The Rosewood Hotel

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His voice is matter-of-fact, as soft and sunken as those eyes of his that command ­respect from within an elderly, elfin face, a face that has seen hard times, that has been muddied by the battlefield. There’s a slight curl to one side of his straight-set lips. But it’s neither mocking nor mischievous. It’s just the way he sets his face to the world, an ­expression that has forgotten why it was cast.

Les peruses the main street of Rosewood, looking north from his perch on the top-right corner veranda of the town’s namesake hotel. A hotel that many believe is haunted by a trio of ghosts. But this former railwayman, now in his late 70s, is having none of that. He’s boarded here for 15 years, his small, bent frame and papery skin becoming one with the uneven floors, lead-paint-flaked walls and discreet cobwebs of this all-but abandoned hotel.

“It’s a load of rubbish, mate.” He doesn’t believe in ghosts. Never seen a ghost. And when asked what he would do if he saw one, answers in practical terms - “find out what it was”. Whatever is being said about the hotel and its haunts is a load of rubbish, this time adding the epithet “bloody” before ­“rubbish” as his way of saying the issue is closed.

“They’re probably sleeping with you, Les, you just don’t know it,” the owner of the hotel, David Pahlke, calls after the old guy, one of only two boarders who live in the more than 100-year-old pub, currently closed for trade, in the centre of Rosewood, west of Ipswich, Queensland.



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If the stories are correct, the boarders are outnumbered by the ghosts. ­Pahlke and his partner bought the Rosewood Hotel in 2004. They lived there for a time and claim they experienced ­several unexplained events, not frightening, just odd.

“They’re not the ‘I’m gonna stab you to death’ kind of ghosts – it’s more Casper the friendly ghost,” says Pahlke, also the town’s Ipswich councillor, with a trademark grin. “My partner, well, she had a few experiences. I’m as dead as a doornail with that sort of stuff, but you get psychics in here and they go crazy.”



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“I think there is too much anecdotal evidence not to believe there is a presence here. Just things like you put your keys down and you won’t find them for a few days. Someone from the darts club stayed here one night and said in the morning,” ‘Who was playing the piano last night?’ I said, “We don’t have a piano here, you were drunk”

“And have you seen Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense where the furniture rearranges itself? Well, I came out this door and all these lounges were piled on top of each other. Twice that happened to us.”



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After hearing tales from the previous owners, Don and Georgie Taylor, who had the hotel from 1991 to 2004, Pahlke opened up the building to psychics and ghosthunters to find out what was going on.

The ­Taylors talked of seeing a “narrow stream of rain” in the front bar that appeared from nowhere and disappeared just as quickly; TV sets that turned themselves on and off; guests who would find their bedclothes soaked by unexplained water; and of a sheet of water momentarily pouring from the front veranda.

The “water ghost” culprit, according to the psychics, was a red-headed Scotsman known as “Rusty” who had something to do with the Rosewood’s devastating fire of 1914.



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The second “presence” they found was a soldier who was shot dead on the front steps of the hotel sometime during World War II. “There was an American ammunitions camp outside the town,” Pahlke explains, “and they didn’t treat the negro soldiers very well.”

“They would come into town on Sundays for church and this ­soldier was shot dead in the back by the American MPs, right on this spot here – probably after ­curfew, who knows. The psychic said he’s at peace but he thinks about his mother back in the US all the time. I’ve been to the war archives, but you can’t find much. They hushed it all up.”



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The third ghost apparently, is the one that ­currently “dominates” – is a woman in period clothes who is sometimes glimpsed standing at the top of the stairs or on one of the verandas, staring into the distance. One psychic believes she may be named Lizzie.

Another believes this ghost is “waiting for ‘him’ to come home” – maybe a ­husband, maybe a son, a lover who never returned from the war. There’s a suggestion she might have been hired help, a maid or a cook.



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For now, Lizzie, Rusty, the Soldier and the boarders have a peaceful coexistence. The Rosewood is a building in ­decline, riddled with the scars of valiant and not-so-valiant attempts at renovation, a time capsule in the middle of a slumbering community. While streetscaping and park works have raised the visual appeal of Rosewood in recent times, it ­remains locked in the same day-to-day struggle of survival faced by many small towns across the southeast, notwithstanding a grand plan for a $7 million ­council ­library to be built opposite the railway station in 2019.

The Rosewood Hotel, also known as the Middle Pub ­because it sits on John St midway between the Rising Sun Hotel and the Royal Hotel, dates back to the 1870s when its licence was first issued. In keeping with a historical trend in the town – or curse, some might suggest – the Rosewood burnt to the ground on January 7, 1914. The massive fire started a few doors up and razed several buildings in the main street. The hotel was rebuilt straightaway into the two-storey, veranda-buffeted building it is today. And it appears it will soon rise again from its figurative ashes.

