III.—Miscellaneous.
(1) Nicknames from the Animal and Vegetable Kingdom.
Mr. Lower, in his ‘English Surnames,’ gives a long list of names from what he calls vegetable productions, but, although he does not say so, I am confident he would be the first to admit that the great majority of those which he instances should really be set among our local surnames. For example, he includes ‘Cherry,’ ‘Broome,’ ‘Bramble,’ ‘Ferne,’ ‘Holyoak,’ ‘Peach,’ ‘Rowntree,’ in this category. While ‘Cherry’ and ‘Peach’ might possibly be sobriquets of complexion, the manifest course is to look upon them as of local origin. So persuaded am I of this, after a long perusal of mediæval records, that I shall notice but some half-dozen names from the vegetable kingdom, and only those of which I can find memorials in past registers. This is a place which of all others might well tempt me to run riot among our directories, and collect a curious list from our present existing nomenclature; but I would even here persistently adhere to the idea with which I set out, and to which I have mainly been true, viz., to instance names about which I can speak somewhat positively, because I have found them imbedded in the nomenclature of the period in which surnames had their rise. ‘Blanchflower,’ ‘Lilywhite,’ and ‘Boutflower’ I have already dealt with. ‘Robert Daisye’ occurs in the ‘Trial of Dame Alice Kyteler’ (Cam. Soc.), ‘Nicholas Pescodde’ in the ‘Proceedings in Chancery’ (Elizabeth), ‘Godfrey Gingivre’ (Ginger) in the ‘Writs of Parliament,’[[562]] ‘Geoffrey Peppercorn’ in the Hundred Rolls, ‘Robert Primerose’ and ‘Sara Garlek’ in the ‘History of Norfolk’ (Blomefield), and ‘Roger Pluckerose’ and ‘John Pullrose’ in a Sussex Roll of 1296.[[563]] I doubt whether more than one or two of these can be said rightly to belong to the nickname class. As sign-names—for I feel assured they thus arose—they will have their place in our second chapter on ‘Local Names.’[[564]]
But when we come to the Animal Kingdom we are on clearer and more definite ground. The local class must undoubtedly embrace a large number of these names, as such an entry as ‘William atte Roebuck’ (M.), or ‘Richard de la Vache’ (A.), or ‘Thomas atte Ram’ (N.), or ‘John de la Roe’ (O.), or ‘Gilbert de la Hegle’ (A.), or ‘Hugh atte Cokke’ (B.), or ‘Walter de Whitehorse’ (C.), or ‘John atte Gote’ (M.) dearly testifies. But on the other hand we find a class, set by which the last is insignificant—a class which has its own entries—‘William le Got’ (A.), ‘Katerina le Cok’ (B.), ‘Alicia le Ro’ (A.), ‘Philip la Vache’ (C.), or ‘Joachim le Ram’ (T.), corresponding to the former, only differing in that such entries are vastly more numerous and embrace a wider range, taking in, in fact, the whole genus and species that belong alike to ‘the fish of the sea, the fowl of the air, the cattle, and every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.’ In dealing with this large and varied assortment of sobriquets, I would say then that, where there is no proof positive to the contrary, the course is to survey a name of this class as referable to three distinct origins, and I put them in the following order of probability:—1. A nickname taken from that animal whose generally understood habits seemed to bear affinity to those of the nominee. 2. A local sign-name. 3. An heraldic device. With these preliminary statements, let us proceed.
As we find all the moral qualities seized upon to give individuality to the possessors, so, too, we find the names of animals whose peculiarities gave pretext for the sobriquets pressed into the service of our nomenclature. In our earlier Pagan history it had been the wont of Saxon fathers to style their children by the names of such beasts as from their nobler qualities it was hoped the little one would one day copy. The same fashion still existed, only that the nickname as the exponent of popular feeling was really more or less appropriate to him who was made to bear it. In the latter case, too, it was the ridiculous aspects of character that were most eagerly caught at. Our general vocabulary is not without traces of this custom. We still term a shrewish wife a vixen, i.e. a she fox. Men of a vile, mean character are rascals, i.e. lean deer; and rough boys are urchins,[[565]] a corruption of the old herison, or hedgehog. Applying this to surnames, we come first to
(a) Beasts.—Our ‘Bests,’ when not local, are but the ‘Richard le Bestes’ or ‘Henry le Bestes’ of the thirteenth century. Their superlative excellence is therefore imaginary, I fear, but we may be permitted to hope that they are what they appear. ‘Edith Beest,’ in the sixteenth century, is nearer our modern form. Our ‘Oliphants,’ ‘Olivants,’ and ‘Ollivants’ represent but the elephant, and owe their origin, doubtless, to the huge and ungainly proportions of some early ancestor. In the ‘Romance of Alexander’ is a strange description of the fabled monoceros, which would seem to have been a kind of potpourri of all other beasts, for besides a tail like a hog, tusks like a dog, and a head like a hart’s—
Made is his cors
After the forme of a hors,
Fete after olifant, certis.[[566]]
