How do people react to unexpectedly finding gypsies in their family tree?

This subject came up in a round about way on a Romany forum and despite there being many differing views on a very long thread, it was answered politely, without offence being given or taken. However, it is still a bit of a tricky subject to discuss openly and I got the feeling from the thread that there was a certain element of “walking on eggshells” among the comments.

In the end, it was decided that it came down mainly to four different views: those who relish the concept of gypsy ancestors; those who are appalled by the idea; those who dutifully research their gypsy ancestors but keep quiet about it and those who joyfully “adopt” a gypsy bloodline (without any real evidence) because they come across a line of gypsy “names” in the family tree and decide that Romany means exotic and feisty black-eyed women in flowing skirts; handsome, mysterious and sun tanned men, all happily residing in beautiful, colourfully painted caravans with interiors full of polished brass and red velvet cushions. Not forgetting the chunky, long-maned piebald horse, and nightly sing-songs around the camp fire to the accompaniment of guitars and accordians. The reality of course, was rather different.

Names such as Cooper, Lee, Boswell, James, Scamp, Smith, Doe and Draper among others could be, but not necessarily are, of Romany origin. Obviously, not every Cooper or Smith in the country is related to gypsies!!

Having “unexpectedly” discovered not one, but two Romany lines among my ancestors, I can say that it came as a monumental shock and I spent a great deal of time checking and double-checking the accuracy, and honestly, I’ve no idea if I was actually hoping to prove, or disprove the information.

It started with my maternal great grandmother, Annie James, whose father Benjamin James, had three-decade census information where he was born in Churchill, Oxfordshire, then Middlesex, then “not known”. I was new to genealogy at the time and I was mystified as to the geographically wide variation in answers to what seemed to be a very simple question! I recall Merry on GR doing much to try to help me sort this out, without success. Benjamin was a chimney sweep, and his marriage certificate named his father as Samuel James, brazier. So far, so ordinary.

A quick google of the names brought only one result – on Romany Roots website, but as the website itself points out – not every name on it is Romany – it is just a possibility. As I was already researching an “almost perfect fit” family that I’d found in east London, I was certain that their inclusion on Romany Roots was one of those impossible possibilities.

A long time later, while in genealogical conversation with an elderly aunt, I mentioned my research of the James family and in between asking me if I wanted another cup of tea and wasn’t the weather bad for the time of year, aunt casually threw in the line, “they were gypsies you know”.

Well that told me! I was immediately taken back donkeys’ years to when I was at high school and had started doing genetics in science. My gran, who was Benjamin James’s granddaughter had very dark eyes and, in her youth, jet black hair. Her second son was so dark-skinned, he looked Mediterranean or Middle Eastern and I remember asking her about this colouring – where in the family had it originated. I can’t remember exactly what she said, but she definitely didn’t mention anything about gypsies. But if aunt knew (who was gran’s daughter in law), then gran knew. Presumably not something she was going to boast about then.

Anyway, this opened up a whole new genealogical world for me and one that I entered with a great deal of trepidation. It seems weird that initially, I was more disconcerted about having gypsy ancestors than having criminal ancestors, as if being a gypsy was a greater canker on the family tree than being transported for horse theft! But my heart did sