Rosie's Lie: A New Life and an Unexpected Act of Kindness

By Peter Lascelles

“The girl was terrified, her head vibrating as she shook. She probably would have run but Rosie was standing in the only exit from the room to the safety of the night.”

Rosie Bannister is in her last year of a turbulent experience in primary school. Staying with her grandparents on their farm in the Paterson Valley over the Eas

• Language: English
• Publisher: Silverbird Publishing
• Release date: Mar 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9780646800493

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rosie sat outside the principal’s office, unfortunately quite a frequent event in her school life. It was usually a case of failing to obey the teacher’s directions or not speaking appropriately to her peers. Today Rosie was fronting Mrs Brown for lying. Actually, in this particular case it was true, but it was for a very good cause and Rosie had no intention of giving in to the pressure Mrs Brown was about to unleash upon her.

It all started a couple of days ago with two other girls in her class, Ange Winchester and Bree Gandolf. They were not fond of Rosie and found her annoying and irritating, especially when she sang in class despite the teacher’s best effort to make her stop. In fairness, Rosie loved to sing but she did not seem to be bothered when and where her favourite songs would burst forth, causing a barrage of complaint from those nearby, but especially Ange and Bree. Rosie did not understand why she irritated people, her singing being but one of several sources of annoyance.

Luckily she had one very good friend in her grade; Grade 6. She was a Papua New Guinean girl named Kila who seemed to accept Rosie’s singing and her somewhat unusual ways. Kila also seemed to attract the dislike of many of the children in the class, perhaps because of her relationship with Rosie or maybe she too didn’t fit within the parameters of acceptance.

Ange Winchester and Bree Gandolf had accused Kila of stealing sandwiches from their lunch-boxes during recess. Not surprisingly, Rosie was furious and jumped to Kila’s defence, telling Mrs Brown that she had been with her all recess, and she went nowhere near the class fridge during break.

Rosie waited outside the office, lounging on the seat and trying to touch a power point on the wall with her shoe.

‘Sit still, Rosie Bannister,’ screeched Mrs Brown as she walked purposefully into her office. Rosie put her legs down.

She screwed her face a little and extended her tongue to the point of her nose.

Put that tongue away, she could hear her mother reminding her in her thoughts.

‘Would you come in now please Rosie,’ beckoned Mrs Brown.

Rosie walked in and stood in front of Mrs Brown’s desk, touching a nameplate bearing the principal’s name.

‘Please don’t touch that,’ sighed Mrs Brown peering over the top of her gold spectacles.

‘Rosie, you told me that Kila was with you right through recess. Is that correct?’ asked Mrs Brown in a voice that Rosie knew well. It was that voice of distrust that Mrs Brown had perfected after centuries as a teacher.

‘She didn’t take their lunch,’ said Rosie. ‘She was with me the whole time. Those girls always pick on us and try to get us in trouble. I always share my lunch with Kila anyway. She would ask me if she needed something.’

Mrs Brown raised her tightly plucked eyebrows sensing a weakness in Rosie’s story, and like a prowling eagle she swooped. ‘Rosie Bannister, I have lots of people who saw you by yourself at recess. You were not with Kila the whole time at all, were you?’

‘Yes I was and you can’t make me change that,’ replied Rosie.

‘Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone, young lady. You are a rude, insolent young girl and I am quite sick and tired of your lies and deceit,’ retorted Mrs Brown. ‘Now wait outside my office, and don’t swing on the chair!’

Mrs Brown’s face was so plastered with make-up that any hint of a change in expression from her usual stern persona would result in a massive crumbling of the powder that filled her facial wrinkles, like mighty icebergs dropping from the front of a melting glacier. No wonder she never changed expression.

Rosie did not look at Mrs Brown. She walked out feeling very angry that her friend was being blamed by those horrible girls, the teacher and the principal. Rosie was quite sure that lying to protect her friend was okay. Adults lie all the time, she thought rattling off numerous examples in her head as she sat and awaited her fate — again.

Her teacher, Miss Marning, led Kila into the foyer, glancing suspiciously at Rosie. Mrs Brown summoned Kila in to her office. The door shut behind her, but not before Kila glanced at Rosie with fear in her dark eyes.

Rosie could hear voices in Mrs Brown’s office. They were intimidating voices even though Rosie could not hear exactly what they were saying. Luckily it was the last day of school before Easter so there was not much Mrs Brown could do to them, or so Rosie thought.