This sobriquet, in a day when size and strength went for much, does not seem to have been thought objectionable, for its owners have left issue enough to prevent its ever falling into abeyance.[[567]] Thus we see we may meet with elephants every day in our streets without going to the Zoological Gardens for them. Our ‘Lions’ (‘Richard Lion,’ V. 2) and ‘Lyons,’ when not local,[[568]] speak doubtless for the brave heart of some early progenitor. Our ‘Bears,’ relics of ‘Richard le Bere’ (A.) or ‘Lawrence le Bere’ (M.), as a reflection upon a surly temper, would be less complimentary, or perhaps the original nominee wore his hair shaggy and long. A fierce disposition would meet with rebuke or praise, as the case might be, in such a sobriquet as ‘John Lepard,’ or ‘Tiger,’ now all but obsolete, saving for our striped and liveried youths; or ‘Wolf’ (‘Elena le Wolfe,’ A., ‘Philip le Wolf,’ M.), with its more Norman ‘Lupe’[[569]] (‘Robert le Lupe,’ B.), or ‘Lovel’[[570]] or ‘Love’ (‘Robert le Love,’ A.), the latter being in flat contradiction to the usually ascribed instincts of the animal. Timidity or reserve, or perchance fleetness of foot, would soon find itself exalted in ‘Geoffrey le Hare,’ ‘Reginalde le Raye,’ ‘Walter le Buk,’ ‘Hobart le Hart,’ ‘Dorothie le Stagge,’ ‘Henry Rascal,’[[571]] ‘William le Do,’ or ‘Alicia le Ro,’ the ancestors of our ‘Hares,’ ‘Rays,’ or ‘Wrays,’ ‘Bucks,’[[572]] ‘Harts,’ ‘Stags,’ ‘Does,’ or ‘Roes,’ of legal notoriety, and ‘Prickets.’ That old spoiler of hen-roosts, the polecat, has left us in ‘Fitch’ and ‘Fitchett’ no very happy relationship of ideas. Craftiness would be very properly stigmatised in ‘Henry le Fox’ or ‘John le Tod,’ and a ‘John le Renaud’ occurring in the Parliamentary Rolls reminds us that some of our ‘Renauds’ and ‘Renards’ may be more closely associated with this wily denizen of our forest fastnesses than they think. The badger has originated ‘Walter le Broc’ or ‘Henry le Brok’ (now Brock); the beaver ‘John le Bever,’ or ‘John le Bevere’ (now Beaver).[[573]] The rabbit gave us ‘Henry Cony’ and ‘John Conay;’ the weasel ‘Mathew le Martun’ (now Marten); the mole ‘Walter le Want’ (now Want); the nimble haunter of our forest boughs ‘Thomas le Squyrelle’ (now Squirrell), and the otter ‘Alan Otere,’ or ‘Edward Oter’ (now Otter).
Nor must we forget the farmyard and its accessories, which, as we might readily presume, are well represented. ‘Alice le Buie,’ or ‘William le Buie’ (now Bull), is a sobriquet which has now such a firm place as symbolic of our national character that we need not show to what peculiarities of temperament they owed their name. ‘Simon le Steer,’ ‘Peter le Vache,’ with its Saxon ‘Thomas le Cu’ or ‘Ralph le Cou,’ ‘Richard le Calf’[[574]] ‘Godwin le Bulloc,’ ‘Peter le Stot,’ ‘Roger le Colt,’ are all of common occurrence, and still abide with us. ‘Roger le Mule,’ as representative of obstinacy, we might have suspected, would have become early obsolete, but it still survives.[[575]] ‘Robert le Veyle,’ or ‘William le Veel,’ now written ‘Veale,’ ‘Philip le Mutton,’ and ‘John le Bœuf,’ or ‘Robert le Bef,’[[576]] carry us back to the day when these several terms denoted the living animal. Thus, with respect to the last, Burton in his ‘Anatomy,’ translating Plautus, says—
Like other cooks I do not supper dress,
That put whole meadows into a platter,
And make no better of their guests than beeves,
With herbs and grass to feed them fatter.—p. 69.
Alongside our ‘Muttons’ we may place our ‘William le Lambs’ and ‘Richard le Lombs,’[[577]] and if they were remarkable for their meek disposition, playfulness, I doubt not, was equally characteristic of our ‘Reginald Kidds’ and ‘Cheevers,’ relics of the old ‘Henry le Chivre’ or goat. I am afraid the connexion of ideas that gave rise to such sobriquets as were represented by ‘Alice le Hog,’ ‘John le Bacun,’[[578]] ‘William le Gryse,’ ‘Gilbert Galt,’ ‘Walter Pigge,’[[579]] ‘Roger Sugge,’ ‘Richard le Bor’ (Boar), ‘Richard Wildbore,’ ‘John Pork,’ and ‘John Purcell’ (little porker, that is), is not of the pleasantest—terms, too, as they are, all familiar to our directories to this present day. Several of these words are now colloquially obsolete. ‘Grice,’ I fancy, is one such. We still speak of the ‘griskin.’ Locally it comes in such names as ‘Grisdale’ and ‘Griswood.’ As a sobriquet of the animal, it was quite familiar in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Piers Plowman says—
Cokes and their knaves
Cryden, ‘Hote pies, hote!
Goode gees and grys!’
‘Sug’ was provincial for ‘sow,’ and comes in the local ‘Sugden’ mentioned in my first chapter. Richard III. was sometimes styled the ‘Boar’ or ‘Hog.’ It was in allusion to this that the rhyme got abroad—
The Rat, the Cat, and Lovel the Dog,
Rule all England under the Hog.
The first two referred of course to Ratcliffe and Catesby. But the mention of these reminds us of our household pets and indoor foes. ‘Elias le Cat,’ or ‘Adam le Kat,’ or ‘Milo le Chat’ still boasts descendants, and the same can be said for ‘Nicholas Dogge,’ or ‘Eborard le Kenn,’ or ‘Thomas le Chen.’ The usual forms are Catt, Ken, and Kenn. In our kennel we still preserve a memorial of this Norman-introduced word. Our ‘Hunds’ and ‘Hounds’ are but the old ‘Gilbert le Hund’ or ‘William le Hund,’ and carry us to the forest and the chase. The especial bugbear of cat and dog alike found remembrance in our early ‘Nicholas le Rat’ and ‘Walter le Rat,’ or ‘Ralph Ratun,’[[580]] and in ‘John le Mous,’ ‘Hugh le Mus,’ or ‘Richard Mowse.’ ‘Ratton,’ ‘Ratt,’ and ‘Mowse’ still exist. With one more name we conclude. Through Spain and the Moors of Barbary monkeys were early introduced for the amusement of the English people. In the ‘Miller’s Tale’ it is said of Alison—
And thus she maketh Absolom her ape,
And all his earnest turneth to a gape.[[581]]
that is, she was wont to make a fool of him. The sobriquet is found in such an entry as ‘John le Ape,’ registered in the Hundred Rolls, or ‘John Jackanapes,’ in the Parliamentary Writs.
