Gypsies, being human, must of necessity obtain in some way the
wherewithal to sustain life. As the earning of bread by the sweat of
the brow is not by any means the curse some people try to make it, it
_may_ be logical to refuse a helping hand while pretending to think
that gypsies should consider themselves fortunate in that they have
to work hard—with a capital H for the most part—to obtain barely
sufficient to keep together body and soul, but such sophistries are
never convincing or conclusive to those who regulate their work in the
world by the golden rule.
There are scores of gypsies to-day who would gladly learn a “gypsy
trade,” i.e. some handicraft that can be learned and plied without
antagonism to the nomadic instincts of the people, such as, say, the
work of a general whitesmith, or working cutler,—toy-making and so on.
There are, of course, horse-dealers, roundabout or show proprietors and
other Romanies who are comparatively wealthy, and are quite outside
the scope of these observations. Nevertheless, there are many in a
different position who are not only willing but anxious to be doing
something better than at present they know how; but—and there’s the
rub—there exists among them the almost unconquerable suspicion of,
and aversion to, the gorgio. Although it might, with apparent reason,
be argued that _any_ effort on their behalf should be, or would be,
accepted by them, there would remain the incontestable fact that
commensurate success would not result unless the instructor could
speak to the gypsies in their own language, and demonstrated in every
possible way that he was in sympathy with them. Moreover, no building
of any kind at a distance from a camp would be likely to attract
pupils,—probably not a gypsy would attend any institution however much
he might desire the benefits to be obtained thereby. That there exists
nevertheless the inclination to learn trades may be gathered from the
remark made by a middle-aged gypsy, who, with a sweeping movement
of his hand towards his eight to ten children, varying in age from
twenty years to three, said to me, “Not one o’ them knows a trade, and
winter’s coming on.”
A gypsy will always appreciate, and never forget kindness suitably
tendered, that helps him to be independent of help; but he is liable to
curse either the hand that doles out pharisaical charity, or the bigot
who refuses help to one who does not belong to his sect.
[Illustration:
1. Artificial Flowers of Wood.
2. Fern Basket.
3. Daffodils.
4. Bottles containing Woodwork Crosses, etc.
5. Set of Doll’s Furniture and Grass Door-mat.
6. Crosses, etc., removed from Bottle, Fig. 4.
7. Grass Basket.
8. Clothes Pegs, Heather Brooms, Rush Whip.
9. Bouquet of Reed Flowers.
10. Flower made from Turnip.]
Let us for a few moments consider the hard lot of the tent-dwelling
gypsy family, the members of which make a few different articles in
their season,—the wife, and possibly a child or two, after having
assisted to make a stock, hawk the things around for sale while the man
stays at home and makes more. When one takes into consideration the
many weary miles tramped, the hours and days worked through, and the
few pence realized for it all, it will be obvious that certain kinds
only of home-made articles can be hawked about to advantage, that is
to say, they must be of such kinds as can be made from raw material
costing little or nothing beside labour to procure. Great ingenuity is
displayed in piecing together all sorts of natural or manufactured odds
and ends into something that shall be sufficiently novel, attractive or
useful, to bring about the transfer of small coin from the gorgios
to themselves. One day they will be selling—perhaps it would be more
exact to say, trying to dispose of for next to nothing—little brooms
neatly made of heather or whips made of plaited rushes, the _Juncus
communis_ of botanists. At another time they may be seen burdened with
grass doormats, and it is not an uncommon occurrence for a gypsy woman
to carry many miles in one day, a heavy baby on one side, and on the
other a large basket of cottons, tapes, laces, etc., with one or more
of these grass mats, while another child may have a reserve of two
or three more. These mats, which are very often sold for threepence
each, contain a really large quantity of dry grass stems tightly bound
and woven together with strips of fresh bark of the bramble. Try and
imagine the amount of work involved in the production of one of these
threepenny serviceable mats:—
The man usually walks several miles out and back for a supply of grass
which is of a certain kind and is only locally abundant; he has to
gather the blackberry stems—not an attractive pastime—and prepare the
long strips of bark, manufacture the mat,—a hand-hardening if not a
heart-breaking operation; finally, the mat is carried around, often for
hours before being sold, and is sometimes even carried back to camp to
go around again, to be sold at last for threepence.
