IN previous chapters passing mention has been frequently made of the Romany language,—the tongue of the true gypsy,—and it is interesting to note that a writer, some fifty years since, said he regretted to have to say that in a few years the language would not be spoken, if, indeed, there would be any gypsies to speak it. Such a statement, made by an undoubted authority on the subject at that period, would probably be considered by many at the present time sufficient to warrant an assertion that the Romany language is now practically dead, together with most of the Romanies themselves. Even a superficial investigation of the matter by the man in the street would tend to confirm this idea as the gypsy resents any interference with his affairs, and is, moreover, very jealous of his language. This should occasion no surprise, for, from the first appearance of gypsies in this country, right down to the present time, they have not been treated in a way calculated to engender in them a belief in the good intentions of the Gentiles. However, a very different state of things from that premised will be found actually to exist by the few who have full opportunities, while possessing the necessary qualifications for forming a correct opinion, for the gypsy is not by any means extinct, and, not only is the old language very much alive among the Romanies, but they have coined or built up words to denote inventions that were unknown to the writer of half a century ago.

It must be admitted that cant or slang words are used for many objects, but it will be found that Romany is used in a number of cases, alternatively with such words.

In colloquial Romany, as in English, a number of words are trimmed or abbreviated so that while conversation is thereby rendered more facile, the way of the would-be learner of the language is made additionally hard,—for instance, the term kekauvisky saster—the iron upon which the kettle is hung—is frequently abbreviated to kaubisaster,—kaubi being synonymous with kekauvi for kettle, and, as it gives less trouble to say, is really better, for one is less likely to confuse it with kek or kekko—meaning no, not, etc. Dickoi, too, is used for dick acoi (look here), and in place of paniskey shock (water-cress), the shorter word panishock is often substituted.

As the scope of this work does not include the teaching of the Romany tongue, I will not weary the reader with other instances of gypsy word-clipping, but proceed with a brief general survey of the language, touching upon some interesting features and peculiarities, and give a few literal examples which have been either addressed to me, or have come directly under my notice while living among the people.

It will, of course, be understood that the translations are freely rendered, and that gypsy in common with other languages possesses peculiarities which must be learned by ear and cannot be adequately described in writing.

The attainment of fluency in the language is practically impossible apart from a lengthy sojourn by the aspirant with the people, and even this, by itself, will be of little use, for his physical and temperamental qualifications must be such as commend themselves to those whom he wishes to make his friends, and as a consequence—instructors. However, under the most favourable conditions, direct information will very rarely be imparted, so that the pupil’s progress will largely depend on his powers of absorption and imitation.

Generally, Romany is spoken with a free and altogether irregular admixture of English, making it very much more difficult for the novice to get a good start, for not only are the sandwiched English words absolutely meaningless to him, in the unlikely event of his being able to distinguish them, but some of the Romany words having a similar sound to English have a totally different meaning. As might be expected, some slight variations in the pronunciation or enunciation of the English portions occur in different localities; but Romany may be said to be almost free from provincialisms, so that one who is conversant with it will have little difficulty in conversing with gypsies from any part of the country.

A curious fact I have noted, is that Romany names for some of the commonest things, articles in everyday use, have been forgotten by the gypsies, while the names of some objects for which they have no occasion, year in, year out, have been retained in all their original purity. Time and again have I been asked for the Romany names of certain common objects, and upon a word being supplied, my interrogator has repeated it again and again to impress it upon his memory. One of the most fluent speakers I ever met had forgotten the word for “plate,” while another was unable to say “thank you” in Romany, albeit each had a very extensive knowledge of the tongue, including names for many animals, flowers and insects, and was an adept at word building; with respect to this practice it must be borne in mind that the gypsy uses the Romany language much in the same way that a potter uses clay,—he does not alter the character of the material, but moulds it into an expression of his idea.

Usually he is little worried by genders or any rules of grammar, his sole purpose being to convey his ideas in the simplest manner possible in the best Romany he has at command, and he considers it as his language, for the use only of himself and his people, being unwilling that a gorgio should learn even a few words of it.

“What would be the use of Romany,” said an old man to me, “if sore dinneleskoe gorgios jinned what mande penned?”

