The English Gipsies and Their Language Part 22

I found the gentleman's servant in the alehouse; so we got drunk there, and were going home down the road when we saw the gentleman's carriage coming. So we went quickly enough over the hedge, and hid ourselves there in the field until the gentleman was gone.

I saw the gentleman in the morning, and he asked me what I had done the day before, after church. I told him I'd drunk two or three cups of ale and was half tipsy. And he said, "My man was drunk as you, and I sent him off." I told him then, "I hope not, sir, for such a little thing as that; and he is not used to drink ale, he's only accustomed to cider, that don't intoxicate him." But no, the poor man had to go away. _And that's all I can tell you about my going to church_.

GUDLO XIX. WHAT THE LITTLE GIPSY GIRL TOLD HER BROTHER.

Penned the tikni Rommani chavi laki pal, "More mor the pishom, 'cause she's a Rommani, and kairs her jivaben jallin' parl the tem dukkerin' the ruzhas and lellin' the gudlo avree 'em, sar moro dye dukkers the ranis.

An' ma wusser bars at the rookas, 'cause they're kaulos, an' kaulo ratt is Rommany ratt. An' maun pogger the bawris, for yuv rikkers his tan pre the dumo, sar moro puro dadas, an' so yuv's Rommany."

TRANSLATION.

Said the little Gipsy girl to her brother, "Don't kill the bee, because she is a Gipsy, and makes her living going about the country telling fortunes to the flowers and taking honey out of them, as our mother tells fortunes to the ladies. And don't throw stones at the rooks, because they are dark, and dark blood is Gipsy blood. And don't crush the snail, for he carries his tent on his back, like our old father" (_i.e_., carries his home about, and so he too is Rommany).

GUDLO XX. HOW CHARLEY LEE PLAYED AT PITCH-AND-TOSS.

I jinned a tano mush yeckorus that nashered sar his wongur 'dree the toss- ring. Then he jalled kerri to his dadas' kanyas and lelled pange bar avree. Paul' a bitti chairus he d.i.c.ked his dadas an' pookered lester he'd lelled pange bar avree his gunnas. But yuv's dadas penned, "Jal an, kair it ajaw and win some wongur againus!" So he jalled apopli to the toss-ring an' lelled sar his wongur pauli, an' pange bar ferridearer. So he jalled ajaw kerri to the tan, an' d.i.c.ked his dadas beshtin' alay by the rikk o' the tan, and his dadas penned, "Sa did you keravit, my chavo?" "Kushto, dadas. I lelled sar my wongur pauli; and here's tute's wongur acai, an' a bar for tute an' shtar bar for mi-kokero."

An' that's tacho as ever you tool that pen in tute's waster--an' dovo mush was poor Charley Lee, that's mullo kenna.

TRANSLATION.

I knew a little fellow once that lost all his money in the toss-ring (_i.e_., at pitch-and-toss). Then he went home to his father's sacks and took five pounds out. After a little while he saw his father and told him he'd taken five pounds from his bags. But his father said, "Go on, spend it and win some more money!" So he went again to the toss-ring and got all his money back, and five pounds more. And going home, he saw his father sitting by the side of the tent, and his father said, "How did you succeed (_i.e_., _do it_), my son?" "Very well, father. I got all _my_ money back; and here's _your_ money now, and a pound for you and four pounds for myself."

And that's true as ever you hold that pen in your hand--and that man was poor Charley Lee, that's dead now.

GUDLO XXI. OF THE TINKER AND THE KETTLE.

A petulamengro hatched yeck divvus at a givescro ker, where the rani del him ma.s.s an' tood. While he was hawin' he d.i.c.ked a kekavi sar chicklo an' bongo, pashall a boro hev adree, an' he putchered, "Del it a mandy an' I'll lel it avree for chichi, 'cause you've been so kushto an'

kammoben to mandy." So she del it a lester, an' he jalled avree for trin cooricus, an' he keravit apre, an' kaired it pauno sar rupp. Adovo he welled akovo drum pauli, an' jessed to the same ker, an' penned, "d.i.c.k acai at covi kushti kekavi! I del shove trin mus.h.i.+s for it, an' tu shall lel it for the same wongur, 'cause you've been so kushto a mandy."

Dovo mush was like boot 'dusta mus.h.i.+s--wery cammoben to his kokero.

TRANSLATION.

