INTENT on “copy,” I was one day sauntering along a road in my own locality, when, just as a motor-car came into view round a curve, I felt a sudden tug at my sleeve, and at the same instant I was adjured to—

“Come this side o’ the road; then, if they knocks you down, you gets compensation.”

Turning to face the giver of this sage advice, I beheld, as I half expected, one of my gypsy acquaintances; he was carrying a workman’s rush bag in one hand, and from a pocket protruded the neck of a small vase he was taking to his camp to repair. As he was a petulengro, or tinker, and I had generally seen him engaged upon such work as repairing pots and pans, I questioned him with reference to his doing repairs to china; thereupon he informed me that he had “allus done a little o’ that sort o’ thing,” that it needed care, but paid better than the other work, and that latterly he had done more of it than anything else.

As we trudged along, I persuaded him to talk of himself and his work.

“Ah!” said he, “I’ve seen some rum people in my travels; some won’t trust me an inch away from ’em, and others lets me cart their crockery home to do it; I’ve riveted pretty near everything, from egg-shell china to Dutch tiles; some o’ the stuff’s been as hard as flint an’ some so soft that it pulled the ‘spark’ out o’ my drill and left it down at the bottom of a hole same as a terrier in a rabbit burrow, and it often takes as much coaxin’ to get out. O’ course them diamond sparks don’t run to much money, but you can’t give one in with a threepenny rivetin’ job, can you? There’s old Mrs.——, a reg’lar old—— she is; do you know she makes me sit in her kitchen to mend her fireproof dishes and such-like, and they’re as hard as granite; but because they take time to drill she thinks I’m doin’ it o’ purpose, but the more money people has the less they seems to know. I don’t go near her if I can help it, but, o’ course, you can’t say you won’t do it when they sends after you. Now there’s Mr.——, he’s different and no mistake; he’ll give me lots o’ work, and he generally drops a bit o’ cake or something o’ that sort into my pocket when he sees me, but they say that’s the sort as dies young,” and, turning towards me, he gave a knowing wink, and added, “’cos you don’t find many of ’em about. I once taught an old fellow the way to mend his own china, but, you bet, I made him pay for it; not as there’s much in it, but I guessed he wouldn’t want me ’ny more. My missis is as good as me at rivetin’, and she does a lot I takes home. Well, good day to you. I turns in here; p’rhaps you’ll be this way again ’fore long.” So saying, he turned off into the forest, presumably in the direction of his encampment.

Continuing my way along the high road towards a bypath which should lead me to the gypsy camp that was really the object of my excursion, I had barely completed my notes of the conversation just related when I met a man who had come from it. He was carrying a fairly large bundle and was hurrying in the direction of the railway station; he did not stop, but called as he passed—

“Can’t stop now, want to get these off by train; back in half an hour; my missis and brother are at the camp, you know where.”

Upon arriving at the camp I found all busy making artificial flowers, and I was informed by the “missis” that her “man” had a contract with a wholesale firm who took all they could make. The children were at it too, handling the knife rapidly and cleverly. As the manufacture of flowers of the kind upon which they were engaged appears to be local, a description of the process will be of interest:—

The flowers are nearly always of the chrysanthemum or daisy type; green wood is used, pieces of straight grain being selected, as knots would, of course, cause trouble, and the rejection of unsuitable stuff does not add appreciably to the cost of production when the gypsy gets raw material for nothing,—or very little more. Firstly, a piece of wood of, say, six inches in length, and three-quarters of an inch, or less, in diameter, is taken and the bark shaved from it, the stick is then held so that the knife is drawn towards the operator in cutting the outer petals; these are cut of the width and to the length decided upon, the degree to which they curl away from the knife depending partly upon the nature of the wood as well as the angle at which the knife is held. After closely cutting all around the stick in this way, similar rows or rings are cut round and round, length and width being diminished as the centre is approached, until the stick, at the point which should be the centre of the flower, becomes so attenuated that it breaks easily or comes away altogether, leaving an artificial flower. Variations in the shape of the flower, from conical to under-curling flat, may be made by giving the knife a greater or lesser outward turn when the base of each petal is reached, thereby bending it outward and down. The flowers are finally wired, the stems wound with green paper, and arranged for sale. These gypsy folk have an ingenious but simple method of dyeing the flowers; they immerse the sticks from which they are to be cut—after first getting rid of the bark—in boiling dye, which they allow to penetrate more or less, according to effect aimed at, and when the flowers are cut they are often beautifully variegated and shaded, while others are dyed altogether.