I know an old gypsy, seventy years of age, who in the proper season
walks to a spot eight miles distant from his usual camping ground to
gather those attractive purple plumes—the flowers of the common reed,
_Arundo phragmites_. After wading into the mud and water and cutting a
stock of the flowering stems and carrying them the eight miles to his
camp—sixteen miles in all—he cuts them into suitable lengths, bunches
them up and binds them neatly with some of the leaves, and afterwards
carries them around to sell at one penny the bunch.
The making of “gypsy clothes-pegs” still occupies many a gypsy fellow,
especially during the winter months, while some continue at it more
or less throughout the year. The art is one of those in the Romany
category of “chinning the cosh,” and it is interesting to note that a
westerner, who for the first time sees a gypsy setting about the task,
will regard him as working backwards. The few tools necessary for this
industry are—a bill-hook for cutting rods, a churi or knife, a strong
pair of scissors or tinman’s snips, a hammer and a bradawl.
Having procured a supply of wood, the worker cuts it into lengths that
will make two clothes-pegs. The knife is then held by the left hand,
and so placed that its back rests just under the knee of the operator,
who almost invariably sits at the work. The rod is then grasped by the
right hand and drawn across the edge of the knife towards the worker
in such a manner that only the bark, or slightly beyond, is removed,
and the rod made tolerably cylindrical. Then, using a piece of wood,
which is often stained to identify it, as a gauge for length, the rod
is placed upon a little post driven into the ground, a knife is held at
a right angle to it in the correct place, when one or two smart blows
given to the back of it with a heavy piece of wood cut the rod through
cleanly and quickly; it is next slightly split and, sometimes before,
sometimes after, the tin band has been pinned around near the top, the
knife is inserted in the slit and the peg is trimmed outwards, after
which a few cuts in shaping complete an article that sells at one penny
per dozen. They are usually hawked about by the women in batches of one
dozen.
Attractive, if not particularly durable, fern baskets are often made
and offered for sale by gypsies in peaty or other districts in which
ferns are to be easily obtained. Such baskets are frequently composed
of sticks alternating with acorns or pine cones. A good-looking fern
is planted therein, a quantity of hypnum moss packed in the crevices
and it is then ready for sale. The making of baskets of this form is
very simple, the only materials needed being straight sticks, acorns
or pine cones and a little wire. Holes are drilled through both sticks
and cones, which are threaded on wires in the form of a curved mat, the
ends of which are brought together and the wires twisted. A twig or two
at the bottom and it is ready for the plant.
In some counties the daffodil grows in profusion in a semi-wild state
and is gathered by gypsies by sackfuls. The early bird catches the
worm, or, in other words, the first gypsy in the market sells most
daffodils, and as no one more fully realizes this than does the gypsy
himself, he sets about hurrying matters in this way:
[Illustration: BUNCHING “DAFFIES.”]
The flowers are picked while the buds are still unopened; during the
evening one may see the family seated around the fire, each one dipping
the flower stalks in a saucepan of hot water; they are then laid aside
until the morning, when they are rapidly and neatly bunched for
sale. Flowers which are forced open in this manner do not, of course,
last nearly so long as those which open naturally; but this does not
disturb the gypsy, who is usually too intently concerned with the
bread-and-jam aspect of the matter to be worried by such a trifle.
