A report had been handed in that a young woman had been found half-murdered in a green lane. She said a Gypsy had done it, and described the man to a detail, giving the colour of his hair, particulars of his dress, and the number of his children. “I am an innocent man,” said the Gypsy, “and the Lord’ll make her tell the truth before she dies.” He was transported for seven years. Two years afterwards the lady fell ill, and confessed that the man was innocent. He was liberated, but on the homeward voyage he died.
Yet another tale from the “tents of Egypt”—
John Chilcot was bitshado pawdel (transported), and his wife took it so much to heart that she would sit on the tent floor cutting up straw into pieces about an inch in length. At last she could endure it no longer. She craved for the sight of her husband, so she tshor’d tshumani (stole something), and was sent away too. The strange part of the story is, that the same farmer who employed Chilcot on his farm in Van Diemen’s Land, went and hired John’s wife when she was sent out there. The woman came to John’s cottage one day about sundown, and, looking through the open door, she saw him lacing his heavy boots, as he muttered to himself, “I must tshiv mi tshokaw oprê an’ jaw te dik de bokrê” (I must put my boots on and go to see the sheep).
“Âwa, mi mush, tshiv len oprê and kèr sig” (Yes, my man, put them on and make haste). John looked up, and, seeing his own wife standing there, opened his arms and she dropped into them. The two worked together for months without the farmer knowing who the woman was, then one day John told him that she was his lawful wife, and they lived together till their time expired, when they came back to England.
A story is told of one of the old Herons who had been transported, and, his term having expired, he wrote to his wife and family in England asking them to send fifty pounds. This they did, and a reply was received announcing the time of his arrival at a certain port. As a means of identification, he promised, on landing, to carry a small bundle of sticks on his right shoulder. His sons met him, and according to his promise he had the sticks on his shoulder. Now these sons were only tiny children when their father had been sent away, and did not remember what his features were like, but of course they were willing to accept him as their father, and rejoiced accordingly. Then came the meeting between the old man and his wife. But so completely had his features changed during the long years of absence that she failed to recognize him as her husband, even though he pointed to his old bottle green coat still in her possession. It is said that he turned away sorrowfully, and died soon after of a broken heart.
Moses Heron was on the Thames in a convict ship going to Australia for grai-tshorin (horse-stealing). Some of his relatives went out in a boat to see the last of him, as his ship was anchored off shore. Moses took out his knife and cut his diklo (kerchief) from his neck and threw it overboard for them to take the knot back to his sweetheart. He cut the diklo from under his ear so that the knot was undisturbed but remained just as he had tied it.
Stories of this character might be multiplied indefinitely, but the instances given will suffice to show how pathetic are the annals of the Gypsies.
In a lecture delivered before the Leeds Philosophical and Literary Society, my friend, Mr. R. A. Scott Macfie, has justly estimated the character of the Anglo-Romanitshels of to-day.
“In Great Britain the Gypsies are at present exposed to a petty persecution, inflicted ostensibly for their good by illogical persons, who pretend to believe that they live unnatural lives and should be driven into town slums for the benefit of their health and morals. They are harassed by prosecutions on such curious pretexts as sleeping-out, overcrowding (in tents every inch of which admits the free passage of God’s fresh air), possessing no dustbin, or neglecting to provide a proper water supply for their habitations. Yet, on the whole, in this country they have for the last century received less unpleasant attention and more sympathy than elsewhere, and it is very noteworthy that they have responded to this kindness by adopting the civilized conception of their duty towards their neighbour. I have many hundreds of press cuttings from British newspapers published during the last few years. They prove that the Gypsies of this country are never guilty of the greater crimes. The majority of the convictions are for almost inevitable offences, such as halting in the road or allowing horses to stray. Gypsies have, of course, rather primitive views as to rights of property, especially in respect of what grows or moves upon the earth in a more or less wild state, yet, while there are an appreciable number of instances of poaching, fortune-telling, and of certain traditional Gypsy swindles, most of the cases of so-called theft are very insignificant petty larcenies—a handful of fruit taken from an orchard, a few swedes from a field, or a stick or two from the hedge. So conspicuous is the law-abiding character of the British Gypsies in my records, and in my personal experience, that I do not hesitate to assert, that, in spite of their reputation, they are as superior in honesty to the lower classes of our native population as they are in morality and cleanliness.”