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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Incidents in a
Gipsy's Life
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
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under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
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Title: Incidents in a Gipsy's Life

Author: George Smith

Release date: July 25, 2016 [eBook #52647]

Language: English

Credits: Transcribed from the [1894?] Willsons’ edition by David

Price

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INCIDENTS IN A

GIPSY'S LIFE ***
Transcribed from the [1894?] Willsons’ edition by David Price, email
[email protected]

INCIDENTS
IN
A GIPSY’S LIFE

BY
GEORGE SMITH.

THE ROYAL
Epping Forest Gipsies
THE GROUNDS,

INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION
LIVERPOOL.

WILLSONS’,
NEW WALK PRINTING WORKS,
LEICESTER.
 THE FOLLOWING NOTABLE
PERSONS HAVE PAID A VISIT TO
MY PEOPLE.

H.M. QUEEN VICTORIA.

PRINCE VICTOR.
SON OF THE KHEDIVE OF EGYPT.
LORD LATHOM, High Chamberlain.
LORD POLTIMORE.
LORD CAMPBELL.
LORD MONKS.
LORD MAYO.
LORD CLONMELL.
LORD FARNHAM.
LATE DUKE OF MACLIN.
MARQUIS & MARCHIONESS OF TWEEDALE.
SIR DAVID (Mayor of Liverpool) and LADY RADCLIFFE.
SIR A. B. WALKER, Bart.
SIR JOHN MAXWELL STIRLING.
 ALSO

SON OF THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER.

BISHOP OF THE ISLE OF MAN.
LETTER FROM GOVERNOR WALPOLE of I.O.M.
10 LETTERS FROM THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
And at the GREAT CARNIVAL of 1894, principal Citizens of
Glasgow.
 PREFACE.

My idea in writing this little pamphlet is to enlighten the minds of

people as to the mode of living, and the customs of our tribe; and I
think the reader will be convinced that we are not the desperadoes
that some people think, but, on the other hand, honest living and a
christian race; always ready to do good. To young men especially, if
they follow my career they will find that my success in life is due to
being straight-forward and honest in all my dealings; firm purpose of
mind; and an object to gain; the result is success, and I hope it may
prove a benefit to the rising generation.
Shortly, I shall produce a full Biography of my life.
Yours faithfully,
GEORGE SMITH.
 THE LIFE OF A GIPSY.

Many writers have spent months and years of their lives in studying
the language, character, and customs of the Romany Rye. Many
able pens have written volumes on the subject.
For my part I simply give an unvarnished statement of facts, as they
occur to me, so that my readers may glean some little information as
to the general life and incidents in the career of a gipsy.
With regard to the language of the Romany, whether heard in the
most distant parts of the globe or in the Liverpool Exhibition (as
spoken by my family), it is the same as in different counties in the
United Kingdom and in different provinces of continental countries; a
slight patois may be observable, but in the main the initiated know
that the Romany holds its own with the nomadic people the world
over.
For character, climate, and circumstances, may in many instances
vary the Gitano, Romany, or Bohemian, as we are called, but custom
(go where the traveller may) remains the same, the nature and habit
of the true Romany prompting him, or her, to a wandering life, and
to revel as it were in nature’s solitude. To begin with, I was born on
the 3rd of May, 1830, my birth place being on the common called
Mousehold Heath, Norwich, Norfolk, my parents having but a few
months previously left their old camping ground in Epping Forest,
near London.
For many, many years, my ancestors recognised the Forest of Epping
as their head quarters, and to this day at intervals we visit the spot,
a sort of pilgrimage to Mecca as it were; but alas, how different a
form it presents to that which it did in my boyhood’s days.
House dwellers often have remarked as to the life we lead: many
have suggested it to be unhealthy. Now to prove to the contrary, my
dear mother died at the age of 75, and my father at the age of 81.
I think, speaking of one family only, this will be a sufficient answer
as to whether the life of a gipsy, breathing nature’s own atmosphere,
is as good as a dweller in houses or not. My family consists of eight
children—four boys and four girls—the eldest whom is now 28, the
youngest reaching 16.
As a boy, I travelled the greater part of the United Kingdom, when
reaching twelve, my aptitude for trading in horses (thanks to my
father’s tuition) began to exhibit itself. My first business transaction
consisted of receiving a present of a pony. One day, shortly after
the Epping Fair of 1842, I was sent by my parents to the Manor
House at Loughton, with some basket-ware. Being some distance
from our camp, one of the upper servants very kindly attended to
my inward wants, and having packed the silver for the ware, for
safety, in a piece of brown paper, in my breeches pocket, I started
off for the forest. After leaving the lodge, to my astonishment, I
found the lady of the manor which I had just left, coming to grief
down the road. Without the slightest idea of fear, young as I was, I
stopped the pony—both of us being down. On rising, I found myself
unhurt, the only damage done being the fright of the lady and her
friend, and one of the shafts of the little carriage broken. My
pockets were, as a rule, a general receptacle for everything, so, in a
few minutes, by the aid of a piece of string, a couple of nails, and a
stone as a hammer, I had repaired the damage, and improvised a
curb for the pony, and saw things straight. Prior to the lady leaving
me, she desired me to drive the pony home, after doing which she
presented me with a crown piece, and seeing me so pleased, she
told the stud groom might have the pony, as she would never trust it
again—to my great astonishment—and with my new possession, and
the addition of many thanks, I rode off again for home, as proud
and as happy as any king. The precise spot being, as I remember,
the famous old oak, wherein King Charles hid in the Forest of Epping
—the tree has long since been a thing of the past. Many a time
have I, in my boyhood, heard my great-great-grandmother tell our
visitors of the time when the shadow of its branches covered an acre
of ground. A chartered fair has for many years been held on the
spot, taking place on the first Friday in July, and, even now,
Londoners may be seen, on the Sunday after the first Friday,
wending their way, thousands in number, some in conveyances of
every sort and style, some footing it to Epping from the Mile End
Road, Whitechapel, and environs. The Cockneys well attend the one
remaining link of the past, “Fairlop Fair.” Some few years since,
splendidly built full rigged boats were taken on trollies by the
Limehouse block makers to the fair at Fairlop, the boats being drawn
by splendid teams of grey horses, beautifully caparisoned, and well
decorated with oak leaves, the drivers and artisans wearing the old-
fashioned blue coat, white hat, and top boots. Even now, in my
ears, I remember the old-fashioned doggrel chorus, sung by them
on the spot of the old oak’s resting place—

