TIME sped on apace,—as to the occupied mind it ever has,—and, before I fully realized how quickly the weeks had slipped by, I found myself bound for the Mecca of many a Romanichal and home-dweller alike,—the hop country.

As the majority of my Romany friends were to be found in the Hampshire gardens rather than in those of Kent, I directed my steps to the picturesque district in the vicinity of Alton, and soon discovered that families with whom I was acquainted were located at two encampments some four or five miles apart, to say nothing of the separated sections of each encampment.

I am fortunate in possessing a well-developed bump of locality, and was enabled, after a survey of the neighbourhood, to lessen considerably the walking distance between the camps by taking advantage of short cuts and field paths; but the whole of my first day in the land of hops and gypsies was spent in gaining knowledge of the principal camps in the neighbourhood of Alton and the country intervening between them and similar encampments in the direction of Binsted,—the inevitable result of such reconnoitring being a return home, tired out, in the evening. The revivifying and invigorating effect of a night in the open, however, enabled me to be on foot early the next morning, and, although my projected journey to the further camps entailed a walk of five miles out, I got off at a brisk pace as there was a nip of autumn in the air, and soon settled down into a steady swing; a little later, the sun shone with considerable power, as it frequently does in an English September, so that by the time I had reached the summit of a long, steep hill some little distance on my way in an easterly direction, the country opened out before me from under the fast disappearing haze; on my right lay the village of Selborne, set in a sea of blue haze, and away to my left I could discern the spire of Binsted church, often called hereabout, the “gypsies’ church,” owing presumably to the fact that numerous gypsy weddings and christenings take place there during the hop-picking. After proceeding a mile or two further, and beyond the limit of my survey of the previous day, the haze, which at first seemed to be rapidly clearing off, began to gather again and I considered it prudent to inquire my way of a gypsy with whom I was slightly acquainted, who now came towards me. Evidently he remembered me well, for he replied in Romany—

“Jal a bit ta tuti’l dick a pukkering cosh by the rik of the drom,—kushti divvus, mush.”

Thanking him, I walked on a little as he advised, keeping a look-out for the finger-post to which he had referred. Another quarter-mile and I came upon it, after which the way was easy, and ere long I was at the spot selected as the camping ground for the next few weeks.

Since I had left my first camping ground that day, the clouds, which early in the morning seemed to be clearing for a fine day, had latterly grown rather than dwindled, becoming heavier and blacker as the afternoon wore on, and before teatime a steady rain was falling.

Everything seemed very dismal in the continued rain, the caravans around were discernible as through wetted ground glass, those at a little distance being nearly swallowed up by the prevailing mist; under the nearest of them stood some dejected-looking fowls with lowered heads and drooping tails, pictures of misery. Many gypsies were abroad, for it was Buddigur divvus,—shopping day, or Saturday,—and they were away to procure bread and other necessaries. Eventually, they returned, and as one after another they passed near me as I sat under cover, I could see that all must be wet to the skin; several upon seeing me passed some jocular remark upon the weather, and had not the strange procession of heavily laden women, men and children been so obviously discomfited, the picture they made would have been very funny. One mother attempted to shelter her babe from the wet by holding over it the half of what had once been an umbrella; a boy had placed a large galvanized wash-tray over his head to protect him from the rain, I say him advisedly, for it is not possible that his clothes could have suggested a thought for their preservation; anyhow, his trousers—such as they were—and his shirt were not afterwards taken off but were dried on the bottle-jack principle, the boy turning first one side to the fire, then the other until they no longer steamed.

Although I had luckily not got wet through, I could not avoid sharing to some degree the general discomfort, for where I was now encamped there were about thirty caravans and a number of tents, the greater number of which were owned by members of the gypsy fraternity, and all around was the squalling of babies and the shouting of men and women.

Regarding the circumstances from a purely personal point of view, I could not altogether regret this cheerless commencement of the “hopping,” as it disclosed to me a somewhat different phase of Romany life. I had lived among them in bright weather and in dull, but never before had I fraternized with them under more depressing conditions. So dismal was it that even the camp fire was unable to sustain its reputation for cheeriness, so we turned in early, and for some time after could hear men and women returning from their belated shopping; occasionally an uncertain top-heavy step passing the tent would publish the fact that a call had been made at the kitchema—in order, we will charitably suppose, to “wait till the clouds rolled by.”

The angry voices of the stragglers who brought up the rear were silenced as the heavy rain drove them home.

