Gypsies - 1897

During the cold weeks of March, 1897, a rumour was circulating all over the City of Hamilton to the effect that there were gypsies in the vicinity.

        In response, the Spectator sent out a reporter to investigate. He indeed did find a band of Scotch gypsies camped on the tree road off Main street, near the Delta.

        First spotted near the eastern limit of Hamilton, the gypsies were supposedly on their way to Albion Mills.

        In the camp, the man from the Spec found men, women and children In particular he noticed three women squatting around a fire of brush at the side of the road.

        One of this group, the youngest, was feeding her baby in a manner the reporter described as “in the good old-fashioned style that antedates glass bottles and rubber tubing.”

        This young lady was quite jolly and talkative, while a middle-aged woman nearby was taciturn, having just finished an argument with her man. The third woman was quite young, good-looking and noted the reporter “sported the only clean face in the community.”

        All three woman had rich Doric accents, claiming to hail from Ayshire, which they boasted was “the land of Robbie Burns, ye ken.”

        When asked if she could tell fortunes, the good-looking member of the trio reacted with indignation and denial at the question. However, after some persistence by the reporter, she admitted that, yes, she was the seventh daughter of the seventh son, and added “if ye want, ask me onything. Aw’ll be vera pleased to answer ye, but we never tak’ money for such.”

        Then gypsy did hint broadly that if the young man from the local newspaper was interested in purchasing some of her wares, she would tell him his fortune. At that point she brought what he described as “an array of crocheted counterpanes, pillow shams and various useful and ornamental articles of a more or less bulky nature. ‘A’ the wurruck o’me own han’s, ye ken!’ “

        The reporter did not particularly need or want any of the articles offered. The gypsy said that she knew that he wasn’t married, but that he had a sweetheart to whom he could give some of the trinkets which were for sale.

        Surprised,  the reporter asked her how she knew he wasn’t married, to which she replied, “Well, that’s not for me to say – but, is it not so? Noo, here’s a bed spread an’ pillow shams that y’ll no get the like o’ in the stores. They’re aw made by hand. I wudna tak $10 for them, but the times are hard, an Aw’ll give them to you for four, an’ tell ye yer future into the bargain.”

        The Spectator man kept refusing to buy anything and finally got ready to leave. Giving her a quarter for her trouble, the reporter was on his way when the gypsy grabbed his hand and said, “ Yo’re a nice young man. An’ you’ve crossed ma loof wi’ a shillin’ wi’out anything for it – so gie me your hand an’ let me tell ye what ye want to know.”

        Fingering the lines on the palm of his hand, the gypsy told him, “ye’re not married – but ye might have been, time and again.”

        She told him he had a pretty girlfriend with whom he had just had a misunderstanding and that he had written a letter to apologize.

The reporter had to admit that this was indeed true.

The gypsy was triumphant : “Did I no tell ye, just tell me right oot if I’m wrong..”

The fortune teller then proceeded to weave an elaborate tale of jealousy involving other girls and other men complicating the relationship between the reporter and his girlfriend, to which the reporter “regretfully confessed that this was a wild pitch on the part of the colourfully-clad oracle.”

“The Lord forgie ye for le’en,” the gypsy retorted  with more than a little warmth, “ye know in yer heart Aw’m tellin’ God’s truth!”

Further elaborate stories ensued but the reporter had become restive and bored. As he got up to leave, the gypsy took his hand and said, “Noo, goodbye, and here’s ma hand. An’ when what Aw told ye comes to pass remember that a puir, auld dighted body in a gypsy camp said it.”