TYPES OF LIVING WAGON.TYPES OF LIVING WAGON.
TYPES OF LIVING WAGON.
Most of the caravans are the work of professional wagon builders, and vary in accordance with the ideas of the client and the sum he is prepared to spend. Occasionally the gypsy constructs his own habitation, and in such case usually purchases the under-carriage and ironwork; he obtains most of his woodwork ready sawn, and executes the greater part of the ornamental work, bevelling and so on, with the knife, in the use of which he is an adept.
With regard to interior arrangement, there is, of course, as great, or even a greater, difference in the cost and care expended on different caravans than is apparent in the matter of exterior, but there is withal a certain similarity in the disposition of the essentials. As one enters the wagon, the fireplace is usually on the left hand, one of the principal reasons for this being that when travelling, and conforming to the rule of the road, the chimney protruding from the roof is not liable to be damaged or broken off by the lower branches of wayside trees, etc. Small ordinary, American, “Hostess” or other stoves are fitted, but I recollect seeing in a caravan a stove that consisted only of a piece of sheet-iron bent to a rough cylinder tapering to a chimney, the lower part having a piece cut away and a grid affixed therein. The familyhad no trouble to keep out the winter cold, for this rather primitive stove would burn almost anything, the van included if not carefully looked after. Almost invariably the beds are across the van at the far end so that the weight is over the hind wheels; usually they are raised some little distance from the floor—the open space beneath being variously utilized, sometimes as a sleeping apartment for the children, at others it is enclosed and has doors for use as a cupboard. Plain or glass-fronted corner cupboards may be found, and in some I have seen good pieces of old china, genuine stuff, not the reproductions which are to be seen so frequently nowadays.
Notwithstanding the fact that these things are highly prized and are regarded as heirlooms by their owners, I have known valuable cups and other articles to be in everyday use by both van and tent dwellers, and he would be a brave dealer who—in some cases at least—ventured a second time to attempt bargaining for possession.
“What a pity!” exclaims the connoisseur.
CARAVAN, SHOWING FIREPLACE.CARAVAN, SHOWING FIREPLACE.
CARAVAN, SHOWING FIREPLACE.
“Why shouldn’t I?” retorts the gypsy, “my people have always worked hard for all they’ve had, and so have I. If I love the beautiful shapes and colours of the old china that’s belonged to my people time out of mind, that’s more than these nobs would; they don’t care twopence for what’s beautiful in ’em, they only want ’em so they can say I’ve got something nobody else can get and it cost me hundreds of pounds.” The gypsy has a love for beauty of form, quaintness of design and richness of colour, and if his worldly goods are few, he still has hislares et penates, and if to use them in a legitimate way gives him pleasure, “why,” as he asks, “shouldn’t he?”
For the preservative painting and exterior decoration of the caravan, the most popular colours are green and yellow, a preference which may perhaps be attributed to a reflex action on the mind of predominant colours in nature they know and love so well.
Gypsies know well how to drive a bargain; despite this, or perhaps because of it, the cheapest colour is not always used, as the proprietor of the van has an eye to the lasting brilliance of the colour. I know of an instance when a colour dealer offered a Romany man a choice of lemon-coloured paints varying from fourpence to half a crown the pound, and although the van owner appeared to be a good deal exercised in mind asto the propriety of using a high-priced article, which in appearance seemed exactly like the low-priced, he eventually purchased the most expensive, it being explained to him that it would retain its original brilliance for years, while the lower qualities would probably fade in a short time. I did not see this van after it had been painted, but it was, I believe, entirely of the brightest lemon chrome procurable. As I have already indicated, green is favoured by many as the principal colour for the outside of the van, and in effect it is usually much less aggressive.
The Romany love of brilliant colour is, after all, but another Oriental characteristic which persists, and, upon reflection, one cannot fail to be impressed with the idea that it is not consistent to decry the taste of the Romanichal as barbarous and at the same time select a mustard colour for one’s own motor-car.
A GOOD TYPE OF CARAVAN.A GOOD TYPE OF CARAVAN.
A GOOD TYPE OF CARAVAN.
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, butthey 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 bythe “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 wasextremely 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,3hanging from a ‘hurt’ bush,”4and 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.
THE MAKER OF TOY CHAIRS.THE MAKER OF TOY CHAIRS.
THE MAKER OF TOY CHAIRS.
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 heruntainted 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 makingbabies’ 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 eldersinto 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 nextcamping 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 wouldhave 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 mightnot 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.
THE TRUE “PATERAN.THE TRUE “PATERAN.
THE TRUE “PATERAN.
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.
CAMP OF CLOTHES-PEG MAKERS.CAMP OF CLOTHES-PEG MAKERS.
CAMP OF CLOTHES-PEG MAKERS.
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 variedindefinitely, 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.
To me men are what they are.“To me men are what they are.They wear no masks with me.”Milnes.
“To me men are what they are.They wear no masks with me.”Milnes.
“To me men are what they are.They wear no masks with me.”Milnes.
“To me men are what they are.They wear no masks with me.”Milnes.
“To me men are what they are.
They wear no masks with me.”
Milnes.
In other ways, really in every way, excepting where met by laws which can be neither brokennor 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 multipliedad 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.
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 hopsand 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 thelimit 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 withlowered 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 sayhimadvisedly, 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 anotherdanced 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 theform 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 wasrendered 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 notreally 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 havethe 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 Inever 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.