Beyond The Blue Mountains

“But I thought I was your daughter. Papa.”

“You are. but you are also a daughter of this great country.” Papa used to tell of the arrival of the first fleet, and the black men shouting “Warawara!” at them as they approached. She always meant to ask Wando if he were there, but she never remembered to; she was always more interested in the things he had to tell in his fu

“Good! Missy Kat. Good!” he would say. smacking his lips; and his eyes would look back and back to those days before the white men came. She asked him, every time she saw him, how he had lost the two toes of his right foot. He could not remember, but when she asked he would look back and back and remember other things. Katharine liked to hear how one of his wives had fallen from a tree which she had climbed after wild honey, and had died. He had had four wives, and this matter of wives was baffling. Wando talked easily of them as though a man could have as many of them as he could get, and yet because Papa had had a First Wife, Margery and Miss Kelly whispered together, and there was mystery on the first floor.

It was Wando who told her about the Blue Mountains. Papa had pointed them out to her when she was quite a little girl.

“Why do you call them blue? They are not blue!” Papa did not know. Papa was so clever that he only knew things which it was important for him to know. There was nothing exciting for Papa about the Blue Mountains; they were just mountains which hemmed him in. Beyond them there might be China. That was how Papa saw them; but to Katharine the most important thing about them was that they were blue. She discovered why they were blue; it was that curtain of mist hanging over them. It got bluer the more you looked. The Blue Mountains! The blue, blue mountains.

“Mamma, do you not want to ride over the Blue Mountains?”

“No one can. They are impassable.”

“Will no one ever know what is on the other side of the Blue Mountains?”

“Very likely not.”

“I would like to ride over the top of the Blue Mountains. Mamma, couldn’t I try? I am sure I could ride over the Blue Mountains; I’d ride and ride until I got to the blue part, and then I’d be over the top__’ Mamma wasn’t listening. Mamma’s maid was dressing her for the evening. Mamma was big and glorious; shimmering and shining, with a green pendant hanging round her neck. Mamma was very important, but Papa was not quite so important, because of Mamma. She had heard that whispered once at a party. Whispering again! There are some questions it is better not to ask, because if you ask them, people are put on their guard, and then you ca

Wando knew a lot about the Blue Mountains. When she talked of them to him, his face wrinkled up and his eyes grew smaller and smaller; he didn’t like to talk about the Blue Mountains. But she danced round him. Mamma and Papa could not be asked certain questions. Not so Wando. Wando should answer.

Beyond the Blue Mountains was a world none dare enter.

“I would dare, Wando! I would dare!”

“No, no, Missy Kat! No!”

His mouth worked; his flat nose wriggled; they did that when he was frightened.

“Wando, what is beyond the Blue Mountains?”

He told her, whispering as Margery whispered to Miss Kelly when she talked of the First Wife. A vast lake was on the other side of the blue curtains, and there lived fair people, people like gods.

“I will go, Wando. I will go and see them.”

He shook his head violently. She must not go.

She did not believe anyone would not be glad to see her.

But in the mountains lived many evil spirits, and these evil spirits would never, never let anyone pass through their mountains.

“What would they do, Wando, if anyone tried to pass through their mountains?”

Wando’s deep black eyes were pools in which was hidden this unmentionable knowledge. His silence told more than any white man’s words could have done. She trembled with horror at the thought of what those evil spirits would do to anyone who tried to pass through their mountains.

What was it that fascinated her so much about the Blue Mountains? The horror and the beauty. Those wicked spirits had chosen a blue curtain for their mountains; not black nor. hideously purple, but lovely blue.

She had gone back to her window. The sea was blue. There was blue in the gorgeous colours of the parakeets.

Somehow the Blue Mountains were fixed to her idea of an exciting day that must be exciting because she had awakened and thought it was Christmas.

She went into the boys’ room and prodded them. They were all sleeping in different beds all three of them. Edward and James were very much alike one little and one big but Martin wasn’t like either of them. Martin was very quiet and dreamy; they said he would be clever. He was very pretty; people noticed him because he was pretty, and James because he was bright, and Edward because he was the baby.

She said: “I dreamed it was Christmas.” And they all sat up and looked at her and thought of Christmas.

“I’ve been up hours.” she said loftily.

“I’ve been flying.”

“Flying!”

“I’ve been a parakeet a lovely one … all blue and red, and particularly blue.” She pretended to fly about the room, flapping her arms for wings. Very soon they were all out of bed, doing the same, which brought Miss Kelly in.

Katharine stopped being a parakeet, to think of Miss Kelly and Miss Kelly’s brother who had been a convict. As a result of much questioning at opportune moments, Katharine had pieced together a good deal of Miss Kelly’s story. Back in England, four years ago. Miss Kelly’s brother had run amuck.

“Amuck! Amuck! Amuck!” whispered Katharine, who loved words for their sounds as well as for their meanings. If you broke into a confidence, to ask the meaning of words, a grownup was liable to remember you were an inquisitive child, and grownup people like to ask questions, not to answer them. Amuck? They said that Mr. Je

“Van Diemen’s Land!” murmured Katharine, when she wanted to frighten herself. In the dark she said it to herself, when she was alone in bed at night. It made her think of red devils with cloven hooves and pitchforks made entirely of fire. One of Papa’s servants had said: “Van Diemen’s Land, Missy that’s hell on earth!” Surely hell in hell could be no more terrible than hell on earth. She tried to talk to James about it, but James was never easy to talk to.

“It’s only convicts that go there,” said James.