by Sally Rippin
‘Eleven now, eh, Rose?’ Father said. ‘You’ll be married before we know it.’ He winked and Rose laughed. Father already knew that Rose planned to become an explorer and travel the world instead of getting married.
When Rose kissed Edward, he whispered, ‘Here’s your real present,’ and shoved his cricket ball into her hand. Luckily, Mother was already on her way out of the breakfast room and didn’t see.
‘Holy smoke!’ Rose said. ‘Are you sure?’
Edward nodded. ‘Have a nice birthday. Are you still going to the park?’
‘I hope so.’ Mother hadn’t actually promised when Rose had asked, but she hadn’t said no either.
Until then, though, it was lessons as usual with Miss Parson, which meant an hour of reading from a storybook Rose nearly knew by heart and then mending her ripped stocking. She made such a mess of the stitches that Miss Parson had to give it to Sally, the housemaid, after all. Rose desperately wished Miss Parson could teach more than needlework and French verbs. Rose wanted to learn geography and history, like Edward, and study insects and fossils. However, she could just imagine Miss Parson turning her nose up at a dinosaur bone!
At lunch, Mother said, ‘Now, I expect you to be ready by three o’clock.’
‘Isn’t that a little late for the park?’ Rose said.
‘We’re not going out,’ Mother said. ‘Your grandmother and Uncle Charles and Aunt Philippa are coming for afternoon tea.’
‘But what about the park?’
‘Don’t be silly, Rose,’ Mother said. ‘They are visiting for your birthday. You should be grateful. No doubt they will bring gifts.’
Hot anger rushed through Rose and she clenched her hands. ‘I don’t care! I’ve been looking forward to the park all day!’
‘Fetch Miss Parson,’ Mother snapped to Sally.
Rose waited in silence, face burning, as Miss Parson rushed in. ‘Yes, Madam,’ she said.
‘Please ensure Rose has on her best afternoon dress to receive visitors,’ Mother said frostily. ‘And remind her of the manners required for taking tea and conversing pleasantly.’
‘Yes, Madam.’
Miss Parson scowled at Rose and towed her up the stairs.
‘I don’t have an afternoon dress,’ Rose said, wanting to be as difficult as possible. What was the point of having a birthday when she was not allowed to go to the park and explore the stream and climb hills and play cricket?
Miss Parson opened the wardrobe and selected Rose’s least favourite dress, one made of white lace and frills with a hundred tiny buttons down the back and on the long sleeves. It took forever to put on, and Rose usually spilt something on it within five minutes.
‘This will do fine,’ Miss Parson said.
Rose groaned, but with Miss Parson’s help she put on the white dress and waited as the governess began buttoning the back.
‘Stop pushing your shoulders forward,’ Miss Parson said.
‘I’m not!’
‘Pull in your stomach then.’
Rose tried, but she could tell something was wrong. Miss Parson kept pulling and eventually she finished the buttoning, but Rose could hardly breathe.
‘It’s too short as well as tight. You must have grown more than I realised,’ Miss Parson said.
‘I won’t wear it then,’ Rose said.
‘It’s your best day dress. It will have to do.’
’But I won’t have room to eat any of my birthday tea!’
There was a knock at the door, and Sally popped her head in. ‘Your mother says to come now, Miss. The guests have arrived.’
Rose put on her new locket and went down the wide marble staircase, stopping on the landing. She checked there was no one in the hall below. Should she risk it? She perched on the polished curved rail and pushed off, her dress flying up, her face flushed. That was the fastest she’d ever gone! She jumped off and stumbled, then straightened.
‘Rose!’ Mother stood in the doorway of the drawing room, glaring. ‘Is that any way for a lady to behave? And what on earth is wrong with that dress? Oh, never mind now. Come and greet your guests.’
They’re not my guests, Rose thought crossly, but she followed her mother into the room. Grandmother was already seated in the best armchair, and Aunt Philippa was inspecting Mother’s latest ornaments and figurines.
‘Felicitations,’ boomed Uncle Charles. He bent down to kiss Rose, his whiskers prickling her cheeks, his fob watch falling out of his pocket and dangling on its chain. ‘Got a little present for you, Rosie,’ he whispered.