A tinker stopped one day at a farmer's house, where the lady gave him meat and milk. While he was eating he saw a kettle all rusty and bent, with a great hole in it, and he asked, "Give it to me and I will take it away for nothing, because you have been so kind and obliging to me." So she gave it to him, and he went away for three weeks, and he repaired it (the kettle), and made it as bright (white) as silver. Then he went that road again, to the same house, and said, "Look here at this fine kettle!

I gave six s.h.i.+llings for it, and you shall have it for the same money, because you have been so good to me."

That man was like a great many men--very benevolent to himself.

GUDLO XXII. THE STORY OF "ROMMANY JOTER."

If a Rommany chal gets nashered an' can't latch his drum i' the ratti, he sh.e.l.ls avree, "_Hup_, _hup_--_Rom-ma-ny_, _Rom-ma-ny jo-ter_!" When the chavvis can't latch the tan, it's the same gudlo, "_Rom-ma-ny jo-ter_!"

Joter pens kett'nus.

And yeck ratti my dadas, sixty besh kenna, was pirryin' par the weshes to tan, an' he shooned a bitti gudlo like bitti ranis a rakkerin' puro tacho Rommanis, and so he jalled from yeck boro rukk to the waver, and paul' a cheirus he d.i.c.ked a tani rani, and she was sh.e.l.lin' avree for her miraben, "_Rom-ma-ny_, _Rom-ma-ny jo-ter_!" So my dada shokkered ajaw, "_Rom-ma-ny chal_, _ak-ai_!" But as he sh.e.l.led there welled a boro bavol, and the bitti ranis an' sar prastered avree i' the heb like chillicos adree a starmus, and all he shunned was a savvaben and "Rom-ma- ny jo-ter!" shukaridir an' shukaridir, pash sar was kerro.

An' you can d.i.c.k by dovo that the kukalos, an' fairies, an' mullos, and chovihans all rakker puro tacho Rommanis, 'cause that's the old 'Gyptian jib that was penned adree the Scripture tem.

TRANSLATION.

If a Gipsy is lost and cannot find his way in the night, he cries out, "Hup, hup--Rom-ma-ny, Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!" When the children cannot find the tent, it is the same cry, "_Rom-ma-ny jo-ter_!" Joter means together.

And one night my father, sixty years ago (literally, _now_), was walking through the woods to his tent, and he heard a little cry like little ladies talking real old Gipsy, and so he went from one great tree to the other (_i.e_., concealing himself), and after a while he saw a little lady, and she was crying out as if for her life, "_Rom-ma-ny_, _Rom-ma-ny jo-ter_!" So my father cried again, "_Gipsy_, _here_!" But as he hallooed there came a great blast of wind, and the little ladies and all flew away in the sky like birds in a storm, and all he heard was a laughing and "_Rom-ma-ny jo-ter_!" softer and softer, till all was done.

And you can see by that that the goblins (dwarfs, mannikins), and fairies, and ghosts, and witches, and all talk real old Gipsy, because that is the old Egyptian language that was talked in the Scripture land.

GUDLO XXIII. OF THE RICH GIPSY AND THE PHEASANT.

Yeckorus a Rommany chal kaired adusta wongur, and was boot barvelo an' a boro rye. His chuckko was kashno, an' the crafnies 'pre lester chuckko were o' sonnakai, and his graias solivaris an' guiders were sar ruppeny.

Yeck divvus this here Rommany rye was hawin' habben anerjal the krallis's chavo, an' they hatched adree a weshni kanni that was kannelo, but saw the mus.h.i.+s penned it was kushtidearer. "Bless mi-Duvel!" rakkered the Rommany rye shukar to his juvo, "tu and mandy have hawed mullo ma.s.s boot 'dusta cheiruses, mi-deari, but never soomed kek so wafro as dovo. It kauns worse than a mullo grai!"

Boro mus.h.i.+s an' bitti mus.h.i.+s sometimes kaum covvas that waver mus.h.i.+s don't jin.

TRANSLATION.

Once a Gipsy made much money, and was very rich and a great gentleman.

His coat was silk, and the b.u.t.tons on his coat were of gold, and his horse's bridle and reins were all silver. One day this Gipsy gentleman was eating (at table) opposite to the king's son, and they brought in a pheasant that smelt badly, but all the people said it was excellent.

"Bless me, G.o.d!" said the Gipsy gentleman softly (whispering) to his wife, "you and I have eaten dead meat (meat that died a natural death) many a time, my dear, but never smelt anything so bad as that. It stinks worse than a dead horse!"

Great men and small men sometimes like (agree in liking things) that which other people do not understand.

GUDLO XXIV. THE GIPSY AND THE "VISITING-CARDS."