Yetholm and Kirk Yetholm, but sometimes the assistance of some of the townsfolk is required to bring about order in that portion of the village in which the Gipsies reside. I may say that the townsfolk do not fraternise with the Gipsies, who are regarded with the greatest suspicion by the former. Ask a townsman of Yetholm what he thinks of the Gipsies, and he will tell you they are simply vagabonds and impostors, who lounge about, and smoke, and drink, and fight. In fact, they are the very scum of the human race; and, what is more singular, they seem quite satisfied to remain as they are, repudiating every attempt at reformation.”
“F. G. S.” writes:—“One of your correspondents suggests that the silence of the Gipsies concerning their dead is carried so far as to consign them to nameless graves. In my churchyard there is a headstone, ‘to the memory of Mistress Paul Stanley, wife of Mr. Paul Stanley, who died November, 1797,’ the said Mistress Stanley having been the Queen of the Stanley tribe. In my childhood I remember that annually some of the members of the tribe used to come and scatter flowers over the grave; and when my father had restored the stone, on its falling into decay, a deputation of the tribe thanked him for so doing. I have reason to think they still visit the spot, to find, I am sorry to say, the stone so decayed now as to be past restoration, and I would much like to see another with the same inscription to mark the resting-place of the head of a leading tribe of these interesting people.”
To these letters I replied as under, on August 21st:—“The numerous correspondents who have taken upon themselves to reply to my letter that appeared in your issue of the 14th inst., and to show up Gipsy life in some of its brightest aspects, have, unwittingly, no doubt, thoroughly substantiated and backed up the cause of my young clients—i.e., the poor Gipsy children and our roadside arabs—so far as they have gone, as a reperusal of the letters will show the most casual observer of our hedge-bottom heathens of
Christendom. At the same time, I would say the tendency of some of the remarks of your correspondents has special reference to the adult Gipsies, roamers and ramblers, and, consequently, there is a fear that the attention of some of your readers may be drawn from the cause of the poor uneducated children, living in the midst of sticks, stones, ditches, mud, and game, and concentrated upon the ‘guinea buttons,’ ‘black-haired Susans,’ ‘red cloaks,’ ‘scarlet hoods,’ the cunning craft of the old men, the fortune-telling of the old women, the ‘sparkling eyes’ and ‘clapping of hands,’ and ‘twopenny hops’ of the young women, who certainly can take care of themselves, just as other un-Christianised and uncivilised human beings can. I do not profess—at any rate, not for the present—to take up the cause of the men and women ditch-dwelling Gipsies in this matter; I must leave that part of the work to fiction writers, clergymen, and policemen, abler hands than mine. I may not be able, nor do I profess, to understand the singular number of the masculine gender of dad, chavo, tikeno, moosh, gorjo, raklo, rakli, pal palla; the feminine gender dei, tikeno, chabi, joovel, gairo, rakle, raklia, pen penya, or the plural of the masculine gender dada, chavi, and the feminine gender deia, chavo; but, being a matter of fact kind of man—out of the region of romance, fantastical notions, enrapturing imagery, nicely coloured imagination, clever lying and cleverer deception, beautiful green fields, clear running rivulets, the singing of the wood songster, bullfinch, and wren, in the midst of woodbine, sweetbriar, and roses—with an eye to observe, a heart to feel, and a hand ready to help, I am led to contemplate, aye, and to find out if possible, the remedy, though my friends say it is impossible—just because it is impossible it becomes possible, as in the canal movement—for the wretched condition of some eight to ten thousand little Gipsy children, whose home in the winter is camping half-naked in a hut, so called, in the midst of ‘slush’ and snow, on the borders of a picturesque
ditch and roadside, winterly delights, Sunday and week day alike. The tendency of human nature is to look on the bright side of things; and it is much more pleasant to go to the edge of a large swamp, lie down and bask in the summer’s sun, making ‘button-holes’ of daisies, buttercups, and the like, and return home and extol the fine scenery and praise the richness of the land, than to take the spade, in shirt-sleeves and heavy boots, and drain the poisonous water from the roots of vegetation. Nevertheless, it has to be done, if the ‘strong active limbs’ and ‘bright sparkling eyes’ are to be turned to better account than they have been in the past. It is not creditable to us as a Christian nation, in size compared with other nations not much larger than a garden, to have had for centuries these heathenish tribes in our midst. It does not speak very much for the power of the Gospel, the zeal of the ministers of Christ’s Church, and the activity of the schoolmaster, to have had these plague spots continually flitting before our eyes without