(b) Birds.—The surname that represents the genus is ‘Bird,’ the name being met with as ‘John le Bryd’ or ‘David le Brid,’ a pronunciation still in vogue in many parts of England. Falconry has given us many sobriquets of this class. Accustomed as our fathers were to seeing the fierce and eager instincts of the bird, to nickname a man of rapacious and grasping habits by such a term as ‘John le Kyte,’ or ‘William le Hawk,’ or ‘Richard le Falcon,’ would be the most natural thing in the world. And just as the difference in breed and disposition in these birds themselves gave rise to separate definitions, so an imagined resemblance to these distinct qualities must have originated such different names as ‘Muskett,’ ‘Buzzard,’ ‘Puttock,’[[582]] ‘Goshawk,’ ‘Tassell,’ ‘Gleed,’ or ‘Glide,’[[583]] and ‘Sparrowhawk,’ or ‘Spark,’ or ‘Sparke,’ as it is now more generally spelt. So early as Chaucer, however, this last was written ‘Spar-hawk,’[[584]] and that once gained the further contraction in our nomenclature became inevitable. Thus was it with other birds. Did a man develop such propensities as showiness, then he was nicknamed ‘Jay;’ if pride, ‘Peacock’ or ‘Pocock,’ as it was once pronounced; if guile, ‘Rook;’ if pertness, ‘Pye,’ with its diminutive ‘Pyet’ or ‘Pyett;’ if garrulity, ‘Parrott’ or ‘Parratt;’ if he was a votary of song he was styled ‘Nightingale’ or ‘Lark,’ or in its more antique dress ‘Laverock’ or ‘Woodlark,’ or ‘Finch,’ or ‘Bulfinch,’ or ‘Goldfinch,’ or ‘Chaffinch,’ or ‘Spink,’ or ‘Goldspink,’ or ‘Thrush,’ or ‘Thrussel,’ or ‘Cuckoo.’ If jauntiness displayed itself in his actions he was nicknamed ‘Cock’ or ‘Cockerell’ or ‘Chauntecler;’ if homeliness, ‘Sparrow;’ if tenderness, ‘Pigeon’ or ‘Dove,’ and so on with our ‘Swans,’ ‘Herons,’ ‘Cootes,’ ‘Gulls,’ ‘Storks,’ ‘Ravens,’ ‘Crows,’ ‘Speights,’ ‘Cranes,’ ‘Capons,’ ‘Henns,’ ‘Chickens,’[[585]] ‘Ducks,’ ‘Duckerells,’ ‘Drakes,’ ‘Sheldrakes’ or ‘Sheldricks,’ ‘Wildgooses,’ ‘Mallards’ (i.e. wild duck), ‘Gooses’ or ‘Goss’s,’[[586]] ‘Greygooses,’ ‘Goslings,’[[587]] ‘Ganders,’ ‘Woodcocks,’ ‘Partridges,’ ‘Partricks,’ ‘Pheasants,’ or ‘Fesants,’ as once spelt, and ‘Blackbirds.’[[588]] These are names ornithologically familiar to us. Many a pretty name, however, once on the common tongue but now obsolete, or well-nigh so, still abides in our surnames. Thus our ‘Popjays’ still preserve the remembrance of the once common popinjay or parrot, ‘the popinjay, full of delicasy,’ as Chaucer styles her.[[589]] In ‘Culver’ or ringdove we are reminded of the pathetic story of Philomine, where the same writer likens her to
the lamb that of the wolf is bitten,
Or as the culver, that of the eagle is smitten.[[590]]
Our ‘Ruddocks’ or ‘Ruddicks’ (‘Ralph Ruddoc,’ A.), again, are but the old ruddock or robin-redbreast, ‘the tame ruddock,’ as he is termed in the ‘Assembly of Fowls.’ The hedge-sparrow still lives represented by our ‘Pinnocks’ or ‘Pinnicks’ ‘John Pynnock’ (G.), ‘Richard Pinnoc’ (A.)—
Thus in the pinnick’s nest the cuckoo lays,
Then, easy as a Frenchman, takes her flight.
So an old writer says. Our ‘Turtles’ (‘Roger Turtle’ D.) are but pleasant memorials of the bird that has been so long emblematic of constancy, the dove; our ‘Challenders,’ if not a corruption of ‘Callender,’ are representatives of the chelaunder or goldfinch, so often mentioned by early poets; and in our ‘Woodalls,’ ‘Woodales,’ and ‘Woodwalls,’ not to say some of our ‘Woodwells,’ we are but reminded of the woodwale, the early woodpecker. Our ‘Rains’ are but the old ‘Robert or William le Rain,’ another term for the same;[[591]] while our ‘Stars’ and ‘Stares’ (‘Robert Stare,’ A.) carry us back to the day when the starling was so familiarly styled. In the ‘Assembly of Fowls’ the author speaks of—
The false lapwing, full of trecherie,
The stare, that the counsaile can beurie.
In the ‘Romance of the Rose’ a list of birds is given embracing many of the above—
For there was many a bird singing,
Throughout the yard all thringing,
In many places were nightingales,
Alpes, finches, and wodewales,
That in their sweet song delighten,
In thilke (such) places as they habiten.
There might men see many flocks
of turtles, and laverocks,
Chelaundres fele (many) saw I there,
That very nigh forsongen were (tired of singing).
Every one of these birds so styled is still to be met with in our directories, for even the alpe or bull-finch is not absent. It is only in the investigation of subjects like this we see how great are the changes that creep over a people’s language. What a list of words is this, which if uttered now would fall dead and meaningless upon the ear of the listener, and yet they were once familiar as household words.
