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• Title: Incidents in a Gipsy's Life. 1886
• Author : G. Smith
• Release Date : January 06, 2020
• Genre: Social Science,Books,Nonfiction,History,Europe,
• Pages : * pages
• Size : 2626 KB

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THE LIFE OF A GIPSY.

Many writers have spent months and years of their lives in studying the language, character, and customs of the Romany Rye.  Many able pens have written volumes on the subject.

For my part I simply give an unvarnished statement of facts, as they occur to me, so that my readers may glean some little information as to the general life and incidents in the career of a gipsy.

With regard to the language of the Romany, whether heard in the most distant parts of the globe or in the Liverpool Exhibition (as spoken by my family), it is the same as in different counties in the United Kingdom and in different provinces of continental countries; a slight patois may be observable, but in the main the initiated know that the Romany holds its own with the nomadic people the world over.

For character, climate, and circumstances, may in many instances vary the Gitano, Romany, or Bohemian, as we are called, but custom (go where the traveller may) remains the same, the nature and habit of the true Romany prompting him, or her, to a wandering life, and to revel as it were in nature’s solitude.  To begin with, I was born on the 3rd of May, 1830, my birth place being on the common called Mousehold Heath, Norwich, Norfolk, my parents having but a few months previously left their old camping ground in Epping Forest, near London.

For many, many years, my ancestors recognised the Forest of Epping as their head quarters, and to this day at intervals we 


visit the spot, a sort of pilgrimage to Mecca as it were; but alas, how different a form it presents to that which it did in my boyhood’s days.

House dwellers often have remarked as to the life we lead: many have suggested it to be unhealthy.  Now to prove to the contrary, my dear mother died at the age of 75, and my father at the age of 81.

I think, speaking of one family only, this will be a sufficient answer as to whether the life of a gipsy, breathing nature’s own atmosphere, is as good as a dweller in houses or not.  My family consists of eight children—four boys and four girls—the eldest whom is now 28, the youngest reaching 16.

As a boy, I travelled the greater part of the United Kingdom, when reaching twelve, my aptitude for trading in horses (thanks to my father’s tuition) began to exhibit itself.  My first business transaction consisted of receiving a present of a pony.  One day, shortly after the Epping Fair of 1842, I was sent by my parents to the Manor House at Loughton, with some basket-ware.  Being some distance from our camp, one of the upper servants very kindly attended to my inward wants, and having packed the silver for the ware, for safety, in a piece of brown paper, in my breeches pocket, I started off for the forest.  After leaving the lodge, to my astonishment, I found the lady of the manor which I had just left, coming to grief down the road.  Without the slightest idea of fear, young as I was, I stopped the pony—both of us being down.  On rising, I found myself unhurt, the only damage done being the fright of the lady and her friend, and one of the shafts of the little carriage broken.  My pockets were, as a rule, a general receptacle for everything, so, in a few minutes, by the aid of a piece of string, a couple of nails, and a stone as a hammer, I had repaired the damage, and improvised a curb for the pony, and saw things straight.  Prior to the lady 


leaving me, she desired me to drive the pony home, after doing which she presented me with a crown piece, and seeing me so pleased, she told the stud groom might have the pony, as she would never trust it again—to my great astonishment—and with my new possession, and the addition of many thanks, I rode off again for home, as proud and as happy as any king.  The precise spot being, as I remember, the famous old oak, wherein King Charles hid in the Forest of Epping—the tree has long since been a thing of the past.  Many a time have I, in my boyhood, heard my great-great-grandmother tell our visitors of the time when the shadow of its branches covered an acre of ground.  A chartered fair has for many years been held on the spot, taking place on the first Friday in July, and, even now, Londoners may be seen, on the Sunday after the first Friday, wending their way, thousands in number, some in conveyances of every sort and style, some footing it to Epping from the Mile End Road, Whitechapel, and environs.  The Cockneys well attend the one remaining link of the past, “Fairlop Fair.”  Some few years since, splendidly built full rigged boats were taken on trollies by the Limehouse block makers to the fair at Fairlop, the boats being drawn by splendid teams of grey horses, beautifully caparisoned, and well decorated with oak leaves, the drivers and artisans wearing the old-fashioned blue coat, white hat, and top boots.  Even now, in my ears, I remember the old-fashioned doggrel chorus, sung by them on the spot of the old oak’s resting place—

“The Charter we have got,

We claim this grand old spot,

Old Fairlop, Fairlop Fair,

This be our refrain,

Shall flourish and flourish again and again.”

