gone. This would clean the blood and ensure that any sluggishness the person was feeling
would disappear. His other famous recipes were for dandelion or feverfew tea, to cure headaches. Sometimes he would give people bark from the willow tree to hang around their necks. Some people
would have called him a witch doctor, but these simple yet effective remedies still work today. Aspirin is made from willow bark, after all.
I’d wake up in the morning and hear Granny moving around, making breakfast. She’d take some bacon, or perhaps sausages, from the belly box that sat outside, underneath the back of
the vardo, and was used to keep food cool. It was often called a hay box and was also used to transport the chickens and bantams when travelling.
As she cooked on the oven, she’d softly sing her favourite tune, ‘Roses are Blooming in Picardy’. I’d sit on my bed, watching her nod in contentment, as she so often did
when she was concentrating, or talking, or singing. The wonderful smell would drift to Mummy and Shunty in their vardo and they’d come to join us, bringing Nathan.
‘Get that peamingre [tea] on, Shunty,’ Granny would shout. Sometimes one of my uncles’ dogs, usually a whippet, would appear at the door, lured by the smell, and Granny would
shoo it away. ‘Jaw, you wafedi jukel.’ (‘Go away, bad dog.’)
At night the family would sit down around the fire, our bellies full of rabbit stew simmered with freshly picked herbs. As the wood crackled, we children would eagerly wait to
hear the tales our mothers and grandmothers loved to tell.
‘Oh, Granny,’ I’d say, ‘please tell us the story of the nails again.’ She must have told this tale a million times to her own children, but she’d sit down and
begin the story her mother had told her, and hers had before her.
‘When Jesus Christ was betrayed and handed over to the Romans and they were going to crucify him, no blacksmith in the city would forge the nails to do it with. The soldiers were sent to
search further afield. They came across a band of Romanies who were parked up outside the city walls and the soldiers commissioned them to make four nails and said they would return the following
day to collect them. The next day, when they arrived, the Romany smithy declared that he had only been able to make three nails. The angry soldiers said that they needed four and had to have them
that day, as they were going to be crucifying Jesus. The Romanies are very God-fearing people. They prayed at night and truly believed that Jesus was the son of God. At hearing what was to be done
with the nails, the Romanies fled, and this is why Jesus was crucified with three nails instead of four.’
When Granny used to tell her own children this story, she’d put her hand to Naughty’s neck and pull out a gold nail attached to a chain round his neck and it would shine in the light
cast by the fire. As a horse-smith, he wore this good luck symbol, as do many Romany men.
Sometimes we’d be joined round the fire by more distant relatives and other Romany families and their friends. Celebrating births, weddings and even funerals was looked forward to, as it
was a great chance to get together and gossip with faces you hadn’t seen in months, if not years. There were also the horse fairs to attend, and gathering together at Christmas, when we
could, was always a highlight. Each night the men would go to the alehouse to talk and drink, while the females would be left to their own devices, and would sit around the fire, laughing all night
at remembered childhood antics and at bizarre stories they had recently heard. While gossiping, they’d give themselves beauty treatments and possibly drink the odd drop of gin from a
teacup.
I remember sitting quietly round the fire listening to Kyra, who was a distant cousin and who was always up to reminiscing about being beaten to within an inch of her life. In between giggling,
she told the tale.
‘It was
would disappear. His other famous recipes were for dandelion or feverfew tea, to cure headaches. Sometimes he would give people bark from the willow tree to hang around their necks. Some people
would have called him a witch doctor, but these simple yet effective remedies still work today. Aspirin is made from willow bark, after all.
I’d wake up in the morning and hear Granny moving around, making breakfast. She’d take some bacon, or perhaps sausages, from the belly box that sat outside, underneath the back of
the vardo, and was used to keep food cool. It was often called a hay box and was also used to transport the chickens and bantams when travelling.
As she cooked on the oven, she’d softly sing her favourite tune, ‘Roses are Blooming in Picardy’. I’d sit on my bed, watching her nod in contentment, as she so often did
when she was concentrating, or talking, or singing. The wonderful smell would drift to Mummy and Shunty in their vardo and they’d come to join us, bringing Nathan.
‘Get that peamingre [tea] on, Shunty,’ Granny would shout. Sometimes one of my uncles’ dogs, usually a whippet, would appear at the door, lured by the smell, and Granny would
shoo it away. ‘Jaw, you wafedi jukel.’ (‘Go away, bad dog.’)
At night the family would sit down around the fire, our bellies full of rabbit stew simmered with freshly picked herbs. As the wood crackled, we children would eagerly wait to
hear the tales our mothers and grandmothers loved to tell.
‘Oh, Granny,’ I’d say, ‘please tell us the story of the nails again.’ She must have told this tale a million times to her own children, but she’d sit down and
begin the story her mother had told her, and hers had before her.
‘When Jesus Christ was betrayed and handed over to the Romans and they were going to crucify him, no blacksmith in the city would forge the nails to do it with. The soldiers were sent to
search further afield. They came across a band of Romanies who were parked up outside the city walls and the soldiers commissioned them to make four nails and said they would return the following
day to collect them. The next day, when they arrived, the Romany smithy declared that he had only been able to make three nails. The angry soldiers said that they needed four and had to have them
that day, as they were going to be crucifying Jesus. The Romanies are very God-fearing people. They prayed at night and truly believed that Jesus was the son of God. At hearing what was to be done
with the nails, the Romanies fled, and this is why Jesus was crucified with three nails instead of four.’
When Granny used to tell her own children this story, she’d put her hand to Naughty’s neck and pull out a gold nail attached to a chain round his neck and it would shine in the light
cast by the fire. As a horse-smith, he wore this good luck symbol, as do many Romany men.
Sometimes we’d be joined round the fire by more distant relatives and other Romany families and their friends. Celebrating births, weddings and even funerals was looked forward to, as it
was a great chance to get together and gossip with faces you hadn’t seen in months, if not years. There were also the horse fairs to attend, and gathering together at Christmas, when we
could, was always a highlight. Each night the men would go to the alehouse to talk and drink, while the females would be left to their own devices, and would sit around the fire, laughing all night
at remembered childhood antics and at bizarre stories they had recently heard. While gossiping, they’d give themselves beauty treatments and possibly drink the odd drop of gin from a
teacup.
I remember sitting quietly round the fire listening to Kyra, who was a distant cousin and who was always up to reminiscing about being beaten to within an inch of her life. In between giggling,
she told the tale.
‘It was
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