As I lay in bed I could feel the rain falling on my face in fine spray, and before I could get to sleep a crane-fly settled on my ear, while another danced about my chin compelling me to get up and stop their antics; again I sought repose but had not lost consciousness when a dor-beetle, which had got into the tent, flew around with a deep hum, struck something with a smack and subsided suddenly; as I did not anticipate a repetition of this performance, I left it to its own devices, but think I did not fall asleep until the last gypsy had turned in. I slept fitfully and remember being awake long enough once during the night to notice the twinkling of the stars through the minute openings in the canvas overhead.

Before sunrise I was awakened by the scratching of a fowl on the outside of my tent, of which it seemed to be making an ascent in order to herald the new day; at the critical moment, however, he appeared to lose his hold, and with a good deal of fluttering descended to the ground and contented himself with crowing lustily as he ambled around the tent, an achievement that made me wish to throw things.

Once fairly awake, further sleep was impossible, and I found my clothes, which I had placed on the bed for additional warmth, quite damp from the rain which, in the earlier part of the night, had been driven into the tent in the form of mist. As I did not feel anxious to rise for yet another hour or two, I secured pen and paper, and by propping myself up in bed was enabled to watch the daybreak and the waking camp through an opening in the flap of the tent.

The chanticleer that had aroused the camp was answered by a conceited bantam away somewhere at the far corner, then a dog barked, later a horse or two whinnied; in a short time people moved to and fro and there were sounds of chopping and the breaking of wood; this was soon kindled and smoke from the numerous fires wreathed the camp in a blue haze. In the wood just in the rear, a pigeon cooed plaintively, while nearer a robin was singing; then my ears were assailed by the cries of children and I caught sight of horses being led past and heard their steady plod, plod, through the sodden grass. The women and older girls were now attending to the dressing of the younger children. Snatches of conversation reached me, expressively worded requests were borne on the air from all quarters of the camp:—

“Here, you kid! jal to the pawnugo hev.”

“Fetch me some water,—d’ye hear?”

“Go and get some milk, I tell yer!”

“Acoi, kai si o pani-mengri?”

“Plastra, you kid!”

These and similar exclamations and commands were to be heard on all sides. One little fellow was told by his sister to fetch water and he replied saucily—

“No, miss, I’m too young to fetch water. Why! me fetch water with all them gurt big fellows about (referring to his brothers). No, me lady, to-day’s rest day and I’m goin’ to walk about all day like a gentleman”—thereupon he hooked his thumbs behind his braces and strutted about with bare feet in the wet grass.

“Rest day” with this boy was any day he happened to feel a disinclination to work.

Upon one occasion his father threatened correction with a small stick, but the boy seemed very little impressed, for he retorted—

“If you touch me, I won’t pick another hop to-day! and I run like a March hare if I have got a sore foot.”

In some such manner he usually disarmed his father, and sometimes perhaps escaped deserved punishment; but although his precocity might possibly develop later in a vicious direction, he was at this time overflowing with fun and mischief, and was easily the best-loved kiddie in the entire camp.

Preparations for the departure of pickers to the gardens were now going on apace; tea was being made in the usual boilers, and food packed for the midday meal.

At last, all had gone off to their respective picking grounds, leaving the camp practically deserted. Faint wisps of smoke ascended from the camp fires, and the watch-dogs settled themselves for a long, comfortable sleep by the side of or under the living wagons.

The day was fine and I followed the Romanichals to the scene of their labour. By the time I arrived, work was in full swing, and numerous picturesque “bits” and groups tempted me to secure photographs of them. For this class of work I generally use a camera of the reflex type, in which, as the reader is probably aware, the picture to be taken is reflected by a suitably placed mirror upon a ground-glass screen at the top of the camera, the screen being provided with a hood to shield it from extraneous light, and it is of course intended for the use of one person only at a time; but in the hop gardens the idea appeared to prevail that two could use the camera at once, so that my photography was rendered somewhat difficult and occasionally embarrassing. The gypsy girls became at once interested in the “black art,” all being anxious to see every one else as he or she appeared in the camera. So intent was one Romany chi upon getting an insight to photography as represented by the view in the camera, that she put her arm around my neck in order that she might see into the hood at the same time as myself, and I feel sure that when the shutter clicked, she considered she had assisted materially in the composing and taking of the picture. To be quite fair, I must say we got a fine picture,—but who would not have done so under such conditions!

Copious and varied were the remarks upon the situation by the pickers within range, and we were the butt for much merriment.