“The Charter we have got,

We claim this grand old spot,
Old Fairlop, Fairlop Fair,
This be our refrain,
Shall flourish and flourish again and again.”

I need not say Fairlop Fair was a little gold mine to the members of
our tribe. The Cockneys to the present day consider the Gipsies to
be part and parcel of the festival and annual gathering, none being
so happy as the favoured ones who could boast of having had tea in
a gipsy’s tent.
My horsedealing propensities grew with me as I grew.
When I arrived at the age of 26, I then took to myself a wife. Long
may we both live to be in the future, as in the past, a comfort to
each other. Corinda Lee, daughter of the then recognised heads of
the Lee tribe of Epping Gipsies, mother of my children and joy of my
life, long may we yet travel this journey of life up hill and down hill
together. Our marriage in the old village of Waltham Abbey brought
together over fifty families of Gipsies for the junketings and sports,
so freely indulged in in the old times, lasting as they did over the
three days.
I had been married but three months when the first offer of settling
down took place. A gentleman named Hewitt, of the firm of
Huggins’ Brewery Co., for whom I had purchased many valuable
horses, offered to place me in a livery stable then for sale in
Clerkenwell parish, the price for the same being £1700. I suggested
the acceptance, having the chance on very good terms to pay out of
the profits. My wife, however, flatly declined the, to me, favourable
opportunity, her objection to living amongst chimneys being too
great to combat, like the sailor in the storm pitying the poor
landsmen. Unlike many of her sex, to this day she has not changed
her mind.
Shortly after this I was appointed the head of ten gipsy families, and
I started a tour of the United Kingdom. After a few days a more
orderly company could, I think, be scarcely organised. Our tents,
caravans, horses, and harness, were greatly admired; trading in our
usual form, with baskets of our own make, and selling horses, we
caused at times almost too much attention, so much so, even at our
meals we could not keep people out of our tents, although located
at some distance from the towns and villages, so I determined to
rent or hire fields for our camping grounds. Even then it was
impossible to keep intruders out; at length a happy idea struck me,
viz., to charge a fee for admission to those wishing to gratify their
ofttimes intrusive curiosity, in doing which I am pleased to say we
were more than successful in a monetary point of view.
Many offers of engagements were made to me; but never liking the
idea of being a servant, I refused them, and as I started so have I
lived—making a bargain for my requirements, and being satisfied
with my returns. The Romany, doubtless, are superstitious—they
like to be free. That old customs still adhere to us, I must admit;
our language is our own, and a true Gitano is as jealous of its
possession as his honour. Nothing can lower one of us more than
learning the house-dweller our Romanis. Strange though it is, whilst
listening, as I have done lately, to the many words I have heard
spoken by the Tamill, Hindoo, and Ceylonese Indians in the
Exhibition, we find numerous words similar to our own, and bearing,
as I understand, the same meaning.
Travelling as I have in nearly every town of note in Great Britain, it is
only natural I should know and be known, I am pleased to say, in
all. I have met and left many friends whom it is not easy to forget.
The Press of the several places have very kindly expressed an
interest in us; so many, in fact, to repeat would take up too much
space in a little book of this description. Suffice it to say the
remarks of the Liverpool press alone, as attached to these lines will
be readily taken by the reader as the expressions of all, and I here
thank them for the kindly interest they have displayed in me and my
family. Many articles have been written in papers by clever writers
who have made our people a subject of thought as to our origin, yet
it seems to me an unanswered question and a mystery.
During our travels in Scotland, I hired a field near Arthur’s Seat,
Newington, Edinburgh, wherein I gave a Gipsy’s fete and gala.
During my three weeks stay there the amount of admission money
came to £700. Many of the elite of Edinburgh visited us, amongst
others the Duke of Buccleugh and party. At Aberdeen a great
success attended us. In fact in every Scottish town we visited we