“Country pubs are struggling to survive all over Australia,” says Pahlke, standing out front of the structure now and admiring its simplistic architecture. “This one faces the same challenges.” But Pahlke has found a new lessee, who is understandably “fairly secretive” about renewal plans, and renovations are getting under way. “I am hopeful these plans will breathe new life into the old girl – and ensure her survival.”

But will it mean the end of the other “old girl”, Lizzie, and her clique?



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“The Rosewood Hotel and its ghost stories are no secret around here. Come in,” says Pahlke,

 “I want to show you the room upstairs where most of the ‘activity’ seems to be.”

The room he is referring to is Room 3. It lies midway down the north side of the hotel, a quick turn right, then left, after scaling the bare-wood staircase at the core of the building that may be the only thing keeping it upright.

The door to Room 3 is dark wood, cracked in places. ­Behind the door, a narrow, depressing bedroom with one double and two singles, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe and a straight hung curtain so stiffened by age, it resembles a weathered tarpaulin in turquoise, which only serves to further diffuse the dim light that seeps through the sash window and its frosting of dust and detritus.

And it is there, on a warm mid-morning when all things spectral should be sleeping, that we encounter a confusion of mind, an unexplainable happening that may just be proof that the Rosewood Hotel is indeed haunted.



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Here’s David Kelly’s experience in Room 3.

“Here’s something a little bit strange,” says Kelly, showing me the camera’s viewfinder and the frame he’s just taken. A dusty red stain about 30cm, by maybe 15cm, has ­appeared on the bare floor of Room 3 between the feet of the two single beds. I kneel beside where the stain should be, but nothing. Kelly flicks through frames before and after, the stain is not there, it is only on the one frame. There is nothing that could have made a ­reflection there, nothing that could have blown in and out of frame, nothing.

“You picked up something on your ­camera?” Pahlke says with only mild interest. “That stuff’s happened before. We had a ghost-busting group in one night and they were downstairs out the back and on every one of their phones, the camera wouldn’t work. Just like that. All at once.”

I rub my hand across the floor. There’s nothing there. I don’t know if I’m expecting to feel something – a heat or a draught, or some odd sensation – but there is nothing.

“Probably an old bloodstain?” Pahlke proffers.

It’s a bit of a goosebump moment for Kelly, but the ­incident doesn’t seem to sink in for me. Not yet. It is not until I stand back up and begin chatting with Pahlke again that something happens that I cannot explain.



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At one point, to steady myself, I put my right hand down flat on top of the room’s cream-painted chest of drawers, near its right-hand side. What happens next makes me pull it away again quickly and steals my breath. My hand feels as if I have placed it flat into a shallow tray of stale pond water. I can sense the wood under my hand but it feels like it is ­recoiling, and a cold, viscous film is squirming between my skin and it.

I remark out loud that I’ve put my hand in “something wet”, but when I turn to face the chest of drawers fully and wipe a hand back over its surface, it feels solid again – admittedly colder than it ­probably should be on a warm day in an enclosed room, but solid. I am sort of relieved neither of the other men in Room 3 seems to have noticed my momentary alarm.

It would seem the “activity” we saw was nowhere near definitive. Pahlke, again not surprised at all that something happened in Room 3 – nonchalantly leads us back out of the room and towards the creaky staircase. On the other side of Room 3’s threshold, he pauses. He reaches in, flicks off the light, places a hand on the doorknob and inserts a key as he starts to draw it closed. But just before the room settles back into its musty malaise and the space between our world and theirs is sealed, he leans his head in …“OK, thanks fellas,” he calls into the empty room. The door shuts firmly. The key turns. Pahlke is grinning.

Intriguing story that requires further research.



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What do we know about the history of Rosewood and potential incidents that could provide us with an origin for these ghosts? 

We will start with one very important piece of information I came across.

According to the 1903 edition of the Australian Handbook, "It [Rosewood] has four hotels, the Rosewood, Commercial, and Royal on the northern or Scrub side of the railway, and the Rising Sun on the opposite side." 

Both the Rosewood and Royal Hotels are located on John Street, a mere 100 metres apart.

At 2:00am in the morning, on the 3rd of January 1914, an orange glow was noticed by the town's Night Officer coming from the back of Fraser's Boot Shop, it was instantly apparent that a fire had started inside. Within minutes, the alarm had been raised and town residents formed a bucket brigade to try and extinguish the rapidly spreading fire before it moved to surrounding buildings. 

