But it was not merely upon Romany subjects that Groome found points of sympathy at The Pines during that first luncheon; there was that other subject before mentioned, Edward FitzGerald and Omar Khayyàm. We, a handful of Omarians of those antediluvian days, were perhaps all the more intense in our cult because we believed it to be esoteric. And here was a guest who had been brought into actual personal contact with the wonderful old Fitz. As a child of eight he had seen him—talked with him—
been patted on the head by him. Groome’s father, the Archdeacon of Suffolk, was one of FitzGerald’s most intimate friends. This was at once a delightful and a powerful link between Frank Groome and those at the luncheon table; and when he heard, as he soon did, the toast to “Omar Khayyàm,” none drank that toast with more gusto than he. The fact is, as the Romanies say, that true friendship, like true love, is apt to begin at first sight. But I must stop. Frequently when the “Tarno Rye” came to England his headquarters were at The Pines. Many and delightful were the strolls he and I had together. One day we went to hear a gipsy band supposed to be composed of Roumelian gipsies. After we had listened to several well-executed things Groome sauntered up to one of the performers and spoke to him in Roumelian Romany. The man, although he did not understand Groome, knew that he was speaking Romany of some kind, and began speaking in Hungarian Romany, and was at once responded to by Groome in that variety of the Romany tongue. Groome then turned to another of the performers, and was answered in English Romany. At last he found one, and one only, in the band who was a Roumelian gipsy, and a conversation between them at once began.
This incident affords an illustration of the width as well as the thoroughness of Groome’s
knowledge of Romany matters. I have affirmed in ‘Aylwin’ that Sinfi Lovell—a born linguist who could neither read nor write—was the only gipsy who knew both English and Welsh Romany. Groome was one of the few Englishmen who knew the most interesting of all varieties of the Romany tongue. But latterly he talked a great deal of the vast knowledge of the Welsh gipsies, both as to language and folklore, possessed by Mr. John Sampson, University Librarian at Liverpool, the scholar who did so much to aid Groome in his last volume on Romany subjects, called ‘Gypsy Folk-Tales.’ It therefore gives me the greatest pleasure to end these very inadequate words of mine with a beautiful little poem in Welsh Romany by Mr. Sampson upon the death of the “Tarno Rye.” In a very few years Welsh Romany will become absolutely extinct, and then this little gem, so full of the Romany feeling, will be greatly prized. I wish I could have written the poem myself, but no man could have written it save Mr. Sampson:—
STANYAKERÉSKI.
Romano ráia, prala, jinimángro,
Konyo chumeráva to chīkát,
Shukar java mangi, ta mukáva
Tut te ’jâ kamdóm me—kushki rat!Kamli, savimáski, sas i sarla,
Baro zī sas tut, sar, tarno rom,
Lhatián i jivimáski patrin,
Ta līán o purikeno drom.Boshadé i chiriklé veshténdi;
Sanilé ’pre tuti chal ta chai;
Mūri, pūv ta pāni tu kamésas
Dudyerás o sonakó lilaí.Palla ’vena brishin, shil, la baval:
Sa’o divés tu murshkinés pīrdán:
Ako kino ’vesa, rat avéla,
Chēros sī te kesa tiro tan.Parl o tamlo merimásko pāni
Dava tuki miro vast, ta so
Tu kamésas tire kokoréski
Mai kamáva—“Te sovés mīstō!”
Translation.
to francis hindes groome.
Scholar, Gypsy, Brother, Student,
Peacefully I kiss thy forehead,
Quietly I depart and leave
Thee whom I loved—“Good night.”Sunny, smiling was the morning;
A light heart was thine, as, a youth,
Thou dids’t strike life’s trail
And take the ancient road.The birds sang in the woods,
Man and maid laughed on thee,
The hills, field, and water thou didst love
The golden summer illuminated.Then come the rain, cold, and wind,
All the day thou hast tramped bravely.
Now thou growest weary, night comes on.
It is time to make thy tent.Across death’s dark stream
I give thee my hand; and what
Thou wouldst have desired for thyself
I wish thee—mayst thou sleep well.