were the recipients of many favours, gratefully remembered. At
Dunbar the highest honour ever accorded us was the visit of our
most gracious Sovereign Queen Victoria to our tents.
Whilst at Oxford, when giving our galas in the field in Binsey Lane,
near the Perch, we were patronised by many of the Collegians,
amongst whom we had a frequent visitor in the person of the son of
the Khedive of Egypt, who evinced great curiosity as to our people
and their habits. At Leeds our galas at the Cremorne Gardens in
1865, during the Whit Week, brought in over 70,000 persons; in the
same year we exhibited at the Royal Oak Park, Manchester. Our
procession of the entire tribes filled thirty conveyances, many
thousands witnessing our procession lining the streets as they did
from Newton Heath to Cheadle, both going and returning. In
Manchester we remained one month, our tents being crowded day
after day. In Dublin for some months we held levees in the famous
Rotunda Gardens.
Dr. J. Guinness Beatty, of the Exhibition Staff, well remembers our
success there, he being then Assistant Master of the Rotunda
Hospital; so successful were we, that Mr. James Dillon, the Dublin
Advertising Contractor, offered us £500 for the gate receipts during
the latter portion of our stay, which offer I must add, as with others,
was very respectfully declined. Whilst in Ireland my time was fully
occupied by purchasing horses for the French and Belgian Armies,
an occupation now followed by my eldest son and my brother, who
visit every large fair held there. After travelling Ireland for over five
years, so contented was my brother with the reception accorded us,
that he decided to remain, and is now permanently settled in his
encampment on the Circular Road, Dublin, carrying out his calling as
a Horse Dealer. Among many of our patrons and visitors, I may
mention Lady Butler, Lords Mayo and Clonmel, who always exhibited
towards us a genial and kindly interest. During my stay in Ireland I
must mention the pleasure I feel at the advancement in their
education my children received by visiting the Marlboro’ Street
Schools in Dublin. Many times have I in England extended my stay
in various towns for the sake of educating them, and it is with
pleasure I feel in having done so, it will assuredly be to their interest
and welfare. Knowing as I do that when a boy, all we of the Gipsy
tribe read from and of was “Nature’s own book.”
During the years I have travelled I have held conversations with
many wishful of learning our language. Some have gained a slight
knowledge of our lore, but, I am pleased to say, not from my family.
In many instances when they (the would be learners) have spoken
to me, I have heard them use terms clearly showing them to be the
most gullible of the gulled.
Seeing the announcements of the International Exhibition of
Liverpool, stating it was the intention of the Executive Council to
present originals and models of the different means of travelling as
used in past and present times, I ventured to address a letter, asking
to become an exhibitor of my caravan and tent, within which I and
my family have travelled the greater portion of the United Kingdom.
Thanks to their consideration, permission was kindly given me to
erect my encampment on the south east corner, through their
General Superintendent, Samuel Lee Bapty, Esq.
Soon after our entry on the ground, we had the distinguished
honour of a visit from the Mayor and Mayoress (Sir David and Lady
Radcliffe), and several members of the Executive Council, all of
whom expressed the warmest satisfaction with their reception.
During our stay at the Exhibition I was honoured by a visit from His
Royal Highness Prince Victor of Hohenlohe, who, in company with Sir
A. B. Walker, Bart., and a select party from Gateacre Grange, visited
my tent, and had his fortune predicted by my wife. The Prince
professed himself delighted with the glimpse afforded him of tent
life, and on his return to St. James’s Palace, was kind enough to
write me an autograph letter, assuring me of the deep gratification
which his reception had afforded him, and giving me a most pressing
invitation to visit him at his estate of St. Brino, near Ascot, whenever
I found myself in that neighbourhood.
Among other interesting momentoes which I preserve, not so much
for their intrinsic value as for their pleasing associations, is a half-
crown presented to me by the Earl of Lathom, on visiting my tent. It
bears the following inscription:

