December 1, 1873.
{Special Project Gutenberg note: In this book a lot
of non-European characters are used which cannot easily be
reproduced. Rather than omit these entirely I have commented
where they occur in the text. If there's sufficient demand
I'll try to produce an updated text with these characters.
David Price, 28 June 2000}
THE ENGLISH GYPSY LANGUAGE
The Gypsies of England call their language, as the
Gypsies of many other countries call theirs, Romany or
Romanes, a word either derived from the Indian Ram or
Rama, which signifies a husband, or from the town Rome,
which took its name either from the Indian Ram, or from the
Gaulic word, Rom, which is nearly tantamount to husband or
man, for as the Indian Ram means a husband or man, so does
the Gaulic Pom signify that which constitutes a man and
enables him to become a husband.
Before entering on the subject of the English Gypsy,
I may perhaps be expected to say something about the original Gypsy
tongue. It is, however, very difficult to say with certainty
anything on the subject. There can be no doubt that a
veritable Gypsy tongue at one time existed, but that it at present
exists there is great doubt indeed. The probability is that
the Gypsy at present exists only in dialects more or less like the
language originally spoken by the Gypsy or Zingaro race.
Several dialects of the Gypsy are to be found which still preserve
along with a considerable number of seemingly original words
certain curious grammatical forms, quite distinct from those of any
other speech. Others are little more than jargons, in which a
certain number of Gypsy words are accommodated to the grammatical
forms of the languages of particular countries. In the
foremost class of the purer Gypsy dialects, I have no hesitation in
placing those of Russia, Wallachia, Bulgaria, and
Transylvania. They are so alike, that he who speaks one of
them can make himself very well understood by those who speak any
of the rest; from whence it may reasonably be inferred that none of
them can differ much from the original Gypsy speech; so that when
speaking of Gypsy language, any one of these may be taken as a
standard. One of them - I shall not mention which - I have
selected for that purpose, more from fancy than any particular
reason.
The Gypsy language, then, or what with some
qualification I may call such, may consist of some three thousand
words, the greater part of which are decidedly of Indian origin,
being connected with the Sanscrit or some other Indian dialect; the
rest consist of words picked up by the Gypsies from various
languages in their wanderings from the East. It has two
genders, masculine and feminine; o represents the masculine
and i the feminine: for example, boro rye, a great
gentleman; bori rani, a great lady. There is properly
no indefinite article: gajo or gorgio, a man or
gentile; o gajo, the man. The noun has two numbers,
the singular and the plural. It has various cases formed by
postpositions, but has, strictly speaking, no genitive. It
has prepositions as well as postpositions; sometimes the
preposition is used with the noun and sometimes the postposition:
for example, cad o gav, from the town; chungale
mannochendar, evil men from, i.e. from evil men.
The verb has no infinitive; in lieu thereof, the conjunction 'that'
is placed before some person of some tense. 'I wish to go' is
expressed in Gypsy by camov te jaw, literally, I wish that I
go; thou wishest to go, caumes te jas, thou wishest that
thou goest; caumen te jallan, they wish that they go.
Necessity is expressed by the impersonal verb and the conjunction
'that': hom te jay, I must go; lit. I am that I go; shan
te jallan, they are that they go; and so on. There are
words to denote the numbers from one up to a thousand. For
the number nine there are two words, nu and
ennyo. Almost all the Gypsy numbers are decidedly
connected with the Sanscrit.
After these observations on what may be called the
best preserved kind of Gypsy, I proceed to a lower kind, that of
England. The English Gypsy speech is very scanty, amounting
probably to not more than fourteen hundred words, the greater part
of which seem to be of Indian origin. The rest form a strange
medley taken by the Gypsies from various Eastern and Western
languages: some few are Arabic, many are Persian; some are
Sclavo-Wallachian, others genuine Sclavonian. Here and there
a Modern Greek or Hungarian word is discoverable; but in the whole
English Gypsy tongue I have never noted but one French word -
namely, tass or dass, by which some of the very old
Gypsies occasionally call a cup.
Their vocabulary being so limited, the Gypsies have
of course words of their own only for the most common objects and
ideas; as soon as they wish to express something beyond these they
must have recourse to English, and even to express some very common
objects, ideas, and feelings, they are quite at a loss in their own
tongue, and must either employ English words or very vague terms
indeed. They have words for the sun and the moon, but they
have no word for the stars, and when they wish to name them in
Gypsy, they use a word answering to 'lights.' They have a
word for a horse and for a mare, but they have no word for a colt,
which in some other dialects of the Gypsy is called kuro;
and to express a colt they make use of the words tawno gry,
a little horse, which after all may mean a pony. They have
words for black, white, and red, but none for the less positive
colours - none for grey, green, and yellow. They have no
definite word either for hare or rabbit; shoshoi, by which
they generally designate a rabbit, signifies a hare as well, and
kaun-engro, a word invented to distinguish a hare, and which
signifies ear-fellow, is no more applicable to a hare than to a
rabbit, as both have long ears. They have no certain word
either for to-morrow or yesterday, collico signifying both
indifferently. A remarkable coincidence must here be
mentioned, as it serves to show how closely related are Sanscrit
and Gypsy. Shoshoi and collico are nearly of
the same sound as the Sanscrit sasa and kalya, and
exactly of the same import; for as the Gypsy shoshoi
signifies both hare and rabbit, and collico to-morrow as
well as yesterday, so does the Sanscrit sasa signify both
hare and rabbit, and kalya tomorrow as well as
yesterday.
The poverty of their language in nouns the Gypsies
endeavour to remedy by the frequent use of the word
engro. This word affixed to a noun or verb turns it into
something figurative, by which they designate, seldom very
appropriately, some object for which they have no positive
name. Engro properly means a fellow, and engri,
which is the feminine or neuter modification, a thing. When
the noun or verb terminates in a vowel, engro is turned into
mengro, and engri into mengri. I have
already shown how, by affixing engro to kaun, the
Gypsies have invented a word to express a hare. In like
manner, by affixing engro to pov, earth, they have
coined a word for a potato, which they call pov-engro or
pov-engri, earth-fellow or thing; and by adding engro to
rukh, or mengro to rooko, they have really a
very pretty figurative name for a squirrel, which they call
rukh-engro or rooko-mengro, literally a fellow of the
tree. Poggra-mengri, a breaking thing, and
pea-mengri, a drinking thing, by which they express,
respectively, a mill and a teapot, will serve as examples of the
manner by which they turn verbs into substantives. This
method of finding names for objects, for which there are properly
no terms in Gypsy, might be carried to a great length - much
farther, indeed, than the Gypsies are in the habit of carrying it:
a slack-rope dancer might be termed
bittitardranoshellokellimengro, or slightly-drawn-rope-dancing
fellow; a drum, duicoshtcurenomengri, or a thing beaten by
two sticks; a tambourine, angustrecurenimengri, or a thing
beaten by the fingers; and a fife, muipudenimengri, or thing
blown by the mouth. All these compound words, however, would
be more or less indefinite, and far beyond the comprehension of the
Gypsies in general.
The verbs are very few, and with two or three
exceptions expressive only of that which springs from what is
physical and bodily, totally unconnected with the mind, for which,
indeed, the English Gypsy has no word; the term used for mind,
zi - which is a modification of the Hungarian sziv -
meaning heart. There are such verbs in this dialect as to
eat, drink, walk, run, hear, see, live, die; but there are no such
verbs as to hope, mean, hinder, prove, forbid, teaze, soothe.
There is the verb apasavello, I believe; but that word,
which is Wallachian, properly means being trusted, and was
incorporated in the Gypsy language from the Gypsies obtaining goods
on trust from the Wallachians, which they never intended to pay
for. There is the verb for love, camova; but that word
is expressive of physical desire, and is connected with the
Sanscrit Cama, or Cupid. Here, however, the English
must not triumph over the Gypsies, as their own verb 'love' is
connected with a Sanscrit word signifying 'lust.' One pure
and abstract metaphysical verb the English Gypsy must be allowed to
possess - namely, penchava, I think, a word of illustrious
origin, being derived from the Persian pendashtan.
The English Gypsies can count up to six, and have the
numerals for ten and twenty, but with those for seven, eight, and
nine, perhaps not three Gypsies in England are acquainted.
When they wish to express those numerals in their own language,
they have recourse to very uncouth and roundabout methods, saying
for seven, dui trins ta yeck, two threes and one; for eight,
dui stors, or two fours; and for nine, desh sore but
yeck, or ten all but one. Yet at one time the English
Gypsies possessed all the numerals as their Transylvanian,
Wallachian, and Russian brethren still do; even within the last
fifty years there were Gypsies who could count up to a
hundred. These were tatchey Romany, real Gypsies, of
the old sacred black race, who never slept in a house, never
entered a church, and who, on their death-beds, used to threaten
their children with a curse, provided they buried them in a
churchyard. The two last of them rest, it is believed, some
six feet deep beneath the moss of a wild, hilly heath, - called in
Gypsy the Heviskey Tan, or place of holes; in English,
Mousehold, - near an ancient city, which the Gentiles call Norwich,
and the Romans the Chong Gav, or the town of the hill.
With respect to Grammar, the English Gypsy is perhaps
in a worse condition than with respect to words. Attention is
seldom paid to gender; boro rye and boro rawnie being
said, though as rawnie is feminine, bori and not
boro should be employed. The proper Gypsy plural
terminations are retained in nouns, but in declension prepositions
are generally substituted for postpositions, and those prepositions
English. The proper way of conjugating verbs is seldom or
never observed, and the English method is followed. They say,
I dick, I see, instead of dico; I dick'd, I
saw, instead of dikiom; if I had dick'd, instead of
dikiomis. Some of the peculiar features of Gypsy
grammar yet retained by the English Gypsies will be found noted in
the Dictionary.
I have dwelt at some length on the deficiencies and
shattered condition of the English Gypsy tongue; justice, however,
compels me to say that it is far purer and less deficient than
several of the continental Gypsy dialects. It preserves far
more of original Gypsy peculiarities than the French, Italian, and
Spanish dialects, and its words retain more of the original Gypsy
form than the words of those three; moreover, however scanty it may
be, it is far more copious than the French or the Italian Gypsy,
though it must be owned that in respect to copiousness it is
inferior to the Spanish Gypsy, which is probably the richest in
words of all the Gypsy dialects in the world, having names for very
many of the various beasts, birds, and creeping things, for most of
the plants and fruits, for all the days of the week, and all the
months in the year; whereas most other Gypsy dialects, the English
amongst them, have names for only a few common animals and insects,
for a few common fruits and natural productions, none for the
months, and only a name for a single day - the Sabbath - which name
is a modification of the Modern Greek [Greek text: ].
Though the English Gypsy is generally spoken with a
considerable alloy of English words and English grammatical forms,
enough of its proper words and features remain to form genuine
Gypsy sentences, which shall be understood not only by the Gypsies
of England, but by those of Russia, Hungary, Wallachia, and even of
Turkey; for example:-
Kek man camov te jib bolli-mengreskoenaes,
Man camov te jib weshenjugalogonaes.
I do not wish to live like a baptized person.
{1}
I wish to live like a dog of the wood. {2}
It is clear-sounding and melodious, and well adapted
to the purposes of poetry. Let him who doubts peruse
attentively the following lines:-
Coin si deya, coin se dado?
Pukker mande drey Romanes,
Ta mande pukkeravava tute.
Rossar-mescri minri deya!
Wardo-mescro minro dado!
Coin se dado, coin si deya?
Mande's pukker'd tute drey Romanes;
Knau pukker tute mande.
Petulengro minro dado,
Purana minri deya!
Tatchey Romany si men -
Mande's pukker'd tute drey Romanes,
Ta tute's pukker'd mande.
The first three lines of the above ballad are perhaps
the oldest specimen of English Gypsy at present extant, and perhaps
the purest. They are at least as old as the time of
Elizabeth, and can pass among the Zigany in the heart of Russia for
Ziganskie. The other lines are not so ancient. The
piece is composed in a metre something like that of the ancient
Sclavonian songs, and contains the questions which two strange
Gypsies, who suddenly meet, put to each other, and the answers
which they return.
In using the following Vocabulary the Continental
manner of pronouncing certain vowels will have to be observed: thus
ava must be pronounced like auva, according to the
English style; ker like kare, miro like meero,
zi like zee, and puro as if it were written
pooro.
ROMANO LAVO-LIL - WORD-BOOK OF THE ROMANY
A
ABRI, ad. prep. Out, not within, abroad:
soving abri, sleeping abroad, not in a house. Celtic,
Aber (the mouth or outlet of a river).
Acai / Acoi, ad. Here.
Adje, v. n. To stay, stop.
See Atch, az.
Adrey, prep. Into.
Ajaw, ad. So. Wallachian,
Asha.
Aladge, a. Ashamed.
Sans. Latch, laj.
Aley, ad. Down: soving aley, lying down;
to kin aley, to buy off, ransom. Hun. Ala,
alat.
Amande, pro. pers. dat. To me.
An, v. a. imp. Bring: an lis
opré, bring it up.
Ana, v. a. Bring.
Sans. Ani.
Ando, prep. In.
Anglo, prep. Before.
Apasavello, v. n. I believe.
Apopli, ad. Again. Spanish
Gypsy, Apala (after). Wal. Apoi (then,
afterwards).
Apré, ad. prep. Up: kair lis
apré, do it up. Vid. Opré.
Aranya / Araunya, s. Lady.
Hungarian Gypsy, Aranya. See Rawnie.
Artav / Artavello, v. a. To
pardon, forgive. Wal. Ierta. Span.
Gyp. Estomar.
Artapen, s. Pardon, forgiveness.
Artáros. Arthur.
Asā / Asau, ad. Also, likewise,
too: meero pal asau, my brother also.
Asarlas, ad. At all, in no manner.
Asa. An affix used in forming the second person
singular of the present tense; e.g. camasa, thou lovest.
Astis, a. Possible, it is possible:
astis mangué, I can; astis lengué, they can.
Ashā / Ashaw, ad. So: ashaw sorlo,
so early. Wal. Asha. See Ajaw.
Atch, v. n. To stay, stop.
Atch opré. Keep up.
Atraish, a. part. Afraid.
Sans. Tras (to fear), atrāsït
(frightened). See Traish.
Av, imperat. of Ava, to come: av abri, come
out.
Ava, ad. Yes. Sans.
Eva.
Ava, v. a. To come.
Avata acoi. Come thou here.
Avali, ad. Yes. Wal. Aieva
(really).
Avava. An affix by which the future tense of a
verb is formed, e.g. mor-avava, I will kill.
See Vava.
Aukko, ad. Here.
Az, v. n. To stay.
B
BAL, s. Hair. Tibetian, Bal
(wool). Sans. Bala (hair).
Baleneskoe, a. Hairy.
Balormengro. A hairy fellow; Hearne, the name
of a Gypsy tribe.
Balanser, s. The coin called a
sovereign.
Ballivas, s. Bacon. Span.
Gyp. Balibá.
Bangalo, a. Devilish. See
Beng, bengako.
Bango, a. Left, sinister, wrong, false:
bango wast, the left hand; to saulohaul bango, like a
plastra-mengro, to swear bodily like a Bow-street runner.
Sans. Pangu (lame). Hun. Pang,
pangó (stiff, lazy, paralysed).
Bar, s. A stone, a stoneweight, a pound
sterling. Span. Gyp. Bar. Hun. Gyp.
Bar. Hindustani, Puthur. Wal.
Piatre. Fr. Pierre. Gr.
[Greek: ] (weight).
Bareskey, a. Stony.
Bark, s. Breast, woman's breast.
Bas / Base, s. Pound sterling.
Wal. Pes (a weight, burden).
Bas-engro, s. A shepherd.
Run. Bacso.
Bashadi, s. A fiddle.
Bata, s. A bee. Sans.
Pata.
Bau, s. Fellow, comrade.
See Baw.
Baul, s. Snail. See
Bowle.
Baulo, s. Pig, swine. The proper
meaning of this word is anything swollen, anything big or
bulky. It is connected with the English bowle or bole, the
trunk of a tree; also with bowl, boll, and belly; also with whale,
the largest of fish, and wale, a tumour; also with the Welsh
bol, a belly, and bala, a place of springs and
eruptions. It is worthy of remark that the English word pig,
besides denoting the same animal as baulo, is of the same
original import, being clearly derived from the same root as big,
that which is bulky, and the Turkish buyuk, great, huge,
vast.
Baulie-mas, s. Pork, swine's flesh.
Bavano. Windy, broken-winded.
Bavol, s. Wind, air.
Sans. Pavana. See Beval.
Bavol-engro, s. A wind-fellow;
figurative name for a ghost.
Baw, bau, s. Fellow, comrade: probably
the same as the English country-word baw, bor.
Ger. Bauer. Av acoi, baw, Come here, fellow.
Boer, in Wallachian, signifies a boyard or lord.
Beano, part. pass. Born.
Beano abri. Born out of doors, like a Gypsy or
vagrant.
Bebee, s. Aunt. Rus. Baba
(grandmother, old woman, hag); Baba Yagā, the female demon of
the Steppes.
Beng / Bengui,s. Devil.
Sans. Pangka (mud). According to the Hindu
mythology, there is a hell of mud; the bengues of the Gypsies seem
to be its tenants.
Bengako tan, s. Hell. Lit. place
belonging to devils.
Bengeskoe potan. Devil's tinder, sulphur.
Bengeskoe / Benglo, a. Devilish.
Bengree, s. Waistcoat. Span.
Gyp. Blani. Wal. (Blāni fur).
Berro, béro, s. A ship, a hulk
for convicts. Span. Gyp. Bero, las galeras, the
galleys; presidio, convict garrison.
Ber-engro, s. A sailor.
Bero-rukh, s. A mast.
Bersh / Besh, s. A year.
Sans. Varsha. He could cour drey his besh, he could fight
in his time.
Bershor, pl. Years.
Besh, v. n. To sit: beshel, he sits.
Beshaley / Beshly, Gypsy name of the Stanley
tribe.
Besh-engri, s. A chair. See
Skammen.
Beti, a. Little, small.
Beval, s. Wind. See
Bavol.
Bi, prep. Without: bi luvvu, without
money.
Bicunyie, a. Alone, undone: meklis
or mukalis bicunyie, let it alone.
Bikhin / Bin v. a. To sell.
Hin. Bikna.
Bikhnipen, s. Sale.
Birk, s. Woman's breast.
See Bark.
Bis, a. Twenty.
Bisheni, s. The ague.
Bitch / Bitcha, v. a. To send.
Sans. Bis, bisa.
Bitched / Bitcheno, part. pass. Sent
Bitcheno pawdel. Sent across, transported.
Bitti, s. a. Small, piece, a
little. This word is not true Gypsy.
Bloen / Blowing, A cant word, but of Gypsy origin,
signifying a sister in debauchery, as Pal denotes a brother in
villainy. It is the Plani and Beluñi of the Spanish
Gypsies, by whom sometimes Beluñi is made to signify queen;
e.g. Beluñi de o tarpe (tem opré), the Queen
of Heaven, the Virgin. Blower is used by Lord Byron, in his
'Don Juan.' Speaking of the highwayman whom the Don shoots in
the vicinity of London, he says that he used to go to such-and-such
places of public resort with - his blowen.
Bob, s. A bean. Wal. Bob:
pl. bobbis, bobs.
Boccalo, a. Hungry: boccalé pers,
hungry bellies.
Bokht, s. Luck, fortune: kosko bokht,
good luck. Sans. Bhãgya. Pers.
Bakht.
Bokra, s. A sheep. Hun.
Birka.
Bokra-choring. Sheep-stealing.
Bokkar-engro, s. A shepherd:
bokkar-engro drey, the dude, man in the moon.
Bokkari-gueri, s. Shepherdess.
Bokkeriskoe, a. Sheepish, belonging to a
sheep: bokkeriskey piré, sheep's feet.
Bolla, v. a. To baptize.
Bonnek, s. Hold: lel bonnek, to take
hold.
Booko, s. Liver. See
Bucca.
Bolleskoe divvus. Christmas-day; query,
baptismal day. Wal. Botez (baptism).
Bollimengreskoenaes. After the manner of a
Christian.
Boogones, s. Smallpox, pimples.
See Bugnior.
Bor, s. A hedge.
Boona, a. Good. Lat. Bonus.
Wal. Boun.
Booty, s. Work.
Bori, a. fem. Big with child,
enceinte.
Booty, v. a. To work, labour.
Boro, a. Great, big. Hin.
Bura. Mod. Gr. [Greek: ] (heavy).
Borobeshemeskeguero, s. Judge,
great-sitting-fellow.
Boro Gav. London, big city. See
Lundra.
Boronashemeskrutan. Epsom race-course.
Bosh, s. Fiddle. Pers.
[Persian: ] Bazee, baz (play, joke), whence the English cant word
'bosh.' See Bashadi.
Boshomengro, s. Fiddler.
Bosno / Boshno, s. A cock,
male-bird. Sans. Puchchin. Wal. Bosh
(testicle). Gaelic, Baois (libidinousness).
Boshta, s. A saddle.
Bostaris, s. A bastard.
Bovalo, a. Rich. Sans. Bala
(strong).
Bowle, s. Snail. See
Baul.
Brishen / Brisheno, s. Rain.
Hun. Gyp. Breshino. Sans. Vrish. Mod.
Gr. [Greek: ].
Brisheneskey, a. Rainy: brisheneskey
rarde, a rainy night; brisheneskey chiros, a time of rain.
Mod. Gr. [Greek: ].
Bucca, s. Liver. Sans.
Bucca (heart). Wal. Phikat.
Bucca naflipen, s. Liver-complaint.
Buchee, s. Work, labour.
See Butsi.
Buddigur, s. A shop.
Span. Bodega.
Buddikur divvus, s. Shopping-day:
Wednesday, Saturday.
Bugnes / Bugnior, s. pl. Smallpox,
blisters. Gael. Boc (a pimple), bolg (a blister),
bolgach (small-pox). Wal. Mougour (a bud).
Fr. Bourgeon.
Buklo, a. Hungry: buklo tan, hungry
spot, a common. Hun. Gyp. Buklo tan (a
wilderness).
Bul, s. Rump, buttock.
Bungshoror / Bungyoror,s. pl. Corks.
Busnis / Busnior, s. pl. Spurs,
prickles. Mod. Gr. [Greek: ] (pain, torment).
Buroder, ad. More: ad. ne
buroder, no more.
Bute, a. ad. Much, very.
Hin. Būt.
Butsi / Buty, s. Work, labour.
Butying. Working.
C
CAEN / Cane, v. n. To stink.
Caenipen / Canipen, s. A stench.
Caeninaflipen, s. Stinking sickness, the
plague, gaol-fever. The old cant word Canihen, signifying the
gaol-fever, is derived from this Gypsy term.
Candelo / Cannelo, a. Stinking: cannelo
mas, stinking meat. Sans. Gandha (smell).
Callico / Collico, s. To-morrow, also
yesterday: collico sorlo, to-morrow morning. Sans.
Kalya. Hin. Kal (to-morrow, yesterday).
Cana, ad. Now: cana sig, now soon.
See Kanau, knau.
Cam, s. The sun. Hin.
Khan. Heb. Khama (the sun), kham (heat).
Cam. To wish, desire, love.
Cam / Camello / Camo,v. a. To
love. Sans. Cama (love). Cupid; from which
Sanscrit word the Latin Amor is derived.
Cambori / Cambri, a. Pregnant, big with
child.
Camlo / Caumlo, Lovel, name of a Gypsy tribe.
Lit. amiable. With this word the English "comely" is
connected.
Camo-mescro, s. A lover; likewise the
name Lovel.
Can, s. The sun.
Can, s. An ear. See
Kaun.
Cana, ad. Now: cana sig, now soon.
See Kanau.
Canáfi / Canapli, Turnip.
Canairis. A Gypsy name.
Canior / Caunor, s. pl. Pease.
Canni. A hen. Span. Gyp.
Cañi. Hun. Gyp. Cackni. Gael.
Cearc.
Cannis. Hens.
Cappi, s. Booty, gain, fortune: to lel
cappi, to acquire booty, make a capital, a fortune.
Cas, s. Hay: cas-stiggur, haystack; cas
kairing, hay-making.
Cas, s. Cheese. Lat.
Caseus. This word is used by the pikers or tramps, as well as
by the Gypsies. See Kael.
Catches / Catsau, s. pl. Scissors.
Hun. Kasza. Wal. Kositsie (sickle).
Mod. Gr. [Greek: ] Rus. Kosa.
Cato, prep. To; more properly
From. Hun. Gyp. Cado. Wal. Katre
(towards).
Cavo, pron. dem. This.
Cavocoi. This here.
Cavocoiskoenoes. In this manner.
Caur, v. a. To filch, steal in an artful
manner by bending down. Heb. [Hebrew: ] Cara,
incurvavit se. Eng. Cower.
Cayes, s. Silk. Pers.
[Persian:] Span. Gyp. Quequesa. Sans.
Kauseya.
Chal, s. Lad, boy, son, fellow.
Connected with this word is the Scottish Chiel, the Old English
Childe, and the Russian Chelovik. See Romani chal.
Cháro, s. Plate, dish.
Chavali, s.f. Girl, damsel.
Chavi, s.f. Child, girl, daughter.
Cham, s. Leather: chameskie rokunies,
leather breeches. Sans. Charma (skin).
Chavo, s. m. Child, son: pl.
chaves. Cheaus is an old French hunting term for the young
ones of a fox.
Charos / Cheros, s. Heaven.
Wal. Cher.
Chauvo, s. See Chavo.
Chaw, s. Grass.
Chawhoktamengro, s. Grasshopper.
See Hokta.
Chee, a. No,none: chee butsi, no
work. See Chi, chichi.
Chericlo, s. Bird. See
Chiriclo.
Chiricleskey tan, s. Aviary,
birdcage.
Chi, s.f. Child, daughter, girl: Romany
chi, Gypsy girl.
Chi / Chichi / Chiti, s. Nothing.
Chin, v. a. To cut: chin lis tuley, cut
it down. Sans. Chun (to cut off). Hin.
Chink. Gaelic, Sgian (a knife).
Chin the cost. To cut the stick; to cut skewers
for butchers and pegs for linen-lines, a grand employment of the
Gypsy fellows in the neighbourhood of London.
China-mengri, s.f. A letter; a thing
incised, marked, written in.
China-mengro, s. Hatchet. Lit.
cutting-thing.
Chinipen, s. A cut.
Ching / Chingaro, v. a. To fight,
quarrel.
Chinga-guero, s. A warrior.
Chingaripen, s. War, strife.
Sans. Sangara.
Chingring, part. pres. Fighting,
quarrelling.
Chik, s. Earth, dirt. Span.
Gyp. Chique. Hin. Chikkar.
Chiklo, a. Dirty.
Chiriclo, s. m. Bird. Hin.
Chiriya.
Chiricli, s.f. Hen-bird.
Chiros, s. Time. Mod. Gr.
[Greek: ].
Chiv / Chiva / Chuva, v. a. To cast,
fling, throw, place, put: chiv lis tuley, fling it down; chiv
oprey, put up. Rus. Kyio (to forge, cast iron).
Sans. Kship.
Chiving tulipen prey the chokkars. Greasing the
shoes.
Chofa, s.f. Petticoat.
Chohawni, s. Witch. See
Chovahano.
Chohawno, s. Wizard.
Chok, s. Watch, watching.
Chok-engro, s. Watchman.
Chok, s. Shoe: chokkor, chokkors,
shoes. Hun. Czókó (wooden shoe).
Choko-mengro. Shoemaker.
Choka, s. Coat.
Chokni / Chukni, s. Whip.
Wal. Chokini (a strap, leather). Hun.
Csakany (a mace, sledge hammer). Hun. Gyp. Chokano (a
staff). Wal. Chokan, chokinel (a hammer).
Chukni wast, s. The whip-hand, the
mastery.
Chollo, a. s. Whole.
Chomany, s. Something. Span.
Gyp. Cormuñi (some); chimoni (anything).
Wal. Chineba (some one). For every chomany there's
a lav in Romany: there's a name in Gypsy for everything.
Chong, s. Knee. Hun.
Czomb. Sans. Chanu. Lat. Genu.
Chongor, pl. Knees.
Choom / Choomava, v. a. To kiss.
Sans. Chumb. Choomande, kiss me. Span.
Gyp. Chupendi (a kiss), a corruption of Choomande.
Choomia, s. A kiss.
Choomo-mengro, one of the tribe Boswell.
Choon, s. Moon. Hun. Gyp.
Chemut. Sans. Chandra.
Choot, s. Vinegar. See
Chute.
Chore, v. a. To steal.
Sans. Chur.
Chore, s. Thief. Hin.
Chor.
Chories, pl. Thieves.
Chor-dudee-mengri, s. [Greek: ]
(thieves' lantern, dark lantern).
Choredo, a. Poor, poverty stricken.
Sans. Dāridra.
Choredi, fem. of Choredo.
Choriness, s. Poverty.
Choro, a. Poor. Span. Gyp.
Chororo. Hin. Shor.
Chovahan, v. a. To bewitch.
Chovahani / Chowián, s.f.
Witch.
Chovahano, s. Wizard.
Choveno, a. Poor, needy, starved.
Perhaps derived from the Russian Tchernoe (black, dirty, wretched);
or from the Hungarian Csunya (hateful, frightful); whence the
Chungalo of the Hungarian, and also of the Spanish Gypsies.
Choveni, fem. of Choveno.
Choveno ker, s. Workhouse,
poorhouse.
Chukkal, s. Dog. Span. Gyp.
Chuquel. Sans. Kukkura. Basque,
Chacurra. See Juggal.
Chumba, s. Bank, hill.
Russ. Xolm (a hill).
Chungarava / Chungra,v. a. To spit.
Wal. Ckouina. Hun. Gyp. Chudel (he
spits).
Churi, s. Knife. Sans.
Chhuri. Hin. Churi.
Churi-mengro, s. Knife-grinder,
cutler.
Churo-mengro, s. A soldier,
swordsman.
Chute, s. Vinegar. Mod. Gr.
[Greek: ] Wal. Otset.
Chute-pavi, s. Cyder; perhaps a
crab-apple. Lit. vinegar-apple.
Chuvvenhan, s. Witch. See
Chovahani.
Cinerella. Female Gypsy name.
Cocal, s. Bone. Mod. Gr.
[Greek: ]
Cocalor, pl. Bones.
Coco / Cocodus, s. Uncle.
Hin. Caucau.
Cocoro / Cocoros, a. pro. Alone, self:
tu cocoro, thyself.
Coin, pro. interrog. Who?
Hin. Kaun.
Collor, s. pl. Shillings: dui collor a
crookos, two shillings a week. In Spanish Germania or cant,
two ochavos, or farthings, are called: dui calés.
Comorrus, s. A room, hall.
Hun. Kamara. Hin. Cumra. Ger.
Kammer.
Cong, congl, v. a. To comb.
Congli / Congro, s.f. A comb.
Sans. Kanagata.
Congri, s.f. A church.
Coor / Coorava, v. a. To fight.
Irish, Comhrac [courac]. Welsh, Curaw (to
beat).
Coorapen, s. Fight, a beating: I shall
lel a curapen, I shall get a beating.
Cooroboshno, s. A fighting cock.
Cooromengro, s. Fighter, boxer,
soldier.
Coppur, s. Blanket. Rus.
Kovér (a carpet). Wal. Kovor, id.
Corauni / Corooni, s. A crown:
mekrauliskie corauni, royal crown. Wal. Coroan.
Cori, s. Thorn. Membrum
virile. Span. Carajo [caraco]. Gascon,
Quirogau.
Coro / Coru, s. Pot, pitcher, cup: coru
levinor, cup of ale; boro coro, a quart. Span. Gyp.
Coro. Hin. Gharã.
Coro-mengro, s. Potter.
Coro-mengreskey tem. Staffordshire.
Corredo, a. Blind. Span.
Gyp. Corroro. Pers. [Persian:] Wal.
Kior (one-eyed).
Cosht / Cost, s. Stick.
Sans. Kāshtha.
Cost-engres, s. pl. Branch-fellows,
people of the New Forest, Stanleys.
Coshtno, a. Wooden.
Covar / Covo, s. Thing: covars, things;
covar-bikhning-vardo, acaravan in which goods are carried about for
sale.
Crafni, s. Button. Ger.
Knopf.
Crafni-mengro, s. Buttonmaker.
Creeor, s. pl. Ants, pismires.
Span. Gyp. Ocrianse (the ant), quiria (ant).
Cricni / Crookey / Crookauros / Crookos,
s. Week. See Curco.
Cuesni, s. Basket. See
Cushnee.
Culvato (Gypsy name). Claude.
Curaken, s. Fighting. See
Coorapen.
Curepen, s. Trouble, affliction:
curepenis, afflictions.
Curkey / Curko, s. Week, Sunday.
Mod. Gr. [Greek: ]
Curlo, s. Throat.
Pers. [Persian: ] Chin his curlo, cut his throat.
Curlo-mengri, s. A ruff, likewise a
pillow; anything belonging to the throat or neck.
Cushnee / Cushni / Cusnee, s. Basket.
Wal. Koshnitse.
Cuttor, s. A piece, a guinea-piece: dui
cuttor, two guineas; will you lel a cuttor, will you take a bit?
sore in cuttors, all in rags.
D
DAD, s. Father. Welsh,
Tâd. Wal. Tat. Rus. Gyp.
Dad.
Dado, s. Father. Rus. Gyp.
Dado.
Dand, s. Tooth. Sans.
Danta.
Danior, pl. Teeth.
Dand, v. a. To bite.
Daya / Dieya, s. Mother, properly
nurse. Sans. Dhayas (fostering). Pers.
[Persian: ] Daya. Mod. Gr. [Greek: ].
Rus. Gyp. Daia. Wal. Doika.
Deav, v. a. Give. Sans.
Dā. Wal. Da.
Del. He gives.
Del-engro, s. A kicking-horse.
Del-oprey, v. a. To read.
Denne, ad. Than.
Der. An affix, by which the
comparative is formed; e.g. Wafodu, bad:
wafodúder than dovor, worse than they.
Desch, a. Ten. Sans. Dasan.
Wal. Zetche.
Desh ta yeck. Eleven.
Desh ta dui. Twelve.
Desh ta trin. Thirteen.
Desh ta store. Fourteen.
Desh ta pansch. Fifteen.
Desh ta sho. Sixteen.
Desh ta eft. Seventeen.
Deshko. Eighteen (?): deshko hori,
eighteenpence; properly, Desh ta octo hori.
Devel, s. God. Sans.
Deva. Lith. Dēwas. Lat. Deus.
See Dibble, Dovvel, Dubbel.
Develeskoe, s. Holy, divine.
Sans. Deva.
Deyed, pret. of Deav. He gave.
Dibble, s. God. See
Devel.
Dic / Dico, v. n. To look: dic tuley,
look down; dicking misto, looking well. Sans. Iksh (to
see, look). Gaelic, Dearcam (to see); dearc (eye).
Dickimengro, s. Overlooker,
overseer.
Dicking hev, s. A window,
seeing-hole.
Die, s. Mother. Rus. Gyp.
Die. See Daya.
Dikkipen, s. Look, image.
Sans. Driksha (aspect). Welsh, Drych (aspect).
Diklo, s. Cloth, sheet, shift.
Dinnelo, s. A fool, one possessed by the
devil. Wal. Diniele (of the devil); louat diniele
(possessed by the devil).
Dinneleskoe, a. Foolish.
Dinneleskoenoes. Like a fool.
Dinnelipénes, s. pl. Follies,
nonsense.
Diverous. A Gypsy name.
Diviou, a. Mad: jawing diviou, going
mad. Sans. Déva (a god, a fool).
Diviou-ker, s. Madhouse.
Diviou kokkodus Artáros. Mad Uncle
Arthur.
Divvus, s. Day. Sans.
Divasa.
Divveskoe / Divvuskoe, a. Daily:
divvuskoe morro, daily bread.
Diximengro, s. Overseer.
See Dickimengro.
Dook, v. a. To hurt, bewitch: dook the
gry, bewitch the horse. Wal. Deokira (to fascinate,
bewitch). See Duke, dukker.
Dooriya / Dooya, s. Sea.
Pers. [Persian: ] Irish, Deire (the
deep). Welsh, Dwr (water). Old Irish,
Dobhar.
Dooriya durril, s.
Currant, plum. Lit. Sea-berry.
Dooriya durrileskie guyi, s. Plum
pudding.
Dori, s. Thread, lace: kaulo dori, black
lace. Hin. Dora.
Dosch / Dosh, s. Evil, harm: kek dosh,
no harm. Sans. Dush (bad).
Dosta, s. Enough.
Wal. Destoul. Rus. Dostaet (it is
sufficient). See Dusta.
Dou, imp. Give: dou mande, give
me. See Deav.
Dou dass. Cup and saucer. See Dui
das.
Dovo, pro. dem. That: dovó si,
that's it.
Dovor. Those, they: wafodúder than
dovor, worse than they.
Dov-odoy / Dovoy-oduvva, ad. Yonder.
Dov-odoyskoenaes. In that manner.
Doovel, s. God. See
Duvvel.
Drab / Drav, s. Medicine, poison.
Pers. [Persian: ] Daru. Wal. Otrav.
Drab-engro / Drav-engro, s. A pothecary,
poison-monger.
Drab, v. a. To poison. Wal.
Otribi.
Drey, prep. In.
Dubble, s. God: my dearie Dubbleskey,
for my dear God's sake.
Dude, s. The moon.
Dudee, s. A light, a star. Sans.
Dyuti.
Dude-bar, s. Diamond, light-stone.
Drom, s. Road. Wal. Drom.
Mod. Gr. [Greek: ]
Drom-luring, s. Highway robbery.
Dui, a. Two.
Duito, s. Second.
Duito divvus, s. Tuesday.
Lit. Second day.
Dui das / Dui tas, s. Cup and
saucer.
Duke, v. a. To hurt, bewitch.
Sans. Duhkha (pain). Heb. Dui (languor, deadly
faintness).
Dukker, v. a. To bewitch, tell
fortunes. Wal. Deokiea (to fascinate, enchant).
Dukker drey my vast. Tell my fortune by my
hand.
Dukkering, s. Fortune-telling.
Wal. Deokiere (fascination). Mod. Gr.
[Greek: ] (fortune).
Dukkipen, s. Fortune-telling.
Dukker, v. n. To ache: my sherro
dukkers, my head aches. See Duke, dukker.
Dum / Dumo, s. Black. Pers.
[Persian: ] (tail).
Dur, ad. Far. Sans.
Dur. Pers. [Persian: ]
Dur-dicki mengri, s. Telescope.
Lit. far-seeing-thing.
Durro, ad. Far.
Durro-der, ad. Farther.
Durriken, s. Fortune-telling.
Durril, s. Any kind of berry, a
gooseberry in particular.
Durrilau / Durilyor, pl.
Berries.
Durrileskie guyi, s. Gooseberry
pudding.
Dusta, a. s. Enough, plenty: dusta foky,
plenty of people. See Dosta.
Duvvel, s. God.
E
EANGE, s. Itch.
Ebyok, s. The sea. Sans.
Aapa (water). Wal. Ape.
Eft, a. Seven. Few of the English
Gypsies are acquainted with this word; consequently, the
generality, when they wish to express the number seven, without
being understood by the Gorgios or Gentiles, say Dui trins ta yeck,
two threes and one.
En. A kind of genitive particle used in
compound words, being placed between a noun and the particle 'gro'
or 'guero,' which signifies a possessor, or that which governs a
thing or has to do with it: e.g. lav-en-gro, a linguist or
man of words, lit. word-of-fellow; wesh-en-gro, a forester, or one
who governs the wood; gurush-en-gre, things costing a groat, lit.
groat-of-things.
Engri. A neuter affix, composed of the
particles 'en' and 'gro,' much used in the formation of figurative
terms for things for which there are no positive names in English
Gypsy: for example, yag-engri, a fire-thing, which denotes a gun;
poggra-mengri, a breaking-thing or mill; 'engri' is changed into
'mengri' when the preceding word terminates in a vowel.
Engro. A masculine affix, used in the
formation of figurative names; for example, kaun-engro, an
ear-fellow, or creature with ears, serving to denote a hare;
ruk-engro, or ruko-mengro, a tree-fellow, denoting a squirrel; it
is also occasionally used in names for inanimate objects, as
pov-engro, an earth-thing or potato. See Guero.
Escunyo, s. A wooden skewer, a
pin. Span. Gyp. Chingabar (a pin).
Escunyes, pl. Skewers.
Escunye-mengro, s. A maker of
skewers.
Eskoe, fem. Eskie. A particle
which affixed to a noun turns it into an adjective: e.g.
Duvel, God; duveleskoe, divine. It seems to be derived from
the Wal. Esk, Easkie.
Eskey. An affix or postposition,
signifying, for the sake of: e.g. Mi-dubble-eskey, for God's
sake.
Ever-komi, ad. Evermore.
F
FAKE, v. a. To work, in a dishonest
sense; to steal, pick pockets.
Fakement, s. A robbery, any kind of
work: a pretty fakement that, a pretty piece of work. A
scoundrel - you ratfelo fakement, you precious scoundrel; a man of
any kind - he's no bad fakement after all; a girl, St. Paul's
Cathedral - what a rinkeny fakement, what a pretty girl, what a
noble church.
Fashono, a. False, fashioned, made up.
Wal. Fatche (to make); fatze (face, surface).
Fashono wangustis. Pretended gold rings, made
in reality of brass or copper.
Fashono wangust engre. Makers of false
rings.
Fenella. A female Gypsy name.
Ferreder, a. Better, more.
Gaelic, Feairde.
Fetér, ad. Better.
Pers. [Persian: ] Span. Gyp. Fetér.
Figis, s. Fig.
Figis-rookh, s. Fig-tree.
Filisen, s. Country-seat.
Fino, a. Fine. This word is not
pure Gypsy: fino covar, a fine thing.
Floure, s. Flower; a female Gypsy
name.
Fordel, v. a. Forgive; generally used
for Artav, or Artavello, q.v., and composed of the English
'for' and the Gypsy 'del.'
Fordias / Fordios,part. pass.
Forgiven.
Foros, s. City. See
Vauros.
Ful, s. Dung: ful-vardo, muck cart.
Fuzyanri, s. Fern. Hun.
Füz (willow), fácska (a shrub), füszár (a
stem).
G
GAD, s. A shirt: pauno gad, a clean
shirt.
Gare, v. n., v. a. To take care, beware;
to hide, conceal. Sans. Ghar, to cover.
Garridan. You hid: luvvu sor garridan, the
money which you hid.
Garrivava, v. a. I hide or shall hide,
take care: to gare his nangipen, to hide his nakedness.
Gav, s. A town, village.
Pers. [Persian: ]
Gav-engro, s. A constable, village
officer, beadle, citizen.
Gillie, s. A song. Sans.
Khëli.
Gillies. Songs. Sometimes used to denote
newspapers; because these last serve, as songs did in the old time,
to give the world information of remarkable events, such as
battles, murders, and robberies.
Gilyava. I sing, or shall sing.
Hin. Guywuya. Mod. Gr. [Greek: ].
Gin, v. a. To count, reckon.
Sans. Gan. Hin. Ginna.
Ginnipen, s. A reckoning.
Giv, s. Wheat. Sans. Yava
(barley). See Jobis.
Giv-engro, s. Wheat-fellow, figurative
name for farmer.
Giv-engro ker, s. Farmhouse.
Giv-engro puv, s. Farm.
Godli, s. A warrant, perhaps hue and
cry. See Gudlie. Span. Gyp. Gola
(order).
Gono, s. A sack. Hin.
Gon.
Gorgio, s. A Gentile, a person who is
not a Gypsy; one who lives in a house and not in a tent. It
is a modification of the Persian word [Persian: ] Cojia, which
signifies a gentleman, a doctor, a merchant, etc. Span.
Gyp. Gacho.
Gorgiken rat. Of Gentile blood.
Gorgie, s. A female Gentile or
Englishwoman.
Gorgikonaes, ad. After the manner of the
Gentiles.
Gooee, s. Pudding. See
Guyi.
Gran, s. A barn: I sov'd yeck rarde drey
a gran, I slept one night within a barn (Gypsy song).
Gran-wuddur, s. A barn door.
Gran-wuddur-chiriclo. Barn-door fowl.
Grasni / Grasnakkur,s. Mare, outrageous
woman: what a grasni shan tu, what a mare you are! Grasnakkur
is sometimes applied to the mayor of a town.
Grestur / Gristur, s. A horse.
Span. Gyp. Gras, graste.
Gry, s. A horse. Sans.
Kharu. Hin. Ghora. Irish and Scottish
Gaelic, Greadh.
Gry-choring, s. Horse-stealing.
Gry-engro, s. Horse-dealer.
Gry-nashing. Horse-racing.
Gudlee / Godli, s. Cry, noise,
shout. Hin. Ghooloo. Irish,
Gúl. Rus. Gyl=gool (shout); Gólos
(voice).
Grommena / Grovena / Grubbena, s. andv.
Thunder, to thunder. Sans. Garjana. Rus.
Groin (thunder). Heb. Ream, raemah.
Gaelic, Gairm (a cry).
Gudlo, a., s. Sweet; honey, sugar.
Gudlo-pishen, s. Honey-insect,
bee. See Bata.
Gué. An affix, by which the
dative case is formed: e.g. Man, I; mangué, to
me.
Guero, s. A person, fellow, that which
governs, operates. Sans. Kãra (a maker).
Pers. [Persian: ] Welsh, Gwr (a man). In
the Spanish cant language, Guro signifies an alguazil, a kind of
civil officer. See Engro.
Gueri, s.f. Female person, virgin:
Mideveleskey gueri Mary, Holy Virgin Mary.
Gush / Gurush / Gurushi, a. Groat:
gurushengri, a groat's worth.
Guveni, s. Cow. Sans.
Go.
Guveni-bugnior, s. Cow-pox.
Guveno, s. A bull. Sans.
Gavaya. Gaelic, Gavuin, gowain (year-old calf).
Guyi, s. Pudding, black pudding.
Hin. Gulgul. Span. Gyp. Golli.
Guyi-mengreskie tan, s. Yorkshire.
Lit. pudding-eaters' country; in allusion to the puddings for which
Yorkshire is celebrated.
H
Ha / Haw, v. a. To eat.
Habben, s. Food, victuals.
Hal, v. a. To eat: mande can't hal lis,
I can't eat it. Sans. Gala.
Hanlo, s. A landlord, innkeeper.
Span. Gyp. Anglanó.
Hatch, v. a. To burn, light a fire.
Hatchipen, s. A burning.
Hatch, v. n. To stay, stop.
See Adje, atch, az.
Hatchi-witchu, s. A hedgehog. This
is a compound word from the Wal. Aritche, a hedgehog, and
the Persian Besha, a wood, and signifies properly the prickly thing
of the wood. In Spanish Gypsy, one of the words for a pig or
hog is Eriche, evidently the Wallachian Aritche, a hedgehog.
Hekta, s. Haste: kair hekta, make haste;
likewise a leap. See Hokta. Sans. Hat'ha
(to leap).
Heres / Heris, s. pl. Legs.
Span. Gyp. Jerias. Coshtni herri (a wooden leg).
Hetavava, v. a. To slay, beat, hit,
carry off, plunder: if I can lel bonnek of tute hetavava tute, if I
can lay hold of you I will slay you. Heb. Khataf
(rapuit). Sans. Hat'ha (to ill-use, rapere).
Hev, s. Hole: pawnugo hev, a water hole,
a well; hev, a window; hevior, windows. Sans.
Avata.
Heviskey, a. Full of holes: heviskey
tan, a place full of holes.
Hin, s. Dirt, ordure. Mod.
Gr. [Greek: ] Wal. Gounoiou. Irish,
Gaineamh(sand).
Hin, v. a. To void ordure.
Sans. Hanna. Mod. Gr. [Greek: ]
Hindity-mengré / Hindity-mescré, s.
pl. Irish. Dirty, sordid fellows.
Hoffeno, s. A liar.
Hok-hornie-mush, s. A policeman. Partly a
cant word.
Hokka, v. n. To lie, tell a falsehood:
hokka tute mande, if you tell me a falsehood.
Hokkano, s. A lie. Sans.
Kuhanã (hypocrisy).
Hokta, v. a. To leap, jump.
See Hekta.
Hokta-mengro, s. Leaper, jumper.
Hoofa, s. A cap.
Hor / Horo, s. A penny. Span.
Gyp. Corio an ochavo (or farthing).
Horry, s. pl. Pence: shohorry,
showhawry, sixpence.
Horsworth, s. Pennyworth.
Horkipen, s. Copper. Hun.
Gyp. Harko.
Huffeno, s. A liar. See
Hoffeno.
Hukni, s. Ringing the changes, the
fraudulent changing of one thing for another.
I
I, pro. She, it.
I. A feminine and neuter termination:
e.g. Yag engri, a fire-thing or gun; coin si, who
is she? so si, what is it?
Inna / Inner, prep. In, within: inner
Lundra, in London. Span. Gyp. Enré.
Iouzia, s. A flower.
Is, conj. If; it is affixed to the verb
- e.g. Dikiomis, if I had seen.
Iv, s. Snow. Hun. Gyp.
Yiv. Span. Gyp. Give.
Iv-engri / Ivi-mengri, s. Snow-thing,
snowball.
Iuziou, a. Clean. Mod. Gr.
[Greek: ] (sound, healthy). See Roujio.
J
JAL. To go, walk, journey. This verb is
allied to various words in different languages signifying movement,
course or journey: - to the Sanscrit Il, ila, to go; to the Russian
Gulliat, to stroll, to walk about; to the Turkish Iel, a journey;
to the Jol of the Norse, and the Yule of the Anglo-Saxons, terms
applied to Christmas-tide, but which properly mean the circular
journey which the sun has completed at that season: for what are
Jol and Yule but the Ygul of the Hebrews? who call the zodiac 'Ygul
ha mazaluth,' or the circle of the signs. It is, moreover,
related to the German Jahr and the English Year, radically the same
words as Jol, Yule, and Ygul, and of the same meaning - namely, the
circle travelled by the sun through the signs.
Já, v. imp. Go thou!
Jal amande. I shall go.
Jal te booty. Go to work.
Jalno / Java / Jaw, v.a. I go.
Sans. Chara.
Jas, jasa. Thou goest: tute is jasing, thou art
going.
Jal, 3rd pers. pres. He goes.
Jalla, f. She goes.
Jalno ando pawni, v. a. I swim.
Lit. I go in water.
Jaw, ad. So: jaw si, so it is.
See Ajaw, asá, ashá.
Jib, s. Tongue. Sans.
Jihva.
Jib, v. n. To live, to exist.
Sans. Jiv. Rus. Jit. Lithuanian,
Gywenu.
Jibben, s. Life, livelihood.
Sans. Jivata (life), Jivika (livelihood). Rus.
Jivot, Tchivot.
Jivvel, v. n. He lives: kai jivvel o,
where does he live?
Jin / Jinava, v. n. To know.
Sans. Jna.
Jinnepen, s. Wisdom, knowledge.
Sans. Jnapti (understanding).
Jinney-mengro, s. A knowing fellow, a
deep card, a Grecian, a wise man, a philosopher.
Jinney-mengreskey rokrapénes. Sayings of
the wise: the tatcho drom to be a jinney-mengro is to dick and rig
in zi, the true way to be a wise man is to see and bear in
mind.
Jongar, v. n. To awake.
Sans. Jagri. Hin. Jugana.
Jôbis, s. Oats. Sans.
Java (barley). Wal. Obia. See Giv.
Joddakaye, s. Apron; anything tied round
the middle or hips. Sans. Kata (the hip, the loins),
Kataka (a girdle).
Ju, s. A louse. Sans.
Yuka.
Juvalo, a. Lousy.
Juvior, s. pl. Lice.
Juggal / Jukkal, s. Dog.
Sans. Srigãla (jackal).
Jukkalor. Dogs.
Jukkaelsti cosht, s. Dog-wood; a hard
wood used for making skewers.
Juva / Juvali, Woman, wife.
Juvli, s. Girl. See
Chavali.
K
KAEL, s. Cheese.
Kaes, s. Cheese.
Kah / Kai, ad. Where: kai tiro ker,
where's your house? kai si the churi, where is the knife?
Sans. Kva.
Kair, v. a. To do. Sans.
Kri, to do; kara (doing).
Kair misto. To make well, cure, comfort.
Kairipen, s. Work, labour.
Sans. Karman.
Kakkaratchi, s. Magpie; properly a
raven. Mod. Gr. [Greek: ]
Kanau / Knau, ad. Now.
Karring. Crying out, hawking goods.
Span. Gyp. Acarar (to call). See Koring.
Kaulo, a. Black. Sans.
Kãla. Arab. [Arabic: ]
Kaulo chiriclo, s. A blackbird.
Kaulo cori, s. A blackthorn.
Kaulo durril, s. Blackberry.
Kaulo Gav, s. Black-town,
Birmingham.
Kaulo guero, s. A black, negro.
Kaulo guereskey tem, s. Negroland,
Africa.
Kaulo-mengro, s. A blacksmith.
Kaulo ratti. Black blood, Gypsy blood: kaulo
ratti adrey leste, he has Gypsy blood in his veins.
Kaun, s. An ear. Sans.
Karna.
Kaun-engro, s. An ear-fellow, thing with
long ears; a figurative name for a hare.
Ke, prep. Unto. Likewise a
postposition - e.g. lenké, to them.
Keir / Ker, s. A house.
Sans. Griha.
Ker / Kerey / Ken, ad. Home, homeward:
java keri, I will go home.
Keir-poggring. House-breaking.
Keir-rakli, s. A housemaid.
Kek, ad. a. No, none, not: kek tatcho,
it is not true.
Kekkeno, a. None, not any: kekkeni
pawni, no water.
Kekkeno mushe's poov, s. No man's land;
a common.
Kekkauvi, s.f. Kettle. Mod.
Gr. [Greek: ]
Kekkauviskey saster, s. Kettle-iron; the
hook by which the kettle is suspended over the fire.
Kekko, ad. No, it is not, not it, not
he.
Kekkomi. No more. See Komi,
Ever-komi.
Kek-cushti. Of no use; no good.
See Koshto.
Kem, s. The sun. See
Cam.
Ken. A particle affixed in English Gypsy
to the name of a place terminating in a vowel, in order to form a
genitive; e.g. Eliken bori congri, the great church
of Ely. See En.
Ken, s. A house, properly a nest.
Heb. [Hebrew: ] Kin.
Kenyor, s. pl. Ears. See
Kaun.
Ker / Kerava v. a. To do; make:
kair yag, make a fire. Sans. Kri. Pers.
[Perisan: ] Gaelic, Ceaird (a trade), ceard (a
tinker). Lat. Cerdo (a smith). English, Char,
chare (to work by the day).
Kerdo. He did.
Kedast, 2nd pers. pret. Thou didst.
Kedo, part. pass. Done.
Kerri-mengro, s. Workman.
Kerrimus, s. Doing, deed: mi-Doovel's kerrimus,
the Lord's doing. Sans. Karman (work).
Kerrit, p. pass. Cooked, boiled.
Anglo-Indian word, Curried. Fr. Cuire.
Gaelic, Greidh (to cook victuals).
Kettaney, ad. Together.
Wal. Ketziba (many). See Kisi.
Kidda, v. a. To pluck.
Kil, v. a. To dance, play.
Hin. Kelná. Sans. Kshvel.
Killi-mengro, s. A dancer, player.
Kil, s. Butter.
Kin, v. a. To buy: kinning and bikkning,
buying and selling. Heb. Kana (he bought).
Kin aley. To ransom, redeem, buy off.
Kinnipen, s. A purchase.
Kinnipen-divvus, s. Purchasing-day,
Saturday.
Kindo, a. Wet.
Kipsi, s. Basket. Span.
Gyp. Quicia.
Kinyo. Tired. Span. Gyp.
Quiñao.
Kisaiya. A female Gypsy name.
Kisi, ad. How much, to what degree: kisi
puro shan tu, how old are you? Wal. Kitze.
Span. Gyp. Quichi. Sans. Kati (how many?)
Kisseh / Kissi, s. A purse.
Sans. Kosa. Pers. [Persian: ]
Kistur, v. a. To ride. Wal.
Keleri.
Kistri-mengro / Kistro-mengro, s. Rider,
horseman.
Kitchema, s. Public-house, inn.
Hun. Korcsma. Wal. Keirtchumie.
Kitchema-mengro, s. Innkeeper.
Klism / Klisn, s. A key.
Rus. Cliotche. Mod. Gr. [Greek: ] (shutting
up).
Klism-engri, s. A lock. Lit.
key-thing.
Klism-hev, s. A keyhole.
Klop, s. A gate, seemingly a cant word;
perhaps a bell. Wal. Klopot.
Kokkodus. Uncle: kokkodus Artáros, Uncle
Arthur.
Komi, adv. More: ever-komi,
evermore.
Koosho, a. Good: kooshi gillie, a good
song. Sans. Kusala.
Kora/ Kore, v. a. To riot.
Wal. Kiorei (to cry out, bawl, make a tumult).
Heb. Kara (he convoked, cried out).
Koring, part. pres. Rioting.
Heb. Kirivah (proclamation).
Kora-mengro, s. A rioter.
Kore, v. a. To hawk goods about, to cry
out, to proclaim.
Koring lil, s. Hawking-licence.
Koring chiriclo, s. The cuckoo.
Koshto, a. Good. Pers.
[Persian: ]
Koshtipen, s. Goodness, advantage,
profit: kek koshtipen in dukkering knau, it is of no use to tell
fortunes now.
Kosko, a. Good.
Koskipen, s. Goodness.
Krallis, s. King. Rus.
Korol. Hun. Király. Wal.
Kraiu.
Kushto, a. Good: kushto si for mangui, I
am content.
L
LA, pro. pers. Her; accusative of 'i' or
' yoi,' she.
Laki, pro. poss. Her: laki die, her
mother.
Lasa / Lasar, With her; instrumental case of 'i.'
Later. From her; ablative of 'i.'
Lati. Genitive of 'i'; frequently used as the
accusative - e.g. cams tu lati, do you love her?
Lang / Lango, a. Lame. Sans.
Lang. Pers. [Persian: ] Lenk.
Lashi / Lasho, Louis. Hungarian, Lajos,
Lazlo. Scotch, Lesley.
Latch, v. a. To find. Wal.
Aphla.
Lav, s. Word. Sans. Lapa
(to speak). Eng. Lip.
Lavior, pl. Words.
Lav-chingaripen, s. Dispute,
word-war.
Lav-engro, s. Word-master, linguist.
Len, pro. pers. pl. To them: se
len, there is to them, the have.
Lendar, ablative. From them.
Lende / Lunde, gen. and acc. Of them,
them.
Lensar. With them.
Lengué, pro. poss. Their: lengue
tan, their tent.
Les, pro. pers. To him; dative of 'yo,'
he: pawno stadj se les, he has a white hat.
Lescro, pro. poss. His, belonging to
him: lescro prala, his brother.
Leste. Of him, likewise him; genitive
and accusative of 'yo.'
Lester. From him.
Leste's. His: leste's wast, his hand; properly,
lescro wast.
Lesti. Her or it: pukker zi te lesti,
tell her your mind; he can't rokkra lesti, he can't speak it.
Leav / Ley, v. a. To take.
Wal. Loua.
Lel. He takes.
Lel cappi. Get booty, profit, capital.
Lennor, s. Summer, spring.
Levinor, s. Ale; drinks in which there
is wormwood. Heb. Laenah (wormwood).
Irish, Lion (ale).
Levinor-ker, s. Alehouse.
Levinor-engri. Hop. Lit. ale-thing.
Levinor-engriken tem. Kent. Lit.
hop-country.
Li, pron. It: dovo se li, that's it.
Lidan, v. a. You took; 2nd pers.
pret. of Ley.
Lil, s. Book; a letter or pass.
Hun. Level. Sans. Likh (to write).
Hindustani, Likhan (to write).
Lillai, s. Summer. Hun.
Gyp. Nilei.
Linnow, part. pass. Taken,
apprehended.
Lis, pro. dat. To it: adrey lis, in
it.
Lollo / Lullo, a. Red.
Pers. [Persian: ] Lal.
Lolle bengres, s. pl. Red waistcoats,
Bow Street runners.
Lollo matcho, s. Red herring. Lit.
red fish.
Lolli plaishta, s. A red cloak.
Lolli, s. A farthing.
Lon / Lun, s. Salt. Sans.
Lavana. Hin. Lon.
Lou, pro. It: oprey-lou, upon it.
Wal. Lou.
Loure, v. a. To steal. See
Luripen.
Lubbeny, s. Harlot. Rus.
Liabodieitza (adultress), liobodeinoe (adulterous).
Sans. Lúbha (to inflame with lust, to desire). The
English word Love is derived from this Sanscrit root.
Lubbenipen, s. Harlotry.
Lubbenified. Become a harlot.
Lundra. London. Mod. Gr.
[Greek: ].
Luripen, s. Robbery, a booty. Lit.
a seizure. Wal. Luare (seizure, capture), Louarea
Parizouloui (the capture of Paris).
Lutherum, s. Sleep, repose, slumber.
Luvvo, s. Money, currency.
Rus. Lóvok (convenient, handy, quick, agile). In
Spanish Gypsy, a real (small coin) is called Quelati, a thing which
dances, from Quelar, to dance.
Luvvo-mengro, s. Money-changer,
banker.
Luvvo-mengro-ker, s. Banker's house,
bank.
M
Má, ad. Not; only used before the
imperative: má muk, let not. Sans.
Mã. Pers. [Persian: ]
Maas, s. Sans. Mansa Mans.
Rus. Maso. See Mas.
Maas-engro / Maaso-mengro, s.
Butcher.
Mailla, s. Ass, donkey.
Wal. Megaroul. Sans. Baluya.
Mailla and posh. Ass and foal.
Malleco, a. False.
Malúno / Maloney, s.
Lightning. Rus. Mólnïya.
Mam, s. Mother. Wal.
Moume. Welsh, Mam. Irish and Scottish
Gaelic, Muime (a nurse).
Man, pron. pers. I; very seldom
used. Hin. Muen.
Mande, pron. pers. oblique of Man; generally
used instead of the nominative Man.
Mander. Ablative of Man, from me: jã
mander, go from me.
Mande's. My. Mande's wast, my hand; used
improperly for miro.
Mangue. Dative of Man, to me; sometimes used
instead of the nominative.
Mansa. With me.
Mang, v. a. To beg. Hin.
Mangna. Sans. Mãrg.
Mango-mengro, s. A beggar.
Mangipen, s. The trade of begging.
Sans. Mãrgana (begging).
Manricley, s. A cake. Span.
Gyp. Manricli.
Manush, s. Man. Sans.
Mãnasha. Span. Gyp. Manus. See
Monish.
Manushi, s. Woman, wife.
Sans. Manushi.
Maricli, s. A cake. See
Maricley.
Mash, s. Umbrella. A cant
word.
Matcho, s. A fish. Sans.
Matsya. Hin. Muchee.
Matcheneskoe Gav. Yarmouth. Lit. the
fishy town.
Matcheneskoe guero, s. A fisherman.
Matchka, s.f. A cat. Hun.
Macska.
Matchko, s. m. A he-cat.
Mattipen, s. Drunkenness.
Sans. Matta (to be intoxicated). Mod. Gr. [Greek:
] (intoxication). Welsh, Meddwy (to intoxicate).
Matto, a. Drunk, intoxicated.
Welsh, Meddw.
Matto-mengro, s. Drunkard.
Mea, s. Mile: dui mear, two miles.
Wal. Mie.
Mea-bar, s. Milestone.
Medisin, s. Measure, bushel.
Sans. Mãna.
Mek, v. n. Leave, let: meklis, leave
off, hold your tongue, have done. Sans. Moksh.
Men, pr. We; pl. of Man.
Men, s. Neck. Gaelic,
Muineal. Welsh, Mwng. Mandchou,
Meifen.
Men-pangushi, s. Neckcloth.
See Pangushi.
Mengro. A word much used in composition.
See Engro and Mescro.
Mensalli, s. A table. Wal.
Masi.
Mer / Merava, v. n. To die.
Sans. Mri.
Merricley, s. A cake. See
Manricley.
Merripen, s. Death. Sans.
Mara.
Merripen, s. Life, according to the
Gypsies, though one feels inclined to suppose that the real
signification of the word is Death; it may, however, be connected
with the Gaulic or Irish word Mairam, to endure, continue, live
long: Gura' fada mhaireadh tu! may you long endure, long life to
you! In Spanish Gypsy Merinao signifies an immortal.
Mescro. A particle which, affixed to a
verb, forms a substantive masculine:- e.g. Camo, I love;
camo-mescro, a lover. Nash, to run; nashi-mescro, a
runner. It is equivalent to Mengro, q.v.
Messalli, s. A table. Wal.
Masi.
Mestipen, s. Life, livelihood, living,
fortune, luck, goodness. Span. Gyp. Mestipen,
bestipen. Wal. Viatsie.
Mi, pron. I, my.
Mi cocoro, pron. poss. I myself, I
alone.
Mi dearie Dubbeleskey. For my dear God's
sake.
Mi develeskie gueri, s.f. A holy
female.
Mi develeskie gueri Mary. Holy Virgin Mary.
Mi develeskoe Baval Engro. Holy Ghost.
Mi dubbelungo, a. Divine.
Mi duvvelungo divvus, s. Christmas
Day.
Millior, s. Miles; panj millior, five
miles.
Minge / Mintch,s. Pudendum muliebre.
Miro, pron. poss. My, mine.
Miri, pron. poss. f. My, mine.
Misto / Mistos, ad. Well.
Misto dusta. Very well.
Mistos amande. I am glad.
Mitch, s. See Minge.
Mizella. Female Gypsy name.
Mokkado, a. Unclean to eat.
Wal. Mourdar (dirty).
Monish, s. Man. See
Manush.
Mol, s. Wine. See Mul.
Mollauvis, s. Pewter.
Moomli, s. Candle, taper.
See Mumli.
Moomli-mengro, s. Candlestick,
lantern.
Moar, v. a. To grind. See
Morro.
More / Morava, v. a. To kill,
slay. Sans. Mri. Wal. Omori.
Moreno, part. pass. Killed, slain.
More, v. a. To shave, shear.
Hun. Gyp. Murinow.
Mormusti, s.f. Midwife.
Wal. Maimoutsi. Rus. Mameichka (nurse).
Moro, pron. poss. Our: moro dad, our
father.
Morro, s. Bread. Lit. that which
is ground. See Moar. Span. Gyp.
Manro. Hun. Gyp. Manro, also Gheum: sin gheum manro,
gheum is manro (bread). Rus. Gyp. Morroshka (a
loaf).
Morro-mengro, s. A baker.
Mort, s. Woman, concubine; a cant
word.
Mosco / Moshko, A fly. Lat. Musca.
Wal. Mouskie. Span. Gyp. Moscabis
(fly-blown, stung with love, picado,enamorado).
Moskey, s. A spy: to jal a moskeying, to
go out spying. Fr. Mouchard.
Mufta, s.f. Box, chest. See
Muktar.
Mui, s. Face, mouth: lollo leste mui,
his face is red. Sans. Mukha (face, mouth).
Fr. Mot (a word). Provenzal, Mo.
Muk, v. n. To leave, let.
See Mek.
Mukkalis becunye. Let it be.
Muktar / Mukto, s. Box, chest.
Mul, s. Wine. Pers.
Mul.
Mul divvus. Christmas Day. Lit. wine
day.
Mul-engris, s. pl. Grapes: mul-engri
tan, vineyard.
Mulleni muktar, s. Coffin. Lit.
dead-chest.
Mullodustie mukto. Id.
Mulleno hev, s. Grave.
Mulleno kêr, s. Sepulchre,
cemetery.
Mullo, s., a. Dead man, dead.
Mullo mas, s. Dead meat; flesh of an
animal not slain, but which died alone.
Mumli, s.f. Candle.
Mumli-mescro, s. Chandler.
Munjee, s. A blow on the mouth,
seemingly a cant word. Hin. Munh, mouth.
Ger. Mund.
Murces / Mursior, s. pl.
Arms. Span. Gyp. Murciales.
Muscro, s. Constable. See
Muskerro.
Mush, s. Man. Rus.
Mouge. Finnish, Mies. Tibetian, Mi.
Lat. Mas (a male).
Mushi, s. Woman.
Mushipen, s. A little man, a lad.
Toulousian, Massip (a young man), massipo (a young
woman).
Muskerro, s. Constable.
Muskerriskoe cost, s. Constable's
staff.
Mutra, s. Urine.
Mutrava, v. a. To void urine.
Sans. Mutra.
Mutra-mengri, s. Tea.
Mutzi, s. Skin. Span. Gyp.
Morchas.
Mutzior, s. pl. Skins.
N
NA, ad. Not.
Naflipen, s. Sickness. Span.
Gyp. Nasallipen. Mod. Gr. [Greek: ]
Naflo, a. Sick.
Nai. Properly Na hi, there is not: nai men
chior, we have no girls.
Naior, s. pl. Nails of the fingers or
toes. Mod. Gr. [Greek: ]
Nangipen, s. Nakedness.
Nango, a. Naked.
Narilla / Narrila, A female Gypsy name.
Nash, v. a. To run. Span.
Gyp. Najar.
Nashimescro, s. Runner, racer.
Nashimescro-tan, s. Race-course.
Nash, v. a. To lose, destroy, to
hang. Sans. Nasa. Span. Gyp. Najabar (to
lose). Sans. Nakha (to destroy). Eng.
Nacker (a killer of old horses).
Nashado, part. pret. Lost, destroyed,
hung.
Nashimescro, s. Hangman.
Nashko, part. pass. Hung: nashko
pré rukh, hung on a tree.
Nasho, part. pass. Hung.
Nástis, a. Impossible.
See Astis.
Nav, s. Name. Hun. Nev.
Naval, s. Thread. Span.
Gyp. Nafre.
Naes / Nes, postpos. According to, after
the manner of: gorgikonaes, after the manner of the Gentiles;
Romano-chalugo-naes, after the manner of the Gypsies.
Ne, ad. No, not: ne burroder, no more;
ne riddo, not dressed.
Nevo, a. New.
Nevi, a. fem. New: nevi tud from
the guveni, new milk from the cow.
Nevey Rukhies. The New Forest. Lit. new
trees.
Nevi Wesh. The New Forest.
Nick, v. a. To take away, steal.
Span. Gyp. Nicabar.
Nick the cost. To steal sticks for skewers and
linen-pegs.
Nogo, s. Own, one's own; nogo dad, one's
own father; nogo tan, one's own country.
Nok, s. Nose. Hin.
Nakh.
Nok-engro, s. A glandered horse.
Lit. a nose-fellow.
Nokkipen, s. Snuff.
O
O, art. def. The.
O, pron. He.
Odoi, ad. There. Hun. Ott,
oda.
Oduvvu, pron. dem. That. Span.
Gyp. Odoba.
Olevas / Olivas / Olivor, s. pl.
Stockings. Span. Gyp. Olibias. Wal.
Chorapul.
Opral / Opré / Oprey,prep. Upon,
above. Wal. Pre, asoupra.
Or. A plural termination; for example, Shock, a
cabbage, pl. shock-or. It is perhaps derived from
Ouri, the plural termination of Wallachian neuter nouns ending in
'e.'
Ora, s.f. A watch. Hun.
Ora.
Ora, s. An hour: so si ora, what's
o'clock?
Orlenda. Gypsy female name. Rus.
Orlitza (female eagle).
Os. A common termination of Gypsy nouns.
It is frequently appended by the Gypsies to English nouns in order
to disguise them.
Owli, ad. Yes. See
Avali.
P
PA, prep. By: pá mui, by
mouth. Rus. Po.
Padlo, ad. Across: padlo pawnie, across
the water, transported.
Pahamengro, s. Turnip.
Pailloes, s. Filberts.
Pal, s. Brother.
Pal of the bor. Brother of the hedge,
hedgehog.
Palal, prep. ad. Behind, after, back
again: av palal, come back, come again: palal the welgorus, after
the fair. Mod. Gr. [Greek: ] (again).
Rus. Opiat (id.).
Pali, ad. Again, back.
Pand, v. a. To bind. Sans.
Bandh.
Pandipen, s. Pinfold, prison, pound.
Pandlo, part. pass. Bound, imprisoned,
pounded.
Pand opre, v. a. To bind up.
Pandlo-mengro, s. Tollgate, thing that's
shut.
Pangushi, s.f. Handkerchief.
Pãni, s. Water. See
Pawni.
Panishey shock, s. Watercress.
Lit. water-cabbage. See Shok.
Panj, a. Five. See
Pansch.
Pani-mengro, s. Sailor, waterman.
Panni-mengri, s. Garden.
Panno, s. Cloth. Lat.
Pannus. Wal. Penzie.
Pansch, s. Five. Hin.
Panch.
Pappins / Pappior,s. pl. Ducks.
Mod. Gr. [Greek: ]
Paracrow, v. a. To thank: paracrow tute,
I thank you.
Parava / Parra, v. a. To change,
exchange. See Porra.
Parriken, s. Trust, credit.
Mod. Gr. [Greek: ] (trusted goods).
Parno, a. White. See
Pauno.
Pas, s. Half. See Posh.
Pasherro, s. Halfpenny; pl.
pasherie. Pers. [Persian: ] Pasheez (a
farthing).
Pas-more, v. a. Half-kill.
Patch, s. Shame. Span. Gyp.
Pachi, modesty, virginity. Sans. Putchã.
Patnies, s. pl. Ducks.
Patrin, s. A Gypsy trail; handfuls of
leaves or grass cast by the Gypsies on the road, to denote to those
behind the way which they have taken.
Pattin, s. A leaf. Span.
Gyp. Patia. Sans. Patra.
Pattinor. Leaves.
Paub / Paubi, s. An apple.
Hung. Gyp. Paboy.
Paub tan, s. Orchard.
Pauno, a. White. Sans.
Pandu. Gaelic, Ban.
Pauno gad. Clean shirt.
Pauno sherro. Grey head, white head.
Pauno, s. Flour. Lit. what is
white. The Latin 'panis' seems to be connected with this
word.
Pauno-mengro, s. A miller, white
fellow.
Pauno-mui, s. Pale face; generally
applied to a vain, foolish girl, who prefers the company of the
pallid Gentiles to that of the dark Romans.
Pauvi, s. An apple.
Pauvi-pãni, s. Cyder,
apple-water.
Pawdel, ad. Across, over: pawdel puve
and pawni, across land and water; pawdel the chumba, over the
hill.
Pawnee / Pawni, s. Water.
Sans. Pãniya. Hin. Panie. Eng.
Pond. See Pāni.
Pawnugo, a. Watery: pawnugo hev,
water-hole, well.
Pazorrhus, part. pass. Indebted.
See Pizarris.
Péava, v. a. To drink.
Sans. Pã.
Péa-mengri, s. Tea-pot.
Wal. Bea. Lit. drinking thing.
Peeapen, s. Health: ako's your peeapen!
here's your health!
Pea-mengro, s. Drunkard.
Pedloer, s. Nuts; prop.
Acorns. Pers. Peleed.
Peerdie, s. Female tramper.
Peerdo, s. Male tramper.
Pek'd / Pekt, part. pass. Roasted.
Span. Gyp. Peco. Sans. Pãka
(cooking). Pers. Pekhtan. Rus. Petsch
(oven).
Pele, s. pl. Testicles.
Sans. P'hala.
Pelengo gry / Pelengro gry, s.
Stone-horse.
Pen, a particle affixed to an adjective or a
verb when some property or quality, affection or action is to be
expressed, the termination of the first word being occasionally
slightly modified: for example, Kosko, good, koskipen, goodness;
Tatcho, true, tatchipen, truth; Camo, I love, camipen, love;
Chingar, to fight, chingaripen, war. It is of much the same
service in expressing what is abstract and ideal as Engro, Mescro,
and Engri are in expressing what is living and tangible. It
is sometimes used as a diminutive, e.g. Mushipen, a little
fellow.
Pen, s. Sister.
Pen / Penav, v. a. To say, speak.
Wal. Spoune.
Penchava, v. n. To think.
Pers. Pendashten. Sans. Vi-cit.
Penliois, s. Nuts. See
Pedloer.
Per, s. Belly.
Per, v. n. To fall. Span.
Gyp. Petrar. Sans. Pat.
Per tuley. To fall down.
Perdo, a. Full. Sans.
Purva, to fill.
Pes / Pessa, v. a. To pay.
Span. Gyp. Plaserar. Rus. Platit.
Wal. Pleti. Hun. Fizetni.
Pes apopli. To repay.
Petul, s. A horse-shoe. Mod.
Gr. [Greek: ] Wal. Potkoavie. Heb.
Bedel (tin).
Petul-engro, s. Horseshoe-maker, smith,
tinker; the name of a Gypsy tribe.
Pi, v. a. To drink. Sans.
Piva (drinking). See Peava.
Pias, s. Fun. Mod. Gr.
[Greek: ] (to play).
Pikkis / Pikkaris, s. pl. Breasts.
See Birk, bark. Wal. Piept.
Pikko, s. Shoulder.
Pios, part. pass. Drunken. Only
employed when a health is drunk: e.g. aukko tu pios adrey
Romanes, your health is drunk in Romany.
Píre, s. pl. Feet.
Pirè, s. pl. Trampers.
Pire-gueros, s. pl. Travellers,
trampers. Lit. foot-fellows.
Pireni, s.f. Sweetheart.
Pireno, s. m. Sweetheart.
Piro, v. a. To walk: pirel, he
walks.
Piro-mengro, s. Walker.
Pirry, s. Pot, boiler. This is a
west-country Gypsy word. Span. Gyp. Piri.
Sans. Pithara, pãtra.
Pishen, s. Flea, any kind of insect:
guldo pishen, honey-insect, bee, honey.
Pivli, s. A widow.
Pivlo, s. A widower.
Pivley-gueri, s. A widowed female.
Pivley-guero, s. A widowed fellow.
Pivley-raunie, s. A widow lady.
Piya-mengro, s. Drunkard.
See Pea-mengro.
Pizarris / Pizaurus, part. pass.
Trusted, credited, in debt. Sans. Vishvas (to
trust). Wal. Se bizoui (to trust, to credit).
Mod. Gr. [Greek: ] (he who has been credited).
Span. Gyp. Bisarar (to owe), bisauras (debts), pista (an
account).
Pizarri-mengro, s. A trusted person, a
debtor.
Plakta, s. Sheet: bero-rukiskie plakta,
a ship's sail.
Plashta, s. Cloak: lolli plashta, red
cloak. Span. Gyp. Plata. Plakta and plashta are
probably both derived from the Wallachian postat, a sheet.
Plastra, v. a. To run.
Plastra lesti. Run it; run for your life.
Plastra-mengro, s. a. A Bow Street
runner, a pursuer. In Spanish Gypsy, Plastañi means a
company which pursues robbers.
Poggado, part. pass. Broken.
Poggado bavol-engro, s. Broken-winded
horse.
Poggado habben, s. Broken victuals.
Poggra, v. a. To break.
Wal. Pokni.
Poggra-mengri, s. A mill. Lit. a
breaking thing.
Poknies, s. Justice of the peace.
Rus. Pokoio (to pacify).
Pokiniskoe ker, s. House of a justice of
the peace.
Pooshed / Poosheno, part. pass. Buried:
mulo ta poosheno, dead andburied.
Por, s. Feather. Pers.
Par. Sans. Parna.
Por-engro, s. Pen-master, penman, one
able to write.
Por-engri-pen, s. Penmanship,
writing.
Porior, s. pl. Feathers.
Pordo, a. Heavy. Wal.
Povarie (a weight). Lat. Pondus.
Porra, v. a. To exchange.
Posh, s. Half.
Posherro / Poshoro, s. Halfpenny.
Possey-mengri, s. Pitchfork; improperly
used for any fork. The literal meaning is a straw-thing; a
thing used for the removal of straw. See Pus.
Potan, s. Tinder. Wal.
Postabh (sheet, cloth). Sans. Pata (cloth).
Poov / Pov, s. Earth, ground.
Sans. Bhu.
Poov, v. To poov a gry, to put a horse
in a field at night.
Pov-engro, s. An earth thing,
potato.
Pov-engreskoe, a. Belonging to the
potato.
Povengreskoe gav. Potato town - Norwich.
Povengreskoe tem. Potato country - Norfolk.
Povo-guero, s. Mole, earth-fellow.
Praio, a. Upper: praio tem, upper
country, heaven. Span. Gyp. Tarpe (heaven).
See Opré.
Prala, s. Brother.
Pude, v. a. To blow.
Pude-mengri, s. Blowing thing,
bellows.
Pudge, s. Bridge. Wal. Pod,
podoul. Pers. Pul. Sans. Pāli.
Pukker, v. a. To tell, declare, answer,
say, speak. Span. Gyp. Pucanar (to proclaim).
Hin. Pukar, pukarnar.
Pur, s. Belly. See Per.
Pureno, a. Ancient, old: pureno foky,
the old people. Sans. Purvya (ancient).
Puro, a. Old. Sans.
Purã.
Puro dad, s. Grandfather.
Purrum, s. Leek, onion.
Lat. Porrum.
Purrum / Purrun, n. pr. Lee, or Leek;
the name of a numerous Gypsy tribe in the neighbourhood of
London. Wal. Pur (onion). Lat.
Porrum. Sans. Purãna (ancient).
Pus, s. Straw. Sans. Busa,
chaff.
Putch, v. a. To ask. Hin.
Puchhna.
Putsi, s. Purse, pocket.
Sans. Putã, pocket. Wal. Pountsi.
Old cant, Boung.
Putsi-lil, s. Pocket-book.
Puvvo, s. Earth, ground.
See Poov.
Puvvesti churi, s. a. Plough.
R
RAIA, s. Gentleman, lord.
See Rye.
Rak, v. n. To beware, take care; rak
tute, take care of yourself. Sans. Raksh (to guard,
preserve).
Rakli, s.f. Girl.
Raklo, s. Boy, lad.
Ran, s. Rod: ranior, rods.
Sans. Ratha (cane, ratan).
Rarde, s. Night. Sans.
Rātri.
Rardiskey, a. Nightly.
Rardiskey kair poggring, s.
Housebreaking by night, burglary.
Rashengro, s. Clergyman.
Rashi, s. Clergyman, priest.
Sans. Rishi (holy person).
Rashieskey rokkring tan, s. Pulpit.
Ratcheta, s. A goose, duck.
See Retsa.
Ratti, s. Blood. Sans.
Rudhira.
Ratniken chiriclo, s. Nightingale.
Rawnie, s. Lady.
Rawniskie dicking gueri, s. Lady-like
looking woman.
Rawniskie tatti naflipen, s. The lady's
fever, maladie de France.
Retza, s. Duck. Wal.
Rierzoiou. See Rossar-mescro. Hun.
Récze.
Reyna. A female Gypsy name.
Riddo, part. pass. Dressed.
Span. Gyp. Vriardao.
Rig / Riggur / Riggurava, v. a.
To bear, carry, bring.
Rig in zi. To remember, bear in mind.
Rig to zi. To bring to mind.
Rinkeno, a. Handsome.
Rivipen, s. Dress. Lit. linen
clothes, women's dress. Wal. Ruphe. Mod.
Gr. [Greek: ] (a tailor). In Spanish Gypsy clothes are
called Goneles, from the Wallachian Khainele.
Rodra, v. a. To search, seek.
Roi, s. Spoon.
Rokra, v. a. To talk, speak.
Rus. Rek (he said). Lat. Loquor.
Rokrenchericlo, s. Parrot, magpie.
Rokrenguero, s. A lawyer, talker.
Gaelic, Racaire (a chatterer).
Rokrengueriskey gav. Talking fellows' town -
Norwich.
Rokunyes, s. Trousers, breeches.
Hun. Gyp. Roklia (gown). Mod. Gr. [Greek:
] (cloth).
Rom, s. A husband. Sans.
Rama (a husband), Rama (an incarnation of Vishnu), Rum (to sport,
fondle). Lat. Roma (City of Rama).
Gaelic, Rom (organ of manhood). Eng. Ram (aries,
male sheep). Heb. Ream (monoceros, unicorn).
Rommado, part. pass. s. Married,
husband.
Romm'd, part. pass. Married.
Romano Chal / Romany Chal, A Gypsy fellow, Gypsy
lad. See Chal.
Romani chi. Gypsy lass, female Gypsy.
Romanes / Romany, Gypsy language.
Romaneskoenaes. After the Gypsy fashion.
Wal. Roumainesk (Roumainean, Wallachian.)
Romano Rye / Romany Rye, Gypsy gentleman.
Romipen, s. Marriage.
Rook / Rukh, s. Tree. Sans.
Vriksha. Hun. Gyp. Rukh. Span.
Gyp. Erucal (an olive-tree).
Rookeskey cost. Branch of a tree.
Rooko-mengro, s. Squirrel. Lit.
tree-fellow.
Roshto, a. Angry. Wal.
Resti (to be angry).
Rossar-mescro, s. Gypsy name of the
tribe Heron, or Herne. Lit. duck-fellow.
Roujiou, a. Clean. See
Iuziou.
Rove, v. n. To weep. Sans.
Rud.
Rup, s. Silver. Sans.
Raupya. Hin. Rupee.
Rupenoe, a. Silver: rupenoe
péa-mengri, silver tea-pots.
Ruslipen, s. Strength.
Ruslo, a. Strong. Mod. Gr.
[Greek: ] (roborabo). Rus. Rosluy (great, huge of
stature). Hun. Erö (strength), erös
(strong).
Rye, s. A lord, gentleman.
Sans. Raj, Rayã.
Ryeskoe, a. Gentlemanly.
Ryeskoe dicking guero. Gentlemanly looking
man.
Ryoriskey rokkaring keir, s. The House
of Commons. Lit. the gentlemen's talking house.
S
SACKI. Name of a Gypsy man.
Sainyor, s. Pins. Span.
Gyp. Chingabar (a pin).
Sal, v. n. To laugh; properly, he
laughs. Span. Gyp. Asaselarse. Sans.
Has.
Salla. She laughs.
Salivaris, s.f. Bridle. See
Sollibari.
Sap / Sarp, s. Snake, serpent.
Wal. Sharpelé. Span. Gyp.
Chaplesca.
Sappors, s. pl. Snakes.
Sap drey chaw. A snake in the grass: sap drey
bor, a snake in the hedge.
Sapnis, s. Soap. Mod. Gr.
[Greek: ] Wal. Sipoun.
Sar, postpos., prepos. With: mensar,
with us; sar amande, with me.
Sar, conjunct. As.
Sar, ad. How.
Sar shin, How are you? Sar shin, meero
rye? Sar shin, meeri rawnie? How are you, sir?
How are you, madam?
Sas. If it were. See Is.
Sas, s. Nest. See Tass.
Sarla, s. Evening: koshti sarla, good
evening. See Tasarla. Wal. Seara.
Mod. Gr. [Greek: ].
Saster, s. Iron.
Saster-mengri, s. A piece of iron worn
above the knee by the skewer-makers whilst engaged in
whittling.
Saster-mengro, s. Ironmonger.
Sasters, sastris. Nails: chokkiskey sastris,
shoe-nails.
Sau, adv. How.
Sau kisi. How much?
Saulohaul / Sovlehaul, v. a. To
swear.
Saulohaul bango. To swear falsely.
Sauloholomus, s. Oath. Span.
Gyp. Solája (a curse). Arab. [Arabic: ]
Salat (prayer). Lat. Solemnis. Fr.
Serment. Wal. Jourirnint (oath).
Savo, pron. Who, that, which.
Saw, v. n. I laugh. Sawschan tu,
you laugh.
Scamp. Name of a small Gypsy tribe.
Sans. Kshump (to go).
Scourdilla, s.f. Platter.
Lat. Scutella.
Scunyes / Scunyor, s. pl. Pins,
skewers. See Escunyes.
Se, 3rd pers. sing. pres. Is, there is:
kosko guero se, he is a good fellow; se les, there is to him, he
has.
Shab, v. a. Cut away, run hard,
escape. Hun. Szabni. This word is chiefly used
by the tobair coves, or vagrants.
Shan. You are, they are. See
Shin.
Shauvo, v. To get with child.
See Shuvvli.
Shehaury. Sixpence. See
Shohaury.
Shello, s. Rope. Span. Gyp.
Jele.
Shello-hokta-mengro, s. Rope-dancer.
Sher-engro, s. A head-man, leader of a
Gypsy tribe.
Sher-engri, s. A halter.
Shero, s. A head. Pers.
[Persian: ]
Sherro's kairipen, s. Learning,
head-work.
Sheshu, s. Hare, rabbit.
See Shoshoi.
Sherrafo, a. Religious, converted.
Arab. Sherif.
Shilleno / Shilleró / Shillo, a.
Cold: shillo chik, cold ground.
Shillipen, s. Cold.
Shin. Thou art: sar shin, how art thou?
Sho, s. Thing.
Sho, a. Six.
Shohaury, s. Sixpence.
Shok, s. Cabbage: shockor,
cabbages. Span. Gyp. Chaja.
Shom, v. 1st pers. pres. I
am. Used in the pure Roman tongue to express necessity:
e.g. shom te jav, I must go. Lat. Sum.
Hun. Gyp. Hom.
Shoob, s. Gown. Rus.
Shoob. See Shubbo.
Shoon, v. n. To hear. Pers.
Shiniden. Sans. Sru.
Shoonaben, s. Hearing, audience.
To lel shoonaben of the covar, to take hearing of the matter.
Shoshoi, s. A hare or rabbit, but
generally used by the Gypsies for the latter. Sans.
Sasa (a hare or rabbit). Hun. Gyp. Shoshoi.
Shubbo, s. A gown. Rus.
Shoob. Wal. Djoube.
Shubley patnies, s. pl. Geese.
Shun. A female Gypsy name.
Shuvvali, a. Enceinte, with child.
Si, 3rd pers. sing. pres. It is, she is:
tatchipen si, it is truth; coin si rawnie, who is the lady? sossi
your nav, what is your name?
Sicovar, ad. Evermore, eternally.
Hun. Gyp. Sekovar.
Si covar ajaw. So it is.
Sig, ad. Quick, soon: cana sig, now
soon. Span. Gyp. Singó. Hun.
Sietö.
Sig, s. Haste.
Sikkér, v. a. To show:
sikker-mengri, a show.
Simen, s. a. Equal, alike.
Sans. Samãna.
Simen. We are, it is we. Wal.
Semeina (to resemble).
Simmeno, s. Broth. See
Zimmen.
Simmer, v. a. Pledge, pawn.
Simmery-mengré, s. pl.
Pawnbrokers.
Sis. Thou art: misto sis riddo, thou art well
dressed.
Siva, v. a. To sew. Sans.
Siv.
Siva-mengri, s. A needle,
sewing-thing.
Siva-mengri, s. Sempstress.
Siva-mengro, s. Tailor.
Skammen, s. Chair. Wal.
Skaun. Mod. Gr. [Greek: ]
Skammen-engro, s. Chair-maker.
Skraunior, s. pl. Boots.
Slom / Slum, v. a. Follow, trace,
track. Rus. Sliedovat.
Smentini, s. Cream. Wal.
Zmentenie. Rus. Smetána.
So, pron. rel. Which, what: so se
tute's kairing, what are you doing?
Sollibari, s. Bridle. Mod.
Gr. [Greek: ]
Sonakey / Sonneco, s. Gold.
Sans. Svarna.
Sore / Soro, a. All, every.
Sans. Sarva.
Sorlo, a. Early. Arab.
[Arabic:]Sohr, Sahr (morning, day-break). Wal.
Zorile.
Soro-ruslo, a. Almighty. Dad
soro-ruslo, Father Almighty.
Se se? Who is it?
So si? What is it? So si ora, what's
o'clock?
Soskey, ad. Wherefore, for what.
Sovaharri, s. Carpet, blanket.
Sove, v. n. To sleep. Hun.
Gyp. Sovella (he sleeps). Span. Gyp. Sobelar (to
sleep). Danish, Sove (to sleep).
Sove tuley. To lie down.
Sovie, s. Needle. See
Su.
Soving aley. Lying down to sleep.
Spikor, s. pl. Skewers.
Wal. Spik.
Spinyor, s. pl. Carrots.
Spinyor, s. pl. Pins. Span.
Gyp. Chingabar (a pin).
Stadj, s. Hat.
Stanya / Stanye, s. A stable.
Hun. Sanya. Wal. Staula,
steiníe(sheepfold).
Stanya-mengro, s. Groom,
stable-fellow.
Stardo, part. pass. Imprisoned.
Staripen, s. Prison.
Staro-mengro, s. Prisoner.
Stannyi / Staunyo, s. A deer.
Stiggur, s. Gate, turnpike. Old
cant, Giger (a door).
Stiggur-engro, s. Turnpike-keeper.
Stor, a. Four.
Storey, s. Prisoner.
Stuggur, s. A stack.
Su, s. Needle. Hun.
Tü.
Subie / Subye, s. Needle: subye ta
naval, needle and thread.
Sueti, s. People.
Lithuanian, Swetas.
Sungella, v. It stinks.
Sutta / Suttur / Suta, s. Sleep.
Sans. Subta (asleep). Hin. Sutta
(sleeping). Lat. Sopitus.
Suttur-gillie, s. Sleep-song,
lullaby.
Swegler / Swingle, s. Pipe.
Syeira. A female Gypsy name.
T
Tã, conj. And.
Talleno, a. Woollen: talleno chofa,
woollen or flannel petticoat.
Tan, s. Place, tent. Hun.
Tanya.
Tard / Tardra, v. a. To raise, build,
pull, draw: the kair is tardrad opré, the house is built;
tard the chaw opré, pull up the grass. Hin.
Tornã (to pluck). Wal. Tratze.
Gaelic, Tarruinn.
Tardra-mengre. Hop-pickers.
Tas, s. Cup, nest of a bird.
See Dui tas, doo das.
Tasarla / Tasorlo, s. To-morrow.
Lit. to-early. See Sorlo.
Tasarla, s. The evening. This word
must not be confounded with the one which precedes it; the present
is derived from the Wallachian Seari (evening), whilst the other is
from the Arabic Sohr, Sahar (morning).
Tassa-mengri, s. A frying-pan.
See Tattra-mengri.
Tatchipen, s. Truth. Sans.
Satyata.
Tatcho, a. True. Sans.
Sat.
Tatti-pãni / Tatti-pauni, s.
Brandy. Lit. hot water.
Tatti-pen, s. Heat.
Tatto, a. Hot, warm. Sans.
Tapta. Tap (to be hot). Gaelic, Teth.
Tatto yeck, s. A hot un, or hot one; a
stinging blow given in some very sensitive part.
Tattra-mengri, s. A frying-pan.
Tawno m. / Tawnie f., a. Little,
small, tiny. Sans. Tarana (young). Wal.
Tienir (young). Lat. Tener. Span. Gyp.
Chinoro.
Tawnie yecks, s. pl. Little ones,
grandchildren.
Te, prep. To: te lesti, to her; this
word is not properly Gypsy.
Te, conjunct. That: te jinnen, that they
may know, an optative word; O beng te poggar his men, may the devil
break his neck. Wal. Ci.
Tel, v. a. imp. Hold: tel te jib, hold
your tongue.
Tem, s. Country.
Temeskoe, a. Belonging to a country.
Temno, a. Dark. Rus.
Temnoy. Sans. Tama (darkness).
Ten, s. See Tan.
Tikno, s. A child. Mod. Gr.
[Greek: ]
Tikno, a. Small, little. Span.
Gyp. Chinoro. Lat. Tener.
Tippoty, a. Malicious, spiteful: tippoty
drey mande, bearing malice against me.
Tiro, pron. Thine.
Tobbar, s. The Road; a Rapparee
word. Boro-tobbarkillipen (the Game of High Toby - highway
robbery). Irish, Tobar (a source, fountain).
Tornapo. Name of a Gypsy man.
Tororo, s. A poor fellow, a beggar, a
tramp. Sans. Daridrã.
Tove, v. a. To wash: tovipen,
washing. Sans. Dhav.
Toving divvus, s. Washing day,
Monday.
Traish, v. a. To frighten, terrify: it
traishes mande, it frightens me.
Trihool, s. Cross: Mi doveleskoe
trihool, holy cross. Span. Gyp. Trijul.
Hin. Trisool.
Trin, a. Three.
Tringrosh / Tringurushee, Shilling. Lit. three
groats.
Tringurushengre, s. pl. Things costing a
shilling.
Tringush, s. Shilling.
Trito, a. Third. Sans.
Tritïya.
Trufféni. Female Gypsy name:
Trufféni Kaumlo, Jack Wardomescrés dieyas nav -
Truffeni Lovel, the name of John Cooper's mother. Mod.
Gr. [Greek: ]
Truppior, s. pl. Stays.
Trupo, s. Body. Wal.
Troup. Rus. Trup
Trushni, s. Faggot.
Trusno, a. Thirsty, dry.
Sans. Trishnaj.
Tu, pron. Thou: shoon tu, dieya! do thou
hear, mother!
Tud, s. Milk. Sans. Duh (to
milk).
Tudlo gueri. Milkmaid.
Tug, a. Sad, afflicted.
Tugnipen, s. Affliction.
Tugnis amande. Woe is me; I am sad.
Tugno, a. Sad, mournful.
Tulé / Tuley, prep. Below, under:
tuley the bor, under the hedge. Slavonian,
dóly.
Tulipen, s. Fat, grease.
Tulo, a. Fat.
Tute, pron. Accusative of Tu; generally
used instead of the nominative.
Tuv, s. Smoke, tobacco.
Tuvalo / Tuvvalo, a. Smoky.
Span. Gyp. Chibaló (a cigar).
V
VANGUS, s. Finger. Sans.
Angula.
Vangustri, s. Ring. Sans.
Angulika, anguri. See Wangustri.
Vaneshu, s. Nothing. From the
Wallachian Ba nitchi, not at all.
Var, s. Flour: var-engro, a
miller. See Waro.
Vardo, s. Cart. See
Wardo.
Vassavo / Vassavy,a. Bad, evil.
Vast, s. Hand.
Vava. An affix, by which the future of a
verb is formed, as Heta-vava. It seems to be the Wallachian
Wa-fi, he shall or will be.
Vellin, s. A bottle.
Vauros, s. A city. Hun.
Város. Sans. Puri. Hin. Poor.
Wal. Orash.
Vénor / Vennor, Bowels, entrails.
See Wendror,
W
WAFO, a. Another. Sans.
Apara.
Wafo divvus, s. Yesterday. Lit.
the other day.
Wafo tem. Another country, foreign land.
Wafo temeskoe mush, s. A foreigner,
another countryman.
Wafo tem-engre. Foreigners.
Wafodu / Wafudo, a. Bad, evil.
Wafodúder. Worse: wafodúder than
dovor, worse than they.
Wafodu-pen, s. Wickedness.
Wafodu guero, s. The Evil One,
Satan.
Wafodu tan, s. Hell, bad place.
Wangar, s. Coals, charcoal.
Sans. Angara. See Wongar.
Wangustri, s. Ring.
Warda, v. To guard, take care: warda tu
coccorus, take care of yourself.
Wardo, s. Cart. Sans.
Pattra.
Wardo-mescro, s. Carter, cartwright,
cooper, name of a Gypsy tribe.
Waro, s. Flour.
Waro-mescro, s. Miller.
