THE fact that nearly all true Romanies have two surnames—one by which they are known to the gorgio, the other by which all genuine gypsies know them—will, unless given due consideration, be somewhat puzzling to those whose knowledge of the gypsies is but slight. Regarded cursorily, such an arrangement would appear to possess no advantage, but upon consideration it will be obvious that to a seclusive, suspicious and suspected people, the ability to converse—not only in the language of the country in which they dwell, but also—in a tongue which is practically unknown outside their own race, is likely to stand them in good stead, more especially if the proper names in the secret tongue bear no resemblance to their equivalents in the language of the country; and it cannot be doubted that many a tight corner has been negotiated, and many a man has escaped punishment,—deserved or otherwise,—simply because warning or other The following case in point was related to me by the principal gypsy actor in the incident:— A gay mush (policeman) “collared” him on one occasion when he was with some relatives. Desiring to apprise a certain gypsy family of this occurrence and to give them information that would put them upon the alert, and, being in the circumstances obliged to speak openly, he said in Romany to his brother who was near, all that was necessary for his purpose, including, of course, the name of the family. This conveyed nothing to the policeman, who was evidently nonplussed as he said roughly to his prisoner,—“Now, young man, we don’t want any of your back slang,” an observation which, instead of impressing his hearers with his perspicacity as it was evidently intended to do, informed them that he was utterly ignorant of the Romany tongue, and, not only this, but that he was not sufficiently astute to keep the knowledge of his ignorance to himself; had it been possible, however, for the officer to have heard even the English surname of the family implicated, his suspicions would have been at once aroused, but he had scarcely disappeared from In passing, it may be remarked that gypsy children are extraordinarily cute in business of this nature. When important news has to be carried, the words “Plastra lesti” addressed to them by their parents make them scuttle along like hares, and sharp, indeed, will be the eyes or ears of the rural policeman who either sees or hears anything of the youngsters until after their message has been delivered, for they will run barefoot on the inner side of a hedge, lie concealed amongst herbage, take a short cut here, another there, through a stream, or anything else if such a course will save time and enable them to get to their destination quickly and secretly. To return to the subject of the two names:— It is worth noting that it is usually the surname only which is rendered into Romany; for instance, Fezenta Cooper in English will in the gypsy tongue be Fezenta Vardomescro, Clara Stanley will be Clara Beshaley, and so on. The surnames hereunder are among the best known of the principal Romany families:— Barney, Stanley, Smith, Pidgley, Cooper, Scotch surnames:— Young, Ruthven, Blythe, Fleckie, Gordon, Faa. Many of the Christian names are very curious, as is evidenced by the following lists, which might, of course, be greatly extended, but the names given indicate the widely differing sources drawn upon by the gypsies:— Male.—Panuel, Sylvester, Wester, Jobey, Soner, Euri, Jasper, Samson, Bendigo, Noel, Daniel, Liberty, Freedom, Noah, Nelson, Franny, Rodney, Larry. Female.—Sinfai, Fenella, Shuri, Laura, Ivy, Mona, Fezenta, Videy, Dosha, Rhona, Rawnie, Zillah, Leander. One or two, it may be noted, are of Biblical derivation, for the source of some others we must go to the gypsies’ land of origin, and so on. While it is outside the scope of the present work to go deeply into the origin of names, a few Take, for example, the not altogether unpleasing name of Dosha; what does it mean? It seems likely that it is derived from the Romany word Dusta or Dosta, meaning plenty or enough, or it may have some connection with Dosh—evil. Again, Rhona very closely resembles the Hindustani word Rona, to weep, and it is quite conceivable that it may have been first bestowed as a name under circumstances which gave cause for weeping. The name Shuri, too, is almost identical with the gypsy word churi—knife, and it is possible that knives may have had something to do with the first use of this name as well as the surname Churen. Doubtless many recognized names, or portions of names among the gypsies, result from the persistence of nicknames, thus a clumsy or greedy person may be called baulo (pig), a touchy, irritable fellow hotchi (hedgehog), such nicknames becoming in course of time agglomerated with the real names, or in some cases superseding them. Romany people assert that persons