Another form, Catcherell, lingered on for a time in our nomenclature, but it is now gone, unless Cattrall be but a corruption. An old sermon of the fourteenth century speaks of the “devil and his angels” as the “devil and his cachereles”! Our “Waites” and “Waits” represent the night watchmen. As they both sounded the watches and gave the alarm with a trumpet or horn, it came to pass that any band of night serenaders acquired the name. We are all familiar with the Christmas “waits”! I see there are two “Wakemans” in the Directory. The wakeman was the North English form of “watchman,” just as kirk is North English for church, or dike for ditch, or thack for thatch. Thus, Wycliffe translates Mark xii. 37, “Forsooth, that that I say to you, I say to all, Wake ye,” where our modern translators have “Watch.” Strangely enough, in Psalm cxxvii. 1 they have employed both forms. “The watchman waketh but in vain,” should have been either “The wakeman waketh but in vain,” or “The watchman watcheth but in vain.” As it stands it is incongruous, for it gives the modern reader the idea that the watchman had been asleep, implying that he had been negligent, which, of course, is not in the original. When we remember, as I have shown, that “wake” and “watch” were but the same word with two pronunciations, one North English and the other South English, the difficulty is explained. [107] A north countryman, if he wants to say that his neighbour is a shrewd fellow, says, “Eh, but he’s a wak’ un.” I don’t know whether a Lancashireman or a Yorkshireman is the most “wak’;” but an old saying gives the preference to the County Palatine. If a Lancashireman wish to be ahead of a Yorkshireman, it says, he must be up at two o’clock in the morning; but if a Yorkshireman wish to be ahead of a Lancashireman, he mustn’t go to bed at all. We may surmise that a Lancashireman originated the saying. Both “Wake” and “Sleep” are in the London Directory. Brook, in his “History of the Puritans,” relates a story concerning these two names. It seems, by a curious coincidence, that Isaac Wake was University Orator at Oxford, in 1607, Dr. Sleep being a well-known Cambridge preacher at the same time. James the First, who not merely liked his joke, but was fond of listening to sermons,—both characteristic of a Scotchman,—used to say, “he always felt inclined to Wake when he heard Sleep, and to Sleep when he heard Wake”—i.e., he could not decide on the relative merits of the two. Wake and Sleep will both be nicknames—the ancestor of the one doubtless being a sharp shrewd fellow; the progenitor of the other, I daresay, being thought somewhat dull and stupid by his neighbours.
Speaking about “Sleep” and “Wake” reminds us of a name which has been a puzzle to many—that of “Gotobed.” The last time I was in the metropolis, I saw it over a door in Great Portland Street. The name has acquired additional interest since Mr. Trollope introduced it in one of his most able stories, “The American Senator.” One of our humorous poets had already played upon it in the lines,—
“Mr. Barker’s as mute as a fish in the sea,
Mr. Miles never moves on a journey,
Mr. Gotobed sits up till half after three,
Mr. Makepeace was bred an attorney.”
It is just possible it is a nickname, for it occurs in registers as Gotobedde since the days of Elizabeth. Besides, there is a like nickname in the Hundred Rolls in the case of “Serl Gotokirk,” a sobriquet given to the owner on account of his regular and frequent attendance at worship. Nevertheless, I believe it to be a baptismal surname. I doubt not it is a mere corruption of Godbert, once a favourite child’s name. When I add that I find it five hundred years ago entered as “Godeberd,” a little later as “Gotebedde,” and more recently “Gotobedd,” I think the question may be looked upon as settled.
But I am falling into a snare. Methinks I hear my stern critic saying, “What has Gotobed to do with official surnames?—stick, Sir, to your text.” Well, the connection does certainly seem somewhat vague; but Wakeman was official, and it led me to Wake, and from Wake it was not very odd that I should pitch upon Sleep, and after all you can never sleep comfortably unless you go to bed. Still, to soothe my friend, I will hark back, and conclude this chapter by a reference to a few ecclesiastic surnames.
’Tis true that Henry the Eighth and others demolished our abbeys, monkeries—as Latimer styles them—priories, and other Romish institutions that had become objectionable to English morals. But one thing they could not do—uproot them from our registers. In the London Directory, if nomenclature goes for anything, they never flourished so vigorously as in the reign of Protestant Victoria! Apart from Westminster Abbey, there are at least five Abbeys in other quarters of the Metropolis, while no less than seventy-three Abbots reside in the same neighbourhood. Nor is this all. There are still left in London over fifty “Priors,” “Pryers,” and “Pryors,” over twenty “Fryers,” over thirty “Monks,” and nearly forty “Nunns.” Talk of the Papal aggression! Why, Mr. Newdegate should call the attention of the House of Commons, and through them that of the whole country, to the fact immediately. It is awful to contemplate what is thus going on under our very noses. It was only the other day that a Nunn appeared in a small house out of the Strand not more than a day old, if the register of births be correct. Talk of boy-bishops, this is simply intolerable!
It is almost as bad when we turn to names that are less Romishly suggestive. How can it be consistent with his more orthodox duties, for an Archdeacon to be a furniture-broker, a Dean to be a rag and bottle merchant, or a Bishop to be a tobacco and snuff manufacturer! If my stern critic doubts my word, I can only refer him to the London Directory. There, sir, I’m sticking to my text this time, surely! I know a “Priest,” too, who keeps a chandler’s shop Marylebone way, and a “Deacon” who employs his leisure hours in the delightful occupation of chimney-sweeping; he resides in the vicinity of Edgeware Road. Not that I blame them; for what better can you expect from either Priests or Deacons, so long as Bishops, Deans, and Archdeacons are guilty of such vagaries as I have stated?
There was a time,—now a long while ago,—when two personages contended for the honours of the Papal chair. There are no less than thirty-six Popes in London at this present moment; one is a greengrocer, by the way. I have not heard of their quarrelling; and so far, at least, this must be considered satisfactory. A good deal of blood was shed over the rival claims of the first two. When James the First came on a visit to Sir Thomas Pope, near Oxford, the Knight’s little daughter was introduced to his Majesty with these lines,—
“See! this little mistress here
Did never sit in Peter’s chair,
Neither a triple crown did wear,
And yet she is a Pope!“No benefice she ever sold,
Nor did dispense with sin for gold;
She hardly is a fortnight old,
And yet she is a Pope!“A female Pope, you’ll say, ‘a second Joan?’
No, sure, she is Pope Innocent, or none.”
An epigram, or a bit of wit, always pleased James the First, who was no mean punster himself; and no doubt this little entertainment at the entrance of the knight’s mansion helped materially to make his Majesty enjoy the hospitalities lavished upon him within.