anything being done to effect a cure. It is true something has been done. One clergyman, who has ‘had opportunities of observing them,’ if not brought in daily contact with them, tells us that some eight or nine years since he publicly baptised two Gipsy children. Another tells us that some time since he baptised many Gipsy children, as if baptism was the only thing required of the poor children for the duties and responsibilities of life and a future state. Better a thousand times have told us how many poor roadside arabs and Gipsy children they have taken by the hand to educate and train them, so as to be able to earn an honest livelihood, instead of ‘cadging’ from door to door, and telling all sorts of silly stories and lies. How many poor children’s lives have been sacrificed at the hands of cruelty, starvation, and neglect, and buried under a clod without the shedding of a tear, it is fearful to contemplate. The idlers, loafers, rodneys, mongrels, gorgios, and Gipsies are increasing, and will increase, in our midst, unless we put our hand
upon the system, from the simple fact that by packing up with wife and children and ‘taking to the road,’ he thus escapes taxes, rent, and the School-board officer. This they see, and a ‘few kind words’ and ‘gentle touches’ will never cause them to see it in any other light. The sooner we get the ideal, fanciful, and romantic side of a vagrant’s and vagabond’s life removed from our vision, and see things as they really are, the better it will be for us. For the life of me I cannot see anything romantic in dirt, squalor, ignorance, and misery. Ministers and missionaries have completely failed in the work, for the simple reason that they have never begun it in earnest; consequently, the schoolmaster and School-board officer must begin to do their part in reclaiming these wandering tribes, and this can only be done in the manner stated by me in my previous letter.”
In the Leicester Free Press the following appeared on August 16th:—“Mr. George Smith, of Coalville, is earning the title of the Children’s Friend. His ‘Cry of the Brick-yard Children’ rang through England, and issued in measures being adopted for their protection. His description of the canal-boat children has also resulted in legislation for their relief. Now I see Mr. Smith has put in a good word for Gipsy children. It will surprise a good many who seldom see or hear of these Gipsies, except perhaps at the races, to find how numerous they are even in this county. I do not think the number is at all exaggerated. A few days ago while driving down a rural lane in the country I ‘interviewed’ one of these children, who had run some hundreds of yards ahead, in order to open a gate. At first the young, dark-eyed, swarthy damsel declared she did not know how many brothers and sisters she had, but on being asked to mention their names she rattled them over, in quick succession, giving to each Christian name the surname of Smith—thus, Charley Smith, Emma Smith, Fanny Smith, Bill Smith, and the like, till she had enumerated either thirteen or fifteen juvenile Smiths, all of whom lived with their parents in a tent which was
pitched not far from the side of the lane. Of education the child had had none, but she said she went to church on a Sunday with her sister. This is a sample of the kind of thing which prevails, and in his last generous movement Mr. Smith, of Coalville, will be acting a good part to numerous children who, although unable to claim relationship, rejoice in the same patronymic as himself.”
In the Derby Daily Telegraph, under date August 16th, the following leading article was published:—“When the social history of the present generation comes to be written a prominent place among the list of practical philanthropists will be assigned to George Smith, of Coalville. The man is a humanitarian to the manner born. His character and labours serve to remind us of the broad line which separates the real apostle of benevolence from what may be termed the ‘professional’ sample. George Smith goes about for the purpose of doing good, and—he does it. He does not content himself with glibly talking of what needs to be done, and what ought to be done. He prefers to act upon the spirit of Mr. Wackford Squeers’ celebrated educational principle. Having discovered a sphere of Christian duty he goes and ‘works’ it. Few more splendid monuments of practical charity have been reared than the amelioration of the social state of our canal population—an achievement which has mainly been brought about by Mr. Smith’s indomitable perseverance and self-denial. A few years ago we were accustomed to speak of the dwellers in these floating hovels as beings who dragged out a degraded existence in a far-off land. We were gloomily told that they could not be reached. Orators at fashionable missionary-meetings were wont to speak of them as irreclaimable heathens who bid defiance to civilising influences from impenetrable fastnesses. Mr. George Smith may be credited with having broken down this discreditable state of things. He brought us face to face with this unfortunate section of our fellow-creatures, with what result it is not