“Earl of Lathom,
Lord High Chamberlain,
September 25, 1886.”
Nor is the least gratifying token of my connection with the Liverpool
Exhibition, a memorial presented to me by the Hindoo and Cingalese
Indians, on their departure to their own shores. Poor exiles from
their native land! They assured me in the touching document above
alluded to that were it not for my constant kindness to them, they
would not have been able to endure their existence in this country,
but when in the company of myself and family, they fancied
themselves once more in their own far-off home.
I shall ever look back upon my stay at the Liverpool Exhibition as
one of the brightest and happiest pages in my life.
I could go on, but the printer’s boy says he thinks I have said
enough for the few pages this little emanation from yours obediently
should occupy, but I cannot say “good bye” without expressing a few
sentiments on this, the past subject of my life, by adding that as the
sere and yellow leaf creeps over me, I think and often dream of the
many well loved spots on this beautiful land I have visited in my
boyhood’s days when all was health, glee and happiness. Now, alas!
where are they? Gone! The busy work of the builders has covered
those places once so dear to me. After even a short absence I seek
a place once so well known and loved, to find what? a block of
houses thereon, and the fairy-like home I have travelled far to see,
vanished in the past. For the future, what bodes; fresh fields and
pastures new! is an old and true saying, with me, as with others, so
must it be, but where can I find those scenes I cannot forget;
scenes and times where one fiftieth of the world’s goods now
obtainable was all that was necessary to exist in peace and plenty.
Smoky chimneys, the roaring of machinery and noise of mills, never
dreamed of in days gone by, now meet my sight and ears; oh! how
different. Perhaps my readers may think I am getting sentimental;
perhaps so; if so, kindly forgive,
Your very obedient servant, GEORGE SMITH.
Gipsy Encampment, International Exhibition, Liverpool, 1886.
 Extract from the “Liverpool
Courier,” June 16th, 1886.

The King and Queen (Mr. George Smith and Mrs. Smith) were “at
home,” and they and their four comely daughters were the cynosure
of all eyes. A distinguishing feature of these “Epping Forest” Gipsies
is their extreme cleanliness. Their tent is scrupulously neat and tidy,
its appointments are comfortable not to say luxurious, and the
caravan reveals the snug sleeping chamber of the daughters of their
majesties. Fortune-telling is not the stock-in-trade of the tribe, but
the dark-skinned “Gitanos” do not absolutely refuse to have their
palms crossed if credulous ladies will insist in peering into the
future. We understand that these descendants of Romany Ri have
had the honour of appearing before the Queen in Dunbar, Scotland,
and although the King does not impress one by his tawny skin he is
a genuine ruler and speaks Romany.
 Extract from the “Liverpool
Review,” June 19th, 1886.

