Mary Poppins was an Emo

Did you know that the original story of Mary Poppins is an extension of the author’s own life: a case of art imitating life for sure. Mary’s creator was nothing less than an Emo (short for emotional) and dear old Mary was created to be a twisted sister with an emotional and ulterior motive to looking after the rich people’s babies.

P.L.Travers, author of Mary Poppins, grew up in Maryborough, Queensland, Australia. Her growth though, her normal, safe, childhood, was damaged thanks to the abuse perpetrated by her loving parents. Miss Travers, and her Mary, were survivors of child abuse.

Mary Poppins was Written by a Child in Need of Protection: Mary Poppins was originally written as a parody – a spiteful poke at “good” families gone wrong. The central characters of the story, the Banks family, were a glossed up representation of Pamela’s family of origin and the story line reflected Pamela’s attachment disordered thinking and fear of abandonment.

Born Helen Goff, in Maryborough, Queensland, Australia in 1899, the celebrated author of Mary Poppins was the daughter of a bank manager who drank himself to death by the time Helen was seven. Helen’s mother, Margaret, dithered on for a few more years before also giving up on life and attempting suicide in a local river. One thundery night, Margaret Goff announced to her three children that she was off to kill herself. Helen, the oldest (age 10) was terrified. She was left, alone, to settle her younger siblings and she coped by putting them to bed, all three together, on the lounge room floor. In an effort to divert their attention from frantic thoughts around their mother’s impending violent death, Helen made up fantasy stories about magical flying horses in faraway lands that would ride them all to safety.

Although Margaret returned, unsuccessful in her suicide attempt, Helen withdrew from the hurt caused by her family and instead found solace in the strength of a spinster aunt. Helen’s dysfunctional family predicament haunted her for the rest of her life. She was never able to rid herself of images concerning the appalling fate of children whose parents were unable to care for them.

At 21 years of age, Helen changed her name to Pamela L. Travers. Soon after she moved to London to make a new life as a writer. She never married, wore trousers (totally unacceptable in those days) when she wanted, had an affair with an older married man and eventually entered into a long-term relationship with another woman. Ever desperate to protect children, at age 40, a single parent, she adopted and raised an Irish orphan.

Psychologically tortured by the accepted treatment of children at the hands of their loving families, Pamela Travers wrote Mary Poppins as a piece of anti-nanny propaganda. Angered by the middle classes who shunned their children, the Mary Poppins character was essentially a therapeutic catharsis for Travers wounded inner child. Mary was designed to bring the middle classes to their senses by reflecting their own weak ethics and inability to provide emotional stability to their children. The moral of the story was that the Nanny got the chop because she was no longer required: the middle classes awoke to their children’s needs and would forever more parent appropriately.

Walt Disney rewrote Mary Poppins, the book, as a screen play (1964) and created the now immortalised personification of Mary Poppins as the all rounded protector of children. His movie made Mary Poppins synonymous with love, magic and umbrellas – a protective accessory (Umbrellas and Parrots to Help Play Protect our Children. Thanks Mary Poppins). Travers reportedly sat through the opening night of the stage play with tears of despair running from her eyes. Her message to the middle classes had been turned around by Disney to now  romanticize Nannies and ineffectual parenting. Such is the power of Hollywood and patriarchy.

No matter how diluted the original message became in the story of Mary Poppins, I remain grateful to Pamela Travers, an abused child, for writing a story that turned bad to good: first for her own healing and second as a classic piece of international children’s fiction.

Reprint of earlier Imaginif article by Megan Bayliss
  • Share/Bookmark

Domestic Violence: Anticipating change

Anticipating change:  Fiction, Short Story

Twelve months of seeking and I was again anticipating him to change: to keep his promise to seek the right person. How long did he think I would wait? I was so sick of his promises, so fed up with his gifts and really bloody bored with his research into which counsellor was the best. I would never tell him that though.

He sat at the end of the table, his omnipresence smelt from behind the double barrelled newspaper he was never without. Obvious only ever by his smell, and never by his courteous or meaningful family focused conversation, he always smelt good. Damn good. He smelt expensive and suave; sophisticated and cultured. Shame he was such an arse hole. Shame more that he didn’t smell like one! It’s easier, I think, to leave a smelly person.

The paper acted as his ventriloquist doll: it moved and spoke on his instruction, never mine. His paper, in a condescending tone, spoke right at me,

“I made contact yesterday with a Dr Mary Bridges. Doctor by philosophy you understand; no, you probably don’t. She is not a medical doctor. Not a proper doctor. She just has a bit more study in psychology than those other morons I spoke to, nothing special.”

Underneath my cooking oil spot stained bright orange ten seasons old T-Shirt, my heart cosily stirred. I had been anticipating this. This was good. He WAS changing. He really did love me and he really did want to make our relationship work. I wonder if he’d let me go and buy some new clothes today?

“Shut up,” my naughty brain huskily whispered to my heart. “He’s full of shit. He’s an arse hole. Don’t believe him.”

My heart was stronger than my brain. My heart, my love, my dream of a perfect relationship, enmeshed with the fantasy that smell good husband behind the newspaper WAS really fighting for our relationship this time. He cared. He loved me. He didn’t have to breakfast with the twins and I, he could have taken his new Jag off to work like he usually would in the mornings but today he promised to give me a Jag driving lesson. Bless him.

Naughty brain kicked up with some rather unsavoury thoughts. “Arse hole! I’ve been driving for over 10 years and NEVER had an accident, unlike him who constantly loses points for speeding, suffers from road rage, yells at learner drivers and always, always runs over the twin’s bikes. My entire fault though, according to him:  My fault because I apparently distract him.”

“Shh,” I growled myself internally. “He’s trying.” Again my faithful heart stopped my silly, naughty thoughts and refocused those thoughts to much more positive and realistic points of discussion.

“Tell me about her?” I encouraged him. “I am so pleased that you’ve found a counsellor you think will help us.”

He never even bothered to put the paper down. He just yelled through it and scared the life out of the twins and myself.

“There’s nothing wrong with our relationship. There’s something wrong with you! Where’s my toast? I’m going to be late. Can’t you even time manage breakfast, woman? You are a disgrace and not fit to be a mother or my wife.”

The smallest twin, Angie, white faced and still to her father’s regular outbursts, muttered in a scared wee little voice, “Mummy?”

Angus, more like his father than sensitive little Angie, threw a piece of toast at her, “Shut up. You’re stupid.”

Newspaper moved up from his chair and ominously teetered. Without warning, the paper erupted like double barrelled lava flying in several directions across the kitchen.  This was a serious move by him, a serious mistake I had made. Nothing, but nothing, took his morning news away from him.

Both children looked at him. Angie cried silently, her fragile hands stuck in her mouth to stifle sound, her elbows tight against her body. Big, fat, constant tears ran down both her quivering cheeks. Angus just stared at his father, mouth open in disbelief and fear, watching, anticipating his father’s next move. Angus looked like he was role playing with the young cowboy next door; his mind was deciding whether the lay of the land was hostile or friendly.

“If only this was a game of Cowboys and Indians,” I silently assessed. “I need to immediately apologise for my stupidity and settle things down before the neighbours hear.”

“Oh Andrew, darling, let me sort that paper for you. I am so sorry. You are right. There is something wrong with me and I do need to go to a counsellor. Can you give me Dr Bridges number and I will ring and book an appointment today.” I lied. I lied to arse hole because I was scared of him and because I didn’t want my children to see how weak I was when he assaulted me with his cruel words. His words always made me cry.

“Ohhh. There must be something wrong with me. Why do I put up with this?” Contrary to what he always told me about my stupidness, how fast my mind worked in silence to escape a bad and dangerous situation.

Andrew, minus his beloved newspaper that he had slapped from my trembling hands, smelt the air.

“This place stinks like a pig sty. Clean this house up you lazy pig. You are an embarrassment to me and do not deserve my charity to you. Clean it up or I am taking the children away from you. You will never see them again.”

Pale and still, with eyes of saucers, Angie silently cried while she pleadingly looked at me. Her fear gave me strength of fight; she gave me strength to lie to my husband, Andrew, one last time.

“Darling, I’m so sorry. It does stink in here. I promise it will be clean by the time you get home. No stench. No mess. What would you like for tea tonight? How about that beautiful Quail and Guinness Pie that you loved last time I cooked it?”

Mr Smell Nice Andrew stormed out without responding. He took his Jag, without the kids or I obviously, and screeched out of the driveway, collapsing the rose trellis as he left.

I buckled to the floor and loud sobs emitted from my chest. Both children ran to me. They each hugged me but Angie’s tears and shakes melded mine. I felt Angus’ little arm creep around onto his sister’s hand and he patted her in a comforting and regulating beat. So like his father in many regards but so the traumatized little man as well. I had to protect him. I had to break what he was learning by watching his father and I fight.

Amidst my grief and bewilderment, my shame and my thoughts of failure, I heard the words of the Lifeline telephone counsellor that I had been secretly accessing: “Domestic Violence follows a pattern, a cycle of violence that keeps getting worse. After the explosion, comes remorse, after remorse buyback, after buyback, honeymoon, with sneaks of habitual behaviour, tension build up, standover, explosion and it keeps going until the explosions happen without all the good stuff happening too. Children learn this pattern and copy it.”

Reflecting on her words and trying to piece the morning’s events into the cycle of violence, the naughty side of me, the tenacious me, took over. I must have been mad because it was like I was schizophrenic and had another voice talking inside me.

“Arse hole. That’s the last time I anticipate good behaviour and help from him. How long does he think I’m going to wait for him to realise it is his behaviour that is destroying this family. I’m cleaning up all right. I’m cleaning up our smells, our clothes, our presence and leaving him an arse wiped house of nothing.”

The kids and I left for the north coast late that afternoon. From affluence to a women’s shelter, it was the best thing I had ever done. I found an excellent counsellor: a free community counsellor. She wasn’t a doctor; she wasn’t even well dressed with a flash city office that was impossible for a mother and children to access. She was however, a breath of fresh air. Her fresh air blew away all the stinking thinking that was in my head and left me instead with the voice of tenacity, the voice that said, “I am worth it. How long did you think I would wait for you to change your bad behaviours? I am responsible for my behaviour and you are responsible for yours.”

I anticipated change. I did it myself.

© Megan Bayliss, 2010

This story is fictional and part of Megan Bayliss’ daily writing practice.

  • Share/Bookmark

Richard Rose in Cairns presenting Therapeutic Care for Children and Youth

CAIRNS INSTITUTE VISITING SCHOLAR – PUBLIC LECTURE
THERAPEUTIC CARE FOR CHILDREN AND YOUTH
RICHARD ROSE

Monday March 15th, 5.00 – 7.00 pm
James Cook University, Bruce Highway, Smithfield
Building A21, Rm:002
Light refreshment will be served

Richard Rose is the Clinical Practice Director, Mary Walsh Institute, SACCS Ltd. Mytton Mill, Shrewsbury, United Kingdom.

Therapeutic approaches to child care for traumatised children has been at the forefront of providing recovery for children who have suffered early trauma through abuse in the UK. Over the last 23 years Sexual Abuse Child Consultancy Services (SACCS) has been providing care for extremely damaged young children when they have experienced multi-placement breakdown and shattered internal working models. Since 2004, SACCS has developed a Recovery Programme which includes a unique model which provides key information through observation and assessment; in action this delivers a planned approach to intervention for children leading to their recovery. In 2010, SACCS completed its Recovery Programme and now promotes its approach to therapeutic child care through presentation and opportunities to share practice, inform and influence quality in this vital service. This lecture will explore the SACCS Recovery Programme and the possible application such an approach might offer to services for children and young people in Queensland.

Note: Sexual Abuse Child Consultancy Services (SACCS) is a leading UK Child Care organisation caring for 55 children in residential care and 20 children in specialised foster care, the relevant web sites are www.saccs.co.uk and www.mwisaccs.com

Presented by: The Learning & Development Strategy (Child Safety) – James Cook University
Cost: Free
Contact: For further information, contact Elena Rhind.
Tel: (07) 4042 1887; E-mail: elena.rhind@jcu.edu.au
To RSVP for catering purposes, please contact Elena (above) by Wednesday March 10.

