The Gypsies

Yours Truly
About One Year Old

     Grammy called them Romanies, the Travelers, and told us they came from Romania.  Most farmers referred to them as "The Gypsies".  I remember seeing them only two or three times during my early childhood.  That was probably at the end of an era when hundreds of thousands of gypsies emigrated from Russia and Eastern Europe during World War II.  Hitler dislike gypsies almost as much as he did the Jews and persecuted them mercilessly.  Nearly 500,000 were killed or starved in concentration camps.  Many fled from Europe to other parts of the world to avoid incarceration in death camps. 

     The gypsies were shrouded in mystery and carried historical baggage that followed them everywhere they went.  Grammy obviously had heard all the stories.  Daddy and Mommy had lived the previous years in New York and New England, respectively, and had little first-hand knowledge of the Romanies, but I remember them both being silent but a bit grim during the infrequent visitations.

     The gypsies travelled slowly and quietly down the roads near our farm in caravans of a few covered wagons pulled by horses.  At least once, the gypsies came on the road from the west, passing within a few hundred feet of our house.  I could see the women, children, and animals in the backs of the wagons driven by the men.  They had very dark complexions with black hair, quite noticeable to me since we lived in a community originally homesteaded by immigrants from Northern Europe, Germany, and Bohemia (part of current Czech Republic).

     Grammy said the Romanies were thieves.  She said they stole chickens, children, and anything else "not tied down".  They were excellent horseman and horse traders.  But watch out!  The word "gyp" came from "gypsy", we were told.  If they tried to sell you anything, they would likely swindle you.
    Grammy said they dressed in wild, colorful clothing and danced to pagan music around their campfires at night.  They were fortune tellers with crystal balls.  They never took baths, were dirty, and smelled bad.  We children were told to stay in or near the house when the gypsies passed by.  We obeyed.

     But given all the hype that accompanied them, the gypsies that travelled the countryside near us were a big disappointment to me.  They never stopped to talk or to try to sell us anything.  They stayed as far away from us as we did from them.  They parked their wagons one year in our north pasture among the wild roses the cows refused to eat.  Daddy kept the cows in the barnyard until they had moved on.
  Another summer they made camp for the night in our neighbors field to the east of us.  They did not wear garish clothing.  I saw no dancing about their campfires nor do I even recall that they had a campfire.  If they were dirty, I was never close enough to know.

     As a youngster who spent a lot of time daydreaming, I thought the gypsy life seemed romantic and adventurous.  It appealed to the wandering spirit ever a part of me.  What did they eat?  Where would they go next and why?  How did their children learn to read and write?  Did they ever have toys or other children to play with?  Were they lonely with no one to talk with other than the few people in their caravan?  Where did they go in the winter when the cold wind and snow made life outside unbearable?   I had no answers to any of those questions.

     The gypsies never stayed more than a night or two before travelling on.  Sadly, I thought, there was always relief in our house when they went away as silently as they had come.  Only then did Daddy let the livestock go back to the pastures and Grammy stopped counting the chickens.