The nestling and nuzzling of the gipsy hypocrites beneath the walls of the church at Kirk Yetholm, when they first landed in this country and for centuries onward, is only in accord with their first appearance in many parts of England. There can be no doubt that when the gipsies came from the Continent they came as hypocritical, religious, popish pilgrims, and succeeded well for a time in inveigling themselves into the good graces and pockets of the well-to-do English men and women, so that many of them were able to dress in scarlet and gold till they were found out, as I have shown elsewhere.
Kirk Yetholm, the gipsy town, is about half a mile from Town Yetholm.
[Picture: Gipsy Winter quarters, Yetholm]
By the time I had arrived at the gipsy quarters, owing to my loads, the deep snow, and the slippery nature of the roads in some places, I was ready for a rest.
At the entrance to the village I met a number of little half-starved, dirty, ragged gipsy children, who, to say the least, would require a deal of “straightening up” before they were ready for angelic robes. One little fellow with fine lips, but a mouth almost extending from ear to ear, accosted me in such a manner as to satisfy me that I was, without doubt, in the land of gipsydom. With the exception of the fine old church and one or two houses, the whole presented a miserable appearance. The gipsy dwellings were one story high, and of a dirty dingy white.
Leydon’s opinion of the Yetholm gipsies in his day was not very high, for he says—
“On Yeta’s banks the vagrant gipsies place Their turf-built cots. A sunburnt swarthy race, From Nubian realms their tawny line they bring, And their brown chieftain vaunts the name of king. With loitering steps from town to town they pass, Their lazy dames rock’d on the panier’d ass, From pilfer’d roots or nauseous carrion fed, By hedgerows green they strew their leafy bed; While scarce the cloak of tawdry red conceals The fine-turned limbs which every breeze reveals. Their bright black eyes through silken lashes shine, Around their necks their raven tresses twine; But chilling damps and dews of night impair Its soft sleek gloss and tan the bosom bare. Adroit the lines of palmistry to trace, Her horded silver store they charm away, A pleasing debt for promised wealth to pay.”