So general is this jealous feeling, that all knowledge of the language will frequently be disowned, and I have often known gypsies intentionally misinform non-gypsies by supplying wrong words; for instance, I heard a gypsy tell an inquiring gorgio that the word “match” was “yog cosh” in gypsy. Upon analyzing this and finding it signified “fire stick,” the information would be accepted as correct, until it was discovered that it also meant a firebrand, and that there is a very different genuine Romany word denoting this specific match and nothing else.

The true Romanichal prides himself on his knowledge of the tongue, which, when well spoken, he designates “deep” Romany, and I have known real exponents of it in descendants of the old, old gypsies who have been described, with some little exaggeration, perhaps, as having been “as black as the ace of spades”; at the same time, I am acquainted with other families who are much darker-complexioned than many Hindoos, whose Romany is comparatively meagre.

Apropos of the suspicious reticence of the gypsy, I recollect that while in the hop gardens, a man came one day to the spot where a gypsy girl and I were picking, and having heard a little of our conversation, came nearer and said—

“I say, I should like to learn Romany.”

The girl replied, “Oh, would you—why it would take you ever so long. That’s true, isn’t it?” she added, turning to me for confirmation of the statement.

Undaunted, he returned to the charge—

“Well, can you tell me the best way to learn?”

“Yes,” replied my companion without a moment’s hesitation, “marry a gypsy girl,—if she’ll have you.”

Upon looking into this, and reading between the lines, the objection the gypsies have to the acquirement of their language by any one whom they do not credit with some degree of blood relationship is quite evident.

On another occasion I happened to be chatting with about half a dozen gypsies, when a person who was not a gypsy joined the group. This was a signal for a woman near me to come close and whisper—

“Kekko rokkra it, mush” (don’t talk it), and I discovered later that the new-comer was one who had picked up a little of the language and was most anxious to learn more. Although the behaviour of the gypsies towards the man was politeness itself, no more Romany was spoken until he was out of earshot.

I have previously had occasion to refer to the direct searching gaze of the gypsy, that look which makes even an unimaginative Gentile feel as though he were being turned inside out for inspection. In a fashion, this is really the case, for the piercing eyes play a principal part in their owner’s rapid estimate of a new-comer; if his decision be that the stranger possesses neither consanguinity nor sympathy with his own race, but is essentially a gorgio, I know of nothing that will induce the gypsy to impart correct information about his people or their language,—on the other hand, should he discover some trace of blood relationship and be assured of fellow-feeling, he will extend the right hand of fellowship to the whilom stranger, and a mutual knowledge of the Romany tongue will, as it were, endorse a bond of lasting friendship, the no-longer stranger will be introduced to, and accepted by the relatives and friends as a tatcho pal.

In returning to our consideration of the gypsy language it will not, we think, be difficult to realize that, to a great extent, it is this aloofness and the clinging to old traditions, tribal laws and customs, that has not only enabled them to discredit prophecies of extinction, but has kept them very much alive, with a language little known by outsiders, and an unshaken belief in their assertion that gypsies, their language and manner of life will never die out. It is at least certain that the genuine Romanies do all possible among themselves to keep their own language in vigorous health, and although many are illiterate they seize every opportunity to recover lost words, and by constant repetition commit them to memory.

Notwithstanding the admixture of English with the Romany, it is astonishing how little the tongue has altered in the centuries during which it has been spoken and passed on from one generation to another in this country mainly by word of mouth. Occasionally, however, one may hear slight variations, which, upon investigation, resolve into the exact words, or a close resemblance to words having the same meaning in one or other of the dialects of Romany of the European continent; instances of this I recall as I write:—

I once heard a child talking to the cat, which he always called a “matchiko,” instead of the English gypsy word, “matchko.”

One man always addressed me as “mini Rye,” instead of the usual “miro Rye.” In these cases “matchiko” is the identical word, while “mini” reminds one of “minrio,” both words being in a continental dialect, but having the meaning intended by the English users.

The following examples, being set down verbatim as addressed to, or heard by me, will give a good idea of colloquial Romany of the present day:—

“Miro dado jalled to buty adrey a wongar mine, ta his pals del’d dado oprey the nok and poggered it; if he hadn’t jalled aprÉ he’d have been mullo.”

(My father went to work in a coal mine and his workmates hit father on the nose and broke it; if he hadn’t gone up he’d have been killed.)

“Trin petuls kitchema.”

(Three Horseshoes public-house.)

A man introduced another as “a pal o’ the beng,” which means “brother of the devil.”

