me mother and father’s wedding anniversary the next day, so I’d made an excuse that I wanted to go buy meself a blouse. So there I am, I’ve bought a nice present
for their anniversary, a bit of cut glass, and as I come out the shop, this young man who pretended he knew me brother stopped me to ask how me brother was and how long we’d be staying in the
village. I tried to get away from him, but he kept talking. I didn’t know it, but me father’s brother saw me stood talking to him. By the time I got home, me father was as mad as hell
and asked me where I’d been. Well, I didn’t want to tell him that I’d been to buy him a present, did I? His face was nearly black with anger and he went striding off up the
field.
‘Give me some more gin, dear,’ Kyra held her cup out for a refill. ‘Then I saw him coming towards me. He’d cut himself a stick and, even though I was eighteen years old,
he whacked me something rotten on me legs and bum, because he thought I’d been making myself fair over a gorger boy.’ All the girls started laughing at this, because they all knew the
tale by now.
‘I couldn’t wait till the next morning,’ Kyra started up again with a wry smile, ‘to tell him why I’d been so long.’ Kyra had, over the years, enhanced this
story, because she loved to watch the faces of those who hadn’t heard it before.
The next day, when he got his present, Kyra’s father realised how he had misjudged her and was terribly upset. But that is Romany life. There is this strong protective instinct against
strangers, the gorger above all.
One of Mummy’s favourite stories concerned the telephone. When it comes to business, Romanies make frequent use of the phone, since this saves the time and embarrassment of trying to find
someone who can write letters. She knew of one old Romany, though, Charlie, a very eccentric old boy, who just did not believe in the telephone. He was from a very well-thought-of family, but his
wife had died, leaving behind her husband and their son Charlie Junior. The son dealt in motor cars and used to make telephone calls all over the place, finding new vehicles or looking for spare
parts. Old Charlie found it very hard to cope with his wife’s departure. They would travel with other families and, at night, old Charlie would take out his bike and go to the nearest public
house. Once, when they were travelling, old Charlie asked young Charlie, ‘What are these red boxes for?’ pointing at a phone box.
Young Charlie explained, ‘They’re telephone boxes, Dad. You put some money in and you can phone people and talk to them, even if they’re a long way away.’
Old Charlie took this with a pinch of salt. ‘Charlie, don’t you try to tell me that with that thing you can talk to someone who’s twenty miles away or more.’ So young
Charlie stopped trying to explain.
Anyway, on this particular night, after getting his fill of whisky at the pub, Old Charlie mounted his bicycle and started to pedal back to where they were camped. Unfortunately, due to his
inebriated state, he ran into a red telephone box and buckled the front wheel. He sat on the grass, trying to work out whether he could walk the distance back to the camp, knowing he wouldn’t
be able to carry the bicycle and couldn’t push it because the wheel was buckled. He sat pondering on this problem and then he looked at the box, went inside and examined the telephone. He
took a tuppenny bit from his pocket, put it into the box and said down the receiver, ‘Charlie, bring the car.’
This is where young Charlie found him when he came to look for him an hour later, worried that his father hadn’t yet come home from the public house. Charlie Senior was sound asleep.
Whether this tale is correct or not, it’s been told many times by Charlie Junior.
Charlie Junior fell in love with a girl called Lisa. She loved him too, but her parents were dead against them even talking to one another, for
for their anniversary, a bit of cut glass, and as I come out the shop, this young man who pretended he knew me brother stopped me to ask how me brother was and how long we’d be staying in the
village. I tried to get away from him, but he kept talking. I didn’t know it, but me father’s brother saw me stood talking to him. By the time I got home, me father was as mad as hell
and asked me where I’d been. Well, I didn’t want to tell him that I’d been to buy him a present, did I? His face was nearly black with anger and he went striding off up the
field.
‘Give me some more gin, dear,’ Kyra held her cup out for a refill. ‘Then I saw him coming towards me. He’d cut himself a stick and, even though I was eighteen years old,
he whacked me something rotten on me legs and bum, because he thought I’d been making myself fair over a gorger boy.’ All the girls started laughing at this, because they all knew the
tale by now.
‘I couldn’t wait till the next morning,’ Kyra started up again with a wry smile, ‘to tell him why I’d been so long.’ Kyra had, over the years, enhanced this
story, because she loved to watch the faces of those who hadn’t heard it before.
The next day, when he got his present, Kyra’s father realised how he had misjudged her and was terribly upset. But that is Romany life. There is this strong protective instinct against
strangers, the gorger above all.
One of Mummy’s favourite stories concerned the telephone. When it comes to business, Romanies make frequent use of the phone, since this saves the time and embarrassment of trying to find
someone who can write letters. She knew of one old Romany, though, Charlie, a very eccentric old boy, who just did not believe in the telephone. He was from a very well-thought-of family, but his
wife had died, leaving behind her husband and their son Charlie Junior. The son dealt in motor cars and used to make telephone calls all over the place, finding new vehicles or looking for spare
parts. Old Charlie found it very hard to cope with his wife’s departure. They would travel with other families and, at night, old Charlie would take out his bike and go to the nearest public
house. Once, when they were travelling, old Charlie asked young Charlie, ‘What are these red boxes for?’ pointing at a phone box.
Young Charlie explained, ‘They’re telephone boxes, Dad. You put some money in and you can phone people and talk to them, even if they’re a long way away.’
Old Charlie took this with a pinch of salt. ‘Charlie, don’t you try to tell me that with that thing you can talk to someone who’s twenty miles away or more.’ So young
Charlie stopped trying to explain.
Anyway, on this particular night, after getting his fill of whisky at the pub, Old Charlie mounted his bicycle and started to pedal back to where they were camped. Unfortunately, due to his
inebriated state, he ran into a red telephone box and buckled the front wheel. He sat on the grass, trying to work out whether he could walk the distance back to the camp, knowing he wouldn’t
be able to carry the bicycle and couldn’t push it because the wheel was buckled. He sat pondering on this problem and then he looked at the box, went inside and examined the telephone. He
took a tuppenny bit from his pocket, put it into the box and said down the receiver, ‘Charlie, bring the car.’
This is where young Charlie found him when he came to look for him an hour later, worried that his father hadn’t yet come home from the public house. Charlie Senior was sound asleep.
Whether this tale is correct or not, it’s been told many times by Charlie Junior.
Charlie Junior fell in love with a girl called Lisa. She loved him too, but her parents were dead against them even talking to one another, for
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