BEYOND an allusion now and again, I have not hitherto had occasion to say anything of gypsy jewellery or personal adornment, but as these subjects have an intimate connection with the Romany life and are in many respects notably characteristic of the people, they demand more than passing mention.

Gypsies undoubtedly inherit from their Oriental forbears a love of jewellery, brilliantly coloured fabrics, and the use of ornaments of various kinds for the adornment of their persons, and, in common with Orientals generally, they not only have this predilection but possess the ability to use these things in the most artistic fashion,—perhaps it would not be wrong to call it instinct, for they appear to be as incapable of doing otherwise as they are of moving or posing ungracefully.

Ear-rings, beads, and the hair are the three things that will leave the most lasting impression on the memory after a casual meeting with Romany women and girls.

Ear-rings are very generally worn and as a study are quite interesting,—many being very old, having been handed down from one generation to another, others are quaint in design, curiously massive, or otherwise striking in appearance.

I was once engaged in conversation with a Romany woman who was wearing rather curious large gold ear-rings, and upon my remarking that they appeared to be of good workmanship, she obligingly removed them from her ears and placed them in my hand in order that I might examine them more closely and estimate their weight. There could be no doubt they were, as she suggested, old Indian work.

By far the greater number are of crescentic design, consisting of either a single crescent or a combination of crescents. I have not been able to discover a reason for the partiality to this design, but as gypsies regard many things as “lucky” and others as “unlucky” it is probable that this form has acquired among them the reputation of being lucky. Some early Egyptian ear-rings were of this form, and the crescent is also used as a religious symbol, but the real origin of its use is obscure; the following account is, however, ingenious and interesting if not accurate. We read that:—

“This device of the Ottoman Empire (the crescent) is of great antiquity, as appears from several medals, and took its rise from an event related by Stephanus the Geographer, a native of Byzantium. He tells us that Philip, the father of Alexander the Great, meeting with mighty difficulties in the siege of that city, set the workmen on a very dark night to undermine the walls, that his troops might enter the place without being perceived; but, luckily for the besieged, the moon appearing discovered the design, which accordingly miscarried.

“In acknowledgment of this deliverance,” he says, “the Byzantines erected a statue to Diana, and thus the crescent became their symbol.”

The following interesting reference to ear-piercing is to be found in Exodus XXI. 5, 6:—

“And if the servant shall plainly say, I love my master, my wife, and my children; I will not go out free: Then his master shall bring him unto the judges; and shall also bring him to the door, or unto the door post; and his master shall bore his ear through with an awl; and he shall serve him for ever.”

Under these circumstances the boring of the ear evidently indicated servitude, and it has been suggested the inserting of rings was intended to prevent the holes closing, so that their value as a visible sign of bondage should be permanent; a state of affairs certainly not implied by the ear-ring habit of the present-day gypsy.

In a previous chapter reference was made to the persecution of the gypsies by Henry VIII, and we find that his laws affecting dress, made in 1532, were not of a nature to render life more endurable by people of their proclivities.

“Jewellery of every kind was forbidden below a certain degree, while the common people were not to wear even a silver button or any kind of ornament except a badge of service.” However, all laws regulating dress were repealed by statute in the first year of the reign of James I.

In Eastern countries much larger ear-rings are worn than is customary among ourselves, but even in this country—although a variety of comparatively small patterns, from the plain circle of gold wire to elaborate silver or gold drops, are in favour—very large ones may sometimes be seen in the ears of Romany women. Next to the plain circle in the scale of ornament is the simple crescent (Fig. 1) or a small plain drop, then ear-rings which are a combination of two or more crescents (Fig. 2), or of crescents and different drops, various composite designs, and lastly the very long, and more or less elaborate, pendulous drop patterns, many of these latter being much more striking in appearance than elaborate in design. The largest ear-rings I have yet seen were being worn by an olive-complexioned Romany woman; they were of silver, and consisted mainly of long, angular drops, between three and four inches in length, which were, of course, hollow, the only attempt at ornamentation being a sunk panel in each of the faces (Fig. 3); so long were they that they swung only comfortably clear of the woman’s shoulders, her fine features, dark complexion and black hair, with these outlandish silver ornaments presenting a tout ensemble at once striking and artistic.

Many of the little girls wear ear-rings, mostly of silver but occasionally of gold; the design illustrated at Fig. 4 is a favourite with both adults and children; the originals of the illustration, however, were of gold, worn by a child. Fig. 5 consisted of a diamond-cut stone supporting an amber drop of rather quaint appearance, but whether of Oriental or Birmingham workmanship I cannot say; that illustrated by Fig. 6 was composed of malachite and silver.

The remaining illustrations will speak for themselves, perhaps, excepting Fig. 7, which were unquestionably valuable and were beautifully made of burnished and matte yellow gold.

Nearly all the females—whether of tender years or adult—wear necklaces of some description, their fondness for beads amounting almost to a passion; but with beads, as in other gypsy matters, there appears to be a sort of vogue or preference for certain shapes and colours. Very frequently, but not invariably, the beads worn are black or red—two “lucky” colours, by the way. The shape most favoured is perhaps that of a cowrie (Fig. 8), approximately, and there appears to be ground for supposing that at one time cowries may have been used in this manner, giving place eventually to coral or stones turned to roughly imitate them. The beads used differ much in size, varying from one-eighth of an inch in length and of like diameter, to an inch or more in length by three-quarters of an inch in diameter.

Were it possible to trace these strings of beads through all their vicissitudes of time and place not a few, it would be discovered, have emanated within the last twenty or thirty years from that birthplace of so much “genuine” Hindu, Egyptian and similar work, a place known to gypsies as Kaulo gav (Black town), otherwise Birmingham, while others would be found to have been religiously cared for and passed on by generation after generation of the same family almost from the time of their shaping in the Far East; indeed, after carefully examining some of these old beads, but little imagination is needed to present to the mind’s eye a Hindu squatting at his primitive lathe, turning and shaping coral, stone or wood into just such beads.

Occasionally, the beads of a necklace are nicely graduated or otherwise regularly varied in size; again, they may be seen having no order or arrangement, as though composed of portions of several necklaces. The only rule I have been able to discover concerning the number of strings or rows of beads one wears is, that each one wears all she has,—if enough for one string only, it suffices; if she be fortunate enough to possess sufficient for three, four or six rows, then she wears all of them, but two or three rows are more usual.

Gypsy women have distinct and artistic styles of dressing the hair, of which they mostly have an abundance, and I have known more than one Romany chal who was proud of his glossy, black ringlets, but nowadays one would probably have some difficulty in finding such. Some of the men adopt the fringe style for their front locks, others cultivate the “curl” of the rural labourer, but quite frequently young men and lads have the hair closely cropped,—“it’s cleaner in the warm weather,” said one to me; “my missis allus cuts mine, she’s done it ever since we’ve been married, with the horse-clippers.”

“No I haven’t,” interpolated the wife; “I’ve done it with the small ones.”

“Well,” he retorted, “they are almost the same.”

In a gypsy encampment there is generally one of the men who is handy with scissors and razor; naturally his services are preferred by the community to those of the professional barber. Sunday is the day when the tonsorial artist of the camp is busy, and for fairly obvious reasons,—in the first place, he is not at work,—that is to say, he is not pursuing his ordinary vocation; secondly, Sunday generally finds almost every one at the vans or tents.

Perhaps no more ridiculous statements have ever been made than those relating to the habits of gypsies; one such informs its readers that gypsies darken their hair to black by the “subtle use of certaine herbes,” but omits to state why gypsy women—whose hair is naturally as black and lustrous as possible—should desire, or endeavour to darken it by the application of absurd preparations.

The women are proud of their hair, and spend considerable time in attending to it. I once asked one of them how she managed to keep her hair in such perfect condition.

“If you are not in a hurry to go, I’ll show you,” she replied.

A child was forthwith despatched with a bucket to an adjacent spring for water; meanwhile the woman loosed her hair from its many tiny plaits, and, as she sat upon the ground, it fell around her like a black cascade, and was of such length that it lay upon the ground; she proceeded next to wet the hair thoroughly by the simple method of holding her head over the pail and plying the brush which was now and again plunged into the water.

After partly drying her hair by means of a towel, she allowed the breeze to play through it; grease was now rubbed well into it and as much as possible afterwards removed by brushing, etc. Any grease is used for this purpose, but in this instance I saw ordinary dripping applied, not the “fat of hedgehogs,” stated by writers to be so excellent and to be the grease used by the gypsies.

This brings us to the business of plaiting, and I must confess that this part of the procedure was a revelation to me by reason of the rapidity with which it was executed, reminding me of some gypsy girls whom I once saw plaiting straw basket-work; there was no secrecy or dodging about it, their fingers moved and the work grew, but the movements were so rapid that the process could not be followed. She made five plaits which began near each ear and met behind the head in a series of “door knockers,” to say nothing of several smaller ones; having done this she announced her intention of facing my camera; I would have much preferred her facing me—to use an Irishism—with the back of her head, to enable me to give the reader a better idea of those wonderful plaits than is possible by the pen of a mere man; on Plate 15, however, will be found photographs of styles of hair-dressing, all of which were taken from members of the Romany, or, as some prefer to call themselves, the travelling fraternity.

An article of dress which must not be overlooked is the neckerchief. It is used by both men and women and combines the functions of use and adornment; sometimes they are of silk of brilliant colouring, more often, however, they are composed of less costly material but are not less dazzling in colour, for in the matter of neckerchiefs and handkerchiefs the gypsy usually allows his love for colour full play, and it should occasion no surprise if he blossom out on Sundays in all the glory of a vivid scarlet or yellow neckerchief, which is relieved or ornamented, as the case may be, with spots of a contrasting colour or white as large as a shilling, but it is only just to say that most of the neckerchiefs worn by them are less terrible in their aggressiveness.

The silk handkerchief is occasionally worn as a shawl by the women-folk, and, in event of the sun’s rays becoming uncomfortably hot, it is wrapped around the head in a style not inappropriately called by them an “Italian cap.” I was once arranging to photograph a Romany girl, when her companion, who happened to be a very-much-alive gypsy, appropriated my velvet focussing cloth and forthwith made for herself therewith an Italian cap. I have ever since regretted I did not manage without the cloth and photograph her and the impromptu head-dress.

Some of the girls and younger women have a pretty habit of wearing flowers in the hair,—small sprays of foliage being used when flowers are not obtainable,—thereby reminding one of a similar custom of the natives of Tahiti, who, however, go a step further and wear a flower inserted in a small hole in each ear in addition to those in the hair.

It is a noteworthy fact that whenever Romany women purchase jewellery, articles of distinctly Oriental design, or having an Oriental or quaint appearance, are almost invariably selected.

Brooches, which are fine examples of cameo sculpture, are occasionally seen being worn by them, and as these are mostly Italian productions they may have been procured during a sojourn in that country; but it is more likely they have been purchased in England, as they were at one time in great demand and many thousands were imported.

Certain features of the gypsy dress remind one of that of the coster, the large hat with its “fevver” being the heart’s desire of gypsy Fenella and coster ’Arriet alike; with regard, however, to the dress of the male gypsy, little need be said, but that the coster delights more in display than does our present-day gypsy; even the gypsy of a few years since, in his full array of silver buttons, was dressed modestly in comparison with the barbaric pearly rig-out of the coster. In the way of head-gear, the Romany chal usually prefers a cloth cap or a slouch hat, albeit a large, high-crowned straw hat may be occasionally found among horse-dealers and children. Among Romany folk, then, love of finery and display would appear to be the exclusive privilege of the female gypsy. I have seen silver umbrella handles mounted and worn by them as brooches, half-crowns as brooches to keep an apron string in place, bones which are considered lucky mounted in silver and worn on the breast, and so on. One of the first questions one asks of another when inspecting jewellery is—“Is it silver?”

As many of these people can neither read nor write, it will be obvious that most of their accounts are settled otherwise than by cheque: the gypsy may, in truth, be called a ready-money concern. Not many years since, members of a certain tribe who were horse-dealers might have been seen at horse fairs and the like, and although any one of them knew well how to drive a hard bargain, he did not pay with a worthless cheque, but produced a purse, apparently made from an old stocking, and from its contents of a hundred or a hundred and fifty pounds, paid for his purchases on the spot, in sterling gold. It is, of course, possible that with the advance of civilization gypsies have now grasped the possibilities of the credit system, and that perchance some may be found who know how to pay their debts with flash notes or cheques that will not be honoured; but so far as my observation goes, the good old-fashioned style of coin on the spot is adhered to.

The women usually carry their money on their persons, the coins being tied up in a piece of fabric to which a string is affixed; this they tie around the neck, the money being suspended a few inches below the chin underneath the dress; the key of the caravan is sometimes similarly suspended.

In the method of carrying their children, the women remind one of the Kaffirs and other races who carry their babes upon the hip.

The gypsy generally uses a broad, endless strip of carpet or similarly strong fabric which is passed over one shoulder,—usually the right,—making a kind of pocket for the baby, which rests against the left hip and receives additional support from the left arm; thus the right arm is free to carry a basket or to be used in other ways.

It is no light task for a woman,—this carrying, many miles in the day, of a heavy child on the one hand, and a large basket full of various articles on the other,—and yet it is done by many of the gypsy women, day in, day out, and seldom, indeed, is there any real expression or manifestation of distress other than the mute appeal of a melancholy face.

When gypsy children are old enough to sit erect, they are frequently carried sitting astride the hip of the mother, who keeps them in position and gives support with one arm, precisely in the manner of the Kaffir women.

Photography enables us—as nothing else can—to secure truthful and permanent records of the features and fleeting expressions of our fellow-creatures—not the least pleasing among such photographs being pictures of happy childhood. The first time I saw the original of one of my favourite pictures—the roguish, happy-looking little Romany girl of the Illustration, page 128—she was playing in a green lane with a number of youngsters, several of whom were not unlike her, while others were of a quite degenerate type; one or two of them, indeed, tried to rifle my pockets while others engaged my attention; it is, however, but fair to the children to say that this was done at the instigation of the adults, who had called out from the tent on the other side of the hedge—

“Chiv tuti’s vast adrey the Rye’s putsi.”

My reply—“Mande jinned what you penned”—appeared to surprise them.

“So you did, did you?” queried one of the women, and thereupon she looked as it were beyond me, assuming an expression only to be described by an editor’s usual notice to quarrelsome correspondents:—

“This discussion must now close.”

Later in the day, when we had become better acquainted, this merry youngster, who had kept aloof while the others were intent on my pockets, came to me, and, slipping her hand into mine, said—

“My name’s——, you like me the best.”

I confessed that I did.

Cretinism—according to one writer—is prevalent among gypsies. I am inclined to think that if this statement be based on statistics, they referred to Chorodies rather than to true gypsies, or at least that Chorodies and Romanies were not differentiated when the statistics were collected. I have lived and wandered among the gypsies of our southern counties for many years, and have yet to find sufficient evidence of cretinism to warrant a statement that it is prevalent. These observations refer to the dark-complexioned, true Romany people and the posh ta posh folk—as the gypsy calls the Romany half-breeds—and not to the Chorodies, who, apart from their wandering habits, have very little in common with true gypsies.

Amongst all peoples, examples of deformed humanity are occasionally brought into the world; but the proportion of such among true gypsies would appear to be small, and while Romany folk are notably quick, keen-witted and brainy, I have not observed—even among the very small proportion of deformed—that the idiocy, goitre, or other characteristic features of cretinism exist to any marked degree.

Formerly, it was a rigid Romany law that no gypsy should marry outside the race, therefore imaginative writers with little or no inner knowledge of the people, have jumped to the conclusion that gypsies must of necessity suffer from consanguineous marriage. It is true that Romany cousins occasionally contract marriage, but it must be borne in mind that this marriage of cousins occurs to a much greater extent among the rest of our population, and a knowledge of the subject generally forces on one the opinion that consanguineous marriages are not proportionately more frequent among gypsies than English people in general.

It is quite natural that a gypsy should prefer as a partner for life one of his own race, and as it has been estimated that there are some twenty thousand to twenty-five thousand gypsies in this country, and it is a fact that the greater number of gypsies do not marry those related to them, even distantly, one can but characterize any disparagement of the gypsy in this direction as an unchristian endeavour to incite public feeling against him.