“Rye, dick at the gry’s (gryor) choring cas.”

(Sir, or gentleman, look at the horses stealing hay.)

“He kair’d a lot of wongar acoi, he’s chopped his vardo for another, mande dick’d to rardi.”

(He made a deal of money here, he has exchanged his van for another, I saw it this night.)

“When sore Romanichals have jailed, this tan’ll be a mullo poov.”

(When all the gypsies have gone away, this place will be like a cemetery.)

“A juva mande knew bute chiv’d her tickno te woddrus drey the vardo, but the drab-engro penned she’d be mullo if she atched, so her deya chiv’d her drey the tan.”

(A married woman I knew well put her child to bed in the caravan, but the doctor said she wouldn’t live if she stayed there, so her mother put her in the tent.)

“Yeck divvus a mush came te mande ta del’d mande yeck coro levinor, mande penned, mande kekko pi levinor. Then yo penned, will tuti pi soda pani or ginger levinor, tuti’s a Romany mush ta mande cams tuti te lei chomany.”

(One day a man came to me and gave me a pot of ale; I said I did not drink ale, then he said, will you drink soda water, or ginger beer, you’re a Romany chal and I desire you to take something.)

“I pen’d paracrow tuti, pen’d kushti divvus, ta jalled oprey o’ drom te mande’s tan.”

(I thanked him, said good day and went along the road to my tent.)

“Will mande dick tuti collico sorlo?

“I dick’d tuti collico sarla but tuti kekko dick mande.”

(Shall I see you to-morrow morning?

I saw you yesterday evening but you didn’t see me.)

“Here’s to the Romany Rye; he’s kek a cooromengro, but a mush that jins what we pens. He’s kek a killimengro, but a tatcho Romano.”

(Here’s to the gypsy gentleman; he’s not a fighting man, but knows just what we say. He’s not a dancing fellow, but one of the gentleman gypsies.)

Among the mongrel gypsies and Chorodies a good deal of slang is interposed throughout their talk, and they appear to be unable to judge by the sound of a word whether it be an approximately correct gypsy word or a slang term, whereas the true gypsy, upon hearing a Romany word of which he had no previous knowledge, will say it over and over again, and at last assert, “Yes, that’s right, that’s correct, I can tell.”

A half-caste gypsy once attempted to bring discredit on my knowledge of the Romany tongue by speaking in what he afterwards informed me was “foreign Romany.” I regret that while I have a distinct recollection of the jumble of sounds, I am not able to reproduce it. Strangely enough, this man prided himself on being able to talk in a tongue no one else understood, and I confess I am still incapable of seeing just how he or any one else benefited thereby.

Probably it is the “Romany” of the Chorodies and low-lived half-castes that has induced writers to describe the gypsy tongue in England as having become sadly mutilated; certainly, such folk present no exception to the rule that the language of a people becomes, almost invariably, degraded in the ratio that their life is debased, the lowest of them seeming even to select inharmonious, and often foul and repulsive words to express their daily needs. Language would, indeed, appear to be to them little more than the bark of a dog, or the neighing of a horse, for, obviously, the melody of pure Romany does not in the least appeal to them as it undoubtedly does to the true Romanichal, whose language conjures up visions of trees and birds, furze-covered commons and heather-clad moors.

Romany is a poetical language, and, as might be expected, gypsy poetry is not rare. When well recited it is very musical although much of it does not rhyme; I have, however, found that a mixed Romany audience invariably prefers such as has both rhythm and rhyme.

One evening towards the end of the hoppicking, I attended a concert which had been organized for the entertainment of the gypsies, the artistes for the most part being the Romanies themselves, while the programme might fittingly be described as “scratch.”

The affair was held in a large tent capable of accommodating, say, a hundred to a hundred and fifty persons. We had a “full house” and the odour of hops was very perceptible; but this was a trifling matter which, if noticed at all by the majority of the audience, was immediately forgotten when the programme was commenced. Names had been given during the morning by those who were willing to sing, or otherwise contribute to the amusement or entertainment of the company. Our platform consisted of a box placed bottom upward, the tent was illuminated by two hanging lamps, and as there was no charge for admission, every grade of gypsy society contributed its quota of audience, among whom were many good-looking girls, a fair sprinkling of men and a number of women whose beauty had not for several years been remarkable; there was also present a small contingent of the rough element, one or two of whom caused a little trouble at times by perpetrating idiotic practical jokes, one of which was that a youth would commence to set on fire the coat-tail of some one directly in front of him; however, these disturbers of the peace were soon noticed, and, as I had anticipated, were advised in very forcible language to get outside. As they were discreet enough to withdraw, our programme subsequently went along very well. One or two humorous songs were sung by gypsies, and, strangely enough, not the slightest indication of humour was apparent in either intonation or gesture. Songs of a more or less sentimental character were the rule, although we had some rollicking songs towards the end, to which a girl executed a step-dance on the box until a board gave way.