As life, to many of the gypsies, would seem to be little more than a series of struggles with a malign fate, one may feel grateful if he is able sometimes to make an occasion for merry quip and jest, or afford them an opportunity to joke at his expense.

The animated scenes connected with “hopping” are extremely picturesque, for in a favourable season the hop gardens themselves, apart from the band of pickers, are very beautiful, the fragrant hop flowers hanging like immense grapes in a huge vinery covering acre after acre. Here and there between the hop-poles glimpses may be obtained of distant trees and fields, the brilliant yellow patch of a field of mustard here, green fields there, backed by a line of indigo on the horizon, and so on, each little picture being framed by the hop-poles. Personally, I never tired of this gallery of Nature’s pictures, and frequently returned home by the longest route in order to see more of them.

While yet early, all around is chatter and merriment and the children amuse themselves as best they may while their parents are at work. When picking is in progress in the Hampshire hop gardens, one sees baskets used in preference to the bin, and many a meaning glance and fateful word pass from chal to chi and from chi to chal over these baskets, for love-making with gypsies is usually carried on openly, often with the prospective father-and mother-in-law at work on either side and occasionally taking part in the conversation. If a loving couple chance to be working near a “home-dweller” they may converse in Romany, feeling pretty certain that the home-dweller will not really understand anything they may say. Although the gypsy tongue is deficient to some extent in such terms of endearment as are beloved of the gorgio, Romanies have recourse to idioms which are often more expressive to those who are conversant with the language than gorgico jib, or the speech of the Gentiles.

While fully recognizing the camaraderie existing among Romany people, an intimate acquaintance with them cannot fail to discover sets or coteries which seem to be formed on bases of relationship or social standing; indeed, one may at times find it somewhat difficult to realize that he is concerned with gypsy society, rather than that spelt with a capital S, which in every matter pertaining to this life or the next bows low unto and obeys the commands of Mrs. Grundy.

When making inquiries of one family concerning another, I have more than once received replies, of which the following is an example:—

“Oh yes, we knows ’em very well, but we don’t have nothing to do with ’em; here, Jobey, you go with the Rye and show him where the—— ’s tent is.”

There are gypsies of my acquaintance who own land and expensive living wagons, and have the best of everything,—undoubtedly they work hard but have a good time generally. These, be it understood, are not “show” folk, but Tachey Romanies, whose skins are as dark as may be seen, and who upon marriage would spend a sum of three figures upon their wedding van. I know others whose entire worldly possessions would probably not fetch half a sovereign at a jumble sale. One fellow told a friend of mine that he got married on sixpence, but added as a kind of mitigation of his rashness, that he had a tent. Yet, among them all—rich, poor, richest and poorest alike, there is that splendid and pervading spirit of sympathy, amounting to a compelling desire to share to the last penny with those whose need is greater than their own. One of them once said to me—

“Pal, you know the gypsy law—if I have a loaf of bread and you are in need, half of that loaf is yours; and you, being a tatcho pal and a Romany mush, I know you’d do the same. If neither of us had anything,” he continued, “we’d go halves in that as well.”

“Auvali, auvali” (yes, yes), I replied, smiling at his curious manner of expression, albeit the following passages flitted just then through my mind—

... “Which of these thinkest thou was neighbour?”

... “Neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.”

... “Go thou and do likewise.”

As an opportunity of the nature premised did not offer, my friend now demonstrated his genuineness by allowing me to use his van at any time for depositing photographic and other material which I should otherwise be obliged to carry about with me until I returned to my tent later in the day. Moreover, I had a seat at his fireside and he was a most gentlemanly host.

I had many friends in the gardens and did not wish to appear to be oblivious of any of them by putting in all the time I felt inclined to devote to picking for one basket, thereupon at the words, “Auv acoi, miro Rye,” addressed to me by a Romany girl some little distance away, I considered it both advisable and polite to accede to her request, and give a hand at the basket into which she was picking. I will not inflict upon the reader our conversation in Romany and English verbatim, but give it done into more solid English:—

“Well, Rye, when you left us at—— fair I never thought I should see you again. Can you pick hops?” This was obviously a subterfuge for opening the conversation, as she had seen me helping to fill other baskets, therefore I could but answer in the affirmative.

“Then you might give us a hand.”

Scarcely had she said this when my hat (fortunately a soft felt) was crushed down over my eyes, for the girl had pulled down the next bine and a mass had fallen on my head. It is true she had warned me by saying, “Mind your head!” but had not given me time to get out of the way.