(c) Fish.—‘John le Fysche’ or ‘William Fyske’ have left descendants enough to prove that many a Fish can live out of water, although much has been advanced to the contrary. At a time when the peasants lived daily on the products of the inland streams and sandy sea-banks, and when the supply was infinitely more plentiful than it is now, we can easily perceive the naturalness of the sobriquets that belong to this class. Terms that are all but obsolete to us now, were household words then. Hence it is that we find our directories of to-day abounding with such entries as ‘Whale,’[[592]] ‘Shark,’ ‘Dolphin,’ Herring,’[[593]] ‘Codde,’ ‘Codling,’ ‘Salmon,’[[594]] ‘Trout,’ ‘Mackarel,’ ‘Grayling,’ ‘Smelt,’ ‘Pilchard,’ ‘Whiting,’ ‘Turbot,’[[595]] ‘Keeling,’ ‘Crabbe,’ ‘Chubb,’[[596]] ‘Tench,’[[597]] ‘Pike,’ and ‘Pickerel.’ ‘John Sturgeon’ is mentioned by Foxe in his ‘Martyrology,’ under date 1541, and still remains. The Hundred Rolls contain a ‘William Lampreye.’ ‘Barnacle’ is still common, and ‘Mussell’ and ‘Spratt’[[598]] are not unknown. But perhaps the most curious of these early nicknames are those belonging to ‘Matilda le Welke’ and ‘William Welkeshorn.’ Probably they were notorious for a weakness towards that mollusk, which is still eaten in large quantities in some parts of England.
(d) Insects and Reptiles.—This is not a large class. The Hundred Rolls furnish us with a ‘Magge Flie’ and an ‘Oda[[599]] Flie.’ The same records contain a ‘Margaret Gnatte’ and a ‘William Gnatte.’ ‘Baldewin Bugg’ (B.) and ‘Bate Bugge’ (A.) are also found, but although the question has been asked—
If a party had a voice,
What mortal would be a Bugg by choice,
I fancy the cognomen is local, one of the endless forms, like ‘Brough,’ ‘Burgh,’ ‘Burkes,’ of the old ‘Borough.’ ‘Roger le Waps’[[600]] reminds us of the still existing provincialism for wasp, and ‘William Snake’ or ‘John Frog’ would be as little acceptable.[[601]] The smallest and most repulsive insect we have, the parasitic louse, is found in ‘Nicholas le Lus’ (J.), but our directories have now got rid of it—an example that might be followed with no small advantage in other quarters.
(2) Descriptive Compounds affixed as Nicknames.
But in an age like that of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries we cannot imagine that society would be merely required to come under a verbal castigation such as, after all, did nothing more than strike off the names of the animals that entered into Noah’s Ark. To call a man a ‘wolf’ or a ‘bull’ or a ‘grayling’ or a ‘salmon’ or a ‘peacock,’ after all, is not very dreadful. Terms of a more compound form, sobriquets more minutely anatomical, are also met with, the unpleasantness of which is proved by the fact of so few of them having come down to us, while not a small portion, as not fit for ears polite, must be altogether left in their obscurity. There are others, however, of which none need to be ashamed. For instance, the kingly denomination of ‘Quer-de-lyun’ (‘Ralph Querdelyun,’ T., ‘William Querdelion,’ X.),[[602]] found in several lists, could not but be agreeable, while ‘Dan-de-lyun,’ or ‘lion-toothed’ (‘William Daundelyun,’ B.), would be in thorough harmony with the spirit of the age. ‘Colfox’ (‘Thomas Colfox,’ Z.), still existing, would be less pleasant. The term ‘fox’ is supposed in itself to be synonymous with deceit, but the intensive ‘col-fox’ or ‘deceitful-fox’ must have implied duplicity indeed! Chaucer, in his ‘Nunn’s Story,’ speaks of
A col fox full of sleigh iniquity.
‘Clenehog’ (‘William Clenehog,’ A.) or ‘Clenegrise’ (‘Roger Clenegrise,’ A.) would seem to be a sarcasm upon the dirty habits of its early owner, while ‘Piggesflesh’ (‘Reyner Piggesflesh,’ M.) or Hoggesflesh’ (‘Margery Hoggesflesh,’ Z.)[[603]] is as obviously intended to be a reflection upon the general appearance. ‘Herring’ (‘Robert Heryng,’ A.), already mentioned, is not objectionable, but ‘Goodherring’ (‘Adam Godharing,’ A.) and ‘Redherring’[[604]] (‘William Redhering,’ M.) are. ‘Fish’ one would not for a moment find fault with, but few young ladies, I imagine, would be found to face at the matrimonial altar a ‘John Pourfishe’ (M.). Objection, too, if not by the fair inamorata, yet by her parents, would be raised, I suspect, to an alliance with a ‘Roger Feldog,’ or ‘Thomas Catsnose,’ or ‘William Cocksbrain,’ or ‘Robert Calvesmaw,’ or ‘Peter Buckeskyn,’ or ‘Arnulph Dogmaw,’ or ‘Henry Crowfoot,’ or ‘Matthew Goosebeak,’ or ‘John Bullhead.’[[605]] Talking of the last, however, it is interesting to notice how much the bull has entered into compounds of this kind. Thus we light upon such names as ‘Walter Oyl-de-beof’ or ‘William Oldbeof,’ that is, bull-eyed; ‘Ralph Front-de-bœuf,’ that is, bull-faced; ‘John Cors-de-bœuf’ or ‘Thomas Cordebeofe,’ that is, bull-bodied; ‘John Queer-de-bœf,’ that is, bull-hearted, or ‘Amice le Wildebœf’ or ‘Nicholas Waldebeof,’ seemingly like ‘Wild-bore,’ referring to some wild untutored characteristics of the bearer. In all these the genius of the age is quite apparent, and probably not one was looked upon as otherwise than complimentary. ‘William Scorchebouef’ was evidently some unlucky young kitchener who had mismanaged his duties as spit-turner, but it betrays the process by which the term ‘bœuf’ has come into its present position of verbal usefulness. In this light ‘Cors-de-bœuf’ also is further interesting as reminding us that there was a time when ‘corpse’ did not necessarily imply the inanimate frame. ‘Behold, they were all dead corpses,’ found in our Authorized Version, was no tautology, it would appear, even in the seventeenth century. Thus do changes creep over the lives of words as well as men.