The poor Laplanders have now to play second fiddle to another

wandering tribe whose origin is lost in the mists of antiquity. Ever
since their celebrated moonlight flit the little northerners had been
under a cloud, but their social extinction has been completed by the
advent of the “Epping Forest Gipsies.” The King and Queen of these
nomads bear the prosaic name of Smith. Nevertheless they claim to
be in the line of descent of “Romany Ri.” It is an open question
whether the Gitano complexion—the tawny complexion, the vellum
of the pedigree they claim—cannot be whitened by partaking of gin
and water in unfair proportions. This result is sometimes brought
about among certain vagabond followers of Isis, but it would be the
height of injustice to suggest that such retributive facial pallor can
be laid to the account of Mr. George Smith, the ruler of the
Exhibition gipsy encampment. The absence of swarthiness in his
Majesty’s case must be attributed to other causes, for if rumour is
correct we believe the monarch is a staunch teetotaler. Like the
great majority of Bohemians, he is addicted to trafficking in horses,
while his Royal consort and her young princesses do a good business
in basket selling and fortune telling. The Queen is well known in the
neighbourhood of Everton, hers being one of the most familiar
figures to those who are in the habit of travelling to town in trams.
For some time past she has chosen Liverpool as her winter
residence, pitching her camp on the waste ground near Walton
Breck, and during the absence of her lord and master in Ireland her
caravan has been the resort of credulous nursemaids and naïve
servant girls. A more respectable tribe than that of the Smiths never
trod the open heath. They might be objected to as being a little too
genteel. The interior of their camp is more like a Turkish divan than
the good old smoke-begrimed vagrant habitation. Indeed they are
so highly civilised as to boast of the patronage of Queen Victoria,
who it appears paid them a special visit in Scotland. Another
instance of the process of modern refinement on these Pharaohites
is that they occupy exactly the same position as the other hirers of
stands—they have paid for the privilege of showing their peculiar
method of travelling and mode of life. Unlike the Laps, they have
not been engaged as one of the attractions of the Exhibition, and on
coming forward on their own account they display a business
enterprise which does credit to their commercial instincts. On Whit
Monday they did a roaring trade, many ladies of social standing
persisting in having their fortunes told—“just for the fun of the thing,
you know.” The female gipsies were attired in gaudy garments and
quite captivated crowds of young “mashers,” who had come to see
what they were like. For the moment the new comers are all the
rage, and have snuffed out the blighted Laplanders.
 Extract from the “Liverpool
Review,” June 19th, 1886.

Her Majesty is not the only Royal visitor who has honoured the
Exhibition with her presence. Another has made his appearance
lately and set up what I suppose must be styled his “Palace” near
Cross’s Indian Pavillion, and in the middle of what may be called a
quagmire. The “palace” of course is not a very imposing erection,
the only difference between it and an ordinary gipsy tent being that
it is a little larger and that the stuff with which it is covered is red in
colour, the accommodation being supplemented by a travelling
caravan which is decidedly more gaily painted than such vehicles
usually are. His Majesty is not likely to suggest to any one the
phrase “every inch a king,” his appearance being more like that of a
gamekeeper, though it was sufficient to attract a large crowd of
starers, who, however, showed no disposition to have their fortunes
told, probably fancying that they knew them well enough already.
This was the more remarkable as King Smith had been callen upon
by the Queen while in Scotland, and he might therefore claim to be
a Royal fortune teller, “by appointment” with more accuracy than is
generally observed by those using the phrase.
 Extract from the “Liverpool
Courier,” June 19th, 1886.