“There!” she exclaimed, laughing, “I didn’t do that on purpose, did I?”

I replied that I was not quite sure, but suggested it might have been an accident.

“That’s kushti o’ tute, Rye,” she answered, and we turned to picking in earnest.

“Do you know,” she began again, “I made sure you were married, but you’re not, are you?”

I replied to this in the negative.

“And are you going to be?” she queried.

“No,” said I; “at least not until the right person comes my way.”

“Ain’t you never taken any one out?” she continued.

At this critical juncture the “pole puller” arrived, and with a “mind your heads!” sent down large sprays of hops into the basket and our conversation on such personal matters was not resumed, for a member of the Church Army Mission came around with hot tea in an urn which was conveyed along the lines in a perambulator. This solicitude on the part of the C.A. is greatly appreciated, the charge made for the tea being absurdly low. Cut cake was also dispensed by a lady worker at a similar “selling off” price.

After the brief tea and cake diversion we continued our picking.

For the information of those who have no experience of the pleasure that may be derived from picking hops, I may say that beyond alertness, and nimbleness of fingers, no special aptitude for the work is demanded, but the class of person whose fingers are “all thumbs” will not be likely to get much pleasure out of the occupation and had better stay at home, or, at least, keep out of the way, for they will not be wanted during “hopping.” A quick child has often been known to pick cleaner and in greater quantity than many an adult, and, as with strawberries, so with hops, the gypsies are almost invariably the cleanest and most rapid pickers.

Naturally alert and quick, the Romanichal must not be likened to the average rural worker or farm hand, who will perhaps do fairly well the class of work he is required to do, but is altogether lacking in the adaptability and quick-wittedness of the true gypsy. For instance, the normal rustic usually finds it a tough job to acquire sufficient English, of a kind, to enable him to hold communication with his fellow-man and to help him in gaining a livelihood, while the Romanichal, who usually does not attend even a village school, speaks English fluently, with fewer grammatical errors and far less dialect than the labourer, and for his own particular uses has the well-beloved and musical Romany. Thus—speaking in terms of comparison—we may say that the true gypsy exemplifies the grace and skill of the Oriental, while the average rustic appears to be a welding of Teutonic clumsiness and Saxon stupidity.

I soon discovered that my companion was, in intelligence, quite up to the average chi, and that she brought a good deal of philosophy to bear upon her view of life. During our talk she asked—

“Rye, do you care what people say about you?”

“No,” I replied; “why should I?”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, and went on—

“I think if everybody got an honest living they wouldn’t care what people thought about them. If there’s one thing I don’t like it’s pride; it makes such fools of people, and rich folks are generally the proudest, but you know as well as I do it’s the people who work the hardest that have the most right to be proud, but they’re too sensible.

“I know a man who had a lot of money, and when his hair got a little grey he dyed it, but that didn’t help him to be honest, did it?

“Ah well! our basket’s full, perhaps you’ll give a hand to empty it into this bag.”

Having accomplished this we resumed the pulling and picking; eventually a whistle sounded and all the pickers called out at once, making a good deal of noise for a few seconds,—the day’s work was finished after we had picked those we had down. After the hops had been “booked” and collected by the carts preparatory to taking them to the kiln for drying, we “knocked off” and turned our faces homeward.

Only a few minutes had elapsed after our return ere kettles were singing,—for a wood fire made in the open hurries matters,—and, furnished with good appetites, we sat down to a well-earned tea, after which the long evening was before us. Before we had finished washing up tea-things, the evening mist began to rise, for it must be remembered we were in the latter half of the month of September, so we cut enough firewood to last the evening, and built up a good fire.

Some people there certainly are, many probably, who in their well-ordered homes are surrounded by most of the comforts and conveniences science and the arts have rendered possible, but would pass a gypsy encampment on a windswept moor without giving a thought to the occupants, or at most would regard them as dishonest, low-lived outcasts, perhaps deserving pity, but a nuisance anyway. To such I commend the philosophy of my girl friend of the afternoon and the following words of an old gypsy which I heard by the camp fire after tea.

“I would give nothing,” he said, “to be able to live in a large house; I think them as has the most money has the most to worry ’em, so they can’t think of anybody but themselves.”

Discussions on this and similar statements or assertions by other members of our group made the time pass all too rapidly, and when most of the eyes around the fire began to get heavy, a large jugful of cocoa—enough to go round—was made and partaken of to the accompaniment of bread and cheese. A little later, the camp was quiet in sleep.