Wast, s. Hand. See
Vast. Wastrors, hands. Gaelic, Bas (the palm of
the hand).
Weggaulus / Welgorus / Welgaulus, s. A
fair. Wal. Bieltchiou.
Wel, v. a. He comes; from Ava.
Sometimes used imperatively; e.g. Wel adrey, come in.
Welling páli. Coming back, returning
from transportation.
Wen, s. Winter.
Wendror, s. pl. Bowels, inside.
Wal. Pentetche. Lat. Venter.
Wentzelow. Name of a Gypsy man.
Werriga, s. Chain. Rus.
Veriga. Wal. Verigie (bolt).
Wesh, s. Forest, wood.
Pers. [Persian: ]
Wesh-engro, s. Woodman, gamekeeper.
Weshen-juggal, s. Fox. Lit. dog of
the wood.
Woddrus / Wuddrus,s. Bed. Hun.
Gyp. Patos. Wal. Pat. The Spanish Gypsies
retain the pure Indian word Charipé.
Wongar, s. Coal. Also a term for
money; probably because Coal in the cant language signifies
money. See Wangar.
Wongar-camming mush, s. A miser.
Lit. one who loves coal.
Wuddur, s. Door. Span. Gyp.
Burda. Wal. Poartie.
Wuddur-mescro, s. Doorkeeper.
Wust, v. a. To cast, throw.
Wusto-mengro, s. Wrestler, hurler.
Y
YACK, s. Eye. Sans.
Akshi. Germ. Auge. Rus. Oko.
Lithuanian, Akis. Lat. Oculus.
Yackor. Eyes.
Yag, s. Fire. Sans.
Agni. Rus. Ogon. Lithuanian, Ugnis.
Lat. Ignis. Irish, An (water, fire).
Yag-engri, s. Gun, fire-thing.
Yag- engro / Yago-mengro, s. Gamekeeper,
sportsman, fireman.
Yag-kairepénes, s. Fireworks.
Yag-vardo, s. Fire-car, railroad
carriage.
Yarb, s. Herb.
Yarb-tan, s. Garden.
Yeck, a. One. Sans.
Eka. Hin. Yak.
Yeckoro, a. Only: yeckoro chavo, only
son.
Yeckorus, ad. Once.
Yo, pron. He.
Yoi, pron. She. Sometimes used for
La or Las, her; e.g. Mande putch'd yoi, I asked she,
her.
Yokki, a. Clever, expert: a yokki juva,
a yokki woman - a female expert at filching, ringing the changes,
telling fortunes, and other Gypsy arts. Sans. Yoga
(artifice, plan), Yuj (to combine, put together, plan).
Yora, s. Hour. See Ora.
Yoro, s. An egg. Wal.
Ou.
Z
ZI, s. The heart, mind.
Hun. Sziv. Sans. Dhi.
Zimmen, s. Broth. Wal.
Zmenteni (cream).
Zoomi, s. f. Broth, soup. Mod.
Gr. [Greek: ] Wal. Zamie (juice).
Zingaro. A Gypsy, a person of mixed blood, one
who springs from various races, a made-up person.
Sans. Sangkara, compositus (made-up).
RHYMED LIST OF GYPSY VERBS
To dick and jin,
To bikn and kin;
To pee and hal,
And av and jal;
To kair and poggra,
Shoon and rokra;
To caur and chore,
Heta and cour,
Moar and more,
To drab and dook,
And nash on rook;
To pek and tove,
And sove and rove,
And nash on poove;
To tardra oprey,
And chiv aley;
To pes and gin,
To mang and chin,
To pootch and pukker,
Hok and dukker;
To besh and kel,
To del and lel,
And jib to tel;
Bitch, atch, and hatch,
Roddra and latch;
To gool and saul,
And sollohaul;
To pand and wustra,
Hokta and plastra,
Busna and kistur,
Maila and grista;
To an and riggur;
To pen and sikker,
Porra and simmer,
Chungra and chingra,
Pude and grommena,
Grovena, gruvena;
To dand and choom,
Chauva and rom,
Rok and gare,
Jib and mer
With camova,
And paracrova,
Apasavello
And mekello,
And kitsi wasror,
Sore are lavior,
For kairing chomany,
In jib of Romany.
BETIE ROKRAPENES - LITTLE SAYINGS
If foky kek jins bute,
Mà sal at lende;
For sore mush jins chomany
That tute kek jins.
Whatever ignorance men may show,
From none disdainful turn;
For every one doth something know
Which you have yet to learn.
BETIE ROKRAPENES
So must I ker, daiya, to ker tute mistos?
It is my Dovvel's kerrimus, and we can't help
asarlus.
Mi Dovvel opral, dick tuley opré mande.
If I could lel bonnek tute, het-avava tute.
Misto kedast tute.
Dovey si fino covar, ratfelo jukkal, sas miro.
The plastra-mengro sollohaul'd bango.
Me camava jaw drey the Nevi Wesh to dick the purey
Bare-mescrey.
You jin feter dovey oduvu.
Will you pes for a coro levinor?
Mā pi kekomi.
Mā rokra kekomi.
Bori shil se mande.
Tatto tu coccori, pen.
Kekkeno pawni dov odoi.
Sore simensar si men.
Tatto ratti se len.
Wafudu lavior you do pen, miry deary Dovvel.
Kair pias to kair the gorgies sal.
Nai men chior.
So se drey lis?
Misto sis riddo.
Muk man av abri.
Ma kair jaw.
Si covar ajaw.
An men posseymengri.
Colliko sorlo me deavlis.
Pukker zi te lesti.
Soving lasa.
Tatto si can.
Mande kinyo, nastis jalno durroder.
Mã muk de gorgey jinnen sore lidan dovvu luvvu
so garridan.
Dui trins ta yeck ta pas.
Pes apopli.
Chiv'd his vast adrey tiro putsi.
Penchavo chavo savo shan tu.
I'd sooner shoon his rokrapen than shoon Lally gil a
gillie.
Kekkeno jinava mande ne burreder denne chavo.
Aukko tu pios adrey Romanes.
LITTLE SAYINGS
What must I do, mother, to make you well?
It is my God's doing, and we can't help at all.
My God above, look down upon me!
If I could get hold of you, I would slay you.
Thou hast done well.
That is a fine thing, you bloody dog, if it were
mine.
The Bow-street runner swore falsely.
I will go into the New Forest to see the old
Stanleys.
You know better than that.
Will you pay for a pot of ale?
Don't drink any more.
Do not speak any more.
I have a great cold.
Warm thyself, sister.
There is no water there.
We are all relations: all who are with us are
ourselves.
They have hot blood.
Evil words you do speak, O my dear God.
Make fun, to make the Gentiles laugh.
I have no girls.
What is in it?
Thou art well dressed.
Let me come out.
Don't do so.
The thing is so: so it is.
Bring me a fork.
To-morrow morning I will give it.
Tell her your mind.
Sleeping with her.
The sun is hot.
I am tired, I can go no farther.
Don't let the Gentiles know all the money you took
which you hid.
Seven pound ten.
Pay again.
Put his hand into your pocket.
The boy is thinking who you are.
I would rather hear him speak than hear Lally
sing.
I know no more than a child.
Here's your health in Romany!
COTORRES OF MI-DIBBLE'S LIL CHIV'D ADREY ROMANES
PIECES OF SCRIPTURE CAST INTO ROMANY
THE FIRST DAY - Genesis i. 1, 2, 3, 4
Drey the sherripen Midibble kair'd the temoprey
tá the puv;
Tá the puv was chungalo, tá chichi was
adrey lis;
Tá temnopen was oprey the mui of the boro
put.
Tá Midibble's bavol-engri besh'd oprey the
pánior;
Tá Midibble penn'd: Mook there be dute!
tá there was dute.
Tá Midibble dick'd that the doot was
koosho-koshko.
Tá Midibble chinn'd enrey the dute tá
the temnopen;
Tá Midibble kor'd the dute divvus, tá
the temnopen kor'd yo rarde;
Tá the sarla, tá the sorlo were yeckto
divvus.
THE FIFTH DAY - Genesis i. 20, 21, 22, 23
Then Midibble penn'd; Mook sore the panior
Chinn tairie jibbing engris bute dosta,
Tá prey puv be bute dosta chiricles
To vol adrey the rek of the tarpe.
Then Midibble kair'd the borie baulo-matches,
Tá sore covar that has jibbing zi
adreylis,
The bute, bute tairie covars drey the panior
Sore yeck drey its genos kair'd Midibble,
The chiricles that vol adrey the tarpe
Sore yeck drey its genos kair'd he lende:
Then Midibble dick'd that sore was koosho-koshko,
And he chiv'd his koshto rokrapen opreylen:
Penn'd Midibble: Dey ye frute ever-komi,
Ever-komi be burreder your nummer,
Per with covars the panior tá durior,
Tá prey puv be burreder the chiricles!
Then was sarla tá sorlo panschto divvus.
THE CREATION OF MAN - Genesis i. 27, 28
Then Mi-dibble kair'd Manoo drey his dikkipen,
Drey Mi-dibble's dikkipen kair'd he leste;
Mush and mushi kair'd Dibble lende
And he chiv'd his koshto rokrapen opreylen:
Penn'd Mi-dibble: Dey ye frute ever-komi,
Ever-komi be burreder your nummer;
Per with chauves and chiyor the puvo
And oprey sore the puvo be krallior,
Oprey the dooiya and its matches,
And oprey the chiricles of the tarpé,
And oprey soro covar that's jibbing
And peers prey the mui of the puvo.
THE LORD'S PRAYER
Meery dearie Dad, sauvo jivves drey the tem oprey, be
sharrafo teero nav, te awel teero tem, be kedo sore so caumes oprey
ye poov, sar kairdios drey the tem oprey. Dey man to divvus
meery divvuskey morro; tá for-dey mande mande's
pizzaripenes, sar mande fordeava wafor mushes lende's pizzaripenes;
mã mook te petrav drey kek tentacionos, but lel mande abri
from sore wafodupen; for teero se o tem, Mi-dibble, teero o
ruslopen, tá yi corauni knaw tá ever-komi. Si
covar ajaw.
THE APOSTLES' CREED
Apasavello drey Mi-dovel; Dad sore-ruslo savo kerdo o
praio tem, tá cav acoi tulēy: tá drey lescro
yekkero Chauvo Jesus Christus moro erray, beano of wendror of
Mi-develeskey Geiry Mary; was curredo by the wast of Poknish
Pontius Pilatos; was nash'd oprey ye Trihool; was mored, and chived
adrey ye puve; jall'd tulēy ye temno drom ke wafudo tan,
bengeskoe starriben; tá prey ye trito divvus jall'd yo oprey
ke koshto tan, Mi-dovels ker; beshel yo knaw odoy prey Mi-dovels
tatcho wast, Dad sore-ruslo; cad odoy avellava to lel shoonapen
oprey jibben and merripen; Apasavello drey Mi-dibbleskey Ducos;
drey the Bori Mi-develesky Bollisky Congri; that sore tatcho fokey
shall jib in mestepen kettaney; that Mi-dibble will fordel sore
wafudopenes; that soror mulor will jongor, and there will be kek
merripen asarlus. Si covar ajaw. Avali.
THE LORD'S PRAYER IN THE GYPSY DIALECT OF
TRANSYLVANIA
Miro gulo Devel, savo hal oté ando Cheros, te
avel swuntunos tiro nav; te avel catari tiro tem; te keren saro so
cames oppo puv, sar ando Cheros. Dé man sekhonus miro
diveskoe manro, ta ierta mangue saro so na he plaskerava tuke, sar
me ierstavava wafo manuschengue saro so na plaskerelen
mangue. Ma muk te petrow ando chungalo camoben; tama lel man
abri saro doschdar. Weika tiro sin o tem, tiri yi potea, tiri
yi proslava akana ta sekovar.
Te del amen o gulo Del eg meschibo pa amara
choribo.
Te vas del o Del amengue; te n'avel man pascotia ando
drom, te na hoden pen mandar.
Ja Develehi!
Az Develehi!
Ja Develeskey!
Az Develeskey!
Heri Devlis!
My sweet God, who art there in Heaven, may thy name
come hallowed; may thy kingdom come hither; may they do all that
thou wishest upon earth, as in Heaven. Give me to-day my
daily bread, and forgive me all that I cannot pay thee, as I shall
forgive other men all that they do not pay me. Do not let me
fall into evil desire; but take me out from all wickedness.
For thine is the kingdom, thine the power, thine the glory now and
ever.
May the sweet God give us a remedy for our
poverty.
May God help us! May no misfortune happen to me
in the road, and may no one steal anything me.
Go with God!
Stay with God!
Go, for God's sake!
Stay, for God's sake!
By God!
LIL OF ROMANO JINNYPEN
The tawno fokey often putches so koskipen se drey the
Romano jib? Mande pens ye are sore dinneles; bute, bute
koskipen se adrey lis, ta dusta, dosta of moro foky would have been
bitcheno or nash'd, but for the puro, choveno Romano jib. A
lav in Romany, penn'd in cheeros to a tawnie rakli, and rigg'd to
the tan, has kair'd a boro kisi of luvvo and wafor covars, which
had been chor'd, to be chived tuley pov, so that when the muskerres
well'd they could latch vanisho, and had kek yeckly to muk the
Romano they had lell'd opré, jal his drom, but to mang also
his artapen.
His bitchenipenskie cheeros is knau abri, and it were
but kosko in leste to wel ken, if it were yeckly to lel care of
lescri puri, choveny romady; she's been a tatchi, tatchi romady to
leste, and kek man apasavello that she has jall'd with a wafu mush
ever since he's been bitcheno.
When yeck's tardrad yeck's beti ten oprey, kair'd
yeck's beti yag anglo the wuddur, ta nash'd yeck's kekauvi by the
kekauviskey saster oprey lis, yeck kek cams that a dikkimengro or
muskerro should wel and pen: so's tute kairing acai? Jaw
oprey, Romano juggal.
Prey Juliken yeckto Frydivvus, anglo nango muyiskie
staunyi naveni kitchema, prey the chong opral Bororukeskoe Gav,
drey the Wesh, tute dickavavasa bute Romany foky, mushor ta juvar,
chalor ta cheiar.
Jinnes tu miro puro prala Rye Stanniwix, the puro rye
savo rigs a bawlo-dumo-mengri, ta kair'd desh ta stor mille barior
by covar-plastring?
He jall'd on rokkring ta rokkring dinneleskoenaes
till mande pukker'd leste: if tute jasas on dovodoiskoenaes mande
curavava tute a tatto yeck prey the nok.
You putches mande so si patrins. Patrins are
Romany drom sikkering engris, by which the Romany who jal anglo muk
lende that wels palal jin the drom they have jall'd by: we wusts
wastperdes of chaw oprey the puv at the jalling adrey of the drom,
or we kairs sar a wangust a trihool oprey the chik, or we chins
ranior tuley from the rukhies, and chivs lende oprey drey the puv
aligatas the bor; but the tatcho patrin is wast-perdes of leaves,
for patrin or patten in puro Romano jib is the uav of a rukheskoe
leaf.
The tatcho drom to be a jinney-mengro is to shoon,
dick, and rig in zi.
The mush savo kek se les the juckni-wast oprey his
jib and his zi is keck kosko to jal adrey sweti.
The lil to lel oprey the kekkeno mushe's puvior and
to keir the choveno foky mer of buklipen and shillipen, is wusted
abri the Raioriskey rokkaring ker.
The nav they dins lati is Bokht drey Cuesni, because
she rigs about a cuesni, which sore the rardies when she jals keri,
is sure to be perdo of chored covars.
Cav acoi, pralor, se the nav of a lil, the
sherrokairipen of a puro kladjis of Roumany tem. The
Borobeshemescrotan, or the lav-chingaripen between ye jinneynengro
ta yi sweti; or the merripenskie rokrapen chiv'd by the zi oprey
the trupo.
When the shello was about his men they rigg'd leste
his artapen, and muk'd leste jal; but from dovo divvus he would rig
a men-pangushi kekkomi, for he penn'd it rigg'd to his zee the
shello about his men.
Jack Vardomescro could del oprey dosta to jin sore
was oprey the mea-bars and the drom-sikkering engris.
The Romano drom to pek a chiriclo is to kair it oprey
with its porior drey chik, and then to chiv it adrey the yag for a
beti burroder than a posh ora. When the chik and the hatch'd
porior are lell'd from the chiriclesky trupos, the per's chinn'd
aley, and the wendror's wusted abri, 'tis a hobben dosta koshto for
a crallissa to hal without lon.
When Gorgio mushe's merripen and Romany Chal's
merripen wels kettaney, kek kosto merripen see.
Yeckorus he pukker'd mande that when he was a bis
beschengro he mored a gorgio, and chived the mulo mas tuley the
poov; he was lell'd oprey for the moripen, but as kekkeno could
latch the shillo mas, the pokiniuses muk'd him jal; he penn'd that
the butsi did not besh pordo pré his zi for bute chiros, but
then sore on a sudden he became tugnis and atraish of the mulo
gorgio's bavol-engro, and that often of a rarde, as he was jalling
posh motto from the kitchema by his cocoro, he would dick over his
tatcho pikko and his bango pikko, to jin if the mulo mush's
bavol-engro was kek welling palal to lel bonnek of leste.
Does tute jin the Romano drom of lelling the
wast?
Avali, prala.
Sikker mande lis.
They kairs it ajaw, prala.
A chorredo has burreder peeas than a Romany Chal.
Tute has shoon'd the lav pazorrus. Dovodoy is
so is kored gorgikonaes "Trusted." Drey the puro cheeros the
Romano savo lelled lovvu, or wafor covars from lescro prala in
parriken, ta kek pess'd leste apopli, could be kair'd to buty for
leste as gry, mailla or cost-chinnimengro for a besh ta
divvus. To divvus kek si covar ajaw. If a Romano lelled
lovvu or wafu covars from meero vast in parriken, ta kek pessed
mande apopli, sar estist for mande te kair leste buty as gry,
mailla, or cost-chinnimengro for mande for yek divvus, kek to pen
for sore a besh?
Do you nav cavacoi a weilgorus? Ratfelo rinkeno
weilgorus cav acoi: you might chiv lis sore drey teero putsi.
Kek jinnipenskey covar sé to pen tute's been
bango. If tute pens tute's been bango, foky will pen: Estist
tute's a koosho koshko mushipen, but tatchipé a ratfelo
dinnelo.
Car's tute jibbing?
Mande's kek jibbing; mande's is atching, at the
feredest; mande's a pirremengri, prala!
Cauna Romany foky rokkerelan yeck sar wafu penelan
pal ta pen; cauna dado or deya rokkerelan ke lendes chauves penelan
meero chauvo or meeri chi; or my child, gorgikonaes, to ye dui;
cauna chauves rokkerelan te dad or deya penelan meero dad or meeri
deya!
Meero dado, soskey were creminor kair'd? Meero
chauvo, that puvo-baulor might jib by haIling lende. Meero
dado, soskey were puvobaulor kair'd? Meero chauvo, that tute
and mande might jib by lelling lende. Meero dado, soskey were
tu ta mande kair'd? Meero chauvo, that creminor might jib by
halling mende.
Sore giv-engres shan dinneles. When they shoons
a gav-engro drey the tem pen: Dov-odoy's a fino grye! they pens:
Kekkeno grye se; grasni si; whether the covar's a grasni or
kekkeni. Kek jinellan the dinneles that a grasni's a grye,
though a grye is kek a grasni.
Kekkeni like Romano Will's rawnie for kelling drey a
chauro.
Cauna Constance Petulengri merr'd she was shel
tã desch beshor puri.
Does tute jin Rawnie Wardomescri?
Mande jins lati misto, prala.
Does tute cam lati?
Mande cams lati bute, prala; and mande has dosta,
dosta cheeros penn'd to the wafor Romany Chals, when they were
rokkering wafudo of lati: She's a rawnie; she lels care of sore of
you; if it were kek for lati, you would sore jal to the beng.
So kerella for a jivipen?
She dukkers, prala; she dukkers.
Can she dukker misto?
There's kekkeny Romany juva tuley the can for
dukkering sar Rawnie Wardomescri; nastis not to be dukker'd by
lati; she's a tatchi chovahan; she lels foky by the wast and
dukkers lende, whether they cams or kek.
Kek koskipen si to jal roddring after Romany
Chals. When tute cams to dick lende nestist to latch yeck o'
lende; but when tute's penching o' wafor covars tute dicks o' lende
dosta dosta.
Mande will sollohaul neither bango nor tatcho against
kekkeno; if they cams to latch abri chomoni, muk lende latch it
abri their cokkoré.
If he had been bitcheno for a boro luripen mande
would have penn'd chi; but it kairs mande diviou to pentch that he
was bitcheno, all along of a bori lubbeny, for trin tringurishis ta
posh.
When he had kair'd the moripen, he kair'd sig and
plastrar'd adrey the wesh, where he gared himself drey the hev of a
boro, puro rukh; but it was kek koskipen asarlus; the
plastra-mengres slomm'd his piré sore along the wesh till
they well'd to the rukh.
Sau kisi foky has tute dukker'd to divvus?
Yeck rawnie coccori, prala; dov ody she wels palal;
mande jins lati by the kaulo dori prey laki shubba.
Sau bute luvvu did she del tute?
Yeck gurush, prala; yeck gurush coccoro. The
beng te lilly a truppy!
Shoon the kosko rokkrapen so Micail jinney-mengro
penn'd ke Rawnie Trullifer: Rawnie Trollopr, you must jib by your
jibben: and if a base se tukey you must chiv lis tuley.
Can you rokkra Romanes?
Avali, prala!
So si Weshenjuggalslomomengreskeytemskey
tudlogueri?
Mande don't jin what you pens, prala.
Then tute is kek Romano lavomengro.
BOOK OF THE WISDOM OF THE EGYPTIANS
The young people often ask: What good is there in the
Romany tongue? I answers: Ye are all fools! There is
plenty, plenty of good in it, and plenty, plenty of our people
would have been transported or hung, but for the old, poor Roman
language. A word in Romany said in time to a little girl, and
carried to the camp, has caused a great purse of money and other
things, which had been stolen, to be stowed underground; so that
when the constables came they could find nothing, and had not only
to let the Gypsy they had taken up go his way, but also to beg his
pardon.
His term of transportation has now expired, and it
were but right in him to come home, if it were only to take care of
his poor old wife: she has been a true, true wife to him, and I
don't believe that she has taken up with another man ever since he
was sent across.
When one's pitched up one's little tent, made one's
little fire before the door, and hung one's kettle by the
kettle-iron over it, one doesn't like that an inspector or
constable should come and say: What are you doing here? Take
yourself off, you Gypsy dog.
On the first Friday of July, before the public-house
called the Bald-faced Stag, on the hill above the town of the great
tree in the Forest, you will see many Roman people, men and women,
lads and lasses.
Do you know my old friend Mr. Stanniwix, the old
gentleman that wears a pigtail, and made fourteen thousand pounds
by smuggling?
He went on talking and talking foolishness till I
said to him: If you goes on in that 'ere way I'll hit you a hot 'un
on the nose.
You ask me what are patrins. Patrin is
the name of the signs by which the Gypsies who go before show the
road they have taken to those who follow behind. We flings
handfuls of grass down at the head of the road we takes, or we
makes with the finger a cross-mark on the ground, we sticks up
branches of trees by the side the hedge. But the true patrin
is handfuls of leaves flung down; for patrin or
patten in old Roman language means the leaf of a tree.
The true way to be a wise man is to hear, see, and
bear in mind.
The man who has not the whip-hand of his tongue and
his temper is not fit to go into company.
The Bill to take up the no-man's lands (comons), and
to make the poor people die of hunger and cold, has been flung out
of the House of Commons.
The name they gives her is "Luck in a basket,"
because she carries about a basket, which every night, when she
goes home, is sure to be full of stolen property.
This here, brothers, is the title of a book, the
head-work of an old king of Roumany land: the Tribunal, or the
dispute between the wise man and the world: or, the death-sentence
passed by the soul upon the body.
When the rope was about his neck they brought him his
pardon, and let him go; but from that day he would wear a
neck-kerchief no more, for he said it brought to his mind the rope
about his neck.
Jack Cooper could read enough to know all that was
upon the milestones and the sign-posts.
The Roman way to cook a fowl is to do it up with its
feathers in clay, and then to put it in fire for a little more than
half an hour. When the clay and the burnt feathers are taken
from the fowl, the belly cut open, and the inside flung out, 'tis a
food good enough for a queen to eat without salt.
When the Gentile way of living and the Gypsy way of
living come together, it is anything but a good way of living.
He told me once that when he was a chap of twenty he
killed a Gentile, and buried the dead meat under ground. He
was taken up for the murder, but as no one could find the cold
meat, the justices let him go. He said that the job did not
sit heavy upon his mind for a long time, but then all of a sudden
he became sad, and afraid of the dead Gentile's ghost; and that
often of a night, as he was coming half-drunk from the public-house
by himself, he would look over his right shoulder and over his left
shoulder, to know if the dead man's ghost was not coming behind to
lay hold of him.
Do you know the Gypsy way of taking the hand?
Aye, aye, brother.
Show it to me.
They does it so, brother.
A tramp has more fun than a Gypsy.
You have heard the word pazorrus. That
is what is called by the Gentiles "trusted," or in debt. In
the old time the Roman who got from his brother money or other
things on trust, and did not pay him again, could be made to work
for him as horse, ass, or wood cutter for a year and a day.
At present the matter is not so. If a Roman got money, or
other things, from my hand on credit, and did not repay me, how
could I make him labour for me as horse, ass, or stick-cutter for
one day, not to say for a year?
Do you call this a fair? A very pretty fair is
this: you might put it all into your pocket.
It is not a wise thing to say you have been
wrong. If you allow you have been wrong, people will say: You
may be a very honest fellow, but are certainly a very great
fool.
Where are you living?
Mine is not living; mine is staying, to say the best
of it; I am a traveller, brother!
When Roman people speak to one another, they say
brother and sister. When parents speak to their children,
they say, my son, or my daughter, or my child, gorgiko-like,
to either. When children speak to their parents, they say, my
father, or my mother.
My father, why were worms made? My son, that
moles might live by eating them. My father, why were moles
made? My son, that you and I might live by catching
them. My father, why were you and I made? My son, that
worms might live by eating us.
All farmers are fools. When they hear a citizen
in the country say: That's a fine horse! they say: 'Tis no horse,
'tis a mare; whether the thing's a horse or not. The
simpletons don't know that a mare's a horse, though a horse is not
a mare.
No one like Gypsy Will's wife for dancing in a
platter.
When Constance Smith died, she was a hundred ten
years old.
Do you know Mrs. Cooper?
I knows her very well, brother.
Do you like her?
I loves her very much, brother; and I have often,
often said to the other Gypsies, when they speaking ill of her:
She's a gentlewoman; takes care of all of you; if it were not for
her, you would all go to the devil.
What does she do for a living?
She tells fortunes, brother; she tells fortunes.
Is she a good hand at fortune-telling?
There's no Roman woman under the sun so good at
fortune-telling as Mrs. Cooper; it is impossible not to have your
fortune told by her; she's a true witch; she takes people by the
hand, and tells their fortunes, whether they will or no.
'Tis no use to go seeking after Gypsies. When
you wants to see them 'tis impossible to find one of them; but when
you are thinking of other matters you see plenty, plenty of
them.
I will swear neither falsely nor truly against any
one; if they wishes to find out something, let them find it out
themselves.
If he had been transported for a great robbery, I
would have said nothing; but it makes me mad to think that he has
been sent away, all along of a vile harlot, for the value of
three-and-sixpence.
When he had committed the murder he made haste, and
ran into the wood, where he hid himself in the hollow of a great
old tree; but it was no use at all; the runners followed his track
all along the forest till they came to the tree.
How many fortunes have you told to-day?
Only one lady's, brother; yonder she's coming back; I
knows her by the black lace on her gown.
How much money did she give you?
Only one groat, brother; only one groat. May
the devil run away with her bodily!
Hear the words of wisdom which Mike the Grecian said
to Mrs. Trullifer: Mrs. Trollopr, you must live by your living; and
if you have a pound you must spend it.
Can you speak Romany?
Aye, aye, brother!
What is
Weshenjuggalslomomengreskeytemskeytudlogueri?
I don't know what you say, brother.
Then you are no master of Romany.
ROMANE NAVIOR OF TEMES AND GAVIOR
GYPSY NAMES OF CONTRIES AND TOWNS
Baulo-mengreskey
tem
Swineherds' country, Hampshire
Bitcheno padlengreskey tem
Transported fellows' country, Botany Bay
Bokra-mengreskey
tem
Shepherds' country, Sussex
Bori-congriken
gav
Great church town, York
Boro-rukeneskey
gav
Great tree town, Fairlop
Boro gueroneskey
tem Big
fellows' country, Northumberland
Chohawniskey
tem
Witches' country, Lancashire
Choko-mengreskey
gav
Shoemakers' town, Northampton
Churi-mengreskey
gav Cutlers'
town, Sheffield
Coro-mengreskey
tem
Potters' country, Staffordshire
Cosht-killimengreskey tem
Cudgel players' country, Cornwall
Curo-mengreskey
gav
Boxers' town, Nottingham
Dinelo
tem
Fools' country, Suffolk
Giv-engreskey
tem
Farmers' country, Buckinghamshire
Gry-engreskey
gav
Horsedealers' town, Horncastle
Guyo-mengreskey
tem
Pudding-eaters' country, Yorkshire
Hindity-mengreskey
tem Dirty fellows'
country, Ireland
Jinney-mengreskey
gav Sharpers' town,
Manchester
Juggal-engreskey
gav
Dog-fanciers' town, Dudley
Juvlo-mengreskey
tem Lousy
fellows' country, Scotland
Kaulo
gav
The black town, Birmingham
Levin-engriskey
tem Hop
country, Kent
Lil-engreskey
gav
Book fellows' town, Oxford
Match-eneskey
gav
Fishy town, Yarmouth
Mi-develeskey
gav
My God's town, Canterbury
Mi-krauliskey
gav
Royal town, London
Nashi-mescro
gav
Racers' town, Newmarket
Pappin-eskey
tem
Duck country, Lincolnshire
Paub-pawnugo
tem
Apple-water country, Herefordshire
Porrum-engreskey
tem
Leek-eaters' country, Wales
Pov-engreskey
tem
Potato country, Norfolk
Rashayeskey
gav
Clergyman's town, Ely
Rokrengreskey
gav
Talking fellows' town, Norwich
Shammin-engreskey
gav Chairmakers'
town, Windsor
Tudlo
tem
Milk country, Cheshire
Weshen-eskey
gav
Forest town, Epping
Weshen-juggal-slommo-mengreskey tem Fox-hunting
fellows' country, Leicestershire
Wongareskey
gav
Coal town, Newcastle
Wusto-mengresky
tem
Wrestlers' country, Devonshire
THOMAS ROSSAR-MESCRO
Prey Juniken bis diuto divvus, drey the besh yeck
mille ochto shel shovardesh ta trin, mande jaw'd to dick Thomas
Rossar-mescro, a puro Romano, of whom mande had shoon'd bute.
He was jibbing drey a tan naveno Rye Groby's Court, kek dur from
the Coromengreskoe Tan ta Bokkar-engreskey Wesh. When mande
dick'd leste he was beshing prey the poov by his wuddur, chiving
misto the poggado tuleskey part of a skammin. His ker was
posh ker, posh wardo, and stood drey a corner of the tan; kek dur
from lesti were dui or trin wafor ker-wardoes. There was a
wafudo canipen of baulor, though mande dick'd kekkeney. I
penn'd "Sarshin?" in Romany jib, and we had some rokrapen
kettaney. He was a boro mush, as mande could dick, though he
was beshing. But though boro he was kek tulo, ta
lescré wastes were tarney sar yek rawnie's. Lollo
leste mui sar yeck weneskoe paub, ta lescro bal rather lollo than
parno. Prey his shero was a beti stadj, and he was kek wafudo
riddo. On my putching leste kisi boro he was, ta kisi puro,
he penn'd that he was sho piré sore but an inch boro, ta
enyovardesh ta dui besh puro. He didn't jin to rokkra bute in
Romano, but jinn'd almost sore so mande rokkar'd te leste.
Moro rokkrapen was mostly in gorgiko jib. Yeck covar yecklo
drey lescro drom of rokkring mande pennsch'd kosko to rig in
zi. In tan of penning Romany, sar wafor Romany chals, penn'd
o Roumany, a lav which sig, sig rigg'd to my zi Roumain, the
tatcho, puro nav of the Vallackiskie jib and foky. He seem'd
a biti aladge of being of Romany rat. He penn'd that he was
beano drey the Givengreskey Tem, that he was kek tatcho Romano, but
yeckly posh ta posh: lescro dado was Romano, but lescri daya a
gorgie of the Lilengreskoe Gav; he had never camm'd bute to jib
Romaneskoenaes, and when tarno had been a givengreskoe raklo.
When he was boro he jall'd adrey the Lilengrotemskey militia, and
was desh ta stor besh a militia curomengro. He had jall'd
bute about Engli-tem and the juvalo-mengreskey, Tem, drey the
cheeros of the puri chingaripen, and had been adrey Monseer-tem,
having volunteered to jal odoy to cour agen the parley-woo
gueros. He had dick'd Bordeaux and the boro gav Paris.
