Gypsy Dictionary [62]
you take yourself off the better. If I find you do, I will talk with you as long as you like. What do you call that?"--and she pointed to the fire.
"Speaking Gyptianly?" said I.
The woman nodded.
"Whoy, I calls that yog."
"Hm," said the woman: "and the dog out there?"
"Gyptian-loike?" said I.
"Yes."
"Whoy, I calls that a juggal."
"And the hat on your head?"
"Well, I have two words for that: a staury and a stadge."
"Stadge," said the woman, "we call it here. Now what's a gun?"
"There is no Gypsy in England," said I, "can tell you the word for a gun; at least the proper word, which is lost. They have a word--yag- engro--but that is a made-up word signifying a fire-thing."
"Then you don't know the word for a gun," said the Gypsy.
"Oh dear me! Yes," said I; "the genuine Gypsy word for a gun is puschca. But I did not pick up that word in England, but in Hungary, where the Gypsies retain their language better than in England: puschca is the proper word for a gun, and not yag-engro, which may mean a fire-shovel, tongs, poker, or anything connected with fire, quite as well as a gun."
"Puschca is the word, sure enough," said the Gypsy. "I thought I should have caught you there; and now I have but one more question to ask you, and when I have done so, you may as well go; for I am quite sure you cannot answer it. What is Nokkum?"
"Nokkum," said I; "nokkum?"
"Aye," said the Gypsy; "what is Nokkum? Our people here, besides their common name of Romany, have a private name for themselves, which is Nokkum or Nokkums. Why do the children of the Caungri Foros call themselves Nokkums?"
"Nokkum," said I; "nokkum? The root of nokkum must be nok, which signifieth a nose."
"A-h!" said the Gypsy, slowly drawing out the monosyllable, as if in astonishment.
"Yes," said I; "the root of nokkum is assuredly nok, and I have no doubt that your people call themselves Nokkum because they are in the habit of nosing the Gorgios. Nokkums means Nosems."
"Sit down, sir," said the Gypsy, handing me a chair. "I am now ready to talk to you as much as you please about Nokkum words and matters, for I see there is no danger. But I tell you frankly that had I not found that you knew as much as, or a great deal more than, myself, not a hundred pounds, nor indeed all the money in Berwick, should have induced me to hold discourse with you about the words and matters of the Brown children of Kirk Yetholm."
I sat down in the chair which she handed me; she sat down in another, and we were presently in deep discourse about matters Nokkum. We first began to talk about words, and I soon found that her knowledge of Romany was anything but extensive; far less so, indeed, than that of the commonest English Gypsy woman, for whenever I addressed her in regular Gypsy sentences, and not in poggado jib, or broken language, she would giggle and say I was too deep for her. I should say that the sum total of her vocabulary barely amounted to three hundred words. Even of these there were several which were not pure Gypsy words--that is, belonging to the speech which the ancient Zingary brought with them to Britain. Some of her bastard Gypsy words belonged to the cant or allegorical jargon of thieves, who, in order to disguise their real meaning, call one thing by the name of another. For example, she called a shilling a 'hog,' a word belonging to the old English cant dialect, instead of calling it by the genuine Gypsy term tringurushi, the literal meaning of which is three groats. Then she called a donkey 'asal,' and a stone 'cloch,' which words are neither cant nor Gypsy, but Irish or Gaelic. I incurred her vehement indignation by saying they were Gaelic. She contradicted me flatly, and said that whatever else I might know I was quite wrong there; for that neither she nor any one of her people would condescend to speak anything so low as Gaelic, or indeed, if they possibly could avoid it, to have anything to do with the poverty-stricken creatures who used it. It is a singular fact that, though principally
"Speaking Gyptianly?" said I.
The woman nodded.
"Whoy, I calls that yog."
"Hm," said the woman: "and the dog out there?"
"Gyptian-loike?" said I.
"Yes."
"Whoy, I calls that a juggal."
"And the hat on your head?"
"Well, I have two words for that: a staury and a stadge."
"Stadge," said the woman, "we call it here. Now what's a gun?"
"There is no Gypsy in England," said I, "can tell you the word for a gun; at least the proper word, which is lost. They have a word--yag- engro--but that is a made-up word signifying a fire-thing."
"Then you don't know the word for a gun," said the Gypsy.
"Oh dear me! Yes," said I; "the genuine Gypsy word for a gun is puschca. But I did not pick up that word in England, but in Hungary, where the Gypsies retain their language better than in England: puschca is the proper word for a gun, and not yag-engro, which may mean a fire-shovel, tongs, poker, or anything connected with fire, quite as well as a gun."
"Puschca is the word, sure enough," said the Gypsy. "I thought I should have caught you there; and now I have but one more question to ask you, and when I have done so, you may as well go; for I am quite sure you cannot answer it. What is Nokkum?"
"Nokkum," said I; "nokkum?"
"Aye," said the Gypsy; "what is Nokkum? Our people here, besides their common name of Romany, have a private name for themselves, which is Nokkum or Nokkums. Why do the children of the Caungri Foros call themselves Nokkums?"
"Nokkum," said I; "nokkum? The root of nokkum must be nok, which signifieth a nose."
"A-h!" said the Gypsy, slowly drawing out the monosyllable, as if in astonishment.
"Yes," said I; "the root of nokkum is assuredly nok, and I have no doubt that your people call themselves Nokkum because they are in the habit of nosing the Gorgios. Nokkums means Nosems."
"Sit down, sir," said the Gypsy, handing me a chair. "I am now ready to talk to you as much as you please about Nokkum words and matters, for I see there is no danger. But I tell you frankly that had I not found that you knew as much as, or a great deal more than, myself, not a hundred pounds, nor indeed all the money in Berwick, should have induced me to hold discourse with you about the words and matters of the Brown children of Kirk Yetholm."
I sat down in the chair which she handed me; she sat down in another, and we were presently in deep discourse about matters Nokkum. We first began to talk about words, and I soon found that her knowledge of Romany was anything but extensive; far less so, indeed, than that of the commonest English Gypsy woman, for whenever I addressed her in regular Gypsy sentences, and not in poggado jib, or broken language, she would giggle and say I was too deep for her. I should say that the sum total of her vocabulary barely amounted to three hundred words. Even of these there were several which were not pure Gypsy words--that is, belonging to the speech which the ancient Zingary brought with them to Britain. Some of her bastard Gypsy words belonged to the cant or allegorical jargon of thieves, who, in order to disguise their real meaning, call one thing by the name of another. For example, she called a shilling a 'hog,' a word belonging to the old English cant dialect, instead of calling it by the genuine Gypsy term tringurushi, the literal meaning of which is three groats. Then she called a donkey 'asal,' and a stone 'cloch,' which words are neither cant nor Gypsy, but Irish or Gaelic. I incurred her vehement indignation by saying they were Gaelic. She contradicted me flatly, and said that whatever else I might know I was quite wrong there; for that neither she nor any one of her people would condescend to speak anything so low as Gaelic, or indeed, if they possibly could avoid it, to have anything to do with the poverty-stricken creatures who used it. It is a singular fact that, though principally