I’m Always Being Asked ‘Are You A Real Gypsy’?

Are you a real Gypsy? people are constantly asking me. I was born into the Petulengro family, an old and well respected clan among travellers, my Grandfather was often referred to as 'King of the Gypsies'. It's fascinating to think that the twentieth century Romanies all originated from India over 700 years ago and I have been able to communicate with Gypsies in many countries all over the world through the universal Romany language called 'Romanus'. My earliest and happiest memories are all to do with the winding, open country roads that unfolded, mile after leisurely mile, before the brightly painted horse drawn caravan, the vardo as the Romany travelling folk call it. Bess the old mare would be plodding steadily onward in her quiet, peaceful way. If Grandfather flicked the long reins lightly on her broad back from time to time, it was only to remind her that we were there: the old man she had known all her life, and the little boy who often ran alongside during the day, picking ripe blackberries from the hedgerows, or breaking off and carrying a leafy switch from a bending tree, absorbed in childhood fantasies.

But in the evening we'd be up on the step of the wagon, side by side, chatting or riding on in companionable silence. I can still feel the jolting of the wagon, and the way we swayed gently with it. I can hear the sound of the wooden wheels on the rough unmade road, and smell the familiar sweet smell arising from Bess's warm flanks. I loved the smell of the horses, and the feel of their long, thick manes and tails. I loved the warm evenings, and the moment when Grandfather turned Bess up on to some patch of common land among the scented gorse bushes and the yellow broom, or simply on to the wide grass verge beside the road and called to her to 'whoa now', we had many horses over the years and for some strange reason they were all called 'BESS' I don't know why to this day. The other wagons would pull up too, and soon I would be helping to unharness Bess and the other horses, putting halters over their heads, slipping them over the velvety ears and tethering them loosely so they could graze on the long grass till dawn. Soon Grandmother (her name was Amelia) and the other Romany women, my cousins and other relations, would be outside making the evening meal, and the good rich smell of vegetables and perhaps a rabbit or a chicken would rise from the bubbling pot.

Have you guessed who my Grandfather was? Yes, he was known just as Gypsy Petulengro, the best known of the Romany people at that time, but his name was Xavier Petulengro. Some said he was the King of the Gypsies, and when he died, many hundreds of our people gathered in the Forest of Dean and some travelled hundreds of miles to his funeral. Some had come from far distant countries, for the word had gone round, and travelling folk came over for the great gathering and the mourning. In him had rested so much of the ancient country lore of the Romany peoples, who had always lived close to the earth and under the great skies, watching the changing of the seasons, feeding on nature's bounty and practising their old crafts to earn a little money when they needed any. We had little need of medicine. 'There is a cure for everything in the hedgerows,' Grandfather said, as he gathered herbs and roots to cure a child's tummy ache or someone's fever. There were no antibiotics in those days--and a good thing too, I often think, when I mix a lotion to take the swelling out of a friend's sprained ankle, or give myself a familiar herbal infusion when I feel a cold coming on.You see I haven't forgotten many of the things that Grandfather taught me:

I still remember the old tales, and the great wisdom in that greying head, as he gently chided two quarrelling neighbours, solving their differences for them, so that each saw the other's point of view and could shake hands on it. And more important the knowledge passed down from age to age by the Romany families: how to read an outstretched palm and see the future in it. How to tell, by a birth date or the look of a face, as much and more than modern Astrologers can tell with all their computers and their up to date technology. How to look at the starry Heavens with wonder and awe, recognising many of the great constellations and knowing which way we were travelling by the position of the Pole Star. And understanding the significance of the planets in their courses, 'Look at Venus!' he would say, pointing, low on the horizon, sometimes at dusk and sometimes at dawn, 'She is always the Morning Star or the Evening Star, according to the season of the year, for she is so close to the Sun that she seems to rise and set alongside that great Master of the planets.

Sometimes you can't see her at all, for months at a time, for she is so near the Sun you would be dazzled if you tried to find her. But acknowledge her when you see her, Lad, for she is the bringer of harmony and peace.' Before I was much older I learnt to recognise the largest planet, Jupiter, Bringer of Plenty. Mars, which is reddish and can be a warning of quarrels and wars. And the beauty of Saturn with its lovely rings which these days I can view now through a telescope.

Until next time ......................

Kooshti Bok & Kooshti Sante (Good Luck & Good Health)​