of gentle birth bearing the same surnames as themselves, obtained those names in the first place from the They may, however, justly accuse the gorgio of appropriating and putting to pretty general use as cant expressions, several words from their language; for instance, the gypsy word “chavo” has been altered to “shaver” and is in common use to designate a child; pal, signifying brother, mush, man, are frequently used. Turning to a modern dictionary for the signification of the word “chum” we find it given as “an intimate friend,—etymology unknown.” Now, as the gypsy word, choom, signifies a kiss, and the Sanscrit, chumb, has the same meaning and is perhaps somewhat nearer to our word, it will not be unreasonable to consider our word “chum” adapted from the Romany, and to be the term for a friend whom one kisses. The gypsy is usually proud of the family name, and, far from railing at Providence for decreeing a gypsy’s lot for him, he invests the part with a certain dignity, which his dislike of the gorgio helps him to sustain; in fact, I know of more than one Romany family whose members consider it derogatory to execute work “to order.” The following incident very well describes their attitude in this respect:— A lady, who was aware that I had had intercourse with the gypsies for many years, came to me in great trouble and explained that she had ordered a dozen baskets to be made by a gypsy named W—— H——, and although he knew she urgently needed them for a bazaar he had not supplied even one of them,—she considered him very foolish to refuse work which would amount to twelve shillings, but the fact remained that no baskets had come her way and she had come to me seeking a solution of the difficulty. I endeavoured to explain the affair without giving offence, but the actual reason why the man refused to do the work was, that the lady, who had a somewhat exalted idea of her own social standing and general importance, had ordered this man—who considered himself, in some ways at least, her superior—to do the work; she had undoubtedly given the order with the very best of intentions, but obviously the gypsy’s insight had shown him that she—the lady—felt she was abasing herself by holding intercourse with him, the outcast, and, while giving her credit for some sort of a desire to do good, he would give relief to his wounded pride by spitting on the ground in her direction after she had left. Some little time later, I required two or three of these baskets for presents, so I looked up this same W—— H—— and asked if he would be good enough to make a few for me, at the same time telling him he could make them just when he pleased and bring them along as completed, the result being that I received several baskets in one week, and later, I had to tell him to stop or I would have more baskets than friends. These little incidents,—simple enough in themselves,—throw a good deal of light on a particular aspect of the relations of Romany and gorgio. The gypsy has his inherited propensities and aversions, and traditional usages; as these have remained practically unchanged for centuries, it is, to say the least of it, unreasonable to expect him to change suddenly and conform to standards of thought and action set up by those whom he regards with antipathy. To the law of the land, he perforce submits, but all attempt to force him into the social or commercial moulds of modern civilization may be likened to the forcing of a highly elastic substance into a confined space, it will remain there only under pressure, the removal of which may result in its flying out into the face of its would-be moulder. The gypsy, in common with all other subjects One terribly cold day in winter saw me at the camp of some of my gypsy friends, where I expected to hear the usual sounds of merriment, but on this occasion, a strange quietness which I did not understand seemed to be brooding over the place. “Is there anything wrong?” I asked. “Yes,” said one. “Mrs. S—— ’s little ‘un’s dyin’; she’s camped just over there in the lee o’ them bushes,—go over, I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.” Acting upon the suggestion I went in the direction indicated, feeling, however, that under the circumstances the Missioner would be of more service. Having reached the tent, I was It is true that under cover of the tent, in which a small fire was burning, the piercing wind was not quite so biting, but—“more comfortable!”