Rose brightened. Uncle Charles understood how hard it was to be good all the time. His gifts were usually exactly the kind of thing she wanted. Last year he’d given her a world map.
‘Happy birthday, Rose,’ Grandmother said. Her face was almost as stern as Miss Parson’s, and her black muslin dress with its high neck and long puffed sleeves made her seem even more severe. Rose knew better than to kiss Grandmother – a curtsey was required. She made it without wobbling too much and Grandmother tapped her black fan on Rose’s shoulder in approval.
When everyone had chosen their seat, Rose found one for herself in the corner. Immediately, the grownups began talking about Elspeth Brown who’d married beneath her, whatever that meant, and Harry Borland, who had a gambling problem. Rose hid a huge yawn behind her hand. Why on earth did grownups waste so much time gossiping?
She curled her fingers around the wooden end of the chair arm, imagining it was a cricket ball and she was lining up to bowl to Edward. That’s probably what he was doing right at that moment – playing cricket at school.
Sally nudged open the door and, smiling at the birthday girl, carried in a huge cream cake decorated with sugar flowers and eleven candles.
Well, it wasn’t a trip to the park, but Rose did love cake! Maybe Mother would let her have two pieces, just this once.
RUBY felt trapped. The pale green walls of the classroom seemed to be closing in on her, and the warm, stuffy air was making her feel quite sleepy. If only she could run away! She glanced sideways at Brenda Walker, in the desk across the aisle. Brenda was sitting up very straight and looking interested. How could she? There wasn’t a single thing about maths that was interesting. And the very worst thing about it was Miss Fraser’s droning voice.
Ruby tried to imagine what it would be like to be Miss Fraser. Everything about her was grey. Her grey hair was pulled back in a tight little bun, and she wore a grey skirt and a long grey cardigan and horrid thick grey stockings.
Marjorie Mack said that Miss Fraser had once had a sweetheart: he was a soldier, and he’d died in the last year of the Great War. But Ruby didn’t believe that anybody could ever have loved Miss Fraser.
‘Open your books, girls. We have time for some quick mental arithmetic before the bell goes. Page twenty, problem one.’
Ruby groaned and turned to page twenty. Sixteen currant buns at a penny-ha’penny each . . . Picking up her pencil, she began to draw a plate of buns in the margin of the page.
‘Perhaps you can give us the answer, Ruby Quinlan? Yes, Ruby, I’m speaking to you. Stand up, please. What is the answer to problem one?’
Ruby stood up. Oh my hat, she thought. I should’ve known she’d ask me.
‘I don’t know, Miss Fraser,’she said at last.
‘Well, work it out. Sixteen times one-and-a-half pennies.’
Ruby stared at the ceiling. The answer didn’t appear there. She stared at the floor. Not there either. She stared at Brenda Walker. Brenda was scribbling something on a piece of paper, partly covering it with her hand.
Ruby tried to read what Brenda had written. ‘Um, one pound and four shillings?’
Miss Fraser’s lips set in a thin line. ‘Good heavens, child, use your head. Would you pay one pound and four shillings for sixteen currant buns? I hope you don’t do the shopping for your family.’
‘Of course I don’t, Miss Fraser. Our cook does it.’
Miss Fraser sighed. ‘Sit down
, Ruby. Brenda, perhaps you can help us.’
Brenda stood up, smoothing down her school uniform. ‘Two shillings, Miss Fraser.’
‘Thank you, Brenda,’ Miss Fraser said, with an approving smile. ‘Now for something a little more difficult. Hilary Mitchell? Your answer to the next question, please. If it takes three men five days to dig a ditch . . .’
Ruby saw the startled look on Hilary’s face. As usual, Hilary had been gazing dreamily out of the window. I’ll bet she was thinking about her new little sister, Ruby thought. Baby Cecily was just three weeks old, and Hilary had promised that Ruby could meet her soon.
Sometimes Ruby wondered what it would be like to have a sister or a brother, but most of the time she enjoyed being an only child. It meant she had Dad and Mother all to herself. Tomorrow was her birthday, and she knew they would have chosen something special for her present. Last year they’d given her a shiny blue bicycle with a wicker basket.