I was once photographing some gypsy fellows who were occupied in
bunching “daffies,” as they term them, when something went wrong with
the mechanism of my camera which necessitated the taking out of all the
plates for the removal of the obstruction. Here was a predicament; I
was nearly seven miles from home with no means of proceeding with my
work unless I could take all the plates from my camera, correct it,
and replace them in order. I decided therefore to risk doing it if by
any method whatever a dark “room” could be improvised, so, kneeling
upon the ground with my camera, the gypsy folk piled around and over
me, sacks, tent blankets, hay, daffodil bags and what not, while my
companion contributed a coat to supplement my own, then darkness seemed
complete and with misgivings I did what my sense of touch indicated as
being needed and recharged the camera,—but oh, the stuffiness and
the heat of my dark tent, to think of it even now gives me a sensation
of being suffocated. My companion took toll for the use of his coat by
snapshotting me while in the “dark room”; perhaps the picture opposite
may be more correctly described as the dark room while I was in it.
On another occasion I was changing plates at night in absolute darkness
in a caravan; a gypsy boy of about ten years of age was present during
the operation, and doubtless he thought it altogether a strange
business, for now and again he would say: “Oh, mush, ain’t it funny?”
I was very much afraid his curiosity would prompt him to strike a
match, to see what was actually going on; but, fortunately, he was
susceptible to my appeals to him to sit quite still; nevertheless,
I felt much relieved when I had my exposed plates safely packed and
the camera refilled, for I had that day exposed plates on some of my
choicest subjects. It will be evident to the photographically inclined,
that the conditions under which one practises the art while living as
a Romanichal among Romanies, are not always ideal; even the best of
shutters objects at times to roughing it, being set fast when it should
move, or becoming “unstuck” when it should be rigid; but this kind
of thing imparts additional variety to a changeful life, although
in the event of one being compelled to stay at home doing repairs
during the greater part of the best photographic day experienced,
one’s good or bad points are likely to be developed accordingly as the
soul is possessed in patience or the work in hand has an obbligato of
expletives.
[Illustration: THE “DARK ROOM.”]
Most of the gypsies are very keen critics of photographs of themselves
or their acquaintances, and when portraits to their satisfaction are
produced they are extremely anxious to secure at least one copy “to put
up in the van.” In such cases I have found that the photographs are
carefully treated, and may be seen year after year; even tent-dwellers,
who, in the nature of things, have great difficulty in keeping pictures
of any kind in fair condition, will produce from somewhere a grubby
envelope or paper parcel, and exhibit with unmistakable interest its
contents, consisting of photographs of themselves and their tents,
which they have somehow managed to preserve in decent condition, and
they will give particulars as to how, when, where and why each was
taken, the minutest details of which have been preserved by their
wonderful memory.
In order to obtain gratis one or more copies of a picture from
the photographer, gypsies usually subject him to an amount of
diplomatic wheedling, which generally attains its object, albeit
curious inducements are sometimes advanced by them. A gypsy was once
endeavouring to cajole me into promising her another copy of her
portrait, her importunity reaching its climax when she said—
“Well, if you’ll give me one, I’ll buy a nice wooden frame for it to
remember you by.”
It is perhaps scarcely necessary to add that I immediately surrendered,
but I must confess that to this day I have not been able to appreciate
the implied benefit to myself in this munificent offer. It is, however,
abundantly evident that good photographs of themselves and relatives
are highly prized by the gypsies, and scarcely less so are those of
their proved friends. I have on several occasions seen my own portrait
included with those of the family, or enjoying a place of honour in
caravans, long after I had forgotten that the particular families had
it in their possession.
Gypsies are a most interesting people, and every one who has first-hand
knowledge of them is aware that there is not the least necessity to
invent mysterious rites, villainous practices or blood-curdling crimes,
and impute them to the Romanies, in order to make accounts of them
fascinating, yet we find to this day writers who would have their own
admirers believe that their atrocious tales of gypsies are the result
of personal observation and direct communication with them.
A comparatively recent newspaper article of this kind contains the
implication that they are never married by priest or parson, also that
when dead they are carried—uncoffined—and buried by their own people
(never otherwise) in a secluded spot known only to themselves. Another
writer states that the gypsies bury their dead under water.