—just think of it! What an elastic term “comfort” is if it may be applied to such conditions, while a bedroom in winter with a thermometer at 45° to 50° Fahrenheit will be described as “horribly cold and uncomfortable.” Truly, the world is what we make it. Try for a moment to imagine the scene:— At the far end of the tent, on a bed composed of dead bracken and old clothes, lay a little child, her wan but pretty face telling that the end of the struggle in which she was being worsted was not far off, and it was only too evident that the little sufferer had made her last appearance at the camp fire, where she, like many another, had loved to listen to the old world songs, or to the lively airs coaxed from an ancient fiddle by her brother, who claimed to be a boshomengro. As I sat with the parents in the smoky tent it seemed to me impossible that the child could live through the morrow. But, what of that! the law could have nothing to do with children dying, peacefully or otherwise, for had it not There could be no mistake as to his attitude in the matter: “the law empowered him to make these miserable people move on and he was not going to be cheated out of a job he would enjoy, not he; what would it matter if the brat did die, it was only a gypsy kid.” Although it was the season of sodden earth and stinging rain, the tent was perforce shifted to be pitched elsewhere, and meanwhile, the little inmate passed beyond the power and petty tyranny of callous keepers. And what of the keeper? For the present we must needs be content with the assurance that—“Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” There are, of course, keepers and keepers, many being very good fellows, doing their work conscientiously, keeping the golden rule in sight, and far be it from me to say anything that may He is a creature who ostensibly thanks God he is not as other men, who, by means of carefully displayed sanctimony, artful planning, and cunning sneak work, manages to retain the good opinion of superiors in office who do not see, and will not believe in his double-dealing, although the gypsies, without exception, know beyond question that his life is a tissue of frauds; and wild game, for which they occasionally risk their liberty rather than starvation, is constantly being illicitly taken by him and disposed of wholesale. It is scarcely possible for the gypsy at his worst to be so despicable a creature. The gypsy professes to hate the gorgio and small wonder if he lives up to his profession; it is, however, refreshing to find he has a warm corner in his heart for suffering humanity outside his own race. Some Romany folk, well known to me, who in the way of worldly goods possess practically nothing, and are at times without common necessaries, befriended a lad whom they found in rags and in a pitiable state Even a casual acquaintance with the Romanies will reveal the fact that in common with their Oriental relatives, gypsy women and girls are very fond of finery and personal adornment, and many of them may be found wearing valuable ear-rings, finger rings and other jewellery. One old writer, I note, roundly condemns this practice among them and endeavours to substantiate his remarks by quoting the exhortation of the apostle Peter:— “Whose adorning let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting of the hair, and the wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel.” Let us look at the matter fairly. We may presume the gypsies derive a certain pleasure in wearing such finery and jewellery as they can command, and we may safely give them credit for obtaining them honestly; indeed, most of their articles of jewellery are heirlooms, and are, of course, valued much beyond their intrinsic The gypsy also dresses her hair in a particular manner because her ancestors so dressed theirs, because too she knows perfectly well what suits her; moreover, she has not the least desire to dress or appear as a gorgio, and to suggest to a gypsy that she should adopt the ways of Gentiles in these respects is nothing short of an insult. True gypsies are a most exclusive race, but there have been numerous intermarriages with Gentiles, and even at a single fair or other gypsy gathering a discriminating observer will soon discover almost as many social grades as in a non-gypsy community, and several degrees of racial admixture; at the top of the scale, Romanies of interesting personality, at the bottom, Chorodies, “low, wandering outcasts,” with little or no gypsy blood in their veins, and whose hair has been described as reminiscent of the material of which cheap mops are composed, and whose habits are disgustingly dirty. Unfortunately for the reputation of the real gypsy, many people who have not thought it worth while to look into the matter, are unaware that these differences I have said that gypsies are exclusive,—this is especially noticeable in the way the Romany tongue is kept secret by them. It is scarcely ever displayed, although it may be occasionally used in public for strategic reasons; even a knowledge of it will be denied by them when interrogated by one who appears inquisitive; it is nevertheless spoken, little or much by thousands in England to-day. It is a curious but indisputable fact that among true gypsies as