The singing of the Romany girls was very seductive; whether this was due to the witchery of their glances, their winning manner, or the peculiar, weird style of singing, I have not been able to determine; as a rule, their voices are good, they sing in tune, and usually are unaccompanied by any instrument.

I am not able to call to mind the titles of all the songs of the evening, but the following were favourites:—

“Home is home.”

“When the fields are white with daisies.”

“Put my little shoes away.”

“I’ve been lonely since my mother died.”

One small boy announced the title of a poem he was going to recite, but when mounted upon the box in front of the audience he commenced with something of so different a nature that the management decided hastily he had better step down and the audience would forego the remainder, which, I learned subsequently, was worse than the verse we heard. The next boy, however, gave us a treat, for he had the voice of a seraph and sang well,—indeed, I often heard the boy in the hop fields and could generally track him down by his voice. Some of the “home-dwellers” also contributed to the evening’s entertainment, one of them being good enough to bring a gramophone. At last “God save the King” was sung, and we prepared to depart to our respective vans and tents.

Some of the audience had come from another camp at a little distance, and as the night was very dark some one voiced their desire for a lantern. Fortunately, I was able to procure an oil torch designed for outdoor use, so with this flaming merrily, I led the way at the head of a band of Romanies. We were a merry party and a good deal of jesting was indulged in.

Before separating, and while we were in a lane with a steep bank on each side, some one suggested the Romany dance and the hint was at once acted upon.

It would seem that from earliest times these people have numbered amongst them many excellent dancers and singers, and what I now witnessed demonstrated beyond doubt that their love of song and the dance is as strong to-day as in the past.

The company disposed themselves in a circle and two or three couples went into the ring, a song was started and time was kept by the clapping of hands. Some one said—

“Go it! dance away, it’s early yet, we are all Romanies here and the kushti Romany Rye’s lelled a moomli so we can dick the dancing.” Then upon the request “Now, all together, please,” each of the dancers clasped a partner, and with cheeks touching, the whirling commenced. Another, then another, fascinated by the movements of the dancers, entered the ring and took part, either in a species of step-dance or by executing the mazy whirl. The dance was performed with all the zest and vivacity of the Italian tarantella, but instead of being accompanied by such songs as are favoured by some of the peasants who perform the tarantella,—of which the subjoined insensate couplet is an example—

lively English songs, into which Romany words were inserted when they happened to rhyme,—were sung with gusto by the entire company. Had there been any gorgios present they could not have failed to be amused and puzzled by these songs, of which the words were a mosaic of poggado jib sung to dance time.

The play of light as it fell upon the throng, catching here a kerchief of yellow or other brilliant colour on head or shoulders, there a necklace of bright red beads, a gold brooch or large ear-rings,—produced an effect that would have gladdened the heart of a painter, the tout ensemble—even if a little barbaric—being quite captivating. Swarthy skins seemed still darker by the torchlight, and as the excitement increased, eyes flashed as only a Romany’s can, and, one after another, dark-eyed belles flashed by; I could imagine no term more aptly descriptive of each than their own musical words, “rinkeny chovahani.”

At last, the dance ended almost as suddenly as it had been begun and the merry party broke up.

It was nearing the time when the final goodbye would be said and all would again go on the road, so that this was the last occasion during the hop-picking upon which so general a gathering could take place; some would, perhaps, meet again in a week or two, others not until next “hopping.” As there were a number present whom I did not expect to see again for a good while, I received many a warm hand-shake and the almost invariable and hearty wish for a “happy journey,” which, from a gypsy, means not only the journey one is just about to take, but also implies—“as you travel through life may happiness attend you.”

Any little unpleasant happenings there might have been were forgotten, and, after a parting song, keepsakes were asked for and exchanged,—a pretty custom that brings to mind the giver long after each has jalled oprÉ the drom.