It is much to be regretted that originators or copyists of such
statements as these, do not either ascertain the probability at least
of their being true, or refrain altogether from writing about things
of which they have no definite knowledge. These tales, were they not
cruelly unjust to the Romanies, would be almost as laughable as a
description I once heard being given by a man who certainly gave the
impression that he believed his own statement; he said:
“They always sleep with their heads outside their tents, and if you
happen to go to a camp early on a winter’s morning as I have been, you
will sometimes see their heads outside with the frost on them.”
Gypsies are frequently—all too frequently it is feared—driven to
great straits in hard weather to find the wherewithal to keep their
bodies fairly nourished and sufficiently clothed; but they are not the
fools nor the rogues that writers of such insensate tales as I have
quoted would have us believe, tales which my own experiences abundantly
disprove.
During the greater part of the year, the food of the poorer families
consists very largely of potatoes, although the same people may—when
“luck is in”—be found regaling themselves with boiled neck of
mutton, potatoes and suet puddings. An occasional hedgehog is highly
appreciated by them. On more than one occasion my gypsy friends have
scarcely believed me when I stated that I had never eaten hedgehog.
“What!” exclaimed one, “never tasted hotchi—well, you _have_ missed
a treat and no mistake, they beat chicken, or rabbit or anything
else—well there, I never!”
Undoubtedly, gypsies are very fond of hedgehogs, some having dogs
specially trained to find and take them; the pigs are usually cooked in
either of the following ways:—
The hedgehog, after having been killed by being struck smartly on the
head with a stout stick, then receives a certain amount of preparation,
and in districts where the requisite clay is procurable, the animal,
skin and spines included, is completely encased in it and is well
cooked in a bed of glowing wood ashes. The al fresco _chef_ is able to
judge to a nicety when the meat is done, when the ball is withdrawn,
after which the clay is broken and dexterously removed, bringing away
with it the spiny covering of the hedgehog.
At other times, the luckless hotchi, after being killed is skinned, an
operation needing a gypsy to perform expeditiously, and the animal,
after some further preparation, is spitted on a stick and roasted
before a glowing wood fire, the spit being usually revolved by
hand-power of two of the family—one at either end. In either case,
hedgehog braised or roast seems to be a luxury to be coveted; indeed,
a gypsy epicure told me that as articles of food he considered them
“worth ten shillings apiece.”
In winter, gypsies do not disdain as food the common squirrel, in the
bringing of which to earth some of them are expert.
Rabbits, too, are quadrupeds with which—in the shape of viands at
least—most gypsies have a fairly intimate acquaintance.
While deprecating the killing of squirrels, hedgehogs and other
creatures of the wilds, it would be unfair to blame the gypsies, who do
it in order to assuage hunger, as is almost invariably the case, while
ignoring the fact that people who have not that excuse, kill infinitely
greater numbers of such creatures, often with far greater cruelty, for
so-called “sport.”
In the foregoing somewhat discursive, but absolutely veracious accounts
of Romany life, I have endeavoured to record, with strict impartiality
and in readable form, phases and episodes of gypsy existence, which in
the nature of things must be quite inaccessible by any other means, to
all but a few.
[Illustration: OFF TO THE “‘OPPIN’.”]
In a recent newspaper article, gypsies are called outlaws; on turning
up “outlaw” in a modern dictionary, one finds the word defined as “a
person deprived of the protection of the law.” Surely this statement
in the article in question must have been a reflection of the desires
of the writer, for the outlaws referred to were a section of
the English gypsies—virtually such as are the subjects of my pen,
pencil and camera. It is to be feared that the spirit of bigotry and
uncharitableness that characterized the Middle Ages is not dead; but,
like the justly detested couch grass, lives and grows around us unseen,
excepting for the elegant and innocent-looking but tell-tale evidences
here and there on the surface.
It is high time that the obloquy and unfair treatment to which our
gypsy brethren have been subjected—proceeding partly from ignorance of
the people themselves, and partly from the encouragement and exercise
of sentiments that are unworthy of a professedly Christian nation—gave
place to some embodiment of the behest—
“Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do
ye even so to them.”