well as Romany half-breeds, the Oriental characteristics—black hair, dark eyes, swarthy skin, peculiar cast of features, and lithe body—are usually much more evident in the women than in the men, in girls than boys. A good type of English gypsy girl is Dosha (see Frontispiece), whose portrait exhibits all these peculiarities most distinctly; the facial angle, the carriage of the head, even the angle of the body, and, one might almost say, the “hang” of the clothes, are Oriental. There is, too, something extraordinarily mysti The practice of fortune telling is condemned as heathenish, and abuse is hurled at both the gypsy who pretends to read the future and the superstitious person who is imposed upon. The lopsidedness of the public in the matter would be amusing were it not for the very different way the gypsy has of looking at these things. I do not for a moment advocate a return to Although fortune telling is now illegal in this One of the most celebrated of successful fortune tellers of recent times was perhaps Lucy Lee, who pursued her profession for something over twenty-six years. Her business headquarters were at The Devil’s Dyke, near Brighton. She did not, however, reside there permanently, but—latterly at least—journeyed to and from Brighton daily in a small carriage. She probably amassed a considerable sum of money, for in addition to the numerous people of rank and note she could count among her clientÈle, Devil’s Dyke had annually its thousands of visitors, of whom a goodly proportion doubtless left silver in the hand of the soothsayer—in the orthodox manner. Of her oracular pronouncements I have no personal knowledge. If I recollect aright, she was wearing, on the last occasion of my seeing her, a cloak of brilliant red edged with white, a black silk or satin dress, a white apron, and upon her head a red handkerchief. She maintained that past events in one’s life as Gypsies have ever been prone to make capital out of the artlessness, culpable weaknesses, and avarice of a section of mankind. The confidence trick in a great variety of forms has in the past been worked by them with considerable success, female domestics being perhaps their especial victims, but well-to-do people have by no means escaped their wiles. A trick, having innumerable variants, and which, in days gone by, had a very long and successful run,—perhaps it is still going,—was played upon those who believed gypsies to be the possessors of mystical powers; it consisted in the superstitious dupe Numerous accounts of similar frauds exist, many possibly having some foundation in fact, while others may be set down as purposely distorted facts, or as fabrications specially devised for fostering ill-feeling against the gypsies, or for justifying, as far as possible, the tyrannical measures taken to exterminate them. Looking back upon the harsh treatment meted out to the gypsies in former times, one can imagine the undercurrent of fear which prompted it, a fear bred of the superstitious beliefs of the Generally speaking, the term “gypsies” in newspaper reports of police cases is a misnomer, the persons implicated being mostly Chorodies, who, with very few exceptions, have no blood-relationship with Romany people, neither have they much in common beside a similarity in their mode of life. The disparity is especially noticeable in the respective women, for Romany women have always been noted for their handsome features, and in instances where the mother has not the usual regularity and beauty of feature, her children are frequently exceedingly pretty; we cannot, however, say so much for the Chorodies, for, to quote the description of them by a well-known writer,—“their complexion, when not obscured with grime, is rather fair than dark, evincing that their origin is low, swinish Saxon, and not gentle Romany.” Written many years ago, this is true to-day, and it is Gypsies are ardent lovers of music, and have wonderfully retentive memories; some among them—notably Hungarians—have attained eminence as composers, and in our own land one may find really good Romany performers on the violin, harp, cornet, etc., although from lack of education gypsy music is more frequently of the country ball or dancing booth order. A genius for dancing would appear to be inherited by the Romany chi, as most of the girls, even the veriest children, revel in it, while many of the young women are most graceful exponents of the “poetry of motion” and not only cultivate the art as a source of income, but in their exuberant health and spirits, seemingly Pliant of body and lithe of limb is the gypsy, but it is a grave mistake—and one which many benevolent people have made—to suppose that he has no strength of mind, and that he will readily accommodate himself to forms and conditions of life which are diametrically opposed to those in which he was