After the man had returned to the camp, he gave me some interesting particulars of their work, and said the reason for using green wood is that the flowers retain the form imparted to them in the cutting if they are made from the green stuff and allowed to dry. He stated also that they had to make the best they could of daylight, for the work by candle light was extremely trying for the eyes; he had, himself, at one time worked by candle light a good deal, but found he would lose his sight if he persisted in it: he said, moreover, that by sitting closely at work, he was able, single-handed, to make and complete a gross of flowers in one day. In the course of our conversation upon all sorts of topics there was frequent evidence that—despite his lack of scientific knowledge—he was very much interested in all natural objects. He described, pretty minutely, a curious nest of wasps he had observed, “about as big as a cricket-ball,3 hanging from a ‘hurt’ bush,”4 and related how a grass snake which had come into the tent, took possession of a sleeve of his coat that happened to be lying on the ground; he also spoke of rats in the strawberry country and stated that his “missis” was awakened one night by a rat nibbling her hair; this is not to be in the least discredited, for in the same locality I once saw in one evening, within a space of fifty yards, no less than five large rats running across a lane towards or from gypsy encampments to which these rodents had probably been attracted by the potato skins, bits of crust and other waste food lying around.

This man was also a skewer-maker—escunye-mengro,—but said there was practically no demand for them now, metal skewers being so much used, and added, that as a matter of fact he never made them now unless he had a special request for them.

“You haven’t seen mother to-day, have you?” he questioned, and without waiting for my reply, added—

“Come over to her tent, the old lady’s making chairs and I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

Although I was well known to the old woman, had chatted with her a great many times and had seen her work, I had never before been fortunate enough to find her making her famous chairs, contrivances, by the way, which would probably provoke the mirth or arouse the pity of an expert workman, but which were nevertheless ingenious in a way, and were really wonderful productions for a woman who had passed the allotted span of life. Now I had her before me actually making these things,—the old lady with her strong and still handsome, kindly Romany face,—and I found my mind working quickly, presenting to me and unrolling before me, as it were in a dream, a panorama of her untainted record of years and years of toil,—such as “society” cannot even imagine,—carried on day, month and year, in and out, in order to earn, together with her husband, enough to enable them to keep a hold on life, and rear their children; later on, working by herself for years to support her invalid husband, afterwards giving him decent burial, living her life through with never more of the necessaries of life at hand than enough for the immediate future, and never more than a blanket between her and the sky, until the picture was disclosed that I now had before me in reality—the old woman, with one foot in the grave, one might say, her husband gone over to the majority, and all her children grown up and living apart; here she was, taking no anxious thought for the morrow, working as cheerily as ever, doing her best and leaving the rest to God,—one of Nature’s gentlewomen.

Regaining full consciousness of my surroundings, which for the moment had become hazy, I heard her reply to my greeting—

“Yes, pretty well, my Rye, thank you,—nothing to grumble about, anyway.”

We maintained a desultory conversation while she kept on with her occupation of making babies’ and dolls’ chairs, so that I had ample demonstration of the process of manufacture.

In the first place, a number of freshly cut sticks were peeled, and cut into manageable lengths upon her “work bench,” which consisted of a wooden post some three or four inches in diameter, driven into the ground so as to present a flattish top at a convenient height for cutting upon by a person seated on the ground near it. After having decided upon the size of chair she intended to make, she cut one piece of wood of the length desired for the back, and another for the front legs, to be used as gauges. After cutting several dozens by these, she took smaller sticks and cut the rails or pins in the same manner; these she then tapered at both ends and laid aside. Her next operation was the boring of back and front legs for the insertion of rails; this she accomplished with a large bradawl; subsequently she fitted the tapered pieces into the holes, and drove up the whole tight by means of a hammer. Afterwards, she plaited bast fibre across to form seats, thereby giving the finishing touch to small chairs, which, if not absolutely symmetrical, were sufficiently attractive to cause little folk to worry their elders into buying them to accommodate their own little persons or their dolls.

The knife used by most of the gypsies for their wood-working consists usually of a flat and nearly straight blade having a substantial handle, but I have occasionally seen them using knives having slightly curved blades of the kind favoured by leather cutters or by upholsterers for cutting floor coverings. These knives do not fold, and crude sheaths are often made for them; frequently, however, they are simply wrapped in two or three folds of paper for protection.