At last the bell in the quadrangle rang for the end of the day’s lessons. Ruby jumped up and grabbed for her homework books, knocking her wooden pencil-case to the floor with a crash. As she bent forward to pick it up, the end of her plait dipped into her inkwell.
‘Gently, Ruby, gently!’ called Miss Fraser. ‘There is no fire, and our building is not about to collapse. This is a college for ladies. Let us have a little decorum, please.’
‘Sorry, Miss Fraser.’ Ruby stood still for the tiniest moment, tiptoed to the door, and ran.
Ruby both loved and hated school. She couldn’t see the sense of schoolwork. When she was about twenty she’d probably get married and go shopping and wear nice clothes, like her mother did. Why did she need to know about isosceles triangles, or the primary products of Brazil? Things like that bored her silly. But as for the school itself – the old stone buildings, the cosy library tucked away at the back of the boarding house, the Moreton Bay fig trees lining the long driveway – she loved it all, and she loved the fun she had with her friends.
Now, as she set off down the shady drive, past the smooth green expanse of the school oval, she felt free and happy. It was Friday afternoon, and her birthday party was tomorrow! Then she heard running feet behind her, and turned to see Brenda Walker.
Brenda caught up with her, panting. Her owlish spectacles glinted. ‘Can I walk with you?’
‘If you want to.’
‘You’ve got ink on your shirt.’
‘I know.’
Ruby didn’t exactly dislike Brenda, but she didn’t like her very much either. She’d known her for most of her life because their fathers were in business together. Ruby’s father built houses, and Brenda’s father was his accountant. ‘Donald Walker is a genius with money,’ Dad had once told Ruby. ‘I couldn’t possibly run the business without him.’
Ruby knew that her father was hopeless with numbers, just as she was, and he was happy to leave the money side of things to Uncle Donald. Dad was only interested in houses. Ten years ago he’d built their house – a big California bungalow not far from Ruby’s school. It had a fishpond with a fountain in the front garden, and coloured leadlight in the windows, and an indoor lavatory. It was Ruby’s most favourite place in all the world.
Brenda walked faster to keep up with Ruby. ‘You’re not wearing your hat,’ she said. ‘Or your gloves. You’ll get into trouble if anyone sees.’
‘Who cares?’ said Ruby. ‘My hat makes my head feel hot. And I’ve lost one of my gloves. I think Baxter might’ve eaten it.’
‘Baxter is so naughty.’ Brenda ran a few steps. ‘I wish I had a fox terrier too, or maybe a cocker spaniel. But Mama thinks dogs are too expensive to keep, with all the meat they eat.’
‘Baxter doesn’t eat meat. He just eats my clothes. And my books. And my shoes.’
‘Really?’ Brenda pushed back her spectacles, which were beginning to slide down her nose.
‘I’m only joking.’
‘Oh.’ Brenda looked relieved. ‘What are you wearing to your fancy-dress party tomorrow?’ she asked, after a pause.
‘It’s a secret,’ Ruby said. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
‘I’m going as a rose. I really wanted to be a mermaid, though. I saw some green spangly material at Myer’s that would’ve made a good tail, but Mama thought it was too expensive.’
I’d never choose to be a mermaid, thought Ruby. If you had a fish tail you couldn’t use your legs, could you? You’d just have to sit around. Even now she felt impatient to move faster. She wanted to skip and jump and run.
‘Brenda, I have to go,’ she said. ‘I’ve got heaps to do. See you at my place at two o’clock tomorrow!’ She made a dash for the gate, only to be stopped by a school prefect.
‘Where is your hat, Ruby Quinlan? And why aren’t you wearing gloves? You know you are not to leave the school grounds improperly clothed.’
Ruby pulled her battered straw hat from her satchel. ‘Here’s my hat. I don’t know where my gloves are.’
‘Final warning, Ruby Q. If I catch you without gloves again, you’ll be explaining yourself to Miss Macdonald.’
The thought of explaining herself to her tall, elegant headmistress didn’t appeal to Ruby one bit. ‘Sorry. I’ll look for them, I promise.’ She scowled as Brenda, neatly hatted and gloved, walked past her with a smirk.