Drawing now to a conclusion, I see again with my mind’s eye, an
incident in one of my recent walks abroad:—
On the day following Christmas Day, at a distance of two or three miles
from any ordinary habitation, or even a gypsy camp, I saw trudging
along the road and coming towards me, a Romany woman and three little
children. All of them were poorly clad, the woman having no covering
to her head. Although they appeared to have no food with them and the
day was raw and foggy, all seemed cheerful—the woman singing in an
undertone. The song was evidently, “It’s a long way to Tipperary,” for
just as I came alongside the party I caught the words, “it’s a long
ways to go.”
What an unconscious sarcasm on the way of that poor woman and her
little ones,—aye, and of many another gypsy, through life,—assuredly
“a long ways to go” if it be regarded as prospecting for even a very
small share of the meanest of such things as multitudes consider
indispensable to comfort, or even existence. And yet how the cheery
optimism of these travelling people rebukes the discontented well-to-do
idler.
Gypsies or gorgios, are we not all travellers, pilgrims of eternity,
carrying nothing to the next stage in our existence but what we
accumulate in our innermost selves, and the Romanichal may well be an
optimist when he realizes, even in an indefinite way, that the poorest
gypsy has an equal opportunity with the highest of the mighty ones of
earth, of gathering to himself as he goes through life, of the best
that can be carried from this world into the next.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See Fig. 22, p. 6.
[2] See Illustration facing p. 6.
[3] Probably a nest of _Vespa sylvestris_.
[4] Whortleberry.
[5] See p. 259.
GLOSSARY
ROMANY OR SLANG. ENGLISH.
_Acoi_ Here.
_Adrey_ Into.
_Ajaw_ So.
_Auv acoi_ Come here.
_Av_ Come.
_Avali_ Yes.
_Bar_ A pound.
_Baulo_ A pig.
_Bershor_ Years.
_Betie_ Tiny, small.
_Bis_ Twenty.
_Bokkra_ A sheep.
_Boro gav_ Big city—London.
_Boronashemescrutan_ Epsom race-course.
_Bosh_ Fiddle.
_Boshomengro_ Fiddler.
_Buddigur_ A shop.
_Buddigur divvus_ Shopping day, usually Saturday.
The term is sometimes used
for Monday, but this day is
more frequently called “toving
divvus,” or washing day.
_Camipen-lil_ Love-letter.
_Chavo_ Child, boy.
_Chies_ Girls.
_Chiklo_, _chickly_ Dirty.
_Chin_ To cut.
_Chin a ran_ Cut a tent rod.
_Chiv_ Put.
_Chivving tulipen prey_ }
_the chokkars_ } Greasing the shoes.
_Chokkars_ Shoes.
_Choom_ A kiss.
_Chor’d_ Stole.
_Chorodies_ Dirty outcasts.
_Chovahani_ Witch.
_Churi_ Knife.
_Chuvvel_ Coat.
_Coru_ Pot.
_Cosh_ Stick, or wood.
_Cour_ To fight.
_Covar_ Any article, thing.
_Des_ Ten.
_Dick_ To look.
_Dickoi_ Look here.
_Diddecoy_ Local term for Chorodies.
_Dinlo_, _Dinnelo_ A fool.
_Divvus_ Day.
_Dordi_ Oh dear.
_Drab-engro_ Doctor (Poison man).
_Drom_ Way, or road.
_Dui_ Two.
_Dukkerin_ Fortune telling.
_Escunye-mengro_ A skewer-maker.
_Gav_ Town.
_Gav mush_ Policeman.
_Gorgio_ One who is not a gypsy.
_Gry_ Horse.
_Hev_ Hole.
_Hoquepen_ A lie, falsehood.
_Horry_ Pence.
_Hotchi_ Hedgehog.
_Jal_ To go.
_Jal a moskeying_ Go a-spying.
_Jalled_ Went.
_Jib_ To live.
_Jib_ Tongue (speech).
_Jibben_ Life.
_Jinned_ Knew, understood.
_Juggal_ A dog.
_Kai_ Where.
_Kairengro_ One who lives in a house.
_Kaulo_ Black.