Referring to the custom of gypsies marrying only those of their own race, matters are not quite as they were formerly, although in some tribes still the marrying of a Gentile by one of its members is sufficient to deprive the offender of all intimate intercourse with the remainder of the family, but in this respect, the possession by the interloper of a liberal share of this world’s goods may make much difference, for a wealthy Gentile is not always so heartily despised by the Romanies as they would have one believe; in bygone times even members of the peerage have led to the altar dusky brides from the gypsy tent.

The complexion of different tribes of gypsies varies very much,—from a light olive to a decided walnut brown. I know one family of which all the members are “almost black” in the popular sense of the term. I have been informed that “the last of the real old black gypsies” was buried at a family burial-place called Mousehold, near Norwich, many years since. If, however, the individual then laid to rest was of darker complexion than the members of several families of my acquaintance, then he or she was undoubtedly “some black,” as our American friends would have it.

Of the “black” gypsies to whom I have referred, one of the families can boast of having had, not many years since, two of their number who bore the titles of Gypsy King and Queen. Unfortunately, the appellations yielded no emolument, and it is to be feared if the King had been caught using a rabbit net, the magistrate would have had so little respect for the title that he would have imposed on his majesty the same sentence as on a common poacher.

I have a very distinct recollection of my first meeting with this family, for I was accompanied by a friend who, upon catching sight of them at their camp, remarked: “They are a black lot anyway, you should try and persuade them to sit for a photograph.”

“Suppose,” said I, “you air your diplomacy and see what you can do, meanwhile I’ll wait here.”

Nothing loth, he proceeded to the camp and explained that his friend would like to photograph the family, with the following result:—

“No, we ain’t ready,—come next week if you like,—we ain’t goin’ to be took to-day.”

Returning to me, my friend reported: “It’s no go, they won’t let you do it, but perhaps you may be able to persuade them.”

Armed with my hand camera and the politest Romany I could muster I advanced to the attack. Before many minutes had elapsed, my comrade sauntered up and was surprised to find me preparing to photograph them, the “open sesame” to their hearts having been,—not backsheesh,—but, as the reader will have already surmised, the gentle Romany tongue. My companion, who knew nothing of the language, would not have gained their consent had he argued until nightfall.

The woman put one or two artful questions to me, such as would cause a beginner at the language to stumble, but, fortunately, I saw through the stratagem and passed my exam, with honours.

I exposed a couple of plates on the group, after which the woman came to me and said:

“We had the preachers here just before you came up, but they don’t understand gypsy talk, so we’d like you to give us the Lord’s Prayer in Romany. If you will, I’ll call the children from the other camp; there’s a dozen of us altogether, but only two as can read.”

Of course I consented, and after the occupants of the adjacent tent had joined the group, all stood silent and attentive while I repeated the words, which, to the ordinary English ear, sound so strange. At the concluding words—Si covar ajaw—the woman said “Paracrow tuti” (I thank you).

Oftentimes since have I thought of this incident, and it has occurred to me that Christian workers among these people are often obliged to confess that after years of wearying labour, little or no evident progress has attended their efforts, but there is here some indication that the good seed implanted may not always die, but may lie dormant awaiting the conditions that will favour its development.

Possibly some cynic may accuse these gypsies of hypocrisy,—of simulating a desire he considers foreign to their nature in order to beg successfully afterwards. I am afraid such an accusation would not be unjust to many of the Chorodies, but the great majority of gypsies would consider such action beneath them.

As I have had no connection with any religious body working among gypsies, but have mingled with them, helped with their work, lived and wandered amongst them because I like the people, and as they have always treated me with kindness, literally as one of themselves, I have probably had opportunities of estimating results that are denied the workers themselves, and I consider the incident just related to be typical of the attitude of the gypsies, that is to say, they are not altogether indifferent, but, above all else, Romany folk desire to preserve their own language, and all other things being equal, it would seem that the man who will be the greatest power in getting gypsies to turn to the light, will be one who has an intimate knowledge of them and will talk and reason with them in their own language.

It is to be feared, however, that in some minds the unworthy feeling exists that it would savour of paganism, or at the least be irreligious to pray in a gypsy tongue. Surely it is time our views were broadened a little.

I have seen gypsies playing pitch and toss, and have many times looked on at their games with cards, which are usually played solely for the pleasure they afford, counters in the form of buttons or stones being used instead of money. The gypsy—wicked as he is said to be—does not lose many pounds nightly at bridge, roulette or at the casino.