THE WANDERING GYPSIES

I DON'T KNOW THE REASON WHY, but lately an image of an 
episode in my childhood keeps appearing in my mind. 

Our house, besides a few others, stood in the middle of a pine 
wood. Mostly I played in our back garden. This particular day I 
wanted to investigate a blue tit's nest in our evergreen tree 
standing in front of our sitting room window at the front of the 
house.

From inside we could watch the birds feeding their young. 
Outside, looking up on the tree, I realised that the nest was too 
far up to be able to see inside it.

I decided not to disturb the birds and was on my way back to 
play, when I heard voices and saw a strange procession coming 
along the dusty lane passing our house.

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What a strange sight it was. They were Gypsies. I always 
thought that Gypsies owned lovely painted wagons and horses.  
But these people, a man, two women, two children and a black 
man possessed nothing else but a handcart they pulled along.

I still remember the man wearing rust brown trousers. The 
black man walked barefoot and had a multi coloured blanket 
wrapped round him, so that one of the corners of his blanket 
was sweeping the ground behind him. The women and also the 
children wore long skirts gypsy fashion.

After they passed our gate, I followed them until they reached 
the the edge of the wood by some cottages. There they followed 
a path, which led into the wood.

                                    ###            

Well away from the lane they started to unload their cart. I was 
fascinated to see all the different layers of blankets and clothing 
being lifted out. Suddenly a violin appeared. The Gypsy picked 
it up and immediately started to play. And how he could play...  
If ever anyone heard Hungarian music before, he would be enchanted.  
From joyful to melancholical tunes the music 
echoed through the wood. I stood by them, and as young as I 
was, nine or ten years old, this music touched me so much that I 
felt a wonderful feeling inside me. I have heard people say that 
music can play on ones heart strings. I knew now what they mean.

At that time radio had just found its way to our home, and 
music was really special to me.

While the Gypsy created these magical tunes, the black man 
started shaking a tambourin and danced the African way. He 
still wore the blanket and shuffled his feet to the rhythm of the 
sound. I thought this was a marvellous adventure.

                                    ###

Now I had another surprise and my eyes must have even 
opened more by the minute. The women were still taking things 
out of the cart and lo and behold out came a fully grown goat not 
looking worse for her ordeal. She started grazing at once and 
seemed not a bit upset. I wondered why she had not been 
suffocated underneath all the clothing and blankets.

The man kept playing for a while and suddenly I thought that I 
should go home before mother would start to search for me. 
When I told her where I had been, she said that I must not do 
this again. She explained that sometimes children had been 
kidnapped. I did not believe it then, but I heard later from others 
that it had really happened now and again.

Remembering the scenery in the wood, it would have made a 
wonderful oil painting: the Gypsy playing his violin, the black 
man dancing, the women unpacking their cart, the children 
playing, the goat grazing and myself staring in wonder at this 
unusual display of humanity.