‘Told you,’ Brenda said.
‘Oh, Brenda,’ Ruby burst out. ‘Don’t you ever get sick of being right all the time?’
5 QUESTIONS FOR ALISON LLOYD, AUTHOR OF THE LETTY BOOKS
How are you and Letty similar, and how are you different?
Letty loves lace and those gorgeous Victorian dresses because I do and I wanted to have them in the Our Australian Girl books! Letty is a younger sister, whereas I was a bossy older sister, but we are both trustworthy and responsible. Letty loves babies, more than I did when I was a kid. And she had a tougher childhood than I did.
If Letty were around today, what would she do on Saturday mornings?
I think she would lie in bed and her younger brothers and sisters would climb in and snuggle with her. She might sing songs with them. Later she might talk Lavinia into making cupcakes together.
Alison, when you sat down to start the OAG books, what was the first sentence you wrote?
‘The coachman dumped the hope chest in the street.’ I started at the beginning.
What’s one thing you wish you could do really well but have always been too timid to try?
When I was a girl I always thought soccer looked like fun. But I wasn’t good at sports, I had no brothers, and there were no football teams for girls then. So I never tried. I also wish I could ride a horse properly. One day . . .
Do you have one piece of advice for OAGs everywhere?
Every Australian girl’s story is unique and precious. You are significant whether you’re in a book or not! As Abner says to Letty in the first book, ‘”He tells the number of the stars; He calls them all by name.” If the Lord God can tell the stars apart, he knows me too. And you.’
5 QUESTIONS FOR DAVINA BELL, AUTHOR OF THE ALICE BOOKS
How are you and Alice similar, and how are you different?
Alice thinks she always has to be perfect – that it’s her job to make sure everyone and everything is okay – and that’s just what I was like when I was a little girl.
But Alice has much more discipline that I do. If I could work as hard at my writing as she works at her dancing, I think I’d feel a lot better! Also, we both like chubby babies, homemade cakes and Dalmatians.
If Alice were around today, what would she do on Saturday mornings?
Ballet, of course! I think she’d have an extra-long class with Miss Lillibet (first barre work and then on pointe), and when they’d finished, Little would bring them a scrumptious morning tea.
When you sat down to start the OAG books, what was the first sentence you wrote?
‘Papa Sir, why did the war make everyone so horrible? You weren’t there, you didn’t see, but it was a
wful.’
I started right at the end of Book 4, so I knew where I had to end up.
Davina, what’s one thing you wish you could do really well but have always been too timid to try?
Stand-up comedy! And that’s not a joke!
Do you have one piece of advice for OAGs everywhere?
I’d give the same advice that Papa Sir gives Alice, which is this: Make beautiful art with everything that you do – how you live each day.
It’s wonderful to have big dreams and goals and ambitions, but it’s how you do the small things in life – how you talk to people, the effort you put into the things you do – that will shape how your life turns out.
5 QUESTIONS FOR GABRIELLE WANG, AUTHOR OF THE POPPY BOOKS
Gabi, how are you and Poppy similar, and how are you different?
Poppy is much braver than I would ever be. She lived in a time where you had to be brave. In the 1860’s there were not the comforts of today and there were many dangers out on the road like bushrangers. Poppy likes to ride horses and so do I. And Poppy loves her dog Fisher, like I love my dog, Hero.
If Poppy were around today, what would she do on Saturday mornings?
Poppy would read a book while she’s having breakfast. She’s reading Tiger in the Bush. Then she would go outside and climb a tree. The tree looks over into her best friend, Noni’s back yard. She would call out to Noni, and together they would get on their bikes and go on an all-day adventure to the beach.
When you sat down to start your OAG books, what was the first sentence you wrote?
I don’t remember what my first sentence was. I plotted all the Poppy books out in one sitting so it would have been something like, ‘Poppy lives at an Aboriginal mission near Echuca’. It sounds boring doesn’t it? Of course you can’t begin a novel like that. Nobody would read past the first page. It is only after a lot of research is done and some rough drafts are complete that I begin to try and make the sentences sing.