that childlike desire for order to emerge out of the chaos of family life, for a kind stranger to arrive and make everything better – someone who knows what they’re doing and will show us where we are going wrong. It’s an idea that appeals to almost everyone; you don’t have to have had an especially traumatic childhood to get it, although interestingly both P L Travers and Walt Disney had a difficult time when they were young. Bearing in mind what we know of Travers, it’s hard to imagine that these two would have shared their experiences with one another directly, but it seems that something communicated itself across the divide, expressed, as it so often is, via the medium of story.

Something that I love about Mary Poppins is her lack of emotional need. She seems entirely self-sufficient, to the point of arrogance at times, and nothing seems to shame her. I find it intoxicating, and I am not alone in this. Emma Thompson, who played Travers brilliantly and sensitively in the film Saving Mr Banks opposite Tom Hanks as Walt Disney, agrees:

‘I think for women particularly her special power is absolutely her lack of emotional neediness. It’s what we all want – well, I do anyway. I feel very needy emotionally – perhaps I am, perhaps I am not, but I feel it. Any character who is truly self-sufficient without being aloof and cut off is so attractive to me. Mary Poppins doesn’t need the children to love her. She doesn’t need anything. But she is nonetheless fully engaged and present.’

What an immense power to hold. It is remarkable and, as Emma says, so attractive. Of course, it is unrealistic to expect or demand the same from any real human, especially any mother, or indeed parent. We are only human – we have needs, and weaknesses, and vulnerabilities and, though we may try to hide them from ourselves and our children, they always leak out. Children can sense it a mile off and will often recoil from extremely needy people, or ‘thirsty’ people as I believe it’s now called by those with super-active Instagram accounts who know what on earth TikTok is. It’s a relief and an inspiration to watch a woman like Poppins go about her business without apology or explanation, without shame or the need for approval. I’m just going to say it: it’s sexy.

In fact, lots of people seem to find Mary Poppins a bit sexy. It’s easy when Julie Andrews is both naughty and nice. Bert certainly seems to think so. Of course, it’s not front and centre, and strike me down for saying it, but there is a kind of undeniable sex appeal to the whole film. It’s partly what makes it endure and allows it to be appealing to adults. Mrs Banks looks like she doesn’t mind a little bit of ‘’ow’s yer father’, as Bert might say, and ooh Bert, yes, he’s got that troubadour free spirit thing going on. Anyone who likes their men a bit buttoned up could imagine helping Mr Banks relax a little. Ellen and Cook may hold a bit more of a niche appeal but there’s plenty who would love a rummage with a buxom servant after the master’s gone upstairs – just ask Julian Fellowes, he’s made a career out of writing it.

Is this a shocking suggestion? Well, not if a recent (though not entirely scientific) survey on Twitter (conducted by me, again, emphatically not a scientist) is anything to go by. When I asked if it was odd to have a little crush on Bert, I was engulfed with responses about the various objects of desire to be found in Mary Poppins. So if I’m outrageous, I’m certainly not outrageous by myself. A fleeting but appropriate sense of the adult world and good chemistry between the actors are essential to the success of any film aimed at children. They soak it all up. They sense the reality and the tension, and part of that tension is attraction. It’s a necessary ingredient because it has a flash of danger about it. Most fairy tales begin or end with a kiss.

And continuing with adult themes, Mary Poppins has a political dimension too, with the deliberate subverting of the capitalist system and Poppins herself pushing a more radical agenda on the children than the one their father expects them to accept. Bert has declined to join in with the English middle-class obsession with conformity, investment, property ownership, family life and a steady job and is by far the happiest person in the film. And of course, there’s the suffragettes and female power more generally, which is the motor that keeps the entire narrative running. What are the roles for each of us in society? What do we owe each other? What do we owe ourselves?

To be free, to be self-sufficient, to have and maintain personal boundaries, to not indulge our weaknesses, to help those in need and care for our loved ones in a real and present way and, above all, to be practical, positive and well-turned out in the face of any hardship and upheaval, taking action where required without procrastinating or whinging – that’s the path to being Practically Perfect. That’s the Poppins Doctrine. To put our best foot forward. To have some self-respect. To take positive action. These are the messages Mary Poppins wishes to impart to the Banks family, but also to us, the viewer. I feel I could do with a dose of her medicine from time to time, sweetened with a spoonful of sugar.

Chapter 1

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

How do you like your heroines? I look back at those I have latched onto over the course of my life and see one common thread: practicality. As a child, I loved Enid Blyton’s good sense girls, whether that was George from the Famous Five, who I identified with enormously – Blyton’s personal politics may have been seriously dubious, but she created a gender-fluid character long before time – and Darrell Rivers, who starred in her boarding school series, Malory Towers. These were girls who advised you should get back on the horse every time you fell off and not cry if you scraped your knee. They had little patience for ‘girly nonsense’.

Darrell Rivers was the absolute epitome of these practical, jolly, sensible girls – just a ‘good egg’. She was reliable, loyal and capable. When she made a mistake (a big plot point is her famously hot temper) she immediately resolved to sort it out, rather than expecting someone else to help her – though she often came up with schemes and plans to help her friends. Her arch nemesis was a girl called Gwendoline who was spoiled by her rich parents and always made a big fuss when she was dropped off at school for the new term. ‘Making a fuss’ is a crime beyond compare for Enid Blyton’s heroines. Good eggs accept their lot, make the best of it and they never, ever make a fuss.

I joined the Brownies when I was eight, partly because everyone else I knew did and partly because I liked being tested on my ability to make afternoon tea (complete with doily) for a local old lady and then being given a badge for it. I wanted to join in and I wanted to conform, to some extent. I think most children do – we want to be the same as everyone else until the age of around thirteen, when we suddenly want to be different from everyone else, thereby remaining the same as everyone else. The ultimate irony of teenagehood. Although there are always some cool outliers – for example, a girl I was friends with around that time joined a group called the Woodcraft Folk because, as she somewhat precociously informed me, ‘The Brownies are a paramilitary organisation,’ or, at least, that’s what her dad said.

Anyway, though I could never achieve that level of cool anti-establishmentarianism, it seems a hint of teenage rebellion also came early to me, as my time in the Brownies ended somewhat disastrously after a couple of years when I was asked to leave for ‘treating it as a fashion show’. Trust me when I say I have never treated anything as a fashion show in my life, not even when I was at an actual fashion show – a friendly designer let me film myself walking down the catwalk dressed as Kate Moss for my comedy website. That is as close as I have ever got to a fashion show, and I still couldn’t take it seriously.

No, what they meant was that I didn’t want to wear long socks and would roll them down to my ankles. This, it seems, was the hill I was willing to die on. My legs are stumpy. I cannot carry off a long sock with knee-length brown skirt. I knew this, even at ten years old. It remains the case. And I was willing to forgo all the fun and conformity of being a Brownie for the sake of a more flattering sock. Also, Tawny Owl simply didn’t like me. So I was gone.

But I still wanted to learn some skills; I wanted to be a sensible, reliable sort you could count on to have a ten-pence piece and a length of string in her pocket in an emergency. And so, in the spirit of being a ‘good egg’ – as I still very much wanted to be in case I ever met Darrell Rivers in real life – I put it behind me and joined the Girl Guides. But again it was not to be.

I was thirteen by now and a bit too old and cynical; I took to Sellotaping my pathetic three badges to my uniform instead of sewing them on, and generally ‘subverting the nature of the organisation’, as the inevitable letter home read. I couldn’t do it. I tried, but something else was bubbling up in me that didn’t seem welcome there. A sort of sense of the absurdity of it all. Well, the two leaders voluntarily called themselves Pooh and Piglet. I don’t see how anyone could fail to subvert the nature of that. A grown woman shouting, ‘Oh, Pooh! Where are you?’ in a game of woodland hide and seek is not a way to control unruly teenage girls.

I did want to join in and be good, though. I wasn’t naturally a troublemaker. It’s just that inevitably something would strike me as funny and I couldn’t hold it inside. I loved to laugh. Yes, that’s right – loud, and long, and clear. And it would often get the better of me. I once had the school librarian and the headmaster standing over me, trying to send me out of the library for bad behaviour, while I tried to indicate that I was paralysed with mirth and would leave as soon as I could stop laughing. What an absolute prat.

Later in life, I discovered Jackie Collins (hard-nosed bitches who gave as good as they got) and Jilly Cooper (hard-shagging bitches who gave as good as they got). All these female characters that I looked up to were essentially the same – and yes, that is a direct line from Blyton to Collins that I’m drawing – they got on with things, they didn’t complain and they didn’t explain. If life gets dirty, roll up your sleeves, don’t indulge in sentiment, and if a box of lemons comes your way, well, you know what to do. Robust, jolly-hockey-sticks Darrell Rivers has more in common with the ball-breaking and impossibly glamorous Lucky Santangelo than we might think.