Finally the door swung open and Kila appeared with Miss Marning who was looking very pleased with herself. Kila’s face was pointing to the ground as she walked into the foyer. Rosie could see tears dripping from her cheeks like dew drops falling from leaves on a damp autumn morning.

‘Where does your father work?’ demanded an unsympathetic Miss Marning.

‘Don’t know,’ said Kila, too scared to look up.

‘What work does he do then?’

‘My daddy make house,’ replied Kila without lifting her head.

‘And where is your father, Rosie Bannister?’ asked Mrs Brown. ‘I suppose he would almost be expecting a call from the school.’

‘He’s gone away for Easter to see his mum in New Zealand. Mummy went with him. I am staying with my nan and grandpa for Easter,’ replied Rosie who was feeling quite used to this routine.

Mrs Brown summoned the office assistant, Mrs Hope. Rosie quite liked Mrs Hope but she could tell she was scared of Mrs Brown and she always did as she was told without question. But she was kind when Mrs Brown was not around. It’s a shame horrible people always seem to be the boss, thought Rosie as she sucked a lock of her hair.

‘Mrs Hope, look up the files and ring Kila’s parents. Get them down here immediately. Rosie Bannister’s grandparents as well. These girls will be missing our Easter Hat Parade,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘I’m disgusted with both of them. 2015 will be an Easter to forget for them.’

Rosie and Kila sat on opposite chairs in the foyer as Mrs Hope carried out her orders. Rosie had never seen Kila so upset, even when those nasty girls in Grade 6 picked on them. Sometimes they even said that Kila and her family ate people.

‘I don’t care about the stupid hat parade,’ whispered Rosie across the foyer.

‘My daddy be very cranky with me for not being good at school,’ answered Kila.

‘But you didn’t do anything wrong,’ replied Rosie emphatically.

‘My daddy, he believe Mrs Brown. I get in big trouble. I’m very scared,’ she said as more tears cascaded down her cheeks.

It wasn’t long until Rosie’s grandpa arrived.

‘Oh Rosie, what have you done this time?’ he asked sadly. Before Rosie could answer, Mrs Brown walked into the foyer displaying her professional, charming face for Rosie’s grandpa.

‘Stand up, girls,’ she ordered. ‘Kila, you might like to explain to Rosie’s grandpa why you are both in trouble.’

Kila looked at the ground as she often did when adults spoke to her.

‘Look at me when I am speaking to you,’ said Mrs Brown, raising her tone.

Rosie’s grandpa intervened. ‘Mrs Brown, Kila is just showing you respect. This is how children show respect to adults in her country.’

‘Well she is living in our country now and I expect her to look at me when I speak to her,’ retorted Mrs Brown thinking momentarily she was still speaking to a student. Kila dissolved into more tears.

Rosie could not hold her tongue any longer. ‘Grandpa, it’s not fair. Girls in our class said Kila stole food from the fridge. It’s a lie but Mrs Brown won’t believe her.’

‘Hold on,’ whispered Grandpa. ‘What is it the girls have done, Mrs Brown?’

The sliding glass door slid open. Kila’s daddy walked in with a very apologetic look on his face. He was a powerfully built man, not tall, but with calf muscles that caught the attention of all in the room. ‘I am very sorry, Mrs Brown. Kila does not usually do things like this. I will take her home and she will be punished. She knows not to bring shame to our family.’ Kila’s dad took her by the arm and motioned towards the door.

‘I hope this will be a lesson to you, Kila. We will start back afresh next term and I hope something like this does not happen again,’ said Mrs Brown sensing victory.

‘It will never happen again Mrs Brown, please be assured,’ said Kila’s dad. He spoke in another language to Kila as they exited the building, unintelligible to all in the room. Rosie marvelled at Kila’s capacity to jump from one language to another, speaking four in total. However, Rosie did not need an interpreter to understand the message her father was relaying. It made her angry.

‘And what is it that Rosie has done, Mrs Brown?’ asked Rosie’s grandpa.

‘Unfortunately Mr Goldblum, Rosie has told lie after lie about Kila’s whereabouts during recess and it is not the first time she has been in serious trouble this term for the same thing — and many other things I might add. Is she still taking her tablets?’

Rosie’s grandpa looked over the top of his glasses at Mrs Brown, his facial expression indicating a distaste for her line of questioning. Rosie could tell Grandpa didn’t really like her.