Without luck, the fire inevitably spread to Tomlin's Chemist and Fite's Fruit & Refreshments Shop, either side of Fraser's Boot Shop, before long, the eaves of the Rosewood Hotel next to Fite's were also well alight. By 3:30am, the fire had finally been contained, but not without consequence, fortunately, not a soul had lost their lives, although 9 buildings lay in smouldering ruins, having all been burnt to the ground. 

We now know that no lives were lost during the blaze that decimated a sizeable chunk of 1914 Rosewood's business district. 

So, where did the notion of a man nicknamed "Rusty” who maybe perhaps died in that fire, come from exactly?

I may have the answer.



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MAN TRAPPED IN BURNING HOTEL

Mon 30 Oct 1933:— Trapped in the Royal Hotel, Rosewood, which, with two other buildings, was destroyed by fire early this morning, “Sandy" Easton, a boarder, received injuries from which he died in the Ipswich Hospital several hours later.

The outbreak, which is regarded as the most serious in the history of Rosewood, occurred at 2.45 a.m. Within a short period the hotel and two shops in John Street — William Baker's stationery business and Popp's hairdresslng saloon — were destroyed.

Easton, who was boarding in the hotel premise's, which were occupied by John Cormack, received severe burns before he was able to leave the building, and was taken to the Ipswich General Hospital immediately.

The blaze threatened the Post Office, and preparations were made to vacate the premises. A wall of J. A. Wilson's chemist's shop caught fire, but a bucket brigade saved the building. The picture show, O'Brien and Yarrow's store, and a second shop on the opposite side of the street, also caught fire from the flying sparks, but these outbreaks were soon extinguished by the bucket brigade. Live wires which fell across the roadway proved menace to the sightseers and fire fighters, and electricians were sent from Ipswich to remove this danger.

Easton was an employee of Westval Colliery, Rosewood, and he died in hospital at 6 a.m. He was burned all over the body. The fire which fatally burned him and destroyed three buildings here early this morning, broke out in Mr Easton's room, and that he was badly burned before the alarm was given. The ringing of church bells at about 2.45 a.m. awoke many sleepers who hurried to the scene of the fire in the main street, but the two-storied hotel was then well ablaze.

The proprietor (Mr W. Cormack), his wife and family and a couple of boarders escaped in their sleeping attire. Mr W. Baker's newsagency and residence, a short distance from the hotel, soon became alight, and although many personal possessions were saved, the shop, stocks, dwelling and furniture were soon in cinders.

Practically no wind was blowing, but the flames soon reached the next building, a smaller shop occupied by Mr. J. Potts, hairdresser, and Mr. T. Quirk, billiard saloon proprietor, and it was also quickly reduced. In the meantime a willing bucket brigade of about thirty men, headed by Sergeant Scanlan and Constable W. Turner, devoted their attention to the next shop and a large dwelling occupied by Mr. J. A. Wilson, chemist, and as several hundred gallons of water were available here, they were able to save the premises.



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What we do know, however, is the story of "Rusty" at the Rosewood Hotel and "Sandy" at the Royal Hotel are remarkably similar, and we know which one is based on historic fact.



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We now turn our attention to the female ghost in period dress seen on the second floor of the Rosewood Hotel. Unfortunately, we're not left with much to work with here, so need to delve into the historic records to locate an event that could likely give rise to a haunting.



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Once again, the Rosewood Hotel came up empty, but surprisingly, the Royal Hotel revealed a sad tragic story.

BURNT TO DEATH

Sat 29 May 1926:— A sad fatality occurred at Rosewood this morning, when Mrs. P. J. Downey, wife of the licensee of The Royal Hotel, was burnt to death. It is not known how the accident occurred. About 10.30 a.m., screams were heard from the hotel. Thinking it were his child, Mr Downey rushed upstairs, to find Mrs Downey on the balcony enveloped in flames.

Help was immediately at hand, blankets were thrown round the unfortunate woman, who, however, had been terribly burnt before assistance was forthcoming. The ringing of St Brigid's Church bell denoted the presence of a fire and a large crowd was soon at the site of the occurrence. Dr Wallace, assisted by local chemists and nurses, did everything possible for the injured woman, and Rev Father McKenna administered the last rites of the Church before the unfortunate victim succumbed.

How the incident occurred is a mystery, as Mrs Downey was indisposed with dengue, and was last known to be in her bedroom. Attending Sergeant Tighe, and Constable Nolan conducted an investigation, and were unable to discover anything in the bedroom or discover how the fire originated. Mrs Downey was burned from the waist up. There was not a trace of fire in the bedroom.

The deepest sympathy is felt for the bereaved husband, and small son. Mr and Mrs Downey were only recent arrivals in Rosewood, having lately taken over the Royal Hotel, formerly conducted by Mrs O'Connor. The sad fatality has cast a gloom over the town, as the family, since their arrival, had become very popular, and were highly respected.



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