_Kaulo gav_ Black town (Birmingham).
_Kek_ No, not, etc.
_Kekkeno mush’s poov_ A common.
_Kekko_ It is not, etc.
_Kekauvi_}
_Kekaubi_} Kettle.
_Kaubi_ }
_Kekauvisky saster_ Kettle iron.
_Kek komi_ No more.
_Kitchema_ Public-house.
_Komi_ More.
_Korauna_ A crown (money).
_Kushti_ Good.
_Kushti divvus_ Good day.
_Kushti rardi_ Good night.
_Lelled_ Took, or taken.
_Leste_ Him, of him.
_Lil_ A book, letter or note.
_Loo_ Corruption of “lee.”
_Mande_ Me, mine.
_Mas_ Meat.
_Moomli_ Candle.
_Mui_ Face.
_Mullo mas_ Dead meat.
_Mumpers_ Vagrants who live as gypsies.
_Mumply gorgio_ A term of reproach. See _mumpers_
and _gorgio_.
_Mush_ Man.
_Nevi Wesh_ New Forest.
_O_ The.
_Opré_ Upon, above.
_Pal_ Brother.
_Panee_, _Pani_ Water.
_Pani-mengri_ A vessel for water, a pail.
_Pani-mush_ Sailor, waterman.
_Pantsch_ Five.
_Paracrow tute_ Thank you.
_Pasherro_ A halfpenny.
_Patrin_ Trail, or sign.
_Pawnugo hev_ Well, or water hole.
_Pen_ Sister.
_Penned_ Said.
_Pens_ Says.
_Petulengro_ Romany for the surname
“Smith.”
_Plastra_ Run.
_Poggado_ Broken.
_Poggado jib_ Broken tongue, jargon.
_Poov_ Earth, field, etc.
_Poov the gry_ Literally, field the horse, but it
is always understood to mean—to
put a horse in a field, at
night.
_Por-engro_ A writer.
_Posh_ Half.
_Posh korauna_ Half a crown.
_Posh ta posh_ Half and half.
_Praio_ Upper.
_Prala_ Brother.
_Pukker_ To speak.
_Pukkering cosh_ Literally, talking wood,—Finger-post,
sign-post. A better
term, but not so commonly
used, is—_Drom sikkering engri_,—a
thing for showing the
way.
_Putsi_ Pocket.
_Rawnie_ Lady.
_Rinkeny_ Handsome.
_Rokkra_ To speak.
_Romadi_ Wife.
_Romany_ Gypsy language.
_Romany chal_, _chi_ Gypsy lad, lass.
_Romany jib_ Gypsy language.
_Romany Rye_ Gypsy gentleman.
_Romipen_ Marriage.
_Rommado_ Husband.
_Romm’d_ Married.
_Rye_ Gentleman.
_Sho_ Six.
_Shohaury_, _Shockhorry_ Sixpence.
_Shok_ Cabbage.
_Shoon_ Hear.
_Shoshoi_ Rabbit.
_Si_ Is, it is.
_Sore_ All.
_So si_ What is.
_Stardo_ Imprisoned.
_Staripen_ Prison.
_Stiggur_ Gate.
_Stor_ Four.
_Tachey_, _Tatcho_ True.
_Tachipen_ Truth.
_Tan_ Place, or tent.
_Tatchey Romany_ Gypsy of pure blood.
_Tatcho pal_ True brother.
_Tatto_ Hot.
_Tatto yeck_ A stinging blow.
_Tem_ Country.
_Tickno_ Child.
_Tippoty_ Spiteful.
_Trin_ Three.
_Tuley_ Below.
_Tulipen_ Grease, fat.
_Tuti_, or _tute_ Thou, or you.
_Tuv_ Tobacco, cigarette.
_Vardo_ Cart, wagon, caravan.
_Wardoe_ See _Vardo_.
_Woddrus_ Bed.
_Yag_ Fire.
_Yeck_ One.
_Yocks_ Eyes.
_Yog_ Fire (more frequently used).
PRINTED BY
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.
PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND