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