After the chingaripen, he had lell'd oprey skamminengring, and had
jall'd about the tem, but had been knau for buter than trianda
beshor jibbing in Lundra. He had been romado, but his romadi
had been mullee bute, bute cheeros; she had dinn'd leste yeck
chavo, so was knau a heftwardesh beshengro, dicking bute puroder
than yo cocoro, ta kanau lying naflo of a tatti naflipen drey yeck
of the wardes. He penn'd that at yeck cheeros he could kair
dosta luvvu by skammin-engring, but kanau from his bori puripen
could scarcely kair yeck tringurushee a divvus. "Ladjipen
si," I penn'd, "that a mush so puro as tute should have to
booty." "Kosko zi! kosko zi!" he penn'd; "Paracrow Dibble
that mande is dosta ruslo to booty, and that mande has koskey
camomescres; I shan't be tugnis to jib to be a shel beshengro,
though tatchipen si if mande was a rye mande would kair kek
booty." His chaveskoe chavo, a trianda ta pansch beshengro,
well'd kanau ta rokkar'd mansar. He was a misto dicking ta
rather misto riddo mush, sar chimouni jinneymengreskey drey lescro
mui. He penn'd that his dadeskoe dad was a fino puro mush,
savo had dick'd bute, and that dosta, dosta foky well'd odoy to
shoon lescré rokkrapenes of the puro cheeros, of the
Franciskie ta Amencanskie chingaripenes, and of what yo had dick'd
drey wafu tems. That tatchipen to pen there was a cheeros
when his drom was dur from kosko, for that he camm'd to cour,
sollohaul ta kair himself motto, but that kanau he was a wafu mush,
that he had muk'd sore curopen and wafudo rokkrapen, and, to
corauni sore, was yeck tee-totaller, yo cocoro having kair'd leste
sollohaul that he would pi kekomi neither tatti panie nor levinor:
that he jall'd sore the curques either to congri or Tabernacle, and
that tho' he kek jinn'd to del oprey he camm'd to shoon the
Miduveleskoe lil dell'd oprey to leste; that the panishkie ryor
held leste drey boro camopen, and that the congriskoe rashi, and
oprey sore Dr. P. of the Tabernacle had a boro opinionos of leste,
ta penn'd that he would hal the Miduveleskoe habben sar moro
Araunyo Jesus drey the kosko tem opral. Mande putch'd whether
the Romany Chals well'd often to dick leste? He penn'd that
they well'd knau and then to pen Koshto divvus and Sarshin? but
dov' odoy was sore; that neither his dadeskoe dad nor yo cocoro
camm'd to dick lende, because they were wafodu foky, perdo of
wafodupen and bango camopen, ta oprey sore bute envyous; that drey
the wen they jall'd sore cattaney to the ryor, and rokkar'd wafodu
of the puno mush, and pukker'd the ryor to let lester a coppur
which the ryor had lent leste, to kair tatto his choveno puro
truppo drey the cheeros of the trashlo shillipen; that tatchipen si
their wafodupen kaired the puro mush kek dosh, for the ryor
pukker'd lende to jal their drom and be aladge of their
cocoré, but that it was kek misto to pensch that yeck was of
the same rat as such foky. After some cheeros I dinn'd the
puro mush a tawno cuttor of rupe, shook leste by ye wast, penn'd
that it would be mistos amande to dick leste a shel-beshengro, and
jaw'd away keri.
THOMAS HERNE
On the twenty-second day of June, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, I went to see Thomas Herne,
an old Gypsy, of whom I had heard a great deal. He was living
at a place called Mr. Groby's Court, not far from the Potteries and
the Shepherd's Bush. When I saw him, he was sitting on the
ground by his door, mending the broken bottom of a chair. His
house was half-house half-waggon, and stood in a corner of the
court; not far from it were two or three other waggon-houses.
There was a disagreeable smell of hogs, though I saw none. I
said, "How you do?" in the Gypsy tongue, and we had discourse
together. He was a tall man, as I could see, though he was
sitting. But, though tall, he was not stout, and his hands
were small as those of a lady. His face was as red as a
winter apple, and his hair was rather red than grey. He had a
small hat on his head, and he was not badly dressed. On my
asking him how tall he was, and how old, he said that he was six
foot high, all but an inch, and that he was ninety-two years
old. He could not talk much Gypsy, but understood almost all
that I said to him. Our discourse was chiefly in
English. One thing only in his manner of speaking I thought
worthy of remembrance. Instead of saying Romany, like other
Gypsies, he said Roumany, a word which instantly brought to my mind
Roumain, the genuine, ancient name of the Wallachian tongue and
people. He seemed to be rather ashamed of being of Gypsy
blood. He told me that he was born in Buckinghamshire, that
he was no true Gypsy, but only half-and-half: his father was a
Gypsy, but his mother was a Gentile of Oxford; he had never had any
particular liking for the Gypsy manner of living, and when little
had been a farmer's boy. When he grew up he enlisted into the
Oxford militia, and was fourteen years a militia soldier. He
had gone much about England and Scotland in the time of the old
war, and had been in France, having volunteered to go thither to
fight against the French. He had seen Bordeaux and the great
city of Paris. After war he had taken up chair-making, and
had travelled about the country, but had been now for more than
thirty years living in London. He had been married, but his
wife had long been dead. She had borne him a son, who was now
a man seventy years of age, looking much older than himself, and at
present lying sick of a burning fever in one of the caravans.
He said that at one time he could make a good deal of money by
chair-making, but now from his great age could scarcely earn a
shilling a day. "What a shame," said I, "that a man so old as
you should have to work at all!" "Courage! courage!" he
cried; "I thank God that I am strong enough to work, and that I
have good friends; I shan't be sorry to live to be a hundred years
old, though true it is that if I were a gentleman I would do no
work." His grandson, a man of about five-and-thirty, came now
and conversed with me. He was a good-looking and rather
well-dressed man, with something of a knowing card in his
countenance. He said that his grandfather was a fine old man,
who had seen a great deal, and that a great many people came to
hear his stories of the old time, of the French and American wars,
and of what he had seen in other countries. That, truth to
say, there was a time when his way was far from commendable, for
that he loved to fight, swear, and make himself drunk; but that now
he was another man, that he had abandoned all fighting and evil
speaking, and, to crown all, was a tee-totaller, he himself having
made him swear that he would no more drink either gin or ale: that
he went every Sunday either to church or Tabernacle, and that,
though he did not know how to read, he loved to hear the holy book
read to him; that the gentlemen of the parish entertained a great
regard for him, and that the church clergyman and, above all, Dr.
P. of the Tabernacle had a high opinion of him, and said that he
would partake of the holy banquet with our Lord Jesus in the
blessed country above. On my inquiring whether the Gypsies
came often to see him, he said that they came now and then to say
"Good day" and "How do you do?" but that was all; that neither his
grandfather nor himself cared to see them, because they were evil
people, full of wickedness and left-handed love, and, above all,
very envyous; that in the winter they all went in a body to the
gentlemen and spoke ill of the old man, and begged the gentlemen to
take from him a blanket which the gentlemen had lent him to warm
his poor old body with in the time of the terrible cold; that it is
true their wickedness did the old man no harm, for the gentlemen
told them to go away and be ashamed of themselves, but that it was
not pleasant to think that one was of the same blood as such
people. After some time I gave the old man a small piece of
silver, shook him by the hand, said that I should be glad to see
him live to be a hundred, and went away home.
KOKKODUS ARTARUS
Drey the puro cheeros there jibb'd a puri Romani
juva, Sinfaya laki nav. Tatchi Romani juva i; caum'd to
rokkra Romany, nav'd every mush kokkodus, ta every mushi
deya. Yeck chavo was láki; lescro nav Artáros;
dinnelo or diviou was O; romadi was lesgué; but the rommadi
merr'd, mukking leste yeck chávo. Artáros
caum'd to jal oprey the drom, and sikker his nangipen to rawnies
and kair muior. At last the ryor chiv'd leste drey the diviou
ker. The chávo jibb'd with his puri deya till he was a
desch ta pantsch besh engro. Yeck divvus a Romani juva
jalling along the drom dick'd the puri juva beshing tuley a bor
roving: What's the matter, Sinfaya, pukker'd i?
My chavo's chavo is lell'd oprey, deya.
What's he lell'd oprey for?
For a meila and posh, deya.
Why don't you jal to dick leste?
I have nash'd my maila, deya.
O má be tugni about your maila; jal and dick
leste.
I don't jin kah se, deya! diviou kokkodus
Artáros jins, kek mande. Ah diviou, diviou, jal amande
callico.
MANG, PRALA
Romano chavo was manging sar bori gudli yeck rye te
del les pasherro. Lescri deya so was beshing kek dur from
odoy penn'd in gorgikey rokrapen: Meklis juggal, ta av acoi! ma
kair the rye kinyo with your gudli! and then penn'd sig in Romany
jib: Mang, Prala, mang! Ta o chavo kair'd ajaw till the rye
chiv'd les yeck shohaury.
[Something like the following little anecdote is
related by the Gypsies in every part of Continental Europe.]
BEG ON, BROTHER
A Gypsy brat was once pestering a gentleman to give
him a halfpenny. The mother, who was sitting nigh, cried in
English: Leave off, you dog, and come here! don't trouble the
gentleman with your noise; and then added in Romany: Beg on,
brother! and so the brat did, till the gentleman flung him a
sixpence.
ENGLISH GYPSY SONGS
WELLING KATTANEY
Coin si deya, coin se dado?
Pukker mande drey Romanes,
Ta mande pukkeravava tute.
Rossar-mescri minri deya!
Vardo-mescro minro dado!
Coin se dado, coin si deya?
Mande's pukker'd tute drey Romanes;
Knau pukker tute mande.
Petuiengro minro dado!
Purana minri deya!
Tatchey Romany si men -
Mande's pukker'd tute drey Romanes,
Ta tute's pukker'd mande.
THE GYPSY MEETING
Who's your mother, who's your father?
Do thou answer me in Romany,
And I will answer thee.
A Hearne I have for mother!
A Cooper for my father!
Who's your father, who's your mother?
I have answer'd thee in Romany,
Now do thou answer me.
A Smith I have for father!
A Lee I have for mother!
True Romans both are we -
For I've answer'd thee in Romany,
And thou hast answer'd me.
LELLING CAPPI
"Av, my little Romany chel!
Av along with mansar!
Av, my little Romany chel!
Koshto si for mangue."
"I shall lel a curapen,
If I jal aley;
I shall lel a curapen
From my dear bebee."
"I will jal on my chongor,
Then I'll pootch your bebee.
'O my dear bebee, dey me your chi,
For koshto si for mangue.'
"'Since you pootch me for my chi,
I will dey you lati.'"
Av, my little Romany chel!
We will jal to the wafu tem:
"I will chore a beti gry,
And so we shall lel cappi."
"Kekko, meero mushipen,
For so you would be stardo;
"But I will jal a dukkering,
And so we shall lel cappi."
"Koshto, my little Romany chel!
Koshto si for mangue."
MAKING A FORTUNE
"Come along, my little gypsy girl,
Come along, my little dear;
Come along, my little gypsy girl -
We'll wander far and near."
"I should get a leathering
Should I with thee go;
I should get a leathering
From my dear aunt, I trow."
"I'll go down on my two knees,
And I will beg your aunt.
'O auntie dear, give me your child;
She's just the girl I want!'
"'Since you ask me for my child,
I will not say thee no!'
Come along, my little gypsy girl!
To another land we'll go:
"I will steal a little horse,
And our fortunes make thereby."
"Not so, my little gypsy boy,
For then you'd swing on high;
"But I'll a fortune-telling go,
And our fortunes make thereby."
"Well said, my little gypsy girl,
You counsel famously."
LELLING CAPPI - No.2
"Av, my little Rumni chel,
Av along with mansar;
We will jal a gry-choring
Pawdle across the chumba.
"I'll jaw tuley on my chongor
To your deya and your bebee;
And I'll pootch lende that they del
Tute to me for romadi."
"I'll jaw with thee, my Rumni chal,
If my dye and bebee muk me;
But choring gristurs traishes me,
For it brings one to the rukie.
"'Twere ferreder that you should ker,
Petuls and I should dukker,
For then adrey our tanney tan,
We kek atraish may sova."
"Kusko, my little Rumni chel,
Your rokrapen is kusko;
We'll dukker and we'll petuls ker
Pawdle across the chumba.
"O kusko si to chore a gry
Adrey the kaulo rarde;
But 'tis not kosko to be nash'd
Oprey the nashing rukie."
MAKING A FORTUNE - No.2
"Come along, my little gypsy girl,
Come along with me, I pray!
A-stealing horses we will go,
O'er the hills so far away.
"Before your mother and your aunt
I'll down upon my knee,
And beg they'll give me their little girl
To be my Romadie."
"I'll go with you, my gypsy boy,
If my mother and aunt agree;
But a perilous thing is horse-stealinge,
For it brings one to the tree.
"'Twere better you should tinkering ply,
And I should fortunes tell;
For then within our little tent
In safety we might dwell."
"Well said, my little gypsy girl,
I like well what you say;
We'll tinkering ply, and fortunes tell
O'er the hills so far away.
"'Tis a pleasant thing in a dusky night
A horse-stealing to go;
But to swing in the wind on the gallows-tree,
Is no pleasant thing, I trow."
THE DUI CHALOR
Dui Romany Chals were bitcheney,
Bitcheney pawdle the bori pawnee.
Plato for kawring,
Lasho for choring
The putsi of a bori rawnee.
And when they well'd to the wafu tem,
The tem that's pawdle the bori pawnee,
Plato was nasho
Sig, but Lasho
Was lell'd for rom by a bori rawnee.
You cam to jin who that rawnie was,
'Twas the rawnie from whom he chor'd the putsee:
The Chal had a black
Chohauniskie yack,
And she slomm'd him pawdle the bori pawnee.
THE TWO GYPSIES
Two Gypsy lads were transported,
Were sent across the great water.
Plato was sent for rioting,
And Louis for stealing the purse
Of a great lady.
And when they came to the other country,
The country that lies across the great water,
Plato was speedily hung,
But Louis was taken as a husband
By a great lady.
You wish to know who was the lady,
'Twas the lady from whom he stole the purse:
The Gypsy had a black and witching eye,
And on account of that she followed him
Across the great water.
MIRO ROMANY CHl
As I was a jawing to the gav yeck divvus
I met on the drom miro Romany chi;
I pootch'd las whether she come sar mande,
And she penn'd tu sar wafo rommadis;
O mande there is kek wafo romady,
So penn'd I to miro Romany chi,
And I'll kair tute miro tatcho romadi
If you but pen tu come sar mande.
MY ROMAN LASS
As I to the town was going one day
My Roman lass I met by the way;
Said I: Young maid, will you share my lot?
Said she: Another wife you've got.
Ah no! to my Roman lass I cried:
No wife have I in the world so wide,
And you my wedded wife shall be
If you will consent to come with me.
AVA, CHI
Hokka tute mande
Mande pukkra bebee
Mande shauvo tute -
Ava, Chi!
YES, MY GIRL
If to me you prove untrue,
Quickly I'll your auntie tell
I've been over-thick with you -
Yes, my girl, I will.
THE TEMESKOE RYE
Penn'd the temeskoe rye to the Romany chi,
As the choon was dicking prey lende dui:
Rinkeny tawni, Romany rawni,
Mook man choom teero gudlo mui.
THE YOUTHFUL EARL
Said the youthful earl to the Gypsy girl,
As the moon was casting its silver shine:
Brown little lady, Egyptian lady,
Let me kiss those sweet lips of thine.
CAMO-GILLIE
Pawnie birks
My men-engni shall be;
Yackors my dudes
Like ruppeney shine:
Atch meery chi!
Mā jal away:
Perhaps I may not dick tute
Kek komi.
LOVE-SONG
I'd choose as pillows for my head
Those snow-white breasts of thine;
I'd use as lamps to light my bed
Those eyes of silver shine:
O lovely maid, disdain me not,
Nor leave me in my pain:
Perhaps 'twill never be my lot
To see thy face again.
TUGNIS AMANDE
I'm jalling across the pāni -
A choring mas and morro,
Along with a bori lubbeny,
And she has been the ruin of me.
I sov'd yeck rarde drey a gran,
A choring mas and morro,
Along with a bori lubbeny,
And she has been the ruin of me.
She pootch'd me on the collico,
A choring mas and morro,
To jaw with lasa to the show,
For she would be the ruin of me.
And when I jaw'd odoy with lasa,
A choring mas and morro,
Sig she chor'd a rawnie's kissi,
And so she was the ruin of me.
They lell'd up lata, they lell'd up mande,
A choring mas and morro,
And bitch'd us dui pawdle pãni,
So she has been the ruin of me.
I'm jalling across the pāni,
A choring mas and morro,
Along with a bori lubbeny,
And she has been the ruin of me.
WOE IS ME
I'm sailing across the water,
A-stealing bread and meat so free,
Along with a precious harlot,
And she has been the ruin of me.
I slept one night within a barn,
A-stealing bread and meat so free,
Along with a precious harlot,
And she has been the ruin of me.
Next morning she would have me go,
A-stealing bread and meat so free,
To see with her the wild-beast show,
For she would be the ruin of me.
I went with her to see the show,
A-stealing bread and meat so free,
To steal a purse she was not slow,
And so she was the ruin of me.
They took us up, and with her I,
A-stealing bread and meat so free:
Am sailing now to Botany,
So she has been the ruin of me.
I'm sailing across the water,
A-stealing bread and meat so free,
Along with a precious harlot,
And she has been the ruin of me.
THE RYE AND RAWNIE
The rye he mores adrey the wesh
The kaun-engro and chiriclo;
You sovs with leste drey the wesh,
And rigs for leste the gono.
Oprey the rukh adrey the wesh
Are chiriclo and chiricli;
Tuley the rukh adrey the wesh
Are pireno and pireni.
THE SQUIRE AND LADY
The squire he roams the good greenwood,
And shoots the pheasant and the hare;
Thou sleep'st with him in good green wood,
And dost for him the game-sack bear.
I see, I see upon the tree
The little male and female dove;
Below the tree I see, I see
The lover and his lady love.
ROMANY SUTTUR GILLIE
Jaw to sutturs, my tiny chal;
Your die to dukker has jall'd abri;
At rarde she will wel palal
And tute of her tud shall pie.
Jaw to lutherum, tiny baw!
I'm teerie deya's purie mam;
As tute cams her tud canaw
Thy deya meerie tud did cam.
GYPSY LULLABY
Sleep thee, little tawny boy!
Thy mother's gone abroad to spae,
Her kindly milk thou shalt enjoy
When home she comes at close of day.
Sleep thee, little tawny guest!
Thy mother is my daughter fine;
As thou dost love her kindly breast,
She once did love this breast of mine.
SHARRAFI KRALYISSA
Finor coachey innar Lundra,
Bonor coachey innar Lundra,
Finor coachey, bonor coachey
Mande dick'd innar Lundra.
Bonor, finor coachey
Mande dick'd innar Lundra
The divvus the Kralyissa jall'd
To congri innar Lundra.
OUR BLESSED QUEEN
Coaches fine in London,
Coaches good in London,
Coaches fine and coaches good
I did see in London.
Coaches good and coaches fine
I did see in London,
The blessed day our blessed Queen
Rode to church in London.
PLASTRA LESTI!
Gare yourselves, pralor!
Mã pee kek-komi!
The guero's welling -
Plastra lesti!
RUN FOR IT!
Up, up, brothers!
Cease your revels!
The Gentile's coming -
Run like devils!
FOREIGN GYPSY SONGS
Oy die-la, oy mama-la oy!
Cherie podey mangue penouri.
Russian Gypsy Song.
THE ROMANY SONGSTRESS
FROM THE RUSSIAN GYPSY
Her temples they are aching,
As if wine she had been taking;
Her tears are ever springing,
Abandoned is her singing!
She can neither eat nor nest
With love she's so distress'd;
At length she's heard to say:
"Oh here I cannot stay,
Go saddle me my steed,
To my lord I must proceed;
In his palace plenteously
Both eat and drink shall I;
The servants far and wide,
Bidding guests shall run and ride.
And when within the hall the multitude I see,
I'll raise my voice anew, and sing in Romany."
L'ERAJAI
Un erajai
Sinaba chibando un sermon;
Y lle falta un balicho
Al chindomar de aquel gao,
Y lo chanelaba que los Cales
Lo abian nicabao;
Y penela l'erajai, "Chaboró!
Guillate a tu quer
Ynicabela la peri
Que terela el balicho,
Y chibela andro
Una lima de tun chaborí,
Chabori,
Una lima de tun chabori."
THE FRIAR
FROM THE SPANISH GYPSY
A Friar
Was preaching once with zeal and with fire;
And a butcher of the town
Had lost a flitch of bacon;
And well the friar knew
That the Gypsies it had taken;
So suddenly he shouted: "Gypsy, ho!
Hie home, and from the pot!
Take the flitch of bacon out,
The flitch good and fat,
And in its place throw
A clout, a dingy clout of thy brat,
Of thy brat,
A clout, a dingy clout of thy brat."
MALBRUN
Chaló Malbrun chingarár,
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
Chaló Malbrun chingarár;
No sé bus truterá!
No sé bus truterá!
La romi que le caméla,
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
La romi que le camela
Muy curepeñada está,
Muy curepeñada está.
S'ardéla á la felichá,
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
S'ardéla á la felichá
Y baribu dur dicá,
Y baribu dur dicá.
Dicá abillar su burno,
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
Dicá abillar su burno,
En ropa callardá,
En ropa callardá.
"Burno, lacho quirbó;
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
Burno, lacho quiribó,
Que nuevas has diñar?
Que nuevas has diñar?"
"Las nuevas que io térelo,
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
Las nuevas que io terélo
Te haran orobar,
Te haran orobar.
"Meró Malbrun mi eráy,
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
Meró Malbrun mi eráy
Meró en la chingá,
Meró en la chingá.
"Sinaba ásu entierro,
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
Sinaba á su entierro
La plastani sará,
La plastani sará.
"Seis guapos jundunáres,
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
Seis guapos jundunáres
Le lleváron cabañar,
Le lleváron cabañar.
"Delante de la jestári,
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
Delante de la jestári
Chaló el sacristá,
Chaló el sacristá.
"El sacristá delante,
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
El sacristá delante,
Y el errajai palá,
Y el errajai palá.
"Al majaro ortaláme,
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
Al majaro ortaláme
Le lleváron cabañar,
Le lleváron cabañar.
"Y oté le cabañáron
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
Y oté le cabañáron
No dur de la burdá,
No dur de la burdá.
"Y opré de la jestári
Birandón, birandón,
birandéra!
Guillabéla un chilindróte;
Sobá en paz, sobá!
Sobá en paz, sobá!
MALBROUK
FROM THE SPANISH GYPSY VERSION
Malbrouk is gone to the wars,
Birrandón, birrandón,
birrandéra!
Malbrouk is gone to the wars;
He'll never return no more!
He'll never return no more!
His lady-love and darling,
Birrandon, birrandón, birrandéra
His lady-love and darling
His absence doth deplore,
His absence doth deplore.
To the turret's top she mounted,
Birrandón, birrandón,
birrandéra!
To the turret's top she mounted
And look'd till her eyes were sore,
And look'd till her eyes were sore.
She saw his squire a-coming,
Birrandón, birrandón,
birrandéra!
She saw his squire a-coming;
And a mourning suit he wore,
And a mourning suit he wore.
"O squire, my trusty fellow;
Birrandón, birrandón,
birrandéra!
O squire, my trusty fellow,
What news of my soldier poor?
What news of my soldier poor?"
"The news which I bring thee, lady,
Birrandón, birrandón,
birrandéra!
The news which I bring thee, lady,
Will cause thy tears to shower,
Will cause thy tears to shower.
"Malbrouk my master's fallen,
Birrandón, birrandón,
birrandéra!
Malbrouk my master's fallen,
He fell on the fields of gore,
He fell on the fields of gore.
"His funeral attended,
Birrandón, birrandón,
birrandéra!
His funeral attended
The whole reg'mental corps,
The whole reg'mental corps.
"Six neat and proper soldiers,
Birrandón, birrandón,
birrandéra!
Six neat and proper soldiers
To the grave my master bore,
To the grave my master bore.
"The parson follow'd the coffin,
Birrandón, birrandón,
birrandéra!
The parson follow'd the coffin,
And the sexton walk'd before,
And the sexton walk'd before.
"They buried him in the churchyard,
Birrandón, birrandón,
birrandéra!
They buried him in the churchyard,
Not far from the church's door,
Not far from the church's door.
"And there above his coffin,
Birrandón, birrandón,
birrandéra!
There sings a little swallow:
Sleep there, thy toils are o'er,
Sleep there, thy toils are o'er."
THE ENGLISH GYPSIES
TUGNEY BESHOR
The Romany Chals
Should jin so bute
As the Puro Beng
To scape of gueros
And wafo gorgies
The wafodupen.
They lels our gryor,
They lels our wardoes,
And wusts us then
Drey starripenes
To mer of pishens
And buklipen.
Cauna volélan
Muley pappins
Pawdle the len
Men artavàvam
Of gorgio foky
The wafodupen.
Ley teero sollohanloinus opreylis!
SORROWFUL YEARS
The wit and the skill
Of the Father of ill,
Who's clever indeed,
If they would hope
With their foes to cope
The Romany need.
Our horses they take,
Our waggons they break,
And us they fling
Into horrid cells,
Where hunger dwells
And vermin sting.
When the dead swallow
The fly shall follow
Across the river,
O we'll forget
The wrongs we've met,
But till then O never:
Brother, of that be certain.
The English Gypsies call themselves Romany Chals and
Romany Chies, that is, Sons and Daughters of Rome. When
speaking to each other, they say "Pal" and "Pen"; that is, brother
and sister. All people not of their own blood they call
"Gorgios," or Gentiles. Gypsies first made their appearance
in England about the year 1480. They probably came from
France, where tribes of the race had long been wandering about
under the names of Bohemians and Egyptians. In England they
pursued the same kind of merripen {3} which they and their
ancestors had pursued on the Continent. They roamed about in
bands, consisting of thirty, sixty, or ninety families, with light,
creaking carts, drawn by horses and donkeys, encamping at night in
the spots they deemed convenient. The women told fortunes at
the castle of the baron and the cottage of the yeoman; filched gold
and silver coins from the counters of money-changers; caused the
death of hogs in farmyards, by means of a stuff called drab or
drao, which affects the brain, but does not corrupt the blood; and
subsequently begged, and generally obtained, the carcases.
The men plied tinkering and brasiery, now and then stole horses,
and occasionally ventured upon highway robbery. The writer
has here placed the Chies before the Chals, because, as he has
frequently had occasion to observe, the Gypsy women are by far more
remarkable beings than the men. It is the Chi and not the
Chal who has caused the name of Gypsy to be a sound awaking wonder,
awe, and curiosity in every part of the civilised world. Not
that there have never been remarkable men of the Gypsy race both
abroad and at home. Duke Michael, as he was called, the
leader of the great Gypsy horde which suddenly made its appearance
in Germany at the beginning of the fifteenth century, was no doubt
a remarkable man; the Gitano Condre, whom Martin del Rio met at
Toledo a hundred years afterwards, who seemed to speak all
languages, and to be perfectly acquainted with the politics of all
the Courts of Europe, must certainly have been a remarkable man;
so, no doubt, here at home was Boswell; so undoubtedly was Cooper,
called by the gentlemen of the Fives Court - poor fellows! they are
all gone now - the "wonderful little Gypsy"; - but upon the whole
the poetry, the sorcery, the devilry, if you please to call it so,
are vastly on the side of the women. How blank and inanimate
is the countenance of the Gypsy man, even when trying to pass off a
foundered donkey as a flying dromedary, in comparison with that of
the female Romany, peering over the wall of a par-yard at a jolly
hog!
Sar shin Sinfye?
Koshto divvus, Romany Chi!
So shan tute kairing acoi?
Sinfye, Sinfye! how do you do?
Daughter of Rome, good day to you!
What are you thinking here to do?
After a time the evil practices of the Gypsies began
to be noised about, and terrible laws were enacted against people
"using the manner of Egyptians" - Chies were scourged by dozens,
Chals hung by scores. Throughout the reign of Elizabeth there
was a terrible persecution of the Gypsy race; far less, however, on
account of the crimes which they actually committed, than from a
suspicion which was entertained that they harboured amidst their
companies priests and emissaries of Rome, who had come to England
for the purpose of sowing sedition and inducing the people to
embrace again the old discarded superstition. This suspicion,
however, was entirely without foundation. The Gypsies call
each other brother and sister, and are not in the habit of
admitting to their fellowship people of a different blood and with
whom they have no sympathy. There was, however, a description
of wandering people at that time, even as there is at present, with
whom the priests, who are described as going about, sometimes
disguised as serving-men, sometimes as broken soldiers, sometimes
as shipwrecked mariners, would experience no difficulty in
associating, and with whom, in all probability, they occasionally
did associate - the people called in Acts of Parliament sturdy
beggars and vagrants, in the old cant language Abraham men, and in
the modern Pikers. These people have frequently been
confounded with the Gypsies, but are in reality a distinct race,
though they resemble the latter in some points. They roam
about like the Gypsies, and, like them, have a kind of secret
language. But the Gypsies are a people of Oriental origin,
whilst the Abrahamites are the scurf of the English body
corporate. The language of the Gypsies is a real language,
more like the Sanscrit than any other language in the world;
whereas the speech of the Abrahamites is a horrid jargon, composed
for the most part of low English words used in an allegorical sense
- a jargon in which a stick is called a crack; a hostess, a rum
necklace; a bar-maid, a dolly-mort; brandy, rum booze; a constable,
a horny. But enough of these Pikers, these Abrahamites.
Sufficient to observe that if the disguised priests associated with
wandering companies it must have been with these people, who admit
anybody to their society, and not with the highly exclusive race
the Gypsies.
For nearly a century and a half after the death of
Elizabeth the Gypsies seem to have been left tolerably to
themselves, for the laws are almost silent respecting them.
Chies, no doubt, were occasionally scourged for cauring, that is
filching gold and silver coins, and Chals hung for grychoring, that
is horse-stealing; but those are little incidents not much regarded
in Gypsy merripen. They probably lived a life during the
above period tolerably satisfactory to themselves - they are not an
ambitious people, and there is no word for glory in their language
- but next to nothing is known respecting them. A people
called Gypsies are mentioned, and to a certain extent treated of,
in two remarkable works - one a production of the seventeenth, the
other of the eighteenth century - the first entitled the 'English
Rogue, or the Adventures of Merriton Latroon,' the other the 'Life
of Bamfield Moore Carew'; but those works, though clever and
entertaining, and written in the raciest English, are to those who
seek for information respecting Gypsies entirely valueless, the
writers having evidently mistaken for Gypsies the Pikers or
Abrahamites, as the vocabularies appended to the histories, and
which are professedly vocabularies of the Gypsy language, are
nothing of the kind, but collections of words and phrases belonging
to the Abrahamite or Piker jargon. At the commencement of the
last century, and for a considerable time afterwards, there was a
loud cry raised against the Gypsy women for stealing
children. This cry, however, was quite as devoid of reason as
the suspicion entertained of old against the Gypsy communities of
harbouring disguised priests. Gypsy women, as the writer had
occasion to remark many a long year ago, have plenty of children of
their own, and have no wish to encumber themselves with those of
other people. A yet more extraordinary charge was, likewise,
brought against them - that of running away with wenches.
Now, the idea of Gypsy women running away with wenches! Where
were they to stow them in the event of running away with them? and
what were they to do with them in the event of being able to stow
them? Nevertheless, two Gypsy women were burnt in the hand in
the most cruel and frightful manner, somewhat about the middle of
the last century, and two Gypsy men, their relations, sentenced to
be hanged, for running away with a certain horrible wench of the
name of Elizabeth Canning, who, to get rid of a disgraceful burden,
had left her service and gone into concealment for a month, and on
her return, in order to account for her absence, said that she had
been run away with by Gypsies. The men, however, did not
undergo their sentence; for, ere the day appointed for their
execution arrived, suspicions beginning to be entertained with
respect to the truth of the wench's story, they were reprieved,
and, after a little time, the atrocious creature, who had charged
people with doing what they neither did nor dreamt of doing, was
tried for perjury, convicted, and sentenced to
transportation. Yet so great is English infatuation that this
Canning, this Elizabeth, had a host of friends, who stood by her,
and swore by her to the last, and almost freighted the ship which
carried her away with goods, the sale of which enabled her to
purchase her freedom of the planter to whom she was consigned, to
establish herself in business, and to live in comfort, and almost
in luxury, in the New World during the remainder of her life.
But though Gypsies have occasionally experienced
injustice; though Patricos and Sherengroes were hanged by dozens in
Elizabeth's time on suspicion of harbouring disguised priests;
though Gypsy women in the time of the Second George, accused of
running away with wenches, were scorched and branded, there can be
no doubt that they live in almost continual violation of the laws
intended for the protection of society; and it may be added, that
in this illegal way of life the women have invariably played a more
important part than the men. Of them, amongst other things,
it may be said that they are the most accomplished swindlers in the
world, their principal victims being people of their own sex, on
whose credulity and superstition they practise. Mary Caumlo,
or Lovel, was convicted a few years ago at Cardiff of having
swindled a surgeon's wife of eighty pounds, under pretence of
propitiating certain planets by showing them the money. Not a
penny of the booty was ever recovered by the deluded victim; and
the Caumli, on leaving the dock, after receiving sentence of a
year's imprisonment, turned round and winked to some brother
or sister in court, as much as to say: "Mande has gared
the luvvu; mande is kek atugni for the besh's starripen" - "I
have hid the money, and care nothing for the year's
imprisonment." Young Rawnie P. of N., the daughter of old
Rawnie P., suddenly disappeared with the whole capital of an aged
and bedridden gentlewoman, amounting to nearly three hundred
pounds, whom she had assured that if she were intrusted with it for
a short time she should be able to gather certain herbs, from which
she could make decoctions, which would restore to the afflicted
gentlewoman all her youthful vigour. Mrs. Townsley of the
Border was some time ago in trouble at Wick, only twenty-five miles
distant from Johnny Groat's House, on a charge of fraudulently
obtaining from a fisherman's wife one shilling, two half-crowns,
and a five-pound note by promising to untie certain witch-locks,
which she had induced her to believe were entwined in the meshes of
the fisherman's net, and would, if suffered to remain, prevent him
from catching a single herring in the Firth. These events
occurred within the last few years, and are sufficiently
notorious. They form a triad out of dozens of a similar kind,
in some of which there are features so odd, so strangely droll,
that indignation against the offence is dispelled by an
irresistible desire to laugh.
But Gypsyism is declining, and its days are
numbered. There is a force abroad which is doomed to destroy
it, a force which never sleepeth either by day or night, and which
will not allow the Roman people rest for the soles of their
feet. That force is the Rural Police, which, had it been
established at the commencement instead of towards the middle of
the present century, would have put down Gypsyism long ago.
But, recent as its establishment has been, observe what it has
produced. Walk from London to Carlisle, but neither by the
road's side, nor on heath or common, will you see a single Gypsy
tent. True Gypsyism consists in wandering about, in preying
upon the Gentiles, but not living amongst them. But such a
life is impossible in these days; the Rural Force will not permit
it. "It is a hard thing, brother," said old Agamemnon Caumlo
to the writer, several years ago; "it is a hard thing, after one
has pitched one's little tent, lighted one's little fire, and hung
one's kettle by the kettle-iron over it to boil, to have an
inspector or constable come up, and say, 'What are you doing
here? Take yourself off, you Gypsy dog!'" A hard thing,
indeed, old Agamemnon; but there is no help for it. You must
e'en live amongst the Gorgios. And for years past the Gypsies
have lived amongst the Gorgios, and what has been the result?
They do not seem to have improved the Gentiles, and have certainly
not been improved by them. By living amongst the Gentiles
they have, to a certain extent, lost the only two virtues they
possessed. Whilst they lived apart on heaths and commons, and
in shadowy lanes, the Gypsy women were paragons of chastity, and
the men, if not exactly patterns of sobriety, were, upon the whole,
very sober fellows. Such terms, however, are by no means
applicable to them at the present day. Sects and castes, even
of thieves and murderers, can exist as long as they have certain
virtues, which give them a kind of respect in their own eyes; but,
losing those virtues, they soon become extinct. When the salt
loses its savour, what becomes of it? The Gypsy salt has not
altogether lost its savour, but that essential quality is every day
becoming fainter, so that there is every reason to suppose that
within a few years the English Gypsy caste will have disappeared,
merged in the dregs of the English population.
GYPSY NAMES
There are many curious things connected with the
Gypsies, but perhaps nothing more so than what pertains to their
names. They have a double nomenclature, each tribe or family
having a public and a private name, one by which they are known to
the Gentiles, and another to themselves alone. Their public
names are quite English; their private ones attempts, some of them
highly singular and uncouth, to render those names by Gypsy
equivalents. Gypsy names may be divided into two classes,
names connected with trades, and surnames or family names.
First of all, something about trade names.
There are only two names of trades which have been
adopted by English Gypsies as proper names, Cooper and Smith: these
names are expressed in the English Gypsy dialect by
Vardo-mescro and Petulengro. The first of these
renderings is by no means a satisfactory one, as
Vardo-mescro means a cartwright, or rather a carter. To
speak the truth, it would be next to impossible to render the word
'cooper' into English Gypsy, or indeed into Gypsy of any kind; a
cooper, according to the common acceptation of the word, is one who
makes pails, tubs, and barrels, but there are no words in Gypsy for
such vessels. The Transylvanian Gypsies call a cooper a
bedra-kero or pail-maker, but bedra is not Gypsy, but
Hungarian, and the English Gypsies might with equal propriety call
a cooper a pail-engro. On the whole the English
Gypsies did their best when they rendered 'cooper' into their
language by the word for 'cartwright.'
Petulengro, the other trade
name, is borne by the Gypsies who are known to the public by the
English appellation of Smith. It is not very easy to say what
is the exact meaning of Petulengro: it must signify,
however, either horseshoe-fellow or tinker: petali or
petala signifies in Gypsy a horseshoe, and is probably derived
from the Modern Greek [Greek: ]; engro is an affix, and is
either derived from or connected with the Sanscrit kara, to
make, so that with great feasibility Petulengro may be
translated horseshoe-maker. But bedel in Hebrew means
'tin,' and as there is little more difference between petul
and bedel than between petul and petalon,
Petulengro may be translated with almost equal feasibility by
tinker or tin-worker, more especially as tinkering is a principal
pursuit of Gypsies, and to jal petulengring signifies to go
a-tinkering in English Gypsy. Taken, however, in either
sense, whether as horseshoe-maker or tin-worker (and, as has been
already observed, it must mean one or the other), Petulengro
may be considered as a tolerably fair rendering of the English
Smith.
So much for the names of the Gypsies which the writer
has ventured to call the trade names; now for those of the other
class. These are English surnames, and for the most part of a
highly aristocratic character, and it seems at first surprising
that people so poor and despised as Gypsies should be found bearing
names so time-honoured and imposing. There is, however, a
tolerable explanation of the matter in the supposition that on
their first arrival in England the different tribes sought the
protection of certain grand powerful families, and were permitted
by them to locate themselves on their heaths and amid their
woodlands, and that they eventually adopted the names of their
patrons. Here follow the English names of some of the
principal tribes, with the Romany translations or equivalents:-
BOSWELL. - The proper meaning of this word is the
town of Bui. The initial Bo or Bui is an old
Northern name, signifying a colonist or settler, one who tills and
builds. It was the name of a great many celebrated Northern
kempions, who won land and a home by hard blows. The
last syllable, well, is the French ville: Boswell,
Boston, and Busby all signify one and the same thing - the town of
Bui - the well being French, the ton Saxon, and the
by Danish; they are half-brothers of Bovil and Belville,
both signifying fair town, and which ought to be written Beauville
and Belville. The Gypsies, who know and care nothing about
etymologies, confounding bos with buss, a vulgar
English verb not to be found in dictionaries, which signifies to
kiss, rendered the name Boswell by Chumomisto, that is,
Kisswell, or one who kisses well - choom in their language
signifying to kiss, and misto well - likewise by
choomomescro, a kisser. Vulgar as the word buss
may sound at present, it is by no means of vulgar origin, being
connected with the Latin basio and the Persian
bousè.
GREY. - This is the name of a family celebrated in
English history. The Gypsies who adopted it, rendered it into
their language by Gry, a word very much resembling it in
sound, though not in sense, for gry, which is allied to the
Sanscrit ghora, signifies a horse. They had no better
choice, however, for in Romany there is no word for grey, any more
than there is for green or blue. In several languages there
is a difficulty in expressing the colour which in English is called
grey. In Celtic, for instance, there is no definite word for
it; glas, it is true, is used to express it, but glas
is as frequently used to express green as it is to express
grey.
HEARNE, HERNE. - This is the name of a family which
bears the heron for its crest, the name being either derived from
the crest, or the crest from the name. There are two Gypsy
renderings of the word - Rossar-mescro or
Ratzie-mescro, and Balorengre. Rossar-mescro
signifies duck-fellow, the duck being substituted for the heron,
for which there is no word in Romany. The meaning of
Balor-engre is hairy people; the translator or translators
seeming to have confounded Hearne with 'haaren,' old English for
hairs. The latter rendering has never been much in use.
LEE. - The Gypsy name of this tribe is Purrum,
sometimes pronounced Purrun. The meaning of
Purrurn is an onion, and it may be asked what connection can
there be between Lee and onion? None whatever: but there is
some resemblance in sound between Lee and leek, and it is probable
that the Gypsies thought so, and on that account rendered the name
by Purrum, which, if not exactly a leek, at any rate
signifies something which is cousin-german to a leek. It must
be borne in mind that in some parts of England the name Lee is
spelt Legh and Leigh, which would hardly be the case if at one time
it had not terminated in something like a guttural, so that when
the Gypsies rendered the name, perhaps nearly four hundred years
ago, it sounded very much like 'leek,' and perhaps was Leek, a name
derived from the family crest. At first the writer was of
opinion that the name was Purrun, a modification of
pooro, which in the Gypsy language signifies old, but speedily
came to the conclusion that it must be Purrum, a leek or
onion; for what possible reason could the Gypsies have for
rendering Lee by a word which signifies old or ancient? whereas by
rendering it by Purrum, they gave themselves a Gypsy name,
which, if it did not signify Lee, must to their untutored minds
have seemed a very good substitute for Lee. The Gypsy word
pooro, old, belongs to Hindostan, and is connected with the
Sanscrit pura, which signifies the same. Purrum
is a modification of the Wallachian pur, a word derived from
the Latin porrum, an onion, and picked up by the Gypsies in
Roumania or Wallachia, the natives of which region speak a highly
curious mixture of Latin and Sclavonian.
LOVEL. - This is the name or title of an old and
powerful English family. The meaning of it is Leo's town,
Lowe's town, or Louis' town. The Gypsies, who adopted it,
seem to have imagined that it had something to do with love, for
they translated it by Camlo or Caumlo, that which is
lovely or amiable, and also by Camomescro, a lover, an
amorous person, sometimes used for 'friend.' Camlo is
connected with the Sanscrit Cama, which signifies love, and
is the appellation of the Hindoo god of love. A name of the
same root as the one borne by that divinity was not altogether
inapplicable to the Gypsy tribe who adopted it: Cama, if all
tales be true, was black, black though comely, a
Beltenebros, and the Lovel tribe is decidedly the most comely
and at the same time the darkest of all the Anglo-Egyptian
families. The faces of many of them, male and female, are
perfect specimens of black beauty. They are generally called
by the race the Kaulo Camloes, the Black Comelies. And
here, though at the risk of being thought digressive, the writer
cannot forbear saying that the darkest and at one time the
comeliest of all the Caumlies, a celebrated fortune-teller,
and an old friend of his, lately expired in a certain old town,
after attaining an age which was something wonderful. She had
twenty-one brothers and sisters, and was the eldest of the family,
on which account she was called "Rawnie P., pooroest of bis ta
dui," Lady P. - she had married out of the family - eldest of
twenty-two.
MARSHALL. - The name Marshall has either to do with
marshal, the title of a high military personage, or marches, the
borders of contiguous countries. In the early Norman period
it was the name of an Earl of Pembroke. The Gypsies who
adopted the name seem in translating it to have been of opinion
that it was connected with marshes, for they rendered it by
mokkado tan engre, fellows of the wet or miry place, an
appellation which at one time certainly became them well, for they
are a northern tribe belonging to the Border, a country not very
long ago full of mosses and miry places. Though calling
themselves English, they are in reality quite as much Scotch as
English, and as often to be found in Scotland as the other country,
especially in Dumfriesshire and Galloway, in which latter region,
in Saint Cuthbert's churchyard, lies buried 'the old man' of the
race, - Marshall, who died at the age of 107. They sometimes
call themselves Bungyoror and Chikkeneymengre,
cork-fellows and china people, which names have reference to the
occupations severally followed by the males and females, the former
being cutters of bungs and corks, and the latter menders of
china.
STANLEY. - This is the name or title of an ancient
English family celebrated in history. It is probably
descriptive of their original place of residence, for it signifies
the stony lea, which is also the meaning of the Gaelic
Auchinlech, the place of abode of the Scottish Boswells.
It was adopted by an English Gypsy tribe, at one time very
numerous, but at present much diminished. Of this name there
are two renderings into Romany; one is Baryor or
Baremescre, stone-folks or stonemasons, the other is
Beshaley. The first requires no comment, but the second
is well worthy of analysis, as it is an example of the strange
blunders which the Gypsies sometimes make in their attempts at
translation. When they rendered Stanley by Beshaley or
Beshley, they mistook the first syllable stan for
'stand,' but for a very good reason rendered it by besh,
which signifies 'to sit, and the second for a word in their own
language, for ley or aley in Gypsy signifies 'down,'
so they rendered Stanley by Beshley or Beshaley,
which signifies 'sit down.' Here, of course, it will be asked
what reason could have induced them, if they mistook stan
for 'stand,' not to have rendered it by the Gypsy word for
'stand'? The reason was a very cogent one, the want of a word
in the Gypsy language to express 'stand'; but they had heard in
courts of justice witnesses told to stand down, so they supposed
that to stand down was much the same as to sit down, whence their
odd rendering of Stanley. In no dialect of the Gypsy, from
the Indus to the Severn, is there any word for 'stand,' though in
every one there is a word for 'sit,' and that is besh, and
in every Gypsy encampment all along the vast distance,
Beshley or Beshaley would be considered an invitation to
sit down.
So much for the double-name system in use among the
Gypsies of England. There is something in connection with the
Gypsies of Spain which strangely coincides with one part of it -
the translation of names. Among the relics of the language of
the Gitanos or Spanish Gypsies are words, some simple and some
compound, which are evidently attempts to translate names in a
manner corresponding to the plan employed by the English
Romany. In illustration of the matter, the writer will give
an analysis of Brono Aljenicato, the rendering into Gitano
of the name of one frequently mentioned in the New Testament, and
once in the Apostles' Creed, the highly respectable, but much
traduced individual known to the English public as Pontius Pilate,
to the Spanish as Poncio Pilato. The manner in which the
rendering has been accomplished is as follows: Poncio bears
some resemblance to the Spanish puente, which signifies a
bridge, and is a modification of the Latin pons, and
Pilato to the Spanish pila, a fountain, or rather a
stone pillar, from the top of which the waters of a fountain
springing eventually fall into a stone basin below, the two words -
the Brono Aljenicato - signifying bridge-fountain, or that
which is connected with such a thing. Now this is the
identical, or all but the identical, way in which the names Lee,
Lovel, and Stanley have been done into English Romany. A
remarkable instance is afforded in this Gitano Scripture name, this
Brono Aljenicato, of the heterogeneous materials of which
Gypsy dialects are composed: Brono is a modification of a
Hindoo or Sanscrit, Aljenicato of an Arabic root.
Brono is connected with the Sanscrit pindala, which
signifies a bridge, and Aljenicato is a modification of the
Gypsy aljenique, derived from the Arabic alain, which
signifies the fountain. But of whatever materials composed, a
fine-sounding name is this same Brono Aljenicato, perhaps
the finest sounding specimen of Spanish Gypsy extant, much finer
than a translation of Pontius Pilate would be, provided the name
served to express the same things, in English, which Poncio
Pilato serves to express in Spanish, for then it would be
Pudjico Pani or Bridgewater; for though in English Gypsy there
is the word for a bridge, namely pudge, a modification of
the Persian pul, or the Wallachian podul, there is
none for a fountain, which can be only vaguely paraphrased by
pani, water.
FORTUNE-TELLING
Gypsy women, as long as we have known anything of
Gypsy history, have been arrant fortune-tellers. They plied
fortune-telling about France and Germany as early as 1414, the year
when the dusky bands were first observed in Europe, and they have
never relinquished the practice. There are two words for
fortune-telling in Gypsy, bocht and dukkering.
Bocht is a Persian word, a modification of, or connected with,
the Sanscrit bagya, which signifies 'fate.'
Dukkering is the modification of a Wallaco-Sclavonian word
signifying something spiritual or ghostly. In Eastern
European Gypsy, the Holy Ghost is called Swentuno Ducos.
Gypsy fortune-telling is much the same everywhere,
much the same in Russia as it is in Spain and in England.
Everywhere there are three styles - the lofty, the familiar, and
the homely; and every Gypsy woman is mistress of all three and uses
each according to the rank of the person whose vast she
dukkers, whose hand she reads, and adapts the luck she
promises. There is a ballad of some antiquity in the Spanish
language about the Buena Ventura, a few stanzas of which
translated will convey a tolerable idea of the first of these
styles to the reader, who will probably with no great reluctance
dispense with any illustrations of the other two:-
Late rather one morning
In summer's sweet tide,
Goes forth to the Prado
Jacinta the bride:
There meets her a Gypsy
So fluent of talk,
And jauntily dressed,
On the principal walk.
"O welcome, thrice welcome,
Of beauty thou flower!
Believe me, believe me,
Thou com'st in good hour."
Surprised was Jacinta;
She fain would have fled;
But the Gypsy to cheer her
Such honeyed words said:
"O cheek like the rose-leaf!
O lady high-born!
Turn thine eyes on thy servant,
But ah, not in scorn.
"O pride of the Prado!
O joy of our clime!
Thou twice shalt be married,
And happily each time.
"Of two noble sons
Thou shalt be the glad mother,
One a Lord Judge,
A Field-Marshal the other."
Gypsy females have told fortunes to higher people
than the young Countess Jacinta: Modor - of the Gypsy quire
of Moscow - told the fortune of Ekatarina, Empress of all the
Russias. The writer does not know what the Ziganka told that
exalted personage, but it appears that she gave perfect
satisfaction to the Empress, who not only presented her with a
diamond ring - a Russian diamond ring is not generally of much
value - but also her hand to kiss. The writer's old friend,
Pepíta, the Gitana of Madrid, told the bahi of
Christina, the Regentess of Spain, in which she assured her that
she would marry the son of the King of France, and received from
the fair Italian a golden ounce, the most magnificent of coins, a
guerdon which she richly merited, for she nearly hit the mark, for
though Christina did not marry the son of the King of France, her
second daughter was married to a son of the King of France, the
Duke of M-, one of the three claimants of the crown of Spain, and
the best of the lot; and Britannia, the Caumli, told the good luck
to the Regent George on Newmarket Heath, and received 'foive
guineas' and a hearty smack from him who eventually became George
the Fourth - no bad fellow by the by, either as regent or king,
though as much abused as Pontius Pilate, whom he much resembled in
one point, unwillingness to take life - the sonkaypè
or gold-gift being, no doubt, more acceptable than the
choomapé or kiss-gift to the Beltenebrosa, who, if a
certain song be true, had no respect for gorgios, however
much she liked their money:-
Britannia is my nav;
I am a Kaulo Camlo;
The gorgios pen I be
A bori chovahaunie;
And tatchipen they pens,
The dinneleskie gorgies,
For mande chovahans
The luvvu from their putsies.
Britannia is my name;
I am a swarthy Lovel;
The Gorgios say I be
A witch of wondrous power;
And faith they speak the truth,
The silly, foolish fellows,
For often I bewitch
The money from their pockets.
Fortune-telling in all countries where the Gypsies
are found is frequently the prelude to a kind of trick called in
all Gypsy dialects by something more or less resembling the
Sanscrit kuhana; for instance, it is called in Spain
jojana, hokano, and in English hukni. It is
practised in various ways, all very similar; the defrauding of some
simple person of money or property being the object in view.
Females are generally the victims of the trick, especially those of
the middle class, who are more accessible to the poor woman
than those of the upper. One of the ways, perhaps the most
artful, will be found described in another chapter.
THE HUKNI
The Gypsy makes some poor simpleton of a lady believe
that if the latter puts her gold into her hands, and she makes it
up into a parcel, and puts it between the lady's feather-bed and
mattress, it will at the end of a month be multiplied a
hundredfold, provided the lady does not look at it during all that
time. On receiving the money she makes it up into a brown
paper parcel, which she seals with wax, turns herself repeatedly
round, squints, and spits, and then puts between the feather-bed
and mattress - not the parcel of gold, but one exactly like it,
which she has prepared beforehand, containing old halfpence,
farthings, and the like; then, after cautioning the lady by no
means to undo the parcel before the stated time, she takes her
departure singing to herself:-
O dear me! O dear me!
What dinnelies these gorgies be.
The above artifice is called by the English Gypsies
the hukni, and by the Spanish hokhano baro, or the
great lie. Hukni and hokano were originally one
and the same word; the root seems to be the Sanscrit
huhanã, lie, trick, deceit.
CAURING
The Gypsy has some queer, old-fashioned gold piece;
this she takes to some goldsmith's shop, at the window of which she
has observed a basin full of old gold coins, and shows it to the
goldsmith, asking him if he will purchase it. He looks at it
attentively, and sees that it is of very pure gold; whereupon he
says that he has no particular objection to buy it; but that as it
is very old it is not of much value, and that he has several like
it. "Have you indeed, Master?" says the Gypsy; "then pray
show them to me, and I will buy them; for, to tell you the truth, I
would rather buy than sell pieces like this, for I have a great
respect for them, and know their value: give me back my coin, and I
will compare any you have with it." The goldsmith gives her
back her coin, takes his basin of gold from the window, and places
it on the counter. The Gypsy puts down her head, and pries
into the basin. "Ah, I see nothing here like my coin," says
she. "Now, Master, to oblige me, take out a handful of the
coins and lay them on the counter; I am a poor, honest woman,
Master, and do not wish to put my hand into your basin. Oh!
if I could find one coin like my own, I would give much money for
it; barributer than it is worth." The goldsmith, to
oblige the poor, simple, foreign creature (for such he believes her
to be), and, with a considerable hope of profit, takes a handful of
coins from the basin and puts them upon the counter. "I fear
there is none here like mine, Master," says the Gypsy, moving the
coins rapidly with the tips of her fingers. "No, no, there is
not one here like mine - kek yeck, kek yeck - notone, not
one. Stay, stay! What's this, what's this? So
se cavo, so se cavo? Oh, here is one like mine; or if not
quite like, like enough to suit me. Now, Master, what will
you take for this coin?" The goldsmith looks at it, and names
a price considerably above the value; whereupon she says: "Now,
Master, I will deal fairly with you: you have not asked me the full
value of the coin by three three-groats, three-groats,
three-groats; by trin tringurushis, tringurushis,
tringurushis. So here's the money you asked, Master, and
three three-groats, three shillings, besides. God bless you,
Master! You would have cheated yourself, but the poor woman
would not let you; for though she is poor she is honest": and thus
she takes her leave, leaving the goldsmith very well satisfied with
his customer - with little reason, however, for out of about twenty
coins which he laid on the counter she had filched at least three,
which her brown nimble fingers, though they seemingly scarcely
touched the gold, contrived to convey up her sleeves. This
kind of pilfering is called by the English Gypsies cauring,
and by the Spanish ustilar pastesas, or stealing with the
fingers. The word caur seems to be connected with the
English cower, and the Hebrew kãra, a word of
frequent occurrence in the historical part of the Old Testament,
and signifying to bend, stoop down, incurvare.
METROPOLITAN GYPSYRIES - WANDSWORTH, 1864
What may be called the grand Metropolitan Gypsyry is
on the Surrey side of the Thames. Near the borders of
Wandsworth and Battersea, about a quarter of a mile from the river,
is an open piece of ground which may measure about two acres.
To the south is a hill, at the foot of which is a railway, and it
is skirted on the north by the Wandsworth and Battersea Road.
This place is what the Gypsies call a kekkeno mushes puv, a
no man's ground; a place which has either no proprietor, or which
the proprietor, for some reason, makes no use of for the
present. The houses in the neighbourhood are mean and
squalid, and are principally inhabited by artisans of the lowest
description. This spot, during a considerable portion of the
year, is the principal place of residence of the Metropolitan
Gypsies, and of other people whose manner of life more or less
resembles theirs. During the summer and autumn the little
plain, for such it is, is quite deserted, except that now and then
a wretched tent or two may be seen upon it, belonging to some
tinker family, who have put up there for a few hours on their way
through the metropolis; for the Gypsies are absent during summer,
some at fairs and races, the men with their cocoa-nuts and the
women busy at fortune-telling, or at suburban places of pleasure -
the former with their donkeys for the young cockneys to ride upon,
and the latter as usual dukkering and hokkering, and
the other travellers, as they are called, roaming about the country
following their particular avocations, whilst in the autumn the
greater part of them all are away in Kent, getting money by picking
hops. As soon, however, as the rains, the precursors of
winter, descend, the place begins to be occupied, and about a week
or two before Christmas it is almost crammed with the tents and
caravans of the wanderers; and then it is a place well worthy to be
explored, notwithstanding the inconvenience of being up to one's
ankles in mud, and the rather appalling risk of being bitten by the
Gypsy and travelling dogs tied to the tents and caravans, in whose
teeth there is always venom and sometimes that which can bring on
the water-horror, for which no European knows a remedy. The
following is an attempt to describe the odd people and things to be
met with here; the true Gypsies, and what to them pertaineth, being
of course noticed first.
On this plain there may be some fifteen or twenty
Gypsy tents and caravans. Some of the tents are large, as
indeed it is highly necessary that they should be, being inhabited
by large families - a man and his wife, a grandmother a sister or
two and half a dozen children, being, occasionally found in one;
some of them are very small, belonging to poor old females who have
lost their husbands, and whose families have separated themselves
from them, and allow them to shift for themselves. During the
day the men are generally busy at their several avocations,
chinning the cost, that is, cutting the stick for skewers,
making pegs for linen-lines, kipsimengring or basket-making,
tinkering or braziering; the children are playing about, or begging
halfpence by the road of passengers; whilst the women are strolling
about, either in London or the neighbourhood, engaged in
fortune-telling or swindling. Of the trades of the men, the
one by far the most practised is chinning the cost, and as
they sit at the door of the tents, cutting and whittling away, they
occasionally sweeten their toil by raising their voices and singing
the Gypsy stanza in which the art is mentioned, and which for
terseness and expressiveness is quite equal to anything in the
whole circle of Gentile poetry:
Can you rokra Romany?
Can you play the bosh?
Can you jal adrey the staripen?
Can you chin the cost?
Can you speak the Roman tongue?
Can you play the fiddle?
Can you eat the prison-loaf?
Can you cut and whittle?
These Gypsies are of various tribes, but chiefly
Purruns, Chumomescroes and Vardomescroes, or Lees, Boswells and
Coopers, and Lees being by far the most numerous. The men are
well made, active fellows, somewhat below the middle height.
Their complexions are dark, and their eyes are full of
intelligence; their habiliments are rather ragged. The women
are mostly wild-looking creatures, some poorly clad, others
exhibiting not a little strange finery. There are some truly
singular beings amongst those women, which is more than can be said
with respect to the men, who are much on a level, and amongst whom
there is none whom it is possible to bring prominently out, and
about whom much can be said. The women, as has been already
observed, are generally out during the day, being engaged in their
avocations abroad. There is a very small tent about the
middle of the place; it belongs to a lone female, whom one
frequently meets wandering about Wandsworth or Battersea, seeking
an opportunity to dukker some credulous servant-girl.
It is hard that she should have to do so, as she is more than
seventy-five years of age, but if she did not she would probably
starve. She is very short of statue, being little more than
five feet and an inch high, but she is wonderfully strongly
built. Her head is very large, and seems to have been placed
at once upon her shoulders without any interposition of neck.
Her face is broad, with a good-humoured expression upon it, and in
general with very little vivacity; at times, however, it lights up,
and then all the Gypsy beams forth. Old as she is, her hair,
which is very long, is as black as the plumage of a crow, and she
walks sturdily, though with not much elasticity, on her short,
thick legs, and, if requested, would take up the heaviest man in
Wandsworth or Battersea and walk away with him. She is, upon
the whole, the oddest Gypsy woman ever seen; see her once and you
will never forget her. Who is she? you ask. Who is
she? Why, Mrs. Cooper, the wife of Jack Cooper, the fighting
Gypsy, once the terror of all the Light Weights of the English
Ring; who knocked West Country Dick to pieces, and killed Paddy
O'Leary, the fighting pot-boy, Jack Randall's pet. Ah, it
would have been well for Jack if he had always stuck to his true,
lawful Romany wife, whom at one time he was very fond of, and whom
he used to dress in silks and satins, and best scarlet cloth,
purchased with the money gained in his fair, gallant battles in the
Ring! But he did not stick to her, deserting her for a
painted Jezebel, to support whom he sold his battles, by doing
which he lost his friends and backers; then took from his poor wife
all he had given her, and even plundered her of her own property,
down to the very blankets which she lay upon; and who finally was
so infatuated with love for his paramour that he bore the blame of
a crime which she had committed, and in which he had no share,
suffering ignominy and transportation in order to save her.
Better had he never deserted his tatchie romadie, his own
true Charlotte, who, when all deserted him, the painted Jezebel
being the first to do so, stood by him, supporting him with money
in prison, and feeing counsel on his trial from the scanty proceeds
of her dukkering. All that happened many years ago;
Jack's term of transportation, a lengthy one, has long, long been
expired, but he has not come back, though every year since the
expiration of his servitude he has written her a letter, or caused
one to be written to her, to say that he is coming, that he is
coming; so that she is always expecting him, and is at all times
willing, as she says, to re-invest him with all the privileges of a
husband, and to beg and dukker to support him if
necessary. A true wife she has been to him, a tatchie
romadie, and has never taken up with any man since he left her,
though many have been the tempting offers that she has had,
connubial offers, notwithstanding the oddity of her
appearance. Only one wish she has now in this world, the wish
that he may return; but her wish, it is to be feared, is a vain
one, for Jack lingers and lingers in the Sonnakye Tem,
golden Australia, teaching, it is said, the young Australians to
box, tempted by certain shining nuggets, the produce of the golden
region. It is pleasant, though there is something mournful in
it, to visit Mrs. Cooper after nightfall, to sit with her in her
little tent after she has taken her cup of tea, and is warming her
tired limbs at her little coke fire, and hear her talk of old times
and things: how Jack courted her 'neath the trees of Loughton
Forest, and how, when tired of courting, they would get up and box,
and how he occasionally gave her a black eye, and how she
invariably flung him at a close; and how they were lawfully married
at church, and what a nice man the clergyman was, and what funny
things he said both before and after he had united them; how
stoutly West Country Dick contended against Jack, though always
losing; how in Jack's battle with Paddy O'Leary the Irishman's head
in the last round was truly frightful, not a feature being
distinguishable, and one of his ears hanging down by a bit of skin;
how Jack vanquished Hardy Scroggins, whom Jack Randall himself
never dared fight. Then, again, her anecdotes of Alec Reed,
cool, swift-hitting Alec, who was always smiling, and whose father
was a Scotchman, his mother an Irishwoman, and who was born in
Guernsey; and of Oliver, old Tom Oliver, who seconded Jack in all
his winning battles, and after whom he named his son, his only
child, Oliver, begotten of her in lawful wedlock, a good and
affectionate son enough, but unable to assist her, on account of
his numerous family. Farewell, Mrs. Cooper, true old
Charlotte! here's a little bit of silver for you, and a little bit
of a gillie to sing:
Charlotta is my nav,
I am a puro Purrun;
My romado was Jack,
The couring Vardomescro.
He muk'd me for a lubbeny,
Who chor'd a rawnie's kissi;
He penn'd 'twas he who lell'd it,
And so was bitched pawdel.
Old Charlotte I am called,
Of Lee I am a daughter;
I married Fighting Jack,
The famous Gypsy Cooper.
He left me for a harlot,
Who pick'd a lady's pocket;
He bore the blame to save her,
And so was sent to Bot'ny.
Just within the bounds of the plain, and close by the
road, may occasionally be seen a small caravan of rather a neat
appearance. It comes and goes suddenly, and is seldom seen
there for more than three days at a time. It belongs to a
Gypsy female who, like Mrs. Cooper, is a remarkable person, but is
widely different from Mrs. Cooper in many respects. Mrs.
Cooper certainly does not represent the beau ideal of a
Gypsy female, this does - a dark, mysterious, beautiful, terrible
creature! She is considerably above the middle height,
powerfully but gracefully made, and about thirty-seven years of
age. Her face is oval, and of a dark olive. The nose is
Grecian, the cheek-bones rather high; the eyes somewhat sunk, but
of a lustrous black; the mouth small, and the teeth exactly like
ivory. Upon the whole the face is exceedingly beautiful, but
the expression is evil - evil to a degree. Who she is no one
exactly knows, nor what is her name, nor whether she is single
woman, wife, or widow. Some say she is a foreign Gypsy,
others from Scotland, but she is neither - her accent is genuine
English. What strikes one as most singular is the power she
possesses of appearing in various characters - all Romany ones it
is true, but so different as seemingly to require three distinct
females of the race to represent them: sometimes she is the staid,
quiet, respectable Gypsy; sometimes the forward and impudent; at
others the awful and sublime. Occasionally you may see her
walking the streets dressed in a black silk gown, with a black silk
bonnet on her head; over her left arm is flung a small carpet, a
sample of the merchandise which is in her caravan, which is close
at hand, driven by a brown boy; her address to her customers is
highly polite; the tones of her voice are musical, though somewhat
deep. At Fairlop, on the first Friday of July, in the
evening, she may be found near the Bald-faced Hind, dressed in a
red cloak and a large beaver; her appearance is bold and reckless -
she is dukkering low tradesmen and servant girls behind the
trees at sixpence a head, or is bandying with the voice of a raven
slang and obscenity with country boors, or with the blackguard
butcher-boys who throng in from Whitechapel and Shoreditch to the
Gypsy Fair. At Goodwood, a few weeks after, you may see her
in a beautiful half-riding dress, her hair fantastically plaited
and adorned with pearls, standing beside the carriage of a
Countess, telling the fortune of her ladyship with the voice and
look of a pythoness. She is a thing of incongruities; an
incomprehensible being! nobody can make her out; the writer himself
has tried to make her out but could not, though he has spoken to
her in his deepest Romany. It is true there is a certain old
Gypsy, a friend of his, who thinks he has made her out.