We might fill a book with these descriptive compounds—surnames so whimsical, so absurdly humorous that they manifestly could not live. For instance, we meet in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries with such a sobriquet as ‘William Hondeshakere,’ which no doubt spoke for the hearty goodwill of its easy possessor. ‘Geoffry Chese-and-brede’ seems to refer to the peculiar taste of its owner, while ‘Arnold Scutelmouth’ would be a sarcasm on personal capacity for such things. ‘Alan Swet-in-bedde’ would not be an acceptable cognomen, nor ‘William Badneighbour,’ nor ‘Thomas Two-year-olde,’ nor ‘Geoffrey Dringkedregges,’ nor ‘Anna Hellicate’ (hell-cat).[[606]] ‘Alice Gude-ale-house’ was evidently a homely landlady, who kept her tavern in good repute by assiduous attention and good-humoured ways. ‘William Kepegest’ would seem to bespeak the kindly cheer of more private hospitality, while ‘John Drybread,’ if not stingy, was doubtless crusty. ‘John Ratelle-bagge,’ or ‘John Leve-to-day,’ or ‘Serle Go-to-Kirk,’ or ‘Thomas Horsenail,’ or ‘John Lightharness,’ or ‘Richard Myldew,’ or ‘John Buckleboots,’ or ‘Edward Tortoise-shell,’[[607]] or ‘John Hornbuckle,’ while conveying no slight upon the character, would be obnoxious enough as surnames. Our ‘Doolittles,’ ‘Lovejoys,’ ‘Scattergoods,’ ‘Makepeaces,’ and ‘Hatewrongs’ belong to this same category. A large and varied assortment of this class will be found in the notes to this chapter, and to them I refer the reader. They are of a class which were especially popular at the time of which we are writing. Many of them are used as expletives in the railing poets and writers of the period. For instance, the author of ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’ speaks of—
‘Slingthrift Fleshmonger,’
Also ‘Fabian Flatterer,’ and ‘Cicely Claterer,’
With ‘Adam Averus,’ flail-swinger,
And ‘Francis Flaproach,’ ...
With ‘Giles Unreste,’ mayor of Newgate,
And ‘Lewis Unlusty, the leesing-monger.’
Here is ‘Will Wily,’ the mill-pecker (thief),
And ‘Patrick Peevish,’ hairbeater,
With ‘Davy Drawlatch’[[608]] of Rockingham.
Also ‘Hick Crookneck,’ the rope-maker,
And ‘Steven Measellmouth,’ mussell-taker,
With ‘Gogle-eyed Thompson,’ shepster of Lynn.
The above selection of fancy names will give us a fair idea of the kind of sobriquet which went down with the lower orders during the Angevine and Plantagenet dynasties.
But the largest branch of descriptive compounds is yet to be mentioned. We find not a few instances where names of simple relationship or occupation or office, or even, we may add, of patronymic character, having become compounded with adjectives expressive of the feeling of those with whom the nominee had to deal, naturally place themselves under this same category. These, so far as they have come down to us, are generally of a favourable, or at least harmless, description. Thus, to notice Christian names first, this has especially been the case with ‘John.’ Probably as this sobriquet grew into favour the practice became the means of distinguishing between several of the same title. Thus, as I hinted in my previous chapter, if John were doughty, he became ‘Prujean,’[[609]] that is, preux-jean; if fat, ‘Grosjean;’ if young, ‘Youngjohn;’[[610]] if clownish, ‘Hobjohn;’ if big, ‘Micklejohn;’ if small, ‘Littlejohn,’[[611]] or ‘Petitjean;’[[612]] if of a sunburnt countenance, ‘Brownjohn;’[[613]] and if comely or well proportioned, ‘Properjohn;’ thus preserving a once familiar sense of ‘proper,’ which we may meet with in such an olden phrase as a ‘proper knight,’ or in our present Authorized Scripture Version, where our translators make St. Paul speak of Moses in his infancy as a ‘proper child.’[[614]] Lastly, we have the estimable ‘Bonjohn,’ the origin, I doubt not, of ‘Bunyon’ and ‘Bunyan,’ the familiar bearer of the latter form of which we shall all doubtless admit to be well worthy his name. It is happy chance that when we speak, as we often do, of ‘good John Bunyan,’ we simply give him a reduplication of that very title which none more richly merits than he. In 1310 there was a ‘Jon Bonjon’ in London, and still earlier than this a ‘Durand le Bon Johan’ figures in the Hundred Rolls.