nurtured, and which for centuries have characterized his race. Self-reliant, resourceful, versatile he is, but his temperament is not plastic, and attempts to induce gypsies to break away from their mode of life, to live in houses and to become what may be termed normal citizens,—although made with the very best of intentions,—have either failed altogether, or have succeeded only in spoiling a decent gypsy or two to add to our slum population. A Londoner loves the sights, smells and sounds of the city,—the open road, moorland and forest are desolation to him; the Romany chal stifles amongst houses, suffocates under a “But,” argues our philanthropist, “he would in time become accustomed to the town or village, and surely it would be for his ultimate good?” Would it? I may return to the subject later, meanwhile the following facts, replying indirectly to the question, are suggestive:— Those who know practically nothing of the gypsy character are confident in the possibility of gradually weaning them from the nomadic life, and of inducing them to settle down to the cottage, and the workaday existence of the respectable labourer or artisan. On the other hand:— Those who have gained intimate knowledge of the race by long and friendly intercourse with its people, and are consequently able to see and feel with them and to understand their inbred love of a life of freedom in touch with Nature, cannot dissociate the idea of sacrilege from any thought of “improving” out of existence all that to the gypsy—really counts. In some parts of the Continent gypsy children go naked for some years, but in our own country—possibly owing partly to changeability of climate—clothes are almost invariably worn, but often they are of the scantiest description. I have seen the children running barefoot in the snow, their bodies being protected only by one thin garment, but as they are subjected to such Spartan treatment from infancy, they do not, apparently, suffer as would house-dwellers under similar conditions. Much ingenuity is sometimes displayed by the poorer families in adapting for their own use clothes which have been given to them. The following incident, the principals in which are well known to me, is an amusing case in point:— A gentleman gave a pair of his trousers to a gypsy. A week or so later, when out walking, he saw a small gypsy boy coming towards him, and “there seemed,” said he when relating the occurrence to me, “something very familiar about this boy’s dress, which at first puzzled me considerably, but afterwards, as the boy came nearer, I saw that he had made a complete suit from my old trousers; a little had been cut from the legs, the pockets had been turned inside out Ingenuity of a different type was shown by a gypsy who desired to attend the funeral of a relative and made the occasion an excuse for borrowing from a householder of my acquaintance a pair of black trousers to wear during the ceremony; his pretext of wishing to borrow the trousers, and for one day only, showed the diplomat, for he must have felt sure that if he Gypsies do not forget acts of kindness to their folk, neither are they ungrateful, but will often endeavour to make some little return for sympathetic help extended to them. In connection with this I note as a curious psychological fact, that they will occasionally pilfer in order to present the proceeds of the theft to a benefactor, as a tangible proof of gratitude. Upon one occasion a young fellow offered me some fine plums in return for a slight service I had rendered, all the circumstances pointing to his having stolen the fruit for the purpose on his way to see me. We may then take it that pilfering from a gorgio is reckoned a venial offence,—a trifling matter, but failure to show proper appreciation of services rendered is considered “low down” behaviour and unworthy of a self-respecting gypsy. In the field of scientific invention, it seems that the gypsy is not very likely to become a shining light, but that he nevertheless possesses considerable ingenuity in certain directions is shown by his turning to good account apparently useless native material in the manufacture of The little cakes had been prepared by breaking off projecting pieces from the deeply furrowed bark of the cluster pine, these had been shaved Most of my readers have probably seen, or, may possess, examples of work in wood or other material which has been built up within globes or bottles of water, the whole having been passed in and put together through a comparatively small neck or other aperture. Such work has at all times been beloved of sailors, but gypsies are occasionally found who make this class of “ornament.” Two examples I have seen remind me of another instance of gypsy shrewdness. A gypsy The sum of sixpence was asked for each bottle with its contents. I purchased one of them and thought I