‘Rosie is a very strong-willed little girl Mrs Brown, and rightly or wrongly I’m sure she feels that a great injustice has been done. I will of course accept that in the eyes of the school she has done the wrong thing and I will try and help her learn to manage these situations better in future. And as for her medication, I believe she is still taking it but I will check with her mum and dad.’ He turned to Rosie apologetically. ‘Come on Rosie, it is a shame you will miss the Easter Hat Parade, but you do have to stick by the rules.’

Rosie’s grandpa put his arm on her shoulder and walked to the car. He could tell she was not sorry.

‘Who are those girls in the classroom window, Rosie? They’re waving to you.’

Ange Winchester and Bree Gandolf giggled to each other as Rosie and her grandpa got into the ute. As they turned in the car park, Rosie could see the two girls watching gleefully as they drove out.

Chapter 2

It was a quiet trip back through the Paterson Valley. Rosie looked at the dry paddocks and the cattle scrounging for the few remaining tufts of grass. Grandpa was very quiet. He rarely got angry but Rosie knew his silence was his way of communicating his disappointment.

Finally the ute turned into the farm and made its way down the tunnel of casuarinas that lined the driveway and curved its way around the hillside to the house yard. This place was the last remaining part of the Goldblum’s farm. The rest had been sold so Rosie’s grandparents could retire. The few remaining cattle sat under a cluster of olive trees, chewing their cud and looking at peace with the world. Grandpa called them his lawn mowers although there was not much lawn to mow.

Rosie always loved coming to the farm and she hoped Grandpa would never sell the house and the few remaining paddocks. She had spent much of her life there, and her grandparents had created an atmosphere of enchantment that had always captivated her imagination.

She walked in through the laundry, the door screeching as she made her way in to the kitchen. Her nan smiled at her, pursing her lips. Rosie could see her disappointment. Saying nothing, Nan pulled Rosie’s head into her body and hugged her. Rosie felt safe. The soothing embrace made her think of young calves suckling from the udder as the mother’s warm raspy tongue caressed the fur along their back. Rosie could feel her whole body tingle as the feeling of safety and belonging began to return.

‘How about a snack, Rosie?’ asked Nan.

‘Mmm, maybe some cherry tomatoes,’ answered Rosie.

‘Fancy that,’ said Nan as she reached into the fridge and produced a punnet. Rosie feasted on the tomatoes as she looked at the pictures on Nan’s mobile.

‘Don’t take any more pictures, Rosie. I want you to feed Angelina her bottle and give her some hay when you’ve finished your snack,’ said Grandpa. ‘And don’t go near the water sump in the shed. Remember it’s twenty-four storeys deep!’ ‘All right then,’ said Rosie deciding not to try and get out of it as her power was somewhat diminished after the incident at school.

Rosie went out the back door. She could hear Grandpa mumbling something to Nan about that witch at the school. Rosie knew Grandpa didn’t like Mrs Brown.

She ambled out to the shed singing passionately about never, ever, ever, getting back together. Angelina bellowed as she saw Rosie walking to the feed shed. Rosie felt very sorry for Angelina. She was a little twin calf but when she was born her mother kept pushing her away and wouldn’t let her suckle from her udder. Her sister, who was much bigger and stronger and who was born first, was the mother’s favourite. Rosie found it hard to imagine that a mother would not want to look after both her babies. Maybe she just didn’t think it was hers after the first one popped out or maybe she thought she just couldn’t feed two babies. What a terrible choice to have to make, thought Rosie.

Grandpa decided to feed it on the bottle but it had to be done twice a day and he sometimes found it hard to get the child labour he required. He complained to all his grandchildren that the miracle of birth and taking responsibility for an unwanted animal did not end after the more glamorous initial role of playing saviour! It was Rosie’s job over the Easter break. Angelina had powdered milk in a bottle twice a day, a biscuit of hay and some pellets.

Rosie filled Angelina’s bottle with one litre of water. She walked through the shed, stepping over old farm tools and implements from days gone by, to the back corner where Angelina’s supplies were kept. The roof didn’t leak at the back so it was a good place for things that needed to stay dry.

In the corner was a small stack of lucerne hay with its lovely raw, freshly cut smell and, to Rosie’s surprise, the bag of powdered milk had fallen from the bench, and its contents largely spread on the earthen floor. Rosie sighed sensing another job.

She looked around for the scoop to try and recover as much of the powder back into the bag as she could. The milk powder was very fine and soft, like the talcum powder mothers use on their babies. Rosie’s attention was drawn to the largest pile of powder next to the bag. Not only could she see the tip of the scoop sticking out, but she also noticed an almost perfect footprint at the edge of the pile like a print made in soft, wet sand.