[[615]] Several others we may mention, more Saxon in their character, and all long obsolete, save one. Indeed, I doubt not they died with their original possessors. These are ‘Robert Good-robert’ (P.) and ‘Richard White-richard’ (J.), ‘William Holy-peter’ (A.) ‘William Jolif-will’ (A.) (i.e. ‘Jolly-Will’),[[616]] and ‘William Prout-pierre’ (M.). ‘William Goodhugh’ (M.), however, has contrived to hold his own, unless, as Mr. Lower thinks, it belongs not to this category, but one I have already surveyed, that regarding complexion. Its early form of ‘Godhewe’ would seem perhaps to favour his notion. Names of this class, however, are rare. When we come to occupation the instances are much more common. Thus if we have ‘Husband,’ who doubtless owes his origin to his economical rather than his marital position, we have, besides, ‘Younghusband’—in his day, I dare say, a somewhat precocious youth—the now obsolete ‘Goodhusband;’ if ‘Skinner,’ then ‘Langskinner;’ if ‘Wright,’ then ‘Longwright’ or ‘Longus-Faber,’ as it is Latinized in our rolls; if ‘Smith,’ then ‘Gros-smith,’ that is ‘big-smith,’ or ‘Wild-smith’ or ‘Youngsmith;’ or if ‘Groom,’ then ‘Good-groom’[[617]] and ‘Old-groom.’ If we have ‘Swain,’ we had also ‘Goodswain,’ or ‘Brownswain,’ or ‘Madswain,’ or ‘Summerswain,’ or ‘Cuteswain,’ or ‘Colswain’ (that is, deceitful swain, or ‘Littleswain;’ if ‘King,’[[618]] then ‘Littleking,’ ‘Coyking,’ ‘Brownking,’ ‘Whiteking,’ and ‘Redking;’ if ‘Hine,’ or ‘Hyne,’ or ‘Hind,’ a peasant somewhat similar to Swain, then also ‘Goodhyne;’ if ‘Bond,’ then ‘Youngbond;’ if ‘Knave’ or servant, then ‘Smartknave,’ ‘Whiteknave,’ ‘Brownknave,’ and ‘Goodknave,’ the latter a strange compound to modern ears;[[619]] if ‘Clerk,’ then ‘Bonclerk,’ ‘Beauclerk,’ ‘Goodclerk,’ ‘Mauclerk,’[[620]] and ‘Redclerk;’[[621]] if ‘Page,’ then ‘Littlepage’[[622]] and ‘Smallpage,’ and to put it here for convenience, ‘Lawpage;’ if ‘Wayt,’ a ‘watchman,’ then ‘Smartwayt,’ ‘Stertwait’ (active, on the alert), and ‘Goodwayt;’ if ‘Man’ or ‘Mann,’ a relic of the old ‘le Man’ or menial, then also ‘Goodman,’ a term, however, which became early used of any honest householder.[[623]] ‘Le Mayster’ or ‘Master’ was common enough, but I am sorry to say I have not lighted upon a ‘Goodmayster’ as yet. Thus ‘Fellowe’ also, or ‘Fellowes,’ as we now have it, is met by ‘Goodfellow’ and ‘Longfellow;’ ‘Child’ by ‘Goodchild’ and the obsolete ‘Evilchild;’ ‘Son’ by ‘Littleson’ and ‘Fairson;’ ‘Sire’ by ‘Littlesire’ and ‘Fairsire;’ ‘Nurse’ by ‘Goodnurse,’ and ‘Fowl’ by ‘Goodfowl.’ Norman equivalents for these, however, were not wanting. ‘Goodfellow’ had its mate in ‘Boncompagnon,’ ‘Goodbody’ in ‘Bonecors,’ ‘Goodwait’ in ‘Bonserjeant,’ ‘Goodclerk’[[624]] in ‘Bonclerk,’ and ‘Goodman’[[625]] in ‘Bonhomme’ (our present ‘Bonham’)[[626]] and ‘Prudhomme’ or ‘Pridham.’ ‘Evilchild’ found itself face to face with ‘Malenfant,’ ‘Littlesire’ with ‘Petitsire,’ ‘Goodchild’ with ‘Bonyfant,’ ‘Bonenfant,’ or ‘Bullivant,’ as we now have it, and ‘Godson’ or ‘Goodson,’ it may be, with ‘Bonfils’ or ‘Boffill.’ We have still ‘Clerk,’ but ‘Bonclerke,’ if not ‘Beauclerk,’ is obsolete; ‘Squier,’ but ‘Bonsquier’ has disappeared; ‘Chevalier’ also thrives, while ‘Bonchevalier’ is extinct. In some cases the simple and the compound forms are both wanting. It is so with our former ‘Vadlets’ and ‘Bonvalets,’ our ‘Vileins,’ ‘Beauvileyns,’ and ‘Mangevileyns’ (scabby), our ‘Queynts’ and ‘Bonqueynts,’ and our ‘Aventures’ and ‘Bonaventures,’ the latter sobriquet evidently given to one who had acquitted himself well in some mediæval joust or tournament. It is found in several records. Piers Plowman uses the term simple, when he speaks of Faith crying—
As dooth an heraud of armes,
When aventrous cometh to justes.
‘Christian,’ which may be but the proper name, still lives, though ‘Bonchristien’ is gone; and ‘Count,’ too, lingers, ‘Boncount’ being obsolete. Sometimes, strangely enough, the French idiomatic compounds got literally translated into Saxon, resulting in terms of utterly different meaning. Thus, as I have already shown, ‘Beaupere’ met face to face with ‘Fairsire,’ ‘Beaufiz’[[627]] with ‘Fairchild,’ and ‘Beaufrere’ with ‘Fairbrother.’ But this bare and naked translation into the vernacular seems to have been a general practice. The Norman ‘Petyclerk,’ for instance, was speedily met by ‘Smalwritere,’ ‘Blauncpayne’ by ‘Whitbred,’ and ‘Handsomebody,’ over which much obscurity has lingered, is, I have no hesitation in asserting, a directly Saxonised form of ‘Gentilcors,’ a name not unfrequently met with at this date.