had seen the last of the lad, but in the afternoon he appeared with another bottle exactly like those he had previously brought, excepting that between the two spears a ladder had been fitted. It was described as a much better one than those he had brought in the morning, and he added that as I had already bought one he would let me have it for ninepence. Although I failed to appreciate the implied favour, I made a second purchase. It will be noticed that the boy did not bring the better article first, or he would certainly have sold but one at ninepence instead of dis The manufacture of just this class of article is not one of the common occupations of gypsies, and it is possible, as this family came from the neighbourhood of Cardiff, that the locality, together with occasional contact with sailors, may have suggested it to them as a help in their struggle to live. Another way of turning an “honest” penny, practised occasionally by both gypsy and tramp, is the making of artificial flowers from turnips. Turnips may be usually acquired pretty easily, and the competent artist, by deftly using a pocket knife, converts them into most attractive and really deceptive imitations of flowers. I am not sure if the imitation of any particular species is aimed at, but the kind usually produced may be described as midway between a white water lily and a rose; these flowers are generally left “plain turnip,” but I have seen them splashed with crimson, or occasionally dyed entirely with cochineal or aniline solution. A flower is usually offered arranged as a button-hole or bouquet, a twig being inserted as a stem and a few leaves added; those of laurel and thuja A large proportion of the articles hawked around by gypsy vans at the present time are not of gypsy manufacture, as machine-made tinware and other goods yield a greater profit; individual tent-dwelling hawkers, however, still carry a fair variety of home-made stuff, such as clothes-pegs, toys, grass mats and baskets, meat skewers, wire flower-baskets, etc. I was recently at a country fair which attracted the usual gypsy proprietors of shows, stalls and the like, and amongst them I got into conversation with an old man of sixty to seventy years of age. He was a man of more than the average intelligence of his class and had at one time been a travelling photographer. “Yes,” said he in reply to a question of mine, “I made a good bit of money photographing at one time, but there isn’t much to be done at it now, I’ve still got my cameras and lenses and things in the van, but I never use them.” “But things are slack in the pleasure line during all the winter months, aren’t they?” I inquired. “Yes,” he replied, “it’s as much as most of us do in the summer to make enough to carry us through, but d’ye know,” he continued in a confidential manner, “there’s a good living to be got, and could be got by a lot of our people if they’d only go into it. I’m too old to start afresh now, but any man with a livin’ wagon, as could work at tinkering, furniture repairing and china riveting, do a bit of photography when it came along, and wouldn’t turn up his nose at stray odd jobs such as putting in window-sash lines, seeing to paraffin lamps and the like, and travelled around the out-of-the-way places, what you’d call remote districts, would make sure of a good living all the year round. Mind you, it would be a hard life,—it couldn’t be much harder than some of us have at this game,—but it would pay, and there’s many a gypsy with ability to do it—only he don’t.” In the early days of photography the arrival of the Photographic Van, otherwise “Saloon,” for its periodical stay in the village or town, was eagerly awaited as the only opportunity to have a “likeness taken” for, perhaps, months. In some of the home counties certainly, and in others possibly, the only professional portrait photographers doing work at popular prices were, One of these, taken in 1858 on glass, blacked at the back, framed in what is known as a “mat and preserver,” fitted into the well-known plush-lined wood case, is in a condition as absolutely fresh and perfect as on the day it was taken, and was the work of a typical Tachey Romany, a man of fine physique and handsome features, who travelled Hertfordshire and adjoining counties. Another Romany production is a portrait taken in 1864 by a man travelling Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire, etc. It is a carte de visite portrait on the old albumenized paper, and is first-rate work, its rich purple tones being as fresh and strong as when just finished. Doubtless, there are to-day many treasured portraits—all there is left to recall the features of loved ones—which are the work of gypsy artists who travelled the country at the time when photography was still young and few other opportunities existed of obtaining photographic portraits. |