After photographing the old lady, I set out for home, intending to make a rather wide detour in order to pass through another Romany camping ground, fully expecting two families, or, at the least, one, to be at home. In this I was to be disappointed, for upon reaching the spot I found the locality quite deserted; nevertheless, I was fortunate in timing my visit, for it afforded one of the best of my opportunities to decipher the secret signs of the Romanies.

They are an acutely observant people, especially with regard to natural objects, reminding one of the Arab or Red man, by their quick apprehension of, and deductions from, circumstances having a bearing on the affair in hand, and, to some extent, of the aboriginal black trackers in their keen detection of minute quantities of matter that are foreign to the natural dispensation of things in different localities, and they are in consequence liable to be somewhat impatient or contemptuous in their attitude towards those who are otherwise; therefore, from their point of view, nothing more distinctly stamps a man as a gorgio than the fact that he is “dull o’ comprehension” in such matters.

I will now give my reading of the signs I discovered, and state how my deductions were arrived at, not with the idea of supplying a key to all such gypsy tokens, but by detailing the facts in this instance to illustrate one of their methods of communication.

After having examined the camping ground, I found I had noted the following as my conclusions, and they subsequently proved to be quite correct:—

... Two families had encamped, but had not stayed many days.

... They had left that morning between the hours of nine and eleven.

... The two families had left together.

... They had not gone to their usual next camping ground, but had at first gone some distance upon the main road.

... All were walking, and there were a number of children.

The signs left by the campers, known to gypsies as a patrin or pateran, which enabled me to form these opinions were as follows:—

Two pieces of wood—one long, one short—were laid together V-wise; in the centre was the lid of an old tin canister in which was placed a bit of heather, very much branched, that is to say, no piece had been removed. The larger piece of wood was so placed that it pointed away from the main road, but a little way from it there had been placed another piece which was much bent, and this pointed in the direction of another main road cutting across that previously mentioned.

So much for the description of the pateran itself.

... The ashes had been thrown off the fire tray and were still dry. Now, there had been rain that morning just before nine o’clock, therefore the families had left after that hour, having breakfasted before striking camp.

... The grass where the tents had been was fairly green and not so sickly-looking as it would have been had bedding, etc., lain upon it long, therefore they could have stayed but a day or two.

This observation could have been verified by an examination of the hole made by the kettle prop, but it was not necessary.

... I arrived at the spot at about eleven o’clock, approaching by the road they had taken, and, as I had not met them it was evident they had left between nine and eleven o’clock.

... The bent stick lying apart from the remainder of the arrangement indicated that the company was on foot, for the stick would have been straight if the families had possessed a van.

... The piece of heather told me there were several children—the canister lid being used only to prevent it being overlooked.

... The long and short pieces of wood indicated men and women.

... The fact that two families had been there was ascertained upon searching for the holes made by the tent rods.

This description of pateran is modern, and may be considered as more or less a family matter, the materials composing it, and the manner of using them, being to a great extent the result of a private arrangement and might not be correctly interpreted by members of another tribe.

The true patrin or pateran usually consists of leaves or grass thrown down in a certain manner by the wayside to guide gypsies in following the main party, which may have gone forward several days. As the arrangement differs with different families, and a variation in the arrangement may affect its signification, a non-gypsy is not likely to gain much information should he chance to discover a pateran. In event of it being necessary to cross a city or town, modifications of the patrin are used, so that notwithstanding the turns taken in passing from one side of the place to the other, the straggler is enabled to find the exact route taken and follow unerringly. If several families from different localities were to pass through a city at about the same time, using the same roadways for a part or the whole of the way, a gypsy could tell how many families had passed through a certain street and the direction they took, and would identify his own family sign.

In connection with these methods of intercommunication, the intelligent observation of natural objects, which, as I have previously stated, is a gypsy characteristic, plays an important part; for instance, take the simplest form of patrin, handfuls of grass flung down by the side of road or track at intervals,—a follower is able to say approximately when they were thrown down, and, knowing the distance usually covered in a day, he can, to a certain extent, tell where to find those who placed the patrin, due consideration having been given to such circumstances as—time when a shower fell, prevailing sun or shade, dryness or other condition of the grass, and so on. But why, it may be urged, should not the gypsy confuse the patrin of his own tribe with a similar one of another family travelling for a distance in the same direction on the same track, at about the same time?