Many of the names I have mentioned above, however, are, strange to say, being reproduced in the present day after a curious fashion. The multiplication of forenames has been the primary cause of this.[[628]] In many cases these, by becoming as it were adjectives to the surname, form sobriquets no less ludicrous and striking than those which for that very reason so soon became obsolete. Thus such a combination as ‘Choice Pickrell’ is exactly equivalent to ‘Goodherring’ just alluded to. ‘Arch Bishop’ restores the archiepiscopal name which fell into abeyance in the twelfth century; while such other names as ‘Perfect Sparrow,’ ‘Savage Bear,’[[629]] ‘Royal King,’ ‘Sing Song,’ ‘Ivory Mallet,’[[630]] ‘More Fortune,’[[631]] ‘Christmas Day,’ ‘Paschal Lamb,’ ‘River Jordan,’[[632]] or ‘Pine Coffin,’[[633]] may be met by designations equally absurd, if less travestied. These, of course, must be attributed to mere eccentricity on the part of parents, rather than to accident. Combinations of this kind, however, have arisen of late years through another circumstance. It not unfrequently occurs that through certain circumstances two family names are united. Thus we have such conjunctions as ‘Burdett-Coutts’ or ‘Sclater-Booth.’ Speaking of these reminds me of a story I have heard anent a combination of this kind. A certain gentleman, it is said, of the name of Colley, in bequeathing in his will a considerable estate to a friend of the name of ‘Mellon,’ made it the condition of his acceptance that the legatee added his benefactor’s name to his own. His friend had no objection to the property, but when he found that his acquiescence in the terms imposed would make him ‘Mellon-Colley’ to the end of his days, he considered the matter afresh and declined the offer.
(3) Nicknames from Oaths, Exclamations, Street-cries, and Mottoes.
(a) Oaths.—A remarkable, though not a very large, batch of surnames is to be referred to perhaps the most peculiar characteristic of all—that of the use of profane, or at least idle oaths. The prevalence of imprecations in mediæval times was simply extraordinary.[[634]] If the writings of that period bear but the faintest comparison to the talk of men, their conversation must have been strangely seasoned. For instance, in the ‘Canterbury Tales’ we find introduced without the slightest ceremony such oaths as ‘for Cristes passion,’ ‘by Goddes saule,’ ‘for Cristes saule,’ ‘by Goddes dignitee,’ ‘Goddes banes,’[[635]] ‘Cristes pein,’ ‘Goddes love,’ ‘Goddes hate,’ ‘Cristes foot,’ ‘God me save,’ and the more simple ‘By-God,’ or ‘Parde’ or ‘Pardieu.’ That they are mostly meaningless is their chief characteristic. ‘John Pardieu’ in the Rolls of Parliament will represent our many ‘Pardews,’ ‘Pardows,’ ‘Pardoes,’ and ‘Pardies;’ and although I have given a different origin in my second chapter,[[636]] I may mention ‘Alina le Bigod’ (J.), or ‘John le Bygot’ (M.). ‘Barbara Godselve’[[637]] (F.F.), ‘Richard Godesname’ (X.), ‘Richard Godbeare’ (Z.), (now ‘Godbeer,’ ‘Godbehere,’ and ‘Goodbeer’), ‘Roger Godblod’ (E.) (God’s blood), ‘Alicia Godbodi’ (A.) (God’s body), seem all to be representative of familiar imprecations.
(b) Mottoes.—In many cases we can scarcely doubt that ensigncy has had something to do with the origin of our surnames. Edward III. at a tournament had his trappings embroidered with the couplet—
Hay, hay, the white swan,
By God’s soule I am thy man.
‘Godsol’ and ‘Godsoule’ formerly existed, and may have so risen. Among other names of this class may be mentioned ‘Janett God-send-us’[[638]] (W. 13), ‘Roger Deus-salvet-dominas,’[[639]] ‘John God-me-fetch,’ ‘John Dieu-te-ayde,’ ‘John Flourdieu,’ ‘Henry Grace-dieu,’[[640]] ‘Henry Warde-dieu,’ ‘John Depart-dieu,’ and ‘John Angel-dieu.’[[641]] From the escutcheons of their wearers these would easily pass on to the men themselves who first bore them as surnames.
(c) Exclamations.—‘Peter Damegod’ (M.) and ‘John Domegode’ (O.), meaning literally ‘Lord God,’ represent a once favourite expletive.[[642]] We are here reminded that there was a time when ‘Dame,’ from dominus and domina alike, was applied to either sex. One or two exclamations of less objectionable import are also to be met with. ‘William Godthanke’ (A.) seems but a reversal of our ‘Thank God,’ while ‘Ralph Godisped’ (A.), fossilised in our ‘Goodspeeds,’ may represent ‘God-speed-thee.’[[643]] ‘Richard Farewel’ (A.), ‘Simon Welfare’ (A.), ‘John Welcome’ (Z.Z.), ‘William Adieu’ (M.), would possess affixes readily given for their kindly and oft utterance. Our ‘Rummelows,’ ‘Rummileys,’ and ‘Rumbelows,’ without dispute, represent but the old well-known cry of ‘Rombylow’ or ‘Rummylow,’ the sailor’s ‘Heave-ho’ of later days. In the ‘Squire of Low Degree’ it is said—
Your mariners shall synge arow,
Hey how, and rumbylow.
