That was a couherde.
Nor are these all. In our ‘Calverts’ and ‘Calverds’ we are reminded of the once well-known ‘Warin le Calveherd,’ or ‘William le Calverd,’ as I find him recorded; in our ‘Nuttards’ the more general but now faded ‘neteherd’ or ‘noutherd,’[[258]] and in our obsolete ‘John Oxenhyrds’ and ‘Peter Oxherds,’ the familiar ox. Are we in the grazing paddock. In our ‘Coultherds,’ ‘Coulthards,’ and ‘Coultards’ (‘John Colthird,’ W. 9), not to mention our ‘Coultmans’ and ‘Coltmans,’ we have ample trace of their presence. Are we again on the bleak hill-side. The sheep have given us our ‘Shepherds,’ the rams our ‘Wetherherds’ (now generally written ‘Weatherheads’), the kids our ‘Gottards,’ not to say some of our ‘Goddards,’ memorials of the once common goatherd. Are we under the woodland pathways where the beech-nuts abound. There, too, the herd was to be found, for in our ‘Swinnarts,’ ‘Hoggarts,’ and ‘Sowards’ we are not without a further token of his usefulness. In three instances I have found ‘herd’ connected with the winged creation. In the Parliamentary Writs occurs ‘William le Swonherde,’ in the Corpus Christi Guild (Surt. Soc.), ‘Agnes Gusehyrd’ and ‘Joan Gusehyrd,’ and in the Hundred Rolls ‘Henry le Rocherde,’ i.e., rook-herd.[[259]] ‘Swanherd’ reminds us that swans were an important article of diet in early times. In 1482 an Act was passed forbidding any but freeholders (and they only if they had lands of the annual value of five marks) to have marks or games of swans. (‘Stat. Realm,’ vol. ii. p. 447.)
It will have already become clear to the reader that this term ‘herd’ played no unimportant part in the vocabulary of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. But even now we have not done. For instance, our ‘Stobbarts’ and ‘Stubbards’ are manifestly descendants of such a name as ‘Alice Stobhyrd’ or ‘Thomas Stobart,’ the owners of both of which are set down in the Black Book of Hexham Priory in company with ‘John Stodard,’ ‘William Oxhyrd,’ and ‘Thomas Schipherde.’[[260]] I should have been in some difficulty in regard to the meaning of this ‘stob’ or ‘stub’ had not Mr. Halliwell in his dictionary of archaic words given it as an old rural term for a bull. This surname, therefore, is satisfactorily accounted for. I cannot be quite so positive with regard to our ‘Geldards’ and ‘Geldarts,’ but I strongly suspect their early ancestor was but a confrère of the swineherd or hogherd, ‘gelt,’ or ‘geld,’ as a porcine title, being a familiar word to our forefathers of that date. Our ‘Gattards’ and ‘Gathards,’ too, may be mentioned as but mediævalisms for the goatherd, ‘Gateard’ and ‘Gatherd’ being met with in North English records contemporaneously with the above. Such a sobriquet as ‘Adam le Gayt,’ while it may be but a form of the old ‘wayt’ or watchman, is, I imagine, but representative of this northern provincialism. It occurs locally in ‘William de Gatesden’ or ‘John de Gatesden,’ both found in the Parliamentary Writs. With two more instances I will conclude. In our ‘Hunnards’ still lives the memory of ‘Helyas le Hunderd,’ the old houndsman, while in ‘Richard le Wodehirde’ or ‘William le Wodehirde’ we have but another, though more general, sobriquet of one of those many denizens of the forest I have already hinted at. How purely Saxon are all these names! What a freshness seems to breathe about them! What a fragrance as of the wild heather and thyme, and all that is sweet and fresh and free! And yet they are but so many marks of serfdom.
I have just incidentally referred to the swineherd. It is difficult for us, in this nineteenth century of ours, to conceive the vast importance of this occupation in the days of which we are writing. Few avocations have so much changed as this. Hog-tending as a distinct livelihood is well-nigh extinct. Time was, however, when the rustic community lived upon bacon, when the surveillance of swine was a lazy, maybe, but nevertheless an all-important care. We still speak of a ‘flitch of bacon,’ a term which, while etymologically the same as ‘flesh,’ shows how to the early popular mind that article represented the sum total of carnal luxuries. Our use of the word ‘brawn’ is of an equally tell-tale character. Every one knows what we mean by brawn. Originally, however, it was the flesh of any animal. Chaucer says—
The Miller was a stout carl for the nones,
Full big he was of brawn, and eke of bones.
When, however, the wild boar had been brought down, and salted, and put aside for winter use, how natural that to the housewife it should engross this general sense. It is to the importance this unsavoury-looking animal held in the eyes of early rustics we must attribute the fact of so many names coming down to us connected with its keep. As I have just hinted, such sobriquets as ‘John le Swineherd’ or ‘Nicholas le Hogherd’ were common enough in the country parts, our ‘Swinnarts’ and ‘Hoggarts’ being witnesses. The sowherd remains in our ‘Sowards,’ and is as Saxon as the others. The same tongue is strong again in our ‘Pigmans’ ‘Sowmans,’ ‘Hogmans,’ and still more secluded ‘Denyers’ and ‘Denmans.’ The Norman, however, is to be accredited with our many ‘Gilbert le Porchers’ and ‘Thomas le Porkeres,’ by which we may see that when daintily served up under the name of ‘pork’ it was not disdained on the baron’s table. Lastly, we may mention our early ‘Philip le Lardiners’ and ‘Hugh le Lardiners,’ names that in themselves suggest to us the one purpose of the herdsman, the fattening of his charge. They would be found generally, therefore, neath the fastnesses of the forest, where the
Oak with his nuts larded many a swine,
and where the mast and beech-nuts abounded, the chief pannage, it would seem, of that day.[[261]] Higher up, as far indeed as the bleak and barren wolds, the shepherd cared for and tended his flock. His was a common occupation, too, as our nomenclature shows. Evidently he was as prone in those days to the oaten reed as the poets of all ages have loved to depict him, for it is to his Norman-introduced name of ‘Berger’ we owe the ‘bergeret,’ or pastoral ode. The song indeed, so called, has died away from our ears, but ‘Berger,’ or ‘Bercher,’ as it was often written, still lives, and may carry us back for a moment to these wholesomer times.
Nor, if we approach more closely to the farmyard enclosure, are we without memorials. The farm of old, as applied to the soil, was of course that piece of land which was rented for agricultural purposes, and I doubt not the chief of the old ‘Robert le Fermers’ and ‘Matilda le Fermeres’ represent this more confined sense. ‘Farmer,’ whether colloquially or in our registers, is the modern form. Udal, however, maintains the more antique dress, when he says, ‘And that the thyng should so be, Chryst Hymself had signyfied to fore by the parable of the husbandmen or fermers.’