"Brother," said he one day, "why you should be always going after
that woman I can't conceive, unless indeed you have lost your
wits. If you go after her for her Romany you will find
yourself in the wrong box: she may have a crumb or two of Romany,
but for every crumb that she has I am quite sure you have a
quartern loaf. Then as for her beauty, of which it is true
she has plenty, and for which half a dozen Gorgios that I knows of
are running mad, it's of no use going after her for that, for her
beauty she keeps for her own use and that of her master the Devil;
not but that she will sell it - she's sold it a dozen times to my
certain knowledge - but what's the use of buying a thing, when the
fool who buys it never gets it, never has the 'joyment of it,
brother? She is kek tatcho, and that's what I like
least in her; there's no trusting her, neither Gorgio nor Romano
can trust her: she sells her truppos to a Rye-gorgio for
five bars, and when she has got them, and the Gorgio, as he
has a right to do, begins to kelna lasa, she laughs and asks
him if he knows whom he has to deal with; then if he lels bonnek
of lati, as he is quite justified in doing, she whips out a
churi, and swears if he doesn't leave off she will stick it in
his gorlo. Oh! she's an evil mare, a wafodu
grasni, though a handsome one, and I never looks at her,
brother, without saying to myself the old words:
"Rinkeno mui and wafodu zee
Kitzi's the cheeros we dicks cattanē."
A beautiful face and a black wicked mind
Often, full often together we find.
Some more particular account than what has been
already given of the habitations of these Wandsworth Gypsies, and
likewise of their way of life, will perhaps not be unacceptable
here.
To begin with the tents. They are oblong in
shape and of very simple construction, whether small or
great. Sticks or rods, called in the Gypsy language
ranior, between four and five feet in length, and
croming or bending towards the top, are stuck in the ground at
about twenty inches from each other, a rod or two being omitted in
that part where the entrance is intended to be. The
cromes or bends serve as supporters of a roof, and those of the
side rods which stand over against one another are generally tied
together by strings. These rods are covered over with coarse
brown cloths, pinned or skewered together; those at the bottom
being fastened to the ground by pegs. Around the tent is
generally a slight embankment, about two or three inches high, or a
little trench about the same depth, to prevent water from running
into the tent in time of rain. Such is the tent, which would
be exactly like the Indian wigwam but for the cloth which forms the
covering: the Indians in lieu of cloth using bark, which they carry
about with them in all their migrations, though they leave the
sticks standing in the ground.
The furniture is scanty. Like the Arabs, the
Gypsies have neither chairs nor tables, but sit cross-legged, a
posture which is perfectly easy to them, though insufferable to a
Gorgio, unless he happens to be a tailor. When they eat, the
ground serves them for a board, though they occasionally spread a
cloth upon it. Singularly enough, though they have neither
chairs nor tables, they have words for both. Of pots, pans,
plates, and trenchers, they have a tolerable quantity. Each
grown-up person has a churi, or knife, with which to cut
food. Eating-forks they have none, and for an eating-fork
they have no word, the term pasengri signifying a straw- or
pitch-fork. Spoons are used by them generally of horn, and
are called royis. They have but two culinary articles,
the kekkauvi and pirry, kettle and boiler, which are
generally of copper, to which, however, may perhaps be added the
kekkauviskey saster, or kettle-iron, by which the kettle and
boiler are hung over the fire. As a fireplace they have a
large iron pan on three legs, with holes or eyes in the sides, in
order that the heat of the fire may be cast around. Instead
of coals they use coke, which emits no flame and little smoke, and
casts a considerable heat. Every tent has a pail or two, and
perhaps a small cask or barrel, the proper name for which is
bedra, though it is generally called pāni-mengri,
or thing for water. At the farther end of the tent is a
mattress, with a green cloth, or perhaps a sheet spread upon it,
forming a kind of couch, on which visitors are generally asked to
sit down:- Av adrey, Romany Rye, av adrey ta besh aley pawdle
odoy! Come in, Gypsy gentleman (said a polite Gypsy one
day to the writer); come in and sit down over yonder! They
have a box or two in which they stow away their breakable articles
and whatever things they set any particular value upon. Some
of them have small feather-beds, and they are generally tolerably
well provided with blankets.
The caravans are not numerous, and have only been
used of late years by any of the English Gypsy race. The
caravan called by the Gypsies keir vardo, or waggon-house,
is on four wheels, and is drawn by a horse or perhaps a couple of
donkeys. It is about twelve feet long by six broad and six
high. At the farther end are a couple of transverse berths,
one above the other, like those in the cabin of a ship; and a
little way from these is a curtain hanging by rings from an iron
rod running across, which, when drawn, forms a partition. On
either side is a small glazed window. The most remarkable
object is a stove just inside the door, on the left hand, with a
metal chimney which goes through the roof. This stove, the
Gypsy term for which is bo, casts, when lighted, a great
heat, and in some cases is made in a very handsome fashion.
Some caravans have mirrors against the sides, and exhibit other
indications of an aiming at luxury, though in general they are
dirty, squalid places, quite as much as or perhaps more than the
tents, which seem to be the proper and congenial homes of the
Gypsies.
The mode of life of these people may be briefly
described. They have two regular meals - breakfast and
supper. The breakfast consists of tea, generally of the best
quality, bread, butter, and cheese; the supper, of tea and a
stew. In spring time they occasionally make a kind of tea or
soup of the tender leaves of a certain description of nettle.
This preparation, which they call dandrimengreskie zimmen,
or the broth of the stinging-thing, is highly relished by
them. They get up early, and go to bed betimes. After
breakfast the men sit down to chin the cost, to mend chairs
or make baskets; the women go forth to hok and
dukker, and the children to beg, or to go with the donkeys to
lanes and commons to watch them, whilst they try to fill their poor
bellies with grass and thistles. These children sometimes
bring home hotchiwitches, or hedgehogs, the flesh of which
is very sweet and tender, and which their mothers are adepts at
cooking.
The Gypsies, as has been already observed, are not
the sole occupiers of Wandsworth grounds. Strange, wild
guests are to be found there, who, without being Gypsies, have much
of Gypsyism in their habits, and who far exceed the Gypsies in
number. To pass them by without notice would be
unpardonable. They may be divided into three classes:
Chorodies, Kora-mengre, and Hindity-mengre. Something about
each:-
The Chorodies are the legitimate descendants of the
rogues and outcasts who roamed about England long before its soil
was trodden by a Gypsy foot. They are a truly detestable set
of beings; both men and women being ferocious in their appearance,
and in their conversation horrible and disgusting. They have
coarse, vulgar features, and hair which puts one wonderfully in
mind of refuse flax, or the material of which mops are
composed. Their complexions, when not obscured with grime,
are rather fair than dark, evidencing that their origin is low,
swinish Saxon, and not gentle Romany. Their language is the
frowsiest English, interlarded with cant expressions and a few
words of bastard Romany. They live in the vilest tents, with
the exception of two or three families, who have their abode in
broken and filthy caravans. They have none of the comforts
and elegancies of the Gypsies. They are utterly destitute of
civility and good manners, and are generally squalid in their
dress, though the women sometimes exhibit not a little dirty
tawdriness. The trades of the men are tinkering and
basket-making, and some few "peel the stick." The women go
about with the articles made by their husbands, or rather partners,
and sometimes do a little in the fortune-telling line - pretty
prophetesses! The fellows will occasionally knock a man down
in the dark, and rob him; the women will steal anything they can
conveniently lay their hands on. Singular as it may seem to
those not deeply acquainted with human nature, these wretches are
not without a kind of pride. "We are no Gypsies - not we! no,
nor Irish either. We are English, and decent folks - none of
your rubbish!" The Gypsies hold them, and with reason, in
supreme contempt, and it is from them that they got their name of
Chorodies, not a little applicable to them. Choredo,
in Gypsy, signifies a poor, miserable person, and differs very
little in sound from two words, one Sanscrit and the other Hebrew,
both signifying, like the Gypsy term, something low, mean, and
contemptible.
Kora-mengre are the lowest of those hawkers who go
about the country villages and the streets of London, with caravans
hung about with various common articles, such as mats, brooms,
mops, tin pans and kettles. These low hawkers seem to be of
much the same origin as the Chorodies, and are almost equally
brutal and repulsive in their manners. The name Kora-mengre
is Gypsy, and signifies fellows who cry out and shout, from their
practice of shouting out the names of their goods. The word
kora, or karra, is by no means bad Hebrew:
kora, in the Holy Language, signifies he cried out, called, or
proclaimed: and a partridge is called in Hebrew kora, from
its continually crying out to its young, when leading them about to
feed. Koran, the name of the sacred book of the
Mahomedans, is of the same root.
Lastly come the Hindity-mengre, or Filthy
People. This term has been bestowed upon the vagrant Irish by
the Gypsies, from the dirty ways attributed to them, though it is a
question whether the lowest Irish are a bit more dirty in their
ways than the English Chorodies, or indeed so much, and are
certainly immeasurably superior to them in many respects.
There are not many of them here, seldom more than two families, and
sometimes, even during the winter, not a single Irish tent or cart
is to be seen. The trade they ostensibly drive is tinkering,
repairing old kettles, and making little pots and pans of
tin. The one, however, on which they principally depend, is
not tinkering, but one far more lucrative, and requiring more
cleverness and dexterity; they make false rings, like the Gypsy
smiths, the fashiono vangustengre of old, and whilst
speaking Celtic to one whom they deem their countryman, have no
hesitation in acknowledging themselves to be "Cairdean droich oir,"
workers of false gold. The rings are principally made out of
old brass buttons; those worn by old Chelsea pensioners being
considered the very best for the purpose. Many an ancient
Corporal Trim, alter having spent all his money at the
public-house, and only become three-parts boozy, has been induced
by the Hindity-mengro to sell all his buttons at the rate of
three-halfpence a-piece, in order to have wherewithal to make
himself thoroughly royal. Each of these Hindity-mengre has
his blow-pipe, and some of them can execute their work in a style
little inferior to that of a first-rate working goldsmith.
The rings, after being made, are rubbed with a certain stuff out of
a phial, which gives them all the appearance of gold. This
appearance, however, does not long endure, for after having been
worn two or three months, the ring loses its false appearance
entirely, and any one can see that it is worthless metal. A
good many of these rings are disposed of at good prices by the
Hindity women, the wives of these false-gold workers, to servant
girls and the wives of small shopkeepers, and not a few, at a lower
rate, to certain gentry who get their livelihood by the honourable
profession of ring-dropping.
What is ring-dropping?
Ring-dropping is this. A gentleman overtakes
you as you are walking in some quiet street, passes by you, and at
the distance of some fifteen yards stops, and stooping down,
seemingly picks up something, which he inspects, and then uttering
a "Dear me!" he turns to you, and says, "Sir, we have been
fortunate to-day. See! I have picked up this
valuable!" He then shows you a small case, in which is a
large ring, seemingly of the finest gold, with a little label
attached to it, on which is marked £2 15s. "Now, sir,"
he continues, "I said we were fortunate, because as we were
close to each other, I consider you as much entitled to gain by
this windfall as myself. I'll tell you how it shall be: the
price of the ring, which was probably dropped by some goldsmith's
man, is, as you see, two pound fifteen; however, as I am in a
hurry, you shall only give me a quid, a pound, and then the
valuable shall be all your own; it shall indeed, sir!" And
then he stares you in the face. Such is ring-dropping, to
which many silly but greedy individuals, fall victims; giving a
pound for a fine-looking ring, which, however, with its scarlet
case - for the case is always of a scarlet colour - is not worth
sixpence. The best thing you can do in such a case is to put
your thumb to your nose, flattening your hand and sticking out your
fingers far apart, moving on at the same time, or to utter the
cabalistic word "hookey"; in either case the ring-dropper will at
once drop astern, with a half-stifled curse, for he knows that he
has to do with "no flat," and that you are "awake to his little
game." Doing so is much better than moving rapidly on, and
affecting to take no notice of him, for then he will infallibly
follow you to the end of the street, offering you the ring on more
reasonable terms at every step, perhaps concluding at last, as a
ring-dropper once did to the writer, "I'll tell you what, sir; as I
am in a hurry, and rather hard up, you shall have the valuable for
a bull, for a crown; you shall indeed, sir, so help me - "
Three of the most famous of the Hindity smiths have
been immortalised by the Gypsies in the following bit of verse:
Mickie, Huwie and Larry,
Trin Hindity-mengre fashiono vangust-engre.
Mickie, Huwie and Larry bold,
Three Irish brothers, as I am told,
Who make false rings, that pass for gold.
Of these fashiono-vangust brothers, the most
remarkable is Mike - Old Mike, as he is generally called. He
was born in the county Kerry, and educated at a hedge-school, where
he learned to read and write English, after a fashion, and acquired
the seventeen letters of the Irish alphabet, each of which is named
after a particular tree. Leaving school he was apprenticed to
a blacksmith, from whom he ran away, and enlisted into the service
of that illustrious monarch, George the Third, some of whose
battles he had the honour of fighting in the Peninsula and
France. Discharged from the army at the Peace, with the noble
donation of thirty shillings, or one month's pay, he returned to
Ireland, took to himself a wife, and commenced tinker.
Becoming dissatisfied with his native soil he passed over to
England, and settling for some time at "Brummagem," took lessons
from certain cunning smiths in the art of making fashiono
vangusties. The next forty years of his life he spent in
wandering about Britain, attended by his faithful partner, who not
only disposed of his tin articles and false rings, but also bore
him seventeen children, all of whom are alive, somewhere or other,
and thriving too, one of them indeed having attained to the dignity
of American senator. Some of his adventures, during his
wanderings, were in the highest degree extraordinary. Of late
years he has chiefly resided in the vicinity of London, spending
his winters at Wandsworth, and his summers on the Flats, near
Epping Forest; in one or the other of which places you may see Old
Mike on a Sunday evening, provided the weather is tolerably fine,
seated near his little caravan, with his wife by his side - not the
wife who bore him the seventeen children, who has been dead for
some years, but his second wife, a nice, elderly Irish ban
from the county of Cork, who can tell fortunes, say her prayers in
Irish, and is nearly as good a hand at selling her lord and
master's tin articles and false rings as her predecessor.
Lucky for Mike that he got such a second partner! and luckier still
that at his age of seventy-nine he retains all his faculties, and
is able to work for his daily bread, with at least the skill and
cunning of his two brothers, both of whom are much younger men than
himself, whose adventures have been somewhat similar to his own,
and who, singularly enough, have come to live near him in his
latter days. Both these brothers are highly remarkable
men. Huwie is the most civil-spoken person in or about
London, and Larry a man of the most terrible tongue, and perhaps
the most desperate fighter ever seen; always willing to attack half
a dozen men, if necessary, and afraid of no one in the world, save
one - Mike, old Mike, who can tame him in his fiercest moods by
merely holding up his finger. Oh, a truly remarkable man is
old Mike! and a pleasure and an advantage it is to any one of a
philosophical mind to be acquainted with him, and to listen to
him. He is much more than a
fashiono-vangust-engro. Amongst other things he is a
theologian - Irish theologian - and quite competent to fill the
chair of theology at the University of Maynooth. He can tell
you a great many things connected with a certain person, which,
with all your research, you would never find in Scripture. He
can tell you how the Saviour, when hanging on the cross, became
athirst, and told St. Peter, who stood at the foot of it, to fetch
Him a cup of water from a dirty puddle in the neighbourhood, and
how St. Peter - however, better not relate the legend, though a
highly curious one. Then he can repeat to you blessed verses,
as he calls them, by dozens; not of David, but of one quite as
good, as he will tell you, namely, Timothy O'Sullivan; and who, you
will say, was Timothy O'Sullivan? Why, Ty Gaelach, to be
sure. And who was Ty Gaelach? An Irish peasant-poet of
the last century, who wrote spiritual songs, some of them by no
means bad ones, and who was called Gaelach, or Gael, from his
abhorrence of the English race and of the English language, of
which he scarcely understood a word. Then is Ty Irish for
Timothy? Why, no! though very stupidly supposed to be
so. Ty is Teague, which is neither Greek nor Irish, but a
glorious old Northern name, carried into Ireland by the brave old
heathen Danes. Ty or Teague is the same as Tycho. Ty or
Teague Gaelach is as much as to say Tycho Gaelach; and Tycho Brahe
is as much as to say Teague Brahe.
THE POTTERIES, 1864
The second great Gypsyry is on the Middlesex side of
the river, and is distant about three miles, as the crow flies,
from that of Wandsworth. Strange as it may seem, it is not
far distant from the most fashionable part of London; from the
beautiful squares, noble streets, and thousand palaces of Tyburnia,
a region which, though only a small part of the enormous
metropolis, can show more beautiful edifices, wealth, elegance, and
luxury, than all foreign capitals put together. After passing
Tyburnia, and going more than halfway down Notting Hill, you turn
to the right, and proceed along a tolerably genteel street till it
divides into two, one of which looks more like a lane than a
street, and which is on the left hand, and bears the name of
Pottery Lane. Go along this lane, and you will presently find
yourself amongst a number of low, uncouth-looking sheds, open at
the sides, and containing an immense quantity of earthen
chimney-pots, pantiles, fancy-bricks, and similar articles.
This place is called the Potteries, and gives the name of Pottery
Lane to the lane through which you have just passed. A dirty
little road goes through it, which you must follow, and presently
turning to your left, you will enter a little, filthy street, and
going some way down it, you will see, on your right hand, a little,
open bit of ground, chock-full of crazy, battered caravans of all
colours - some yellow, some green, some red. Dark men,
wild-looking, witch-like women, and yellow-faced children are at
the doors of the caravans, or wending their way through the narrow
spaces left for transit between the vehicles. You have now
arrived at the second grand Gypsyry of London - you are amongst the
Romany Chals of the Potteries, called in Gypsy the
Koromengreskoe Tan, or the place of the fellows who make pots;
in which place certain Gypsies have settled, not with the view of
making pots, an employment which they utterly eschew, but simply
because it is convenient to them, and suits their fancy.
A goodly collection of Gypsies you will find in that
little nook, crowded with caravans. Most of them are Tatchey
Romany, real Gypsies, "long-established people, of the old
order." Amongst them are Ratzie-mescroes, Hearnes, Herons, or
duck-people; Chumo-mescroes or Bosvils; a Kaulo Camlo (a Black
Lovel) or two, and a Beshaley or Stanley. It is no easy thing
to find a Stanley nowadays, even in the Baulo Tem, or Hampshire,
which is the proper home of the Stanleys, for the Bugnior, pimples
or small-pox, has of late years made sad havoc amongst the
Stanleys; but yonder tall old gentlewoman, descending the steps of
a caravan, with a flaming red cloak and a large black beaver
bonnet, and holding a travelling basket in her hand, is a Tatchey
Beshaley, a "genuine" Stanley. The generality, however, of
"them Gyptians" are Ratzie-mescroes, Hearnes, or duck-people; and,
speaking of the Hearnes, it is but right to say that he who may be
called the Gypsy Father of London, old Thomas Ratzie-mescro, or
Hearne, though not exactly residing here, lives close by in a
caravan, in a little bit of a yard over the way, where he can
breathe more freely, and be less annoyed by the brats and the young
fellows than he would be in yonder crowded place.
Though the spot which it has just been attempted to
describe, may be considered as the head-quarters of the London
Gypsies, on the Middlesex side of the Thames, the whole
neighbourhood, for a mile to the north of it, may to a certain
extent be considered a Gypsy region - that is, a district where
Gypsies, or gentry whose habits very much resemble those of
Gypsies, may at any time be found. No metropolitan district,
indeed, could be well more suited for Gypsies to take up their
abode in. It is a neighbourhood of transition; of
brickfields, open spaces, poor streets inhabited by low artisans,
isolated houses, sites of intended tenements, or sites of tenements
which have been pulled down; it is in fact a mere chaos, where
there is no order and no regularity; where there is nothing
durable, or intended to be durable; though there can be little
doubt that within a few years order and beauty itself will be found
here, that the misery, squalidness, and meanness will have
disappeared, and the whole district, up to the railroad arches
which bound it on the west and north, will be covered with palaces,
like those of Tyburnia, or delightful villas, like those which
decorate what is called Saint John's Wood. At present,
however, it is quite the kind of place to please the Gypsies and
wandering people, who find many places within its bounds where they
can squat and settle, or take up their quarters for a night or two
without much risk of being interfered with. Here their tents,
cars, and caravans may be seen amidst ruins, half-raised walls, and
on patches of unenclosed ground; here their children may,
throughout the day, be seen playing about, flinging up dust and
dirt, some partly naked, and others entirely so; and here, at
night, the different families, men, women, and children, may be
seen seated around their fires and their kettles, taking their
evening meal, and every now and then indulging in shouts of
merriment, as much as to say, -
What care we, though we be so small?
The tent shall stand when the palace shall fall;
which is quite true. The Gypsy tent must make
way for the palace, but after a millennium or two, the Gypsy tent
is pitched on the ruins of the palace.
Of the open spaces above mentioned, the most
considerable is one called Latimer's Green. It lies on the
north-western side of the district, and is not far from that place
of old renown called the Shepherd's Bush, where in the good ancient
times highwaymen used to lurk for the purpose of pouncing upon the
travellers of the Oxford Road. It may contain about five or
six acres, and, though nominally under the control of trustees, is
in reality little more than a "no man's ground," where anybody may
feed a horse, light a fire, and boil a kettle. It is a great
resort of vagrant people, less of Gypsies than those who call
themselves travellers, and are denominated by the Gypsies
Chorodies, and who live for the most part in miserable caravans,
though there is generally a Gypsy tent or two to be seen there,
belonging to some Deighton or Shaw, or perhaps Petulengro, from the
Lil-engro Tan, as the Romany call Cambridgeshire. Amidst
these Chorody caravans and Gypsy tents may frequently be seen the
ker-vardo, the house on wheels, of one who, whenever he
takes up his quarters here, is considered the cock of the walk, the
king of the place. He is a little under forty years of age,
and somewhat under five feet ten inches in height. His face
is wonderfully like that of a mastiff of the largest size,
particularly in its jowls; his neck is short and very thick, and
must be nearly as strong as that of a bull; his chest is so broad
that one does not like to say how broad it is; and the voice which
every now and then proceeds from it has much the sound of that of
the mighty dog just mentioned; his arms are long and exceedingly
muscular, and his fists huge and bony. He wears a
low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, a coarse blue coat with short
skirts, leggings, and high-lows. Such is the kral o' the
tan, the rex loci, the cock of the green. But what
is he besides? Is he Gypsy, Chorody, or Hindity
mush? I say, you had better not call him by any one of
those names, for if you did he would perhaps hit you, and then, oh
dear! That is Mr. G. A., a travelling horse-dealer, who lives
in a caravan, and finds it frequently convenient to take up his
abode for weeks together on Latimer's Green. He is a
thorough-bred Englishman, though he is married to a daughter of one
of the old, sacred Gypsy families, a certain Lurina Ratziemescri,
duck or heron female, who is a very handsome woman, and who has two
brothers, dark, stealthy-looking young fellows, who serve with
almost slavish obedience their sister's lord and husband, listening
uncomplainingly to his abuse of Gypsies, whom, though he lives
amongst them and is married to one by whom he has several children,
he holds in supreme contempt, never speaking of them but as a
lying, thievish, cowardly set, any three of whom he could beat with
one hand; as perhaps he could, for he is a desperate pugilist, and
has three times fought in "the ring" with good men, whom, though
not a scientific fighter, he beat with ease by dint of terrible
blows, causing them to roar out. He is very well to do in the
world; his caravan, a rather stately affair, is splendidly
furnished within; and it is a pleasure to see his wife, at Hampton
Court races, dressed in Gypsy fashion, decked with real gems and
jewels and rich gold chains, and waited upon by her dark brothers
dressed like dandy pages. How is all this expense
supported? Why, by horsedealing. Mr. G. is, then, up to
all kinds of horsedealers' tricks, no doubt. Aye, aye, he is
up to them, but he doesn't practise them. He says it's of no
use, and that honesty is the best policy, and he'll stick to it;
and so he does, and finds the profit of it. His traffic in
horses, though confined entirely to small people, such as
market-gardeners, travellers, show-folks, and the like, is very
great; every small person who wishes to buy a horse, or to sell a
horse, or to swop a horse, goes to Mr. G., and has never reason to
complain, for all acknowledge that he has done the fair thing by
them; though all agree that there is no overreaching him, which
indeed very few people try to do, deterred by the dread of his
manual prowess, of which a Gypsy once gave to the writer the
following striking illustration: - "He will jal oprey to a
gry that's wafodu, prawla, and coure leste tuley with the courepen
of his wast." (He will go up to a vicious horse, brother, and
knock him down with a blow of his fist.)
The arches of the railroad which bounds this region
on the west and north serve as a resort for Gypsies, who erect
within them their tents, which are thus sheltered in summer from
the scorching rays of the sun, and in winter from the drenching
rain. In what close proximity we sometimes find emblems of
what is most rude and simple, and what is most artificial and
ingenious! For example, below the arch is the Gypsy
donkey-cart, whilst above it is thundering the chariot of fire
which can run across a county in half an hour. The principal
frequenters of these arches are Bosvils and Lees; the former are
chiefly tinkers, and the latter esconyemengres, or
skewer-makers. The reason for this difference is that the
Bosvils are chiefly immigrants from the country, where there is not
much demand for skewers, whereas the Lees are natives of the
metropolis or the neighbourhood, where the demand for skewers has
from time immemorial been enormously great. It was in the
shelter of one of these arches that the celebrated Ryley Bosvil,
the Gypsy king of Yorkshire, breathed his last a few years ago.
THE MOUNT
Before quitting the subject of Metropolitan Gypsies
there is another place to which it will be necessary to devote a
few words, though it is less entitled to the appelation of Gypsyry
than rookery. It is situated in the East of London, a region
far more interesting to the ethnologist and the philologist than
the West, for there he will find people of all kinds of strange
races, - the wildest Irish; Greeks, both Orthodox and Papistical;
Jews, not only Ashkenazim and Sephardim, but even Karaite; the
worst, and consequently the most interesting, description of
Germans, the sugar-bakers; lots of Malays; plenty of Chinamen; two
or three dozen Hottentots, and about the same number of Gypsies,
reckoning men, women, and children. Of the latter, and their
place of abode, we have now only to do, leaving the other strange,
odd people to be disposed of on some other occasion.
Not far from Shoreditch Church, and at a short
distance from the street called Church Street, on the left hand, is
a locality called Friars' Mount, but generally for shortness called
The Mount. It derives its name from a friary built upon a
small hillock in the time of Popery, where a set of fellows lived
in laziness and luxury on the offerings of foolish and
superstitious people, who resorted thither to kiss and worship an
ugly wooden image of the Virgin, said to be a first-rate stick at
performing miraculous cures. The neighbourhood, of course,
soon became a resort for vagabonds of every description, for
wherever friars are found rogues and thieves are sure to abound;
and about Friars' Mount, highwaymen, coiners, and Gypsies dwelt in
safety under the protection of the ministers of the miraculous
image. The friary has long since disappeared, the Mount has
been levelled, and the locality built over. The vice and
villainy, however, which the friary called forth still cling to the
district. It is one of the vilest dens of London, a grand
resort for housebreakers, garotters, passers of bad money, and
other disreputable people, though not for Gypsies; for however
favourite a place it may have been for the Romany in the old time,
it no longer finds much favour in their sight, from its not
affording open spaces where they can pitch their tents. One
very small street, however, is certainly entitled to the name of a
Gypsy street, in which a few Gypsy families have always found it
convenient to reside, and who are in the habit of receiving and
lodging their brethren passing through London to and from Essex and
other counties east of the metropolis. There is something
peculiar in the aspect of this street, not observable in that of
any of the others, which one who visits it, should he have been in
Triana of Seville, would at once recognise as having seen in the
aspect of the lanes and courts of that grand location of the
Gypsies of the Andalusian capital.
The Gypsies of the Mount live much in the same manner
as their brethren in the other Gypsyries of London. They
chin the cost, make skewers, baskets, and let out donkeys for
hire. The chief difference consists in their living in
squalid houses, whilst the others inhabit dirty tents and
caravans. The last Gypsy of any note who resided in this
quarter was Joseph Lee; here he lived for a great many years, and
here he died, having attained the age of ninety. During his
latter years he was generally called Old Joe Lee, from his great
age. His wife or partner, who was also exceedingly old, only
survived him a few days. They were buried in the same grave,
with much Gypsy pomp, in the neighbouring churchyard. They
were both of pure Gypsy blood, and were generally known as the
Gypsy king and queen of Shoreditch. They left a numerous
family of children and grandchildren, some of whom are still to be
found at the Mount. This old Joe Lee in his day was a
celebrated horse and donkey witch - that is, he professed secrets
which enabled him to make any wretched animal of either species
exhibit for a little time the spirit and speed of "a flying
drummedary." He was illustriously related, and was very proud
on that account, especially in being the brother's son of old
James, the cauring mush, whose exploits in the filching line
will be remembered as long as the venerable tribe of Purrum, or
Lee, continues in existence.
RYLEY BOSVIL
Ryley Bosvil was a native of Yorkshire, a country
where, as the Gypsies say, "there's a deadly sight of
Bosvils." He was above the middle height, exceedingly strong
and active, and one of the best riders in Yorkshire, which is
saying a great deal. He was a thorough Gypsy, versed in all
the arts of the old race, had two wives, never went to church, and
considered that when a man died he was cast into the earth, and
there was an end of him. He frequently used to say that if
any of his people became Gorgios he would kill them. He had a
sister of the name of Clara, a nice, delicate, interesting girl,
about fourteen years younger than himself, who travelled about with
an aunt; this girl was noticed by a respectable Christian family,
who, taking a great interest in her, persuaded her to come and live
with them. She was instructed by them in the rudiments of the
Christian religion, appeared delighted with her new friends, and
promised never to leave them. After the lapse of about six
weeks there was a knock at the door; a dark man stood before it who
said he wanted Clara. Clara went out trembling, had some
discourse with the man in an unknown tongue, and shortly returned
in tears, and said that she must go. "What for?" said her
friends. "Did you not promise to stay with us?" "I did
so," said the girl, weeping more bitterly; "but that man is my
brother, who says I must go with him, and what he says must
be." So with her brother she departed, and her Christian
friends never saw her again. What became of her? Was
she made away with? Many thought she was, but she was
not. Ryley put her into a light cart, drawn by "a flying
pony," and hurried her across England, even to distant Norfolk,
where he left her, after threatening her, with three Gypsy women
who were devoted to him. With these women the writer found
her one night encamped in a dark wood, and had much discourse with
her, both on Christian and Egyptian matters. She was very
melancholy, bitterly regretted having been compelled to quit her
Christian friends, and said that she wished she had never been a
Gypsy. The writer, after exhorting her to keep a firm grip of
her Christianity, departed, and did not see her again for nearly a
quarter of a century, when he met her on Epsom Downs, on the Derby
day when the terrible horse Gladiateur beat all the English
steeds. She was then very much changed, very much changed
indeed, appearing as a full-blown Egyptian matron, with two very
handsome daughters flaringly dressed in genuine Gypsy fashion, to
whom she was giving motherly counsels as to the best means to
hok and dukker the gentlefolks. All her
Christianity she appeared to have flung to the dogs, for when the
writer spoke to her on that very important subject, she made no
answer save by an indescribable Gypsy look. On other matters
she was communicative enough, telling the writer, amongst other
things, that since he saw her she had been twice married, and both
times very well, for that her first husband, by whom she had the
two daughters whom the writer "kept staring at," was a man every
inch of him, and her second, who was then on the Downs grinding
knives with a machine he had, though he had not much manhood, being
nearly eighty years old, had something much better, namely a mint
of money, which she hoped shortly to have in her own
possession.
Ryley, like most of the Bosvils, was a tinker by
profession; but, though a tinker, he was amazingly proud and
haughty of heart. His grand ambition was to be a great man
among his people, a Gypsy King. To this end he furnished
himself with clothes made after the costliest Gypsy fashion: the
two hinder buttons of the coat, which was of thick blue cloth, were
broad gold pieces of Spain, generally called ounces; the
fore-buttons were English "spaded guineas"; the buttons of the
waistcoat were half-guineas, and those of the collar and the wrists
of his shirt were seven-shilling gold pieces. In this coat he
would frequently make his appearance on a magnificent horse, whose
hoofs, like those of the steed of a Turkish sultan, were cased in
shoes of silver. How did he support such expense? it may be
asked. Partly by driving a trade in wafodu luvvu,
counterfeit coin, with which he was supplied by certain honest
tradespeople of Brummagem; partly and principally by large sums of
money which he received from his two wives, and which they obtained
by the practice of certain arts peculiar to Gypsy females.