The ancestor of those who bear the name was doubtless a sailor at some period of his career.[[644]]
(d) Street-cries.—The calls of hawkers could not of course escape the good-humoured raillery of our forefathers. We find ‘Robert Freshfissh’ (X.) to have been a fishmonger, and ‘John Freshfisch’ is set down in the Rolls of Parliament. About the same time ‘Margaret Fressheharyng’ dwelt in the Metropolis. ‘Agnes Godefouele’ (A.) and ‘Basilia Godfowele’ (A.) were manifestly poultry-women, for even the most respectable occupations were then, as I have already shown, itinerant. But perhaps the most curious thing of all is to notice the price-calls that have found themselves inscribed in our registers. The larger sums will have a different origin, but I place them here for convenience sake. The Writs of Parliament give us a ‘Robert Peny;’ the ‘Wills and Inventories’ (Surt. Soc.), a ‘Thomas Fourpeni;’ the Hundred Rolls, a ‘John Fivepeni;’ the ‘Cal. Rot. Originalium,’ a ‘Thomas Sexpenne;’ the ‘Yorkshire Wills and Inventories’ (Surt. Soc.), a ‘John Ninepennies;’ and the Hundred Rolls, a ‘Fulco Twelpenes.’[[645]] ‘James Fyppound’ (Fivepound) is mentioned in ‘Materials for History of Henry VII.’ So early as 1342 we find ‘John Twenti-mark’ to have been Rector of Risingham (Norfolk, 1, 64); while ‘William Hunderpound’ was Mayor of Lynn Regis in 1417 (do. viii. 532). This latter may be a translation of a Norman sobriquet, for ‘Grace Centlivre’ and ‘Joseph Centlivre’ are set down in a Surrey register of the same date. (‘Hist. and Ant. Survey,’ Index.) In both cases, I doubt not, the nickname was acquired from the peculiarity of the source whence the income was derived. ‘Centlivre’ existed in the eighteenth century at least, for it was Mrs. Centlivre who wrote the ‘Platonic Lady,’ which was issued in 1707. ‘Thomas Thousandpound,’ the last of this class, appears in the ‘Wardrobe Accounts’ (Edward I.), and concludes a list as strange as the most ardent ‘lover of the curious’ could desire.[[646]]
Looking back, however, upon these earlier names, how many varied and conflicting qualities of the human heart do they all reflect, some honourable, some harmlessly innocent, the greater part, I fear, discreditable. Of all how much might be said, but I refrain, lest I be liable to a charge of acting contrary to the spirit of the kindly old adage, ‘de mortuis nil nisi bonum’—‘speak no evil of the dead.’ Thus telltale, however, are our surnames, and if it be no pleasant task to expose the weaknesses and the frailties of them whose bones have so long ere this crumbled into decay, still we may comfort ourselves with the remembrance that their names, with many others I could have adduced had space permitted, offer no kind of reflection upon their present possessors. It is not unseldom we see the bearer of a worthy name dragging the same through the dust and mire of an ignoble life. It is amongst these names of somewhat unsavoury origin we oftentimes meet with the best, and the truest, and the noblest of our fellows.
The Alphabetical Letters appended to the Names furnished in the Index refer to the Documents in the List here cited.
Hundred Rolls. A.
Calendarium Inquisitionum Post Mortem. B.
Calendarium Rotulorum Patentium in Turri Londinensi. C.
Calendarium Rotulorum Chartarum. D.
Rotuli Litterarum Clausarum in Turri Londonensi. E.
Valor Ecclesiasticus. F.
Calendarium Rotulorum Originalium. G.
Rolls of Parliament. H.
Placitorum in Dom. Cap. Westminster. J.
Testa de Neville, sive Liber Feodorum. K.
Calendarium Genealogicum. L.
Writs of Parliament. M.
Munimenta Gildhallæ Londoniensis. N.
Issues of the Exchequer. O.
Issue Roll. P.
History and Antiquities of York (Pub. 1785). Q.
Placita de Quo Warranto. R.
Guild of St. George, Norwich. S.
Excerpta e Rotulis Finium in Turri Londinensi. T.
V. Camden Society Publications.
V. 1. Bury St. Edmunds Wills.
V. 2. Dingley’s History from Marble.
V. 3. Trevelyan Papers.
V. 4. Camden Miscellany.
V. 5. Smith’s Obituary.
V. 6. Diary of John Rous.
V. 7. Liber Famelicus—Sir James Whitelock.
V. 8. Chronicon Petroburgense.
V. 9. Proceedings against Dame Alice Kyteler.
V. 10. Autobiography of Sir John Bramston.
V. 11. Doomsday Book of St. Paul’s.
V. 12. Ricart’s Kalendar.
V. 13. Proceedings in Kent.
V. 14. Rutland Papers.
W. Surtees’ Society Publications.
W. 1. Coldingham Priory.
W. 2. Testamenta Ebor.
W. 3. Durham Household Book.
W. 4. Kirkby Inquest.
W. 5. Knight’s Fees.
W. 6. Nom. Villarum.
W. 7. Illustrative Documents.
W. 8. Priory of Finchdale.
W. 9. Fabric Rolls of York Minister, and Wills and Inventories.
W. 10. Hexham Priory.
W. 11. Corpus Christi Guild.
W. 12. Hist. Dunelm.
W. 13. Barnes’ Eccles. Proceedings.
W. 14. Visitation of Yorkshire.
W. 15. Feodarum Prior. Dunelm.
W. 16. Depositions from York Castle.
W. 17. Memorials of Fountains Abbey.
W. 18. Depositions and Eccles. Proceedings.
W. 19. Liber Vitæ.
W. 20. Remains of Dean Granville.
Memorials of London (Riley). X.
Proceedings and Ordinances: Privy Council. Y.
Calendar of Proceedings in Chancery (Elizabeth). Z.
The Publications of the Chetham Society. A A.
Wills and Inventories (Lancashire). A A. 1.
Three Lancashire Documents. A A. 2.
Lancashire Chauntries. A A. 3.
Birch Chapel. A A. 4.
Rotuli Normanniæ in Turri Londinensi. B B.
Documents Illustrative of English History. D D.
Index to ‘Originalia et Memoranda.’ E E.
History of Norfolk (Blomefield). F F.
Fines (Richard I.). G G.
History of Hertfordshire (Clutterbuck). H H.
Rotuli Curiæ Regis. M M.
Calendar and Inventories of the Treasury. N N.
History of Leicestershire (Nicholl’s). P P.
Register—St. James, Piccadilly. Q Q.
State Paper office. R R.
Patent Rolls. R R. 1.
Compoti. R R. 2.
Issue Rolls. R R. 3.
History of Durham (Surtees). S S.
State Papers (Domestic). T T.
Materials for History of Reign of Henry VII. X X. 1.
Registrum Abbatiæ Johannis Whethamstede. X X. 2.
Letters from Northern Registers. X X. 3.
Calendar to Pleadings (Elizabeth). Z Z.