Rosie got down closer. Taking her sandal off, she put her foot above the print, almost touching the milk powder. It was slightly bigger than her foot but definitely the print of a child. Very curious, she thought. The temptation of the powder soon got the better of her and she pushed her foot next to the print, watching the powder ooze between her first two toes. Two perfect prints.

Rosie scooped up the spilt milk powder into the bag and lifted it back onto the bench. Blocker, Grandpa’s dog, heard Rosie in the shed and came to see why she was taking so long. Blocker was always hanging around when Angelina was fed so he could lick up the milk she slobbered. Blocker’s tail wagged as he saw the spilt powder on the floor. He swept the earthen floor with his tongue, sucking and gasping like a blocked vacuum cleaner as he devoured the treat.

Rosie put a scoop of powder into the bottle and shook it, watching the fine powder dissolve into liquid milk. Angelina bellowed with excitement as Rosie emerged from the shed. Positioning herself along the side of her pen, Angelina made ready for the bottle. She bunted the bottle with joy and excitement when Rosie put it over the fence and devoured its contents with great speed. When Angelina finished she bellowed with disappointment that her ration had disappeared so quickly.

‘Don’t forget to wash the bottle, Rosie,’ called Grandpa. ‘It’ll get germs and make Angelina sick if you don’t.’

‘Grandpa, who spilt the milk powder?’ asked Rosie. ‘It was all over the shed floor.’

‘Did you spill it, Rosie? Just tell me the truth,’ pleaded Grandpa, suspecting his suspended granddaughter.

‘No, I didn’t. It was like it when I went in, and there was a footprint from a kid right next to it. Honestly Grandpa, I didn’t do it.’ Grandpa looked at Rosie. She was pleased he seemed to believe her.

‘You are the only kid who I know that’s been here, Rosie,’ said Grandpa. ‘But I do believe you.’

Rosie went to the front of the house. It was her favourite place on the farm. Rosie took in the view down to the lagoon, across the low river country and to the hills beyond. The lagoon was looking quite sad with only a few small pools remaining after the long dry summer had stolen its lifeblood. A few water birds searched the muddy remains for frogs and other delicacies. The lagoon came from water that backed up from the Paterson River and when it was full it looked like a fat snake as it wove its way through the landscape fitting into nature’s contours.

Grandpa was very grateful for the water in the Paterson River which had helped him sustain his farm for many years. The Paterson River started high in the Barrington Tops as a mountain stream filling the Lostock Dam before continuing its journey to the sea. By the time it reached Grandpa’s farm it was a large river that rose and fell with the tides, despite the water still being fresh. In days gone by it had sustained many dairy farms, but nowadays it was mostly lifestyle blocks as Grandpa called them.

Grandpa told Rosie that the Barrington Tops was like a giant sponge that held water and then slowly released it to keep all the farms going. With her glasses on, Rosie could imagine this picture in her head. The sponge must be drying up right now, she thought as she looked across the flats near the lagoon and up to the old derelict dairy that had sustained a family many long years ago.

Rosie knew a few stories about the derelict dairy although she had only ever ventured there once with her Grandpa on the quad bike when she was quite young to try and find Charlie, their Angus bull. As a little girl Rosie would visit their elderly neighbours, Les and Doreen who lived in an old farm cottage about two hundred metres away, acting out Little Red Riding Hood by taking a basket of goodies across the paddock to them.

Les and Doreen loved seeing Rosie who found the couple’s little cottage very intriguing with its cubby holes, locked cupboards and forbidden rooms. Rosie found it very difficult to thwart her curiosity and needed reminding she was in someone else’s house from time to time. Les was very old and reminded Rosie of the BFG (Big Friendly Giant) in Roald Dahl’s book. It was Les who told Rosie about the old dairy on the flats and how he and Doreen had lived there with no electricity and only an old well for water when they hit hard times many years ago.

‘It was a roof over our heads,’ old Les would say.

‘It was hardly a roof Les, ya might as well have stood outside when it was rainin’ it had so many holes. Bloody old asbestos would kill ya if the rain didn’t,’ Doreen would remind him. Les told Rosie not to go in it because it might collapse. Unusually Rosie had heeded his advice and stayed away except for when they were searching for Charlie.

Nan had made a meal to Rosie’s specification which included tomatoes, cucumber, lettuce and pasta.