I need not say Fairlop Fair was a little gold mine to the members of our tribe.  The Cockneys to the present day consider the Gipsies to be part and parcel of the festival and annual gathering, none being so happy as the favoured ones who could boast of having had tea in a gipsy’s tent.


My horsedealing propensities grew with me as I grew.

When I arrived at the age of 26, I then took to myself a wife.  Long may we both live to be in the future, as in the past, a comfort to each other.  Corinda Lee, daughter of the then recognised heads of the Lee tribe of Epping Gipsies, mother of my children and joy of my life, long may we yet travel this journey of life up hill and down hill together.  Our marriage in the old village of Waltham Abbey brought together over fifty families of Gipsies for the junketings and sports, so freely indulged in in the old times, lasting as they did over the three days.

I had been married but three months when the first offer of settling down took place.  A gentleman named Hewitt, of the firm of Huggins’ Brewery Co., for whom I had purchased many valuable horses, offered to place me in a livery stable then for sale in Clerkenwell parish, the price for the same being £1700.  I suggested the acceptance, having the chance on very good terms to pay out of the profits.  My wife, however, flatly declined the, to me, favourable opportunity, her objection to living amongst chimneys being too great to combat, like the sailor in the storm pitying the poor landsmen.  Unlike many of her sex, to this day she has not changed her mind.

Shortly after this I was appointed the head of ten gipsy families, and I started a tour of the United Kingdom.  After a few days a more orderly company could, I think, be scarcely organised.  Our tents, caravans, horses, and harness, were greatly admired; trading in our usual form, with baskets of our own make, and selling horses, we caused at times almost too much attention, so much so, even at our meals we could not keep people out of our tents, although located at some distance from the towns and villages, so I determined to rent or hire fields for our camping grounds.  Even then it was impossible to keep intruders out; at length a happy idea struck me, viz., to charge a fee for admission to those wishing to gratify their ofttimes intrusive curiosity, in 

doing which I am pleased to say we were more than successful in a monetary point of view.

Many offers of engagements were made to me; but never liking the idea of being a servant, I refused them, and as I started so have I lived—making a bargain for my requirements, and being satisfied with my returns.  The Romany, doubtless, are superstitious—they like to be free.  That old customs still adhere to us, I must admit; our language is our own, and a true Gitano is as jealous of its possession as his honour.  Nothing can lower one of us more than learning the house-dweller our Romanis.  Strange though it is, whilst listening, as I have done lately, to the many words I have heard spoken by the Tamill, Hindoo, and Ceylonese Indians in the Exhibition, we find numerous words similar to our own, and bearing, as I understand, the same meaning.

Travelling as I have in nearly every town of note in Great Britain, it is only natural I should know and be known, I am pleased to say, in all.  I have met and left many friends whom it is not easy to forget.  The Press of the several places have very kindly expressed an interest in us; so many, in fact, to repeat would take up too much space in a little book of this description.  Suffice it to say the remarks of the Liverpool press alone, as attached to these lines will be readily taken by the reader as the expressions of all, and I here thank them for the kindly interest they have displayed in me and my family.  Many articles have been written in papers by clever writers who have made our people a subject of thought as to our origin, yet it seems to me an unanswered question and a mystery.

During our travels in Scotland, I hired a field near Arthur’s Seat, Newington, Edinburgh, wherein I gave a Gipsy’s fete and gala.  During my three weeks stay there the amount of admission money came to £700.  Many of the elite of Edinburgh visited us, amongst others the Duke of Buccleugh and party.  At Aberdeen 


a great success attended us.  In fact in every Scottish town we visited we were the recipients of many favours, gratefully remembered.  At Dunbar the highest honour ever accorded us was the visit of our most gracious Sovereign Queen Victoria to our tents.

Whilst at Oxford, when giving our galas in the field in Binsey Lane, near the Perch, we were patronised by many of the Collegians, amongst whom we had a frequent visitor in the person of the son of the Khedive of Egypt, who evinced great curiosity as to our people and their habits.  At Leeds our galas at the Cremorne Gardens in 1865, during the Whit Week, brought in over 70,000 persons; in the same year we exhibited at the Royal Oak Park, Manchester.  Our procession of the entire tribes filled thirty conveyances, many thousands witnessing our procession lining the streets as they did from Newton Heath to Cheadle, both going and returning.  In Manchester we remained one month, our tents being crowded day after day.  In Dublin for some months we held levees in the famous Rotunda Gardens.

Dr. J. Guinness Beatty, of the Exhibition Staff, well remembers our success there, he being then Assistant Master of the Rotunda Hospital; so successful were we, that Mr. James Dillon, the Dublin Advertising Contractor, offered us £500 for the gate receipts during the latter portion of our stay, which offer I must add, as with others, was very respectfully declined.  Whilst in Ireland my time was fully occupied by purchasing horses for the French and Belgian Armies, an occupation now followed by my eldest son and my brother, who visit every large fair held there.  After travelling Ireland for over five years, so contented was my brother with the reception accorded us, that he decided to remain, and is now permanently settled in his encampment on the Circular Road, Dublin, carrying out his calling as a Horse Dealer.  Among many of our patrons and visitors, I may mention Lady Butler, Lords Mayo and Clonmel, who always exhibited towards us a genial and kindly interest.  During my stay in Ireland I 


must mention the pleasure I feel at the advancement in their education my children received by visiting the Marlboro’ Street Schools in Dublin.  Many times have I in England extended my stay in various towns for the sake of educating them, and it is with pleasure I feel in having done so, it will assuredly be to their interest and welfare.  Knowing as I do that when a boy, all we of the Gipsy tribe read from and of was “Nature’s own book.”

During the years I have travelled I have held conversations with many wishful of learning our language.  Some have gained a slight knowledge of our lore, but, I am pleased to say, not from my family.  In many instances when they (the would be learners) have spoken to me, I have heard them use terms clearly showing them to be the most gullible of the gulled.

Seeing the announcements of the International Exhibition of Liverpool, stating it was the intention of the Executive Council to present originals and models of the different means of travelling as used in past and present times, I ventured to address a letter, asking to become an exhibitor of my caravan and tent, within which I and my family have travelled the greater portion of the United Kingdom.  Thanks to their consideration, permission was kindly given me to erect my encampment on the south east corner, through their General Superintendent, Samuel Lee Bapty, Esq.

Soon after our entry on the ground, we had the distinguished honour of a visit from the Mayor and Mayoress (Sir David and Lady Radcliffe), and several members of the Executive Council, all of whom expressed the warmest satisfaction with their reception.

During our stay at the Exhibition I was honoured by a visit from His Royal Highness Prince Victor of Hohenlohe, who, in company with Sir A. B. Walker, Bart., and a select party from 

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Gateacre Grange, visited my tent, and had his fortune predicted by my wife.  The Prince professed himself delighted with the glimpse afforded him of tent life, and on his return to St. James’s Palace, was kind enough to write me an autograph letter, assuring me of the deep gratification which his reception had afforded him, and giving me a most pressing invitation to visit him at his estate of St. Brino, near Ascot, whenever I found myself in that neighbourhood.

Among other interesting momentoes which I preserve, not so much for their intrinsic value as for their pleasing associations, is a half-crown presented to me by the Earl of Lathom, on visiting my tent.  It bears the following inscription:

“Earl of Lathom,

Lord High Chamberlain,

September 25, 1886.”

Nor is the least gratifying token of my connection with the Liverpool Exhibition, a memorial presented to me by the Hindoo and Cingalese Indians, on their departure to their own shores.  Poor exiles from their native land!  They assured me in the touching document above alluded to that were it not for my constant kindness to them, they would not have been able to endure their existence in this country, but when in the company of myself and family, they fancied themselves once more in their own far-off home.

I shall ever look back upon my stay at the Liverpool Exhibition as one of the brightest and happiest pages in my life.

I could go on, but the printer’s boy says he thinks I have said enough for the few pages this little emanation from yours obediently should occupy, but I cannot say “good bye” without expressing a few sentiments on this, the past subject of my life, by adding that as the sere and yellow leaf creeps over me, I think and often dream of the many well loved spots on this beautiful land I have visited in my boyhood’s days when all was health, 

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glee and happiness.  Now, alas! where are they?  Gone!  The busy work of the builders has covered those places once so dear to me.  After even a short absence I seek a place once so well known and loved, to find what? a block of houses thereon, and the fairy-like home I have travelled far to see, vanished in the past.  For the future, what bodes; fresh fields and pastures new! is an old and true saying, with me, as with others, so must it be, but where can I find those scenes I cannot forget; scenes and times where one fiftieth of the world’s goods now obtainable was all that was necessary to exist in peace and plenty.  Smoky chimneys, the roaring of machinery and noise of mills, never dreamed of in days gone by, now meet my sight and ears; oh! how different.  Perhaps my readers may think I am getting sentimental; perhaps so; if so, kindly forgive,

Your very obedient servant, GEORGE SMITH.

Gipsy Encampment, International Exhibition, Liverpool, 1886.

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