One of his wives was a truly remarkable woman: she was of the
Petulengro or Smith tribe; her Christian name, if Christian name it
can be called, was Xuri or Shuri, and from her exceeding smartness
and cleverness she was generally called by the Gypsies Yocky Shuri,
- that is, smart or clever Shuri, yocky being a Gypsy word,
signifying 'clever.' She could dukker - that is, tell
fortunes - to perfection, by which alone during the racing season
she could make a hundred pounds a month. She was good at the
big hok, that is, at inducing people to put money into her
hands, in the hope of its being multiplied; and, oh dear! how she
could caur - that is, filch gold rings and trinkets from
jewellers' cases; the kind of thing which the Spanish Gypsy women
call ustilar pastesas, filching with the hands.
Frequently she would disappear, and travel about England, and
Scotland too, dukkering, hokking, and cauring, and
after the lapse of a month return and deliver to her husband, like
a true and faithful wife, the proceeds of her industry. So no
wonder that the Flying Tinker, as he was called, was enabled to cut
a grand appearance. He was very fond of hunting, and would
frequently join the field in regular hunting costume, save and
except that, instead of the leather hunting-cap, he wore one of fur
with a gold band around it, to denote that though he mixed with
Gorgios he was still a Romany-chal. Thus equipped and mounted
on a capital hunter, whenever he encountered a Gypsy encampment he
would invariably dash through it, doing all the harm he could, in
order, as he said, to let the juggals know that he was their
king and had a right to do what he pleased with his own.
Things went on swimmingly for a great many years, but, as
prosperity does not continue for ever, his dark hour came at
last. His wives got into trouble in one or two expeditions,
and his dealings in wafodu luvvu began to be noised
about. Moreover, by his grand airs and violent proceedings he
had incurred the hatred of both Gorgios and Gypsies, particularly
of the latter, some of whom he had ridden over and lamed for
life. One day he addressed his two wives:-
"The Gorgios seek to hang me,
The Gypsies seek to kill me:
This country we must leave."
Shuri.
I'll jaw with you to heaven,
I'll jaw with you to Yaudors -
But not if Lura goes."
Lura.
"I'll jaw with you to heaven,
And to the wicked country,
Though Shuri goeth too."
Ryley.
"Since I must choose betwixt ye,
My choice is Yocky Shuri,
Though Lura loves me best."
Lura.
"My blackest curse on Shuri!
Oh, Ryley, I'll not curse you,
But you will never thrive."
She then took her departure with her cart and donkey,
and Ryley remained with Shuri.
Ryley.
"I've chosen now betwixt ye;
Your wish you now have gotten,
But for it you shall smart."
He then struck her with his fist on the cheek, and
broke her jawbone. Shuri uttered no cry or complaint, only
mumbled:
"Although with broken jawbone,
I'll follow thee, my Ryley,
Since Lura doesn't jal."
Thereupon Ryley and Yocky Shuri left Yorkshire, and
wended their way to London, where they took up their abode in the
Gypsyry near the Shepherd's Bush. Shuri went about
dukkering and hokking, but not with the spirit of former
times, for she was not quite so young as she had been, and her jaw,
which was never properly cured, pained her much. Ryley went
about tinkering, but he was unacquainted with London and its
neighbourhood, and did not get much to do. An old Gypsy-man,
who was driving about a little cart filled with skewers, saw him
standing in a state of perplexity at a place where four roads
met.
Old Gypsy.
"Methinks I see a brother!
Who's your father? Who's your mother?
And what may be your name?"
Ryley.
"A Bosvil was my father;
A Bosvil was my mother;
And Ryley is my name."
Old Gypsy.
"I'm glad to see you, brother!
I am a Kaulo Camlo. {4}
What service can I do?"
Ryley.
"I'm jawing petulengring, {5}
But do not know the country;
Perhaps you'll show me round."
Old Gypsy.
"I'll sikker tute, prala!
I'm bikkening esconyor; {6}
Av, av along with me!"
The old Gypsy showed Ryley about the country for a
week or two, and Ryley formed a kind of connection, and did a
little business. He, however, displayed little or no energy,
was gloomy and dissatisfied, and frequently said that his heart was
broken since he had left Yorkshire.
Shuri did her best to cheer him, but without
effect. Once, when she bade him get up and exert himself, he
said that if he did it would be of little use, and asked her
whether she did not remember the parting prophecy of his other wife
that he would never thrive. At the end of about two years he
ceased going his rounds, and did nothing but smoke under the arches
of the railroad, and loiter about beershops. At length he
became very weak, and took to his bed; doctors were called in by
his faithful Shuri, but there is no remedy for a bruised
spirit. A Methodist came and asked him, "What was his
hope?" "My hope," said he, "is that when I am dead I shall be
put into the ground, and my wife and children will weep over
me." And such, it may be observed, is the last hope of every
genuine Gypsy. His hope was gratified. Shuri and his
children, of whom he had three - two stout young fellows and a girl
- gave him a magnificent funeral, and screamed, shouted, and wept
over his grave. They then returned to the "Arches," not to
divide his property amongst them, and to quarrel about the
division, according to Christian practice, but to destroy it.
They killed his swift pony - still swift, though twenty-seven years
of age - and buried it deep in the ground, without depriving it of
its skin. They then broke the caravan and cart to pieces,
making of the fragments a fire, on which they threw his bedding,
carpets, curtains, blankets, and everything which would burn.
Finally, they dashed his mirrors, china, and crockery to pieces,
hacked his metal pots, dishes and what-not to bits, and flung the
whole on the blazing pile. Such was the life, such the death,
and such were the funeral obsequies of Ryley Bosvil, a Gypsy who
will be long remembered amongst the English Romany for his buttons,
his two wives, his grand airs, and last, and not least, for having
been the composer of various stanzas in the Gypsy tongue, which
have plenty of force, if nothing else, to recommend them. One
of these, addressed to Yocky Shuri, runs as follows:
Tuley the Can I kokkeney cam
Like my rinkeny Yocky Shuri:
Oprey the chongor in ratti I'd cour
For my rinkeny Yocky Shuri!
Which may be thus rendered:
Beneath the bright sun, there is none, there is
none,
I love like my Yocky Shuri:
With the greatest delight, in blood I would fight
To the knees for my Yocky Shuri!
KIRK YETHOLM
There are two Yetholms - Town Yetholm and Kirk
Yetholm. They stand at the distance of about a quarter of a
mile from each other, and between them is a valley, down which runs
a small stream, called the Beaumont River, crossed by a little
stone bridge. Of the town there is not much to be said.
It is a long, straggling place, on the road between Morbuttle and
Kelso, from which latter place it is distant about seven
miles. It is comparatively modern, and sprang up when the
Kirk town began to fall into decay. Kirk Yetholm derives the
first part of its name from the church, which serves for a place of
worship not only for the inhabitants of the place, but for those of
the town also. The present church is modern, having been
built on the site of the old kirk, which was pulled down in the
early part of the present century, and which had been witness of
many a strange event connected with the wars between England and
Scotland. It stands at the entrance of the place, on the left
hand as you turn to the village after ascending the steep road
which leads from the bridge. The place occupies the lower
portion of a hill, a spur of the Cheviot range, behind which is
another hill, much higher, rising to an altitude of at least 900
feet. At one time it was surrounded by a stone wall, and at
the farther end is a gateway overlooking a road leading to the
English border, from which Kirk Yetholm is distant only a mile and
a quarter; the boundary of the two kingdoms being here a small
brook called Shorton Burn, on the English side of which is a
village of harmless, simple Northumbrians, differing strangely in
appearance, manner, and language from the people who live within a
stone's throw of them on the other side.
Kirk Yetholm is a small place, but with a remarkable
look. It consists of a street, terminating in what is called
a green, with houses on three sides, but open on the fourth, or
right side to the mountain, towards which quarter it is grassy and
steep. Most of the houses are ancient, and are built of rude
stone. By far the most remarkable-looking house is a large
and dilapidated building, which has much the appearance of a
ruinous Spanish posada or venta. There is not
much life in the place, and you may stand ten minutes where the
street opens upon the square without seeing any other human beings
than two or three women seated at the house doors, or a ragged,
bare-headed boy or two lying on the grass on the upper side of the
Green. It came to pass that late one Saturday afternoon, at
the commencement of August, in the year 1866, I was standing where
the street opens on this Green, or imperfect square. My eyes
were fixed on the dilapidated house, the appearance of which
awakened in my mind all kinds of odd ideas. "A
strange-looking place," said I to myself at last, "and I shouldn't
wonder if strange things have been done in it."
"Come to see the Gypsy toon, sir?" said a voice not
far from me.
I turned, and saw standing within two yards of me a
woman about forty years of age, of decent appearance, though
without either cap or bonnet.
"A Gypsy town, is it?" said I; "why, I thought it had
been Kirk Yetholm."
Woman. - "Weel, sir, if it is
Kirk Yetholm, must it not be a Gypsy toon? Has not Kirk
Yetholm ever been a Gypsy toon?"
Myself. - "My good woman,
'ever' is a long term, and Kirk Yetholm must have been Kirk Yetholm
long before there were Gypsies in Scotland, or England
either."
Woman. - "Weel, sir, your
honour may be right, and I dare say is; for your honour seems to be
a learned gentleman. Certain, however, it is that Kirk
Yetholm has been a Gypsy toon beyond the memory of man."
Myself. - "You do not seem to
be a Gypsy."
Woman. - "Seem to be a
Gypsy! Na, na, sir! I am the bairn of decent parents,
and belong not to Kirk Yetholm, but to Haddington."
Myself. - "And what brought
you to Kirk Yetholm?"
Woman. - "Oh, my ain little
bit of business brought me to Kirk Yetholm, sir."
Myself. - "Which is no
business of mine. That's a queer-looking house
there."
Woman. - "The house that your
honour was looking at so attentively when I first spoke to
ye? A queer-looking house it is, and a queer kind of man once
lived in it. Does your honour know who once lived in that
house?"
Myself. - "No. How
should I? I am here for the first time, and after taking a
bite and sup at the inn at the town over yonder I strolled
hither."
Woman. - "Does your honour
come from far?"
Myself. - "A good way.
I came from Strandraar, the farthest part of Galloway, where I
landed from a ship which brought me from Ireland."
Woman. - "And what may have
brought your honour into these parts?"
Myself. - "Oh, my ain wee bit
of business brought me into these parts."
"Which wee bit of business is nae business of mine,"
said the woman, smiling. "Weel, your honour is quite right to
keep your ain counsel; for, as your honour weel kens, if a person
canna keep his ain counsel it is nae likely that any other body
will keep it for him. But to gae back to the queer house, and
the queer man that once 'habited it. That man, your honour,
was old Will Faa."
Myself. - "Old Will
Faa!"
Woman. - "Yes. Old Will
Faa, the Gypsy king, smuggler, and innkeeper; he lived in that
inn."
Myself. - "Oh, then that
house has been an inn?"
Woman. - "It still is an inn,
and has always been an inn; and though it has such an eerie look it
is sometimes lively enough, more especially after the Gypsies have
returned from their summer excursions in the country. It's a
roaring place then. They spend most of their sleight-o'-hand
gains in that house."
Myself. - "Is the house still
kept by a Faa?"
Woman. - "No, sir; there are
no Faas to keep it. The name is clean dead in the land,
though there is still some of the blood remaining."
Myself. - "I really should
like to see some of the blood."
Woman. - "Weel, sir, you can
do that without much difficulty; there are not many Gypsies just
now in Kirk Yetholm; but the one who they say has more of his blood
than any one else happens to be here. I mean his grandbairn -
his daughter's daughter; she whom they ca' the 'Gypsy Queen o'
Yetholm,' and whom they lead about the toon once a year, mounted on
a cuddy, with a tin crown on her head, with much shouting, and with
mony a barbaric ceremony."
Myself. - "I really should
like to see her."
Woman. - "Weel, sir, there's
a woman behind you, seated at the doorway, who can get your honour
not only the sight of her, but the speech of her, for she is one of
the race, and a relation of hers; and, to tell ye the truth, she
has had her eye upon your honour for some time past, expecting to
be asked about the qeeen, for scarcely anybody comes to Yetholm but
goes to see the queen; and some gae so far as to say that they
merely crowned her queen in hopes of bringing grist to the Gypsy
mill."
I thanked the woman, and was about to turn away, in
order to address myself to the other woman seated on the step, when
my obliging friend said, "I beg your pardon, sir, but before ye go
I wish to caution you, when you get to the speech of the queen, not
to put any speerings to her about a certain tongue or dialect which
they say the Gypsies have. All the Gypsies become glum and
dour as soon as they are spoken to about their language, and
particularly the queen. The queen might say something uncivil
to your honour, should you ask her questions about her
language."
Myself. - "Oh, then the
Gypsies of Yetholm have a language of their own?"
Woman. - "I canna say, sir; I
dinna ken whether they have or not; I have been at Yetholm several
years, about my ain wee bit o' business, and never heard them utter
a word that was not either English or broad Scotch. Some
people say that they have a language of their ain, and others say
that they have nane, and moreover that, though they call themselves
Gypsies, they are far less Gypsy than Irish, a great deal of Irish
being mixed in their veins with a very little of the much more
respectable Gypsy blood. It may be sae, or it may be not;
perhaps your honour will find out. That's the woman, sir,
just behind ye at the door. Gud e'en. I maun noo gang
and boil my cup o'tay."
To the woman at the door I now betook myself.
She was seated on the threshold, and employed in knitting.
She was dressed in white, and had a cap on her head, from which
depended a couple of ribbons, one on each side. As I drew
near she looked up. She had a full, round, smooth face, and
her complexion was brown, or rather olive, a hue which contrasted
with that of her eyes, which were blue.
"There is something Gypsy in that face," said I to
myself, as I looked at her; "but I don't like those eyes."
"A fine evening," said I to her at last.
"Yes, sir," said the woman, with very little of the
Scotch accent; "it is a fine evening. Come to see the
town?"
"Yes," said I; "I am come to see the town. A
nice little town it seems."
"And I suppose come to see the Gypsies, too," said
the woman, with a half smile.
"Well," said I, "to be frank with you, I came to see
the Gypsies. You are not one, I suppose?"
"Indeed I am," said the woman, rather sharply, "and
who shall say that I am not, seeing that I am a relation of old
Will Faa, the man whom the woman from Haddington was speaking to
you about; for I heard her mention his name?"
"Then," said I, "you must be related to her whom they
call the Gypsy queen."
"I am, indeed, sir. Would you wish to see
her?"
"By all means," said I. "I should wish very
much to see the Gypsy queen."
"Then I will show you to her, sir; many gentlefolks
from England come to see the Gypsy queen of Yetholm. Follow
me, sir!"
She got up, and, without laying down her
knitting-work, went round the corner, and began to ascend the
hill. She was strongly made, and was rather above the middle
height. She conducted me to a small house, some little way up
the hill. As we were going, I said to her, "As you are a
Gypsy, I suppose you have no objection to a coro of
koshto levinor?" {7}
She stopped her knitting for a moment, and appeared
to consider, and then resuming it, she said hesitatingly, "No, sir,
no! None at all! That is, not exactly!"
"She is no true Gypsy, after all," said I to
myself.
We went through a little garden to the door of the
house, which stood ajar. She pushed it open, and looked in;
then, turning round, she said: "She is not here, sir; but she is
close at hand. Wait here till I go and fetch her." She
went to a house a little farther up the hill, and I presently saw
her returning with another female, of slighter build, lower in
stature, and apparently much older. She came towards me with
much smiling, smirking, and nodding, which I returned with as much
smiling and nodding as if I had known her for threescore
years. She motioned me with her hand to enter the
house. I did so. The other woman returned down the
hill, and the queen of the Gypsies entering, and shutting the door,
confronted me on the floor, and said, in a rather musical, but
slightly faltering voice:
"Now, sir, in what can I oblige you?"
Thereupon, letting the umbrella fall, which I
invariably carry about with me in my journeyings, I flung my arms
three times up into the air, and in an exceedingly disagreeable
voice, owing to a cold which I had had for some time, and which I
had caught amongst the lakes of Loughmaben, whilst hunting after
Gypsies whom I could not find, I exclaimed:
"Sossi your nav? Pukker mande tute's nav!
Shan tu a mumpli-mushi, or a tatchi Romany?"
Which, interpreted into Gorgio, runs thus:
"What is your name? Tell me your name!
Are you a mumping woman, or a true Gypsy?"
The woman appeared frightened, and for some time said
nothing, but only stared at me. At length, recovering
herself, she exclaimed, in an angry tone, "Why do you talk to me in
that manner, and in that gibberish? I don't understand a word
of it."
"Gibberish!" said I; "it is no gibberish; it is
Zingarrijib, Romany rokrapen, real Gypsy of the old order."
"Whatever it is," said the woman, "it's of no use
speaking it to me. If you want to speak to me, you must speak
English or Scotch."
"Why, they told me as how you were a Gypsy," said
I.
"And they told you the truth," said the woman; "I am
a Gypsy, and a real one; I am not ashamed of my blood."
"If yer were a Gyptian," said I, "yer would be able
to speak Gyptian; but yer can't, not a word."
"At any rate," said the woman, "I can speak English,
which is more than you can. Why, your way of speaking is that
of the lowest vagrants of the roads."
"Oh, I have two or three ways of speaking English,"
said I; "and when I speaks to low wagram folks, I speaks in a low
wagram manner."
"Not very civil," said the woman.
"A pretty Gypsy!" said I; "why, I'll be bound you
don't know what a churi is!"
The woman gave me a sharp look; but made no
reply.
"A pretty queen of the Gypsies!" said I; "why, she
doesn't know the meaning of churi!"
"Doesn't she?" said the woman, evidently nettled;
"doesn't she?"
"Why, do you mean to say that you know the meaning of
churi?"
"Why, of course I do," said the woman.
"Hardly, my good lady," said I; "hardly; a
churi to you is merely a churi."
"A churi is a knife," said the woman, in a
tone of defiance; "a churi is a knife."
"Oh, it is," said I; "and yet you tried to persuade
me that you had no peculiar language of your own, and only knew
English and Scotch: churi is a word of the language in which
I spoke to you at first, Zingarrijib, or Gypsy language; and since
you know that word, I make no doubt that you know others, and in
fact can speak Gypsy. Come; let us have a little confidential
discourse together."
The woman stood for some time, as if in reflection,
and at length said: "Sir, before having any particular discourse
with you, I wish to put a few questions to you, in order to gather
from your answers whether it is safe to talk to you on Gypsy
matters. You pretend to understand the Gypsy language: if I
find you do not, I will hold no further discourse with you; and the
sooner you take yourself off the better. If I find you do, I
will talk with you as long as you like. What do you call
that?" - and she pointed to the fire.
"Speaking Gyptianly?" said I.
The woman nodded.
"Whoy, I calls that yog."
"Hm," said the woman: "and the dog out there?"
"Gyptian-loike?" said I.
"Yes."
"Whoy, I calls that a juggal."
"And the hat on your head?"
"Well, I have two words for that: a staury and
a stadge."
"Stadge," said the woman, "we call it
here. Now what's a gun?"
"There is no Gypsy in England," said I, "can tell you
the word for a gun; at least the proper word, which is lost.
They have a word - yag-engro - but that is a made-up
word signifying a fire-thing."
"Then you don't know the word for a gun," said the
Gypsy.
"Oh dear me! Yes," said I; "the genuine Gypsy
word for a gun is puschca. But I did not pick up that
word in England, but in Hungary, where the Gypsies retain their
language better than in England: puschca is the proper word
for a gun, and not yag-engro, which may mean a fire-shovel,
tongs, poker, or anything connected with fire, quite as well as a
gun."
"Puschca is the word, sure enough," said the
Gypsy. "I thought I should have caught you there; and now I
have but one more question to ask you, and when I have done so, you
may as well go; for I am quite sure you cannot answer it.
What is Nokkum?"
"Nokkum," said I; "nokkum?"
"Aye," said the Gypsy; "what is Nokkum?
Our people here, besides their common name of Romany, have a
private name for themselves, which is Nokkum or
Nokkums. Why do the children of the Caungri Foros call
themselves Nokkums?"
"Nokkum," said I; "nokkum? The
root of nokkum must be nok, which signifieth a
nose."
"A-h!" said the Gypsy, slowly drawing out the
monosyllable, as if in astonishment.
"Yes," said I; "the root of nokkum is
assuredly nok, and I have no doubt that your people call
themselves Nokkum because they are in the habit of
nosing the Gorgios. Nokkums means
Nosems."
"Sit down, sir," said the Gypsy, handing me a
chair. "I am now ready to talk to you as much as you please
about Nokkum words and matters, for I see there is no
danger. But I tell you frankly that had I not found that you
knew as much as, or a great deal more than, myself, not a hundred
pounds, nor indeed all the money in Berwick, should have induced me
to hold discourse with you about the words and matters of the Brown
children of Kirk Yetholm."
I sat down in the chair which she handed me; she sat
down in another, and we were presently in deep discourse about
matters Nokkum. We first began to talk about words,
and I soon found that her knowledge of Romany was anything but
extensive; far less so, indeed, than that of the commonest English
Gypsy woman, for whenever I addressed her in regular Gypsy
sentences, and not in poggado jib, or broken language, she
would giggle and say I was too deep for her. I should say
that the sum total of her vocabulary barely amounted to three
hundred words. Even of these there were several which were
not pure Gypsy words - that is, belonging to the speech which the
ancient Zingary brought with them to Britain. Some of her
bastard Gypsy words belonged to the cant or allegorical jargon of
thieves, who, in order to disguise their real meaning, call one
thing by the name of another. For example, she called a
shilling a 'hog,' a word belonging to the old English cant dialect,
instead of calling it by the genuine Gypsy term tringurushi,
the literal meaning of which is three groats. Then she called
a donkey 'asal,' and a stone 'cloch,' which words are neither cant
nor Gypsy, but Irish or Gaelic. I incurred her vehement
indignation by saying they were Gaelic. She contradicted me
flatly, and said that whatever else I might know I was quite wrong
there; for that neither she nor any one of her people would
condescend to speak anything so low as Gaelic, or indeed, if they
possibly could avoid it, to have anything to do with the
poverty-stricken creatures who used it. It is a singular fact
that, though principally owing to the magic writings of Walter
Scott, the Highland Gael and Gaelic have obtained the highest
reputation in every other part of the world, they are held in the
Lowlands in very considerable contempt. There the Highlander,
elsewhere "the bold Gael with sword and buckler," is the type of
poverty and wretchedness; and his language, elsewhere "the fine old
Gaelic, the speech of Adam and Eve in Paradise," is the designation
of every unintelligible jargon. But not to digress. On
my expressing to the Gypsy queen my regret that she was unable to
hold with me a regular conversation in Romany, she said that no one
regretted it more than herself, but that there was no help for it;
and that slight as I might consider her knowledge of Romany to be,
it was far greater than that of any other Gypsy on the Border, or
indeed in the whole of Scotland; and that as for the
Nokkums, there was not one on the Green who was acquainted with
half a dozen words of Romany, though the few words they had they
prized high enough, and would rather part with their heart's blood
than communicate them to a stranger.
"Unless," said I, "they found the stranger knew more
than themselves."
"That would make no difference with them," said the
queen, "though it has made a great deal of difference with
me. They would merely turn up their noses, and say they had
no Gaelic. You would not find them so communicative as me;
the Nokkums, in general, are a dour set, sir."
Before quitting the subject of language it is but
right to say that though she did not know much Gypsy, and used cant
and Gaelic terms, she possessed several words unknown to the
English Romany, but which are of the true Gypsy order.
Amongst them was the word tirrehi, or tirrehai,
signifying shoes or boots, which I had heard in Spain and in the
east of Europe. Another was calches, a Wallachian word
signifying trousers. Moreover, she gave the right
pronunciation to the word which denotes a man not of Gypsy blood,
saying gajo, and not gorgio, as the English Gypsies
do. After all, her knowledge of Gentle Romany was not
altogether to be sneezed at.
Ceasing to talk to her about words, I began to
question her about the Faas. She said that a great number of
the Faas had come in the old time to Yetholm, and settled down
there, and that her own forefathers had always been the principal
people among them. I asked her if she remembered her
grandfather, old Will Faa, and received for answer that she
remembered him very well, and that I put her very much in mind of
him, being a tall, lusty man, like himself, and having a skellying
look with the left eye, just like him. I asked her if she had
not seen queer folks at Yetholm in her grandfather's time.
"Dosta dosta," said she; "plenty, plenty of queer folk I saw
at Yetholm in my grandfather's time, and plenty I have seen since,
and not the least queer is he who is now asking me
questions." "Did you ever see Piper Allen?" said I; "he was a
great friend of your grandfather's." "I never saw him," she
replied; "but I have often heard of him. He married one of
our people." "He did so," said I, "and the marriage-feast was
held on the Green just behind us. He got a good, clever wife,
and she got a bad, rascally husband. One night, after taking
an affectionate farewell of her, he left her on an expedition, with
plenty of money in his pocket, which he had obtained from her, and
which she had procured by her dexterity. After going about
four miles he bethought himself that she had still some money, and
returning crept up to the room in which she lay asleep, and stole
her pocket, in which were eight guineas; then slunk away, and never
returned, leaving her in poverty, from which she never
recovered." I then mentioned Madge Gordon, at one time the
Gypsy queen of the Border, who used, magnificently dressed, to ride
about on a pony shod with silver, inquiring if she had ever seen
her. She said she had frequently seen Madge Faa, for that was
her name, and not Gordon; but that when she knew her, all her
magnificence, beauty, and royalty had left her; for she was then a
poor, poverty-stricken old woman, just able with a pipkin in her
hand to totter to the well on the Green for water. Then with
much nodding, winking, and skellying, I began to talk about
Drabbing bawlor, dooking gryes, cauring, and hokking,
and asked if them 'ere things were ever done by the Nokkums:
and received for answer that she believed such things were
occasionally done, not by the Nokkums, but by other Gypsies,
with whom her people had no connection.
Observing her eyeing me rather suspiciously, I
changed the subject; asking her if she had travelled much
about. She told me she had, and that she had visited most
parts of Scotland, and seen a good bit of the northern part of
England.
"Did you travel alone?" said I.
"No," said she; "when I travelled in Scotland I was
with some of my own people, and in England with the Lees and
Bosvils."
"Old acquaintances of mine," said I; "why only the
other day I was with them at Fairlop Fair, in the Wesh."
"I frequently heard them talk of Epping Forest," said
the Gypsy; "a nice place, is it not?"
"The loveliest forest in the world!" said I.
"Not equal to what it was, but still the loveliest forest in the
world, and the pleasantest, especially in summer; for then it is
thronged with grand company, and the nightingales, and cuckoos, and
Romany chals and chies. As for Romany-chals
there is not such a place for them in the whole world as the
Forest. Them that wants to see Romany-chals should go to the
Forest, especially to the Bald-faced Hind on the hill above
Fairlop, on the day of Fairlop Fair. It is their
trysting-place, as you would say, and there they musters from all
parts of England, and there they whoops, dances, and plays; keeping
some order nevertheless, because the Rye of all the Romans
is in the house, seated behind the door:-
Romany Chalor
Anglo the wuddur
Mistos are boshing;
Mande beshello
Innar the wuddur
Shooning the boshipen."
Roman lads
Before the door
Bravely fiddle;
Here I sit
Within the door
And hear them fiddle.
"I wish I knew as much Romany as you, sir," said the
Gypsy. "Why, I never heard so much Romany before in all my
life."
She was rather a small woman, apparently between
sixty and seventy, with intelligent and rather delicate
features. Her complexion was darker than that of the other
female; but she had the same kind of blue eyes. The room in
which we were seated was rather long, and tolerably high. In
the wall, on the side which fronted the windows which looked out
upon the Green, were oblong holes for beds, like those seen in the
sides of a cabin. There was nothing of squalor or poverty
about the place.
Wishing to know her age, I inquired of her what it
was. She looked angry, and said she did not know.
"Are you forty-nine?" said I, with a terrible voice,
and a yet more terrible look.
"More," said she, with a smile; "I am
sixty-eight."
There was something of the gentlewoman in her: on my
offering her money she refused to take it, saying that she did not
want it, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I persuaded her
to accept a trifle, with which, she said, she would buy herself
some tea.
But withal there was hukni in her, and by that
she proved her Gypsy blood. I asked her if she would be at
home on the following day, for in that case I would call and have
some more talk with her, and received for answer that she would be
at home and delighted to see me. On going, however, on the
following day, which was Sunday, I found the garden-gate locked and
the window-shutters up, plainly denoting that there was nobody at
home.
Seeing some men lying on the hill, a little way
above, who appeared to be observing me, I went up to them for the
purpose of making inquiries. They were all young men, and
decently though coarsely dressed. None wore the Scottish cap
or bonnet, but all the hat of England. Their countenances
were rather dark, but had nothing of the vivacious expression
observable in the Gypsy face, but much of the dogged, sullen look
which makes the countenances of the generality of the Irish who
inhabit London and some other of the large English towns so
disagreeable. They were lying on their bellies, occasionally
kicking their heels into the air. I greeted them civilly, but
received no salutation in return.
"Is So-and-so at home?" said I.
"No," said one, who, though seemingly the eldest of
the party, could not have been more than three-and-twenty years of
age; "she is gone out."
"Is she gone far?" said I.
"No," said the speaker, kicking up his heels.
"Where is she gone to?"
"She's gone to Cauldstrame."
"How far is that?"
"Just thirteen miles."
"Will she be at home to-day?"
"She may, or she may not."
"Are you of her people?" said I.
"No-h," said the fellow, slowly drawing out the
word.
"Can you speak Irish?"
"No-h; I can't speak Irish," said the fellow, tossing
up his nose, and then flinging up his heels.
"You know what arragod is?" said I.
"No-h!"
"But you know what ruppy is?" said I; and
thereupon I winked and nodded.
"No-h;" and then up went the nose, and subsequently
the heels.
"Good day," said I; and turned away; I received no
counter-salutation; but, as I went down the hill, there was none of
the shouting and laughter which generally follow a discomfited
party. They were a hard, sullen, cautious set, in whom a few
drops of Gypsy blood were mixed with some Scottish and a much
larger quantity of low Irish. Between them and their queen a
striking difference was observable. In her there was both fun
and cordiality; in them not the slightest appearance of
either. What was the cause of this disparity? The
reason was they were neither the children nor the grandchildren of
real Gypsies, but only the remote descendants, whereas she was the
granddaughter of two genuine Gypsies, old Will Faa and his wife,
whose daughter was her mother; so that she might be considered all
but a thorough Gypsy; for being by her mother's side a Gypsy, she
was of course much more so than she would have been had she sprung
from a Gypsy father and a Gentile mother; the qualities of a child,
both mental and bodily, depending much less on the father than on
the mother. Had her father been a Faa, instead of her mother,
I should probably never have heard from her lips a single word of
Romany, but found her as sullen and inductile as the Nokkums
on the Green, whom it was of little more use questioning than so
many stones.
Nevertheless, she had played me the hukni, and
that was not very agreeable; so I determined to be even with her,
and by some means or other to see her again. Hearing that on
the next day, which was Monday, a great fair was to be held in the
neighbourhood of Kelso, I determined to go thither, knowing that
the likeliest place in all the world to find a Gypsy at is a fair;
so I went to the grand cattle-fair of St. George, held near the
ruined castle of Roxburgh, in a lovely meadow not far from the
junction of the Teviot and Tweed; and there sure enough, on my
third saunter up and down, I met my Gypsy. We met in the most
cordial manner - smirks and giggling on her side, smiles and
nodding on mine. She was dressed respectably in black, and
was holding the arm of a stout wench, dressed in garments of the
same colour, who she said was her niece, and a rinkeni
rakli. The girl whom she called rinkeni or
handsome, but whom I did not consider handsome, had much of the
appearance of one of those Irish girls, born in London, whom
one so frequently sees carrying milk-pails about the streets of the
metropolis. By the bye, how is it that the children born in
England of Irish parents account themselves Irish and not English,
whilst the children born in Ireland of English parents call
themselves not English but Irish? Is it because there is ten
times more nationality in Irish blood than in English? After
the smirks, smiles, and salutations were over, I inquired whether
there were many Gypsies in the fair. "Plenty," said she,
"plenty Tates, Andersons, Reeds, and many others. That woman
is an Anderson - yonder is a Tate," said she, pointing to two
common-looking females. "Have they much Romany?" said
I. "No," said she, "scarcely a word." "I think I shall
go and speak to them," said I. "Don't," said she; "they would
only be uncivil to you. Moreover, they have nothing of that
kind - on the word of a rawnie they have not."
I looked in her eyes; there was nothing of
hukni in them, so I shook her by the hand; and through rain and
mist, for the day was a wretched one, trudged away to Dryburgh to
pay my respects at the tomb of Walter Scott, a man with whose
principles I have no sympathy, but for whose genius I have always
entertained the most intense admiration.
Footnotes:
{1} A Christian.
{2} A fox.
{3} "Merripen" means life, and likewise death;
even as "collico" means to-morrow as well as yesterday, and perhaps
"sorlo," evening as well as morning.
{4} A Black Lovel.
{5} Going a-tinkering.
{6} I'll show you about, brother! I'm
selling skewers.
{7} A cup of good ale.
End of the Project Gutenberg eText Romano Lavo-Lil