Rose's First Year

Rose was a present for Mrs Wakefield, who took her home in her pot and then placed her on the edge of a patio, in a garden overgrown with weeds.

‘What’s this, what’s this?’ the weeds chattered.  ‘A garden rose!  What will become of her?’

It was not the garden that Rose had imagined going home to, but it was a garden nonetheless.  She gazed out over the lawn, longing for the earth.  She wanted to dig into the ground with her roots and climb up the fence with her stems.

Rose waited and waited until Mrs Wakefield came back with Mr Wakefield, a little girl and a ginger cat.

‘Just look at what the children have given me!’ Mrs Wakefield said.  ‘What do they expect me to do with it?’

‘Plant it in the garden,’ said Mr Wakefield.

‘As if I had the time and energy for that!’ said Mrs Wakefield, and she went back into the house.

‘Can we plant it, Daddy?’ the little girl asked.

‘I expect so,’ said Mr Wakefield.  ‘Next time I cut the grass, I’ll dig a hole for it.’

They went inside, and Rose waited and waited for the next time Mr Wakefield came to cut the grass.

Rose could see into the house.  She learned that the little girl was called Lucy, and the cat was called Tim.  She watched them every day, wishing and hoping, but Mr Wakefield did not come to cut the grass because the grass did not grow.  There was no rain for days.  Rose began to feel a raging thirst.

Mr and Mrs Wakefield forgot about her, but Lucy did not.  When it had been dry for many days, she brought Rose a jug of water.  Thank goodness!  She had felt as though she were standing in a pot of sand!

The sky stayed clear, and the grass stayed short.  Rose soon dried out again, while the weeds somehow flourished.  A few them laughed at her and said, ‘They’ve forgotten you!’

‘There, there,’ said a dandelion.  ‘It’s sure to rain one of these days, my dear.’

‘You are very kind,’ said Rose.

‘Of course I am kind,’ said Dandelion.  ‘You know, dear, the only difference between a flower and a weed is a judgement.’

Rose waited and waited for rain until she had almost given up hope.  Then one day, all day, it rained.  The plants drank to their hearts’ content.  Rose began to feel stronger as her roots sucked up the water.

Two days later, Mr Wakefield came out to cut the grass.

‘Daddy,’ said Lucy, following him down the garden.  ‘You did say…’

‘What did I say?’ asked Mr Wakefield, as he opened the shed.

‘Well, that…  Oh!’ Lucy said, as she caught sight of Rose.  ‘Daddy, look, it’s dead!’  She began to cry.

‘It’s all right!’ said Mr Wakefield, running to comfort her.  ‘I don’t think it’s dead.  If we plant it now, it might be all right.’

Mr Wakefield fetched a spade and dug a hole beside the fence.  He gave Lucy some gloves to put on, and then he held the pot while she pulled.  Free at last!  Rose rejoiced as Lucy put her into the ground, and filled in the gaps in the soil.  Her little bed of earth mixed with the earth of the garden.  Fat pink worms, frightened at being dug up and relieved at buried again, danced among her roots.

After that, all sorts of things happened.  Mr Wakefield cut the grass a few more times.  The rain came more frequently.  An apple dropped from the other side of the garden fence and gave some of the tiny animals a feast.  Then it stopped raining for a while.  The sky was clear and blue, but the air was so cold that nothing felt like growing.  More apples fell, and brown leaves with them.

Mr and Mrs Wakefield went away for a few days, leaving Lucy with a grandmother, and when they came back they brought a baby with them.  They kept him wrapped up in blankets and blankets when there was frost in the mornings, and a bite in the air, and even a little snow.

Rose waited and waited for the end of the winter.  She waited so long that she ended up falling asleep.

When she woke, her roots were drinking water from the soil and the sun was shining onto her leaves.  Tim was chasing butterflies.  Mrs Wakefield sat on the patio, not yet overgrown with weeds, with the baby on her lap.  Mr Wakefield was cutting the grass.  Lucy was looking at Rose.

‘It’s grown!’ she said.

‘How lovely,’ said Mrs Wakefield.  ‘You’re an angel, Lucy.  I’d have let it die!’

‘Let Adam see it,’ said Lucy.  ‘It’s his, really, isn’t it?’

Mrs Wakefield took Adam close enough to see Rose, but not close enough to touch her.  Adam wanted to grab her stems and put her leaves in his mouth, but he was not allowed to, so he soon lost interest.

The next day, the sun came out again.  It parched the grass cuttings that the lawnmower had left behind.  Two blackbirds came to the garden.  The wife collected grass for her nest while the husband kept watch, perching on the fence above Rose.  All was quiet and peaceful for a while.  Then the husband cried out, ‘Tim!  Tim!’ and took to the air.  His wife was after him like a shot.  A moment later, Rose saw Tim stalking through the short grass and wishing it were longer.

There was more sunshine, and more rain.  Rose loved the light and water.  She grew and grew in all the places that she could.  Parts of her had turned brown, or even black, and could not grow at all.  One day Lucy came and cut these bits off, searching all over until she was sure she had found every one.  At first Rose was frightened of the cutting blades, but after the first snip, she realised what a relief it was to be pruned.  Now those dead parts of her could grow again!  She grew and grew and grew… and so did the weeds.

‘Sorry and all that.’

‘Every plant for itself, you know.’

‘Don’t they take up a lot of room?’ said Dandelion, when Rose was being swamped by thick stalks and yellow flowers and infuriating stickweed.  ‘Fight for your place, dear!’

Rose did fight, and she continued to grow.  She drank as much water as she could get, and so did the weeds.  She sucked in all the sunlight she could reach.  Where the weeds suffocated her stems and leaves, they browned and could not grow.  Then, one day, Lucy came again to prune.  She cut away the weeds around Rose, and then she cut away at the suffocated stems, lower and lower until she found the green.

‘We’ll grow back!  We’ll grow back!’ cried the weeds, as they tumbled to the ground.

‘Of course you will,’ said Rose.  ‘And so will I!’

‘Daddy, look!’ said Lucy, beckoning to Mr Wakefield, who was getting cross with the lawnmower wire for being in a tangle.  ‘Buds!’

Rose’s buds were small and green.  It would be some time before they were flowers… but flowers they would be!

Daisies and buttercups grew and spread across the lawn, and they waved to Rose, shouting their encouragement.  ‘Grow, Rose, grow!’

Ladybirds munched on her leaves, and a spider built a web between her stems.  Aphids settled on her buds, waiting for the petals.  Rose didn’t mind them at all.  This was her kind of garden, where everything was allowed to live.

The rain came, and then the sun came out, and the rain came again.  When the sun decided to stay for a while, Rose’s buds began to open.  Lucy checked on them every day.  She made Mr and Mrs Wakefield come to look, with Adam, when there were several full-blown and half-blown flowers to be seen.

‘Isn’t it lovely?’ she said.  ‘And just look at all the bits I’ve had to cut off.  Next year, they’ll grow too!’

‘My dear,’ said Dandelion, who was grey-haired now and almost ready for her long sleep, ‘I do believe you are going to take over the entire garden.’