Whence came those guests who, unknown and uninvited, migrated

into Europe in the fifteenth century? This question, which has
puzzled the fertile minds of many historians, was the one that
naturally presented itself to me as I wended my way to the gipsy
encampment in the grounds of the great International Exhibition. I
confess I had no poetic or sentimental ideas in regard to the tribes
who own Bohemia as their birthplace. On the contrary, I was
afflicted with the common prejudice that these nomadic individuals
were nothing more nor less than itinerant thieves and natural
vagabonds, whose existence is a social anomaly, and who constitute
a standing protest against the rigour of our game laws. The
entrance to the red cloth-covered tent was surrounded by a crowd
whose curiosity appeared to be as insatiable as their credulity; and it
was with no small difficulty that I succeeded in breaking through the
serried ranks of the gaping throng. The whole aspect of the place
was totally different from the conventional notion of a gipsy camp.
The public picture to themselves a few dilapidated and ragged
shanties, begrimed by smoke, and worn by long service; a like
number of painted and bedizened carts, shaggy, unkempt, and ill-
tended horses, and an indefinite number of dark-eyed, dark-skinned
children. But here the conditions are entirely reversed. The interior
presented an air of oriental luxury. A rich carpet covered the floor;
cushioned seats invited to repose; and there was not wanting other
accessories to remind one of the sybaritic elegance of a Turkish
divan. The squalid children were not there, but in their stead
appeared a bevy of handsome damsels, with Gitano complexions.
The comely girls were attired in robes of the brightest hues, scarlet,
pink, and yellow, and from their ears depended large silver rings,
which imparted to them a dashing Bohemian mien. But it is on
beholding the King and Queen of these Pharoahites that one’s
preconceived ideas sustain the rudest shock. I must confess to a
feeling of disappointment on being ushered into the presence of the
King. Instead of being confronted with a picturesque old gentleman
of dirty and forbidding look, I saw before me a perfectly respectable
middle-aged man with a quiet self-possessed air, and wearing the
very unimposing garments prescribed by nineteenth century
civilisation. There was nothing striking about his bearing, and I
searched in vain for any indications of royal characteristics. His
Majesty may be a true descendant of “Romany Ri”; he may boast of
the blood of the genuine Zingari, but he certainly does not show it in
the “tawny skin, the vellum of the pedigree they claim.” His
countenance strikes one as being more English than Egyptian, and
were it not for a slight swarthiness observable about the eyes no
one would suspect that he had the remotest connection with the
“vagabond followers of Isis.” His Royal Consort, who at the time I
entered was engaged at the homely occupation of peeling potatoes.
The Queen is much darker. Indeed her visage has assumed a
saffron hue, and amongst her own people she must have been
regarded as a very prepossessing specimen twenty years ago. The
King received me with the utmost courtesy, and on being informed
of the object of my visit insisted on me taking a chair while he
squatted on the carpet. His Majesty was not only ready but eager to
supply the information which I required.
May I be favoured with your name? Oh, certainly—George Smith.
“It strikes me I have heard that name before,” was the comment
which instinctively came to the lips, but I refrained.
“Ah, you may say that is a common name for a Bohemian like me to
bear, but I can tell you that the Smith’s are as old a tribe as the
Stanleys, the Lovells, the Hernes, and the Coopers.”
“What is the extent of your family here?” “Well, the occupants of
this tent and that covered cart which you see outside are myself and
my wife, four daughters, and their two female cousins, and four sons
there”—and he pointed with his finger to a group of strapping young
fellows who had just entered the camp.
“Can you trace your descent far back?” “Oh, yes.” At this point his
Royal Consort exclaimed with evident pride, “I can remember my
great grandmother. She and her tribe never lived out of tents.”
The King: “You see, sir, its a kind of a mystery where we came
from. Some say we are from the Rekkybites (Rechabites), and
others say as how we are the lost tribes. It has been a great puzzle
as to where we have originated.”
“Do you speak the gipsy language?” “Yes, to be sure. We talk
Romany.” And as if to convince me of the truth of his assertion he
addressed a few words to the Queen in that mysterious lingo which I
regret not to have been able to follow.
“It is said that, like the Red men, you gipsies are being civilised out
of being.” “Its this way, sir. There’s good and bad among us. Some
wander about the country, and by their depredations get a character
that’s not very nice; but now we are more prosperous than the
generality of our class.”
“May I enquire what is your principal source of income?” “Oh, bless
you, I and my sons do a great deal in the way of horse dealing; and
we don’t employ our idle time, like some of the strollers, in
tinkering. We go to Ireland very often and buy horses for the
French Army, and the English Government as well.”
“Will you allow me to ask whether you practice fortune-telling at
all?” “Well, the fact is we don’t go in for that. But if ladies insist, we
don’t object to do it. My wife and the girls tell fortunes when they
are asked.”
“Given the mysteries of gipsy life, and the curiosity of the public, I
suppose your camp is crowded every day since your arrival?” “Why,
sir, on Whit-Monday we were so full as almost to be suffocated. The
people came in droves, and the entrance was blocked up with them
all the time.”
“It strikes me that I have seen her Majesty in the neighbourhood of
Everton for some time past?” “Well, you see, we have been camped
there, but we come from Epping Forest. The Queen visited us when
we were in Dunbar, Scotland. And if we weren’t real gipsies Her
Majesty would not have come to see us.”
The King at this juncture said he should be exceedingly obliged if I
would put in the papers the fact that their habitation was
scrupulously neat and clean, and that the sanitary arrangements
were of an unexceptional character—which I told him I should have
much pleasure in doing.
“There is another thing which you might mention too,” he added in a
whisper. “We don’t herd together, higgledy-piggledy, like some
wanderers. My wife and I pass the night in that end of the tent, and
at the opposite end, which is curtained off, my boys sleep. And as
for the girls, they occupy the caravan.” His Majesty then conducted
me to the caravan outside, and showed me a veritable boudoir for
comfort and elegance. He was careful to point out every detail of
the well-appointed vehicle, and to exhibit the gee-gaws and showy
dresses which the ladies wore on gala days.
“Look here, sir, some people think that we gipsies are a little loose in
our morals. But I can tell you it’s nothing of the sort. We are very
particular people. Our daughters’ virtue is very dear to us, and
rather than see them injured we would sooner see them die.” And
by the powerfully self-restrained manner of Mr. Smith, I could see
that he meant what he said.
In reply to the question as to whether he really preferred gipsying to
the ordinary mode of life, he said, “It’s our regular way of living, and