The matter is, of course, extremely simple, for however close the similarity of the signs of different families might appear to a gorgio, there would always be an identifiable peculiarity about each which the gypsy would instantly recognize, beside which it will be obvious that a second party would always realize the futility of placing a patrin upon or near one of a similar nature.

In order further to elucidate the principles upon which the use of the patrin is based, we will suppose that three different families traverse the same stretch of forest track, moor or road, each, later on, taking a different direction at cross roads, and see how stragglers are enabled to track and rejoin their family. To the town dweller who is unaccustomed to finding a way through forests, over moors, roads, byways and lanes, this will seem almost an impossible task; in reality, however, it is quite simple. Imagine then that members of one of our families are makers of bee pots, grass baskets and the like,—those of another, makers of clothes-pegs and skewers, and that the third family are hawkers or flower sellers. Family number one strikes camp and sets out on the road, now and again flinging down a handful of grass; this is quite sufficient to guide members of the family following, for the grass will be of the kind used in the staple industry of the family,—the construction of bee-hives and baskets; the grass being a species peculiar to local marshes and bogs is at once recognized by the family, while it will probably be quite unnoticed by the ordinary pedestrian, or, if noticed, will signify nothing. It may be noted here that many families pursue certain handicrafts in certain localities only, for the reason that they use what is afforded by each district in the way of raw material.

After a time, family number two sets out, and as they have been making clothes-pegs, some handfuls of the countless thousands of chips lying around are put into pockets and are scattered here and there as they travel.

Later, the third family moves off and makes an equally effective pateran in a similarly simple manner, for with the knife they take a few slices of turf, taking care to cut deeply enough to include a little of the soil; this they break into small pieces which they drop at turnings and so on, precisely in the manner of the two other parties. For some distance at least then there will be three distinct trails along the same road, all of which will probably be entirely overlooked by every one but the gypsies who are interested, and to them they will give much information.

The soils of different districts differ much, and when a pateran of peat is found in a chalk district the inference is obvious,—gypsies from a heather country have passed, and vice versa.

It is not necessary to our purpose to explain at length other variations of the patrin, nor to describe numerous signs in everyday use by the gypsies, which have more of the nature of family secrets and which if divulged would add little of interest, for obviously the pateran may be varied indefinitely, and each family make a code of its own. The practice of making a simple device in the sand or dust at the roadside, the tying or affixing of pieces of rag to bushes, and numerous other means of imparting information might be described, but would amount to little more than repetitions in various forms of the signs already noticed.

All these devices would appear to have been instituted with the dual purpose of giving desired information to their own people and of rendering it impossible for the Gentiles to arrive at any certain knowledge concerning them.

True Romany folk, as a race, have kept aloof from the Gentiles or non-gypsy people; even now that the latter are often on friendly terms with them, they are treated in various ways as being without the pale, and so jealous are gypsies of their own tongue that they seldom speak it in the hearing of the gorgios unless it be for the purpose of keeping something secret from them.

Although they do not despise postal facilities, they have also ways of their own for transmitting intelligence, among which natural object signals and symbols have a place.

In other ways, really in every way, excepting where met by laws which can be neither broken nor circumvented, gypsies live their own life apart, and whether in childhood they have, or have not received education with non-gypsy children, they have, as adults, all the apparently ineradicable and unchangeable Romany attributes and tastes, with physical powers well developed by the simple, open-air life, and although they are not subjected to the same mental exercises as many of the town dwellers, some of their faculties become highly developed, and by no means always in an undesirable direction.

A gypsy might not show to advantage if questioned on abstruse scientific matters, but he would be able to gain a good living and realize comfort in places where his scientific master would perish miserably from starvation; he would be able to point out a hare or a rabbit at such a distance that it would be an unrecognizable speck in the landscape to a keen-eyed gorgio. Comparisons of this nature might be multiplied ad libitum, but while it would be both foolish and unfair to attempt to belittle the achievements of the city worker or scholar, it must be admitted that they very frequently gain immensely in one direction but lose heavily in the other.

The gypsy appreciates—often unconsciously, perhaps—the glorious colouring at rise or set of sun, he loves the daybreak music of waking Nature and the voices of the night; but all too often, it is to be feared, his brother of the town looks upon Nature as putting up a very poor show in comparison with the scenic display and the orchestral work of his favourite house of entertainment.