Download flier here: Richard Rose public lecture Cairns

  • Share/Bookmark

White Balloon Day 2009 for child sexual assault

White Balloon Day is on Tuesday 8th September. White Balloon Day is a national event: it is a day we all get to be involved in protecting children against sexual assault. Currently one in five children are sexually assaulted before their 18th birthday BUT – we can change this. Get involved in White Balloon Day and send all children and survivors everywhere a message of support, belief and respect.

  • Tie a white balloon to your letterbox, pot plant at work, counter or street sign
  • Hold a Wear White Day at your office or workplace or perhaps hold a White Tea
  • Visit your local Terry White Pharmacy and buy one our really lovely ‘enviro shopping bags for just $2. In fact, if you can always use Terry White Pharmacies as a preference that would be great – they are great supporters of child protection
  • Visit your local Bendigo Bank and make a donation – every cent helps….
  1. $10 buys a child a personal safety education program
  2. $25 buys a crisis counselling/support session
  3. $50 buys a specialist therapy session

This is your chance to do something to help children AND publicly SAY NO to sexual assault. Channel 9 and the 4BC radio network are supporting this campaign as are Terry White Chemists, Bendigo Bank, Nutrimetics, Rotary and others. Visit the White Balloon Day  website and find our more about how you can help. Remember, when it comes to CHILD SEXUAL ASSAULT, IT’S ALL WHITE TO SAY NO!

What are you going to do?

  • Share/Bookmark

What to do if your child tells you they have been sexually abused

Working with children who have been sexually assaulted is the most satisfying job I have ever done. Working with parents and foster carers of those children is an honour: a privilege. I have recently sat with some amazing foster carers and we discussed sexualiased behaviours and how to react if disclosures ever came the foster carers way. In respect and thanks to those amazing foster carers, I have re trenched a post written more than a year ago:

What Can I Do if My Child Tells Me Someone Has Done Bad “Sex” Things to Them?

Imaginif…you knew what to do if your child disclosed sexual abuse.

Child sexual assault is against the law. Don’t keep it to yourself. First, believe your child and then TELL someone in a position to help you. Telling about child sexual abuse helps to end the prevalence figure of one in three. Child sexual abuse WILL CONTINUE if we don’t all take responsibility and tell someone when it has occurred. Tell the school principal, your local doctor, the police, a friend, the local Welfare agency. TELL SOMEONE who will help you.

It is not your responsibility to investigate and prove any disclosures of sexual abuse. Leave this to the Police or to the welfare agency in your state tasked with the responsibility of investigation. It is your responsibility to protect, believe and support your child.

Never approach the alleged perpetrator of the child sexual abuse. Focus on your child. Protect them. Minimize contact between them and the alleged abuser.

Talk, talk, talk to your child. Bust the secret right open. Apologise to your child for not having known that it happened and regain your child’s trust and confidence. Reassure your child that you will do something to stop it from ever happening again.

Allow your child to sleep in your bedroom if they feel scared or insecure. Your child needs to know that you are indeed a safe person and that you can, and will protect them.

After the police or the local welfare agency has interviewed your child, take your child to a child sexual abuse therapist. Talking about the sexual abuse helps to clear the child’s mind and allows them another avenue of being heard and believed.

Surround your family with supportive people. People who doubt or blame you are not helpful to your child’s recovery. This is a great time to increase your family’s support network and to train all of your children in protective behaviours.

Imaginif…we wiped out sexual abuse by telling someone when it happens. Sexual predators demand secrecy. Take away the secrecy and we make the predators think twice about sexually abusing another child.

Recommended subscription to a FREE newsletter on child safety: Kidproof.

Related blog from families.com: The Grooming Process of a Child Sexual Predator.

For further help on protecting your child against sexual assault, please use the games and activities in Parent Sense: a FREE tutorial, written by Megan Bayliss, on keeping kids safe from sexual predators.

  • Share/Bookmark