... “My sister’s gone to the dissumption hospital,” said a gypsy girl who evidently meant “consumption.”
... After asking a favour, an old gypsy woman, wishing to make it understood that she was in no great hurry, said, “I ain’t in no caddle about it.”
... The widow of a gypsy who had just died, asked a male friend if he would kindly act as a bearer at the funeral. The man, willing to help and anxious to condole, replied, “Oh yes, please God, I’ll be glad to,”—an unfortunate way of expressing his sympathy, for it admits equally of the interpretation that he would be glad of the opportunity to put the deceased out of the way.
... “Well, how do you like this (wet) weather?” I asked of an old gypsy acquaintance.
“Oh, my dear,” she replied, “it’s awful, we’re reg’lar soakened out.”
... Upon one occasion when photographing at a gypsy camp, one of the men, who had obviously spent a good deal of that day in endeavouring to quench a troublesome thirst and was in consequence rather quarrelsome, broke in upon the scene, exclaiming, “You can’t come here and take my kid’s fortygraph without commission (permission), so I tells yer.”
Very curious terms may be heard—more especially among the half-bred gypsies and Chorodies—for describing complaints or bodily ailments. I am inclined to think that gypsies escape much illness by reason of their outdoor life; they also take care of themselves to a certain extent; herein I allude to genuine Romany folk, for they avoid wet clothes and sitting directly upon damp ground, beside taking other reasonable precautions with regard to health. Chorodies, however, appear usually to take little, if any, care, and as a consequence may often be heard to complain of rheumatism. A gypsy will not, haphazard, drink any sort or condition of water, but a Chorodie seems to drink anything that looks like it. At times, a gypsy will, of course, be compelled either to go without or to drink water that an American would describe as “tough stuff”; in such case he almost invariably boils the water well before using it, so avoiding all ill-effects. At various times during my wanderings with the Romanies I have been obliged to drink water which would be better described as “half and half” mud and water, rather than as the product of the crystal spring, but even this, after being well boiled and made into tea, lost what might be termed its individuality and no ill-effects ensued.
The Romanichal—in bygone days—had a fair knowledge of vegetable poisons, and methods of preparing them for use—and misuse—but the knowledge would appear to have lapsed, for nowadays one never hears of poison being used by gypsies, either to drab baulo or to convert an enemy. This kind of thing seems to belong to the obscurity of the “good old days,” when men were put to death as heretics, and others were hung for stealing or even for being gypsies.
