The Highwayman

Words & Photography
by Kasturi Wren



I am not sure if it was Anne of Green Gables or the subconscious influence that a dear Aussie family had on us as immigrant children, so alien and unfamiliar in this brand new world we now call home, or perhaps both, but "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes read aloud with wild and fierce gestures shall always have a place in my heart.

We had left Sri Lanka, the humidity and thickness of the air laden with the smell of curry leaves and coconuts, to arrive on a cold June day in Sydney. The cold was harsh on my little hands and fingers, often seeking desperately to find warmth in my woollen jumper. Much to my disappointment I thought we were travelling to Africa. Had we travelled to Africa I am sure I could not have had a more polar experience.

Until then when I saw a westerner on the street it was always with a quiet fascination. And now they were everywhere. I can’t tell you how comforting it was to find kindred spirits and the welcoming arms of strangers whose mannerisms and behaviour was so unlike my own.

It was 1987. Pepsi Yo-Yos were all the rage. I had never seen so many vela carans (White people) in my entire life. Until then when I saw a westerner on the street it was always with a quiet fascination. And now they were everywhere. I can’t tell you how comforting it was to find kindred spirits and the welcoming arms of strangers whose mannerisms and behaviour was so unlike my own. I was 7. I had already become who I was always going to be. And in the beginnings of my new life, "The Highwayman" was introduced to me and till today when the wind changes and I find myself alone and bathed in quiet, I read it aloud..my hands gesturing to an unseen audience like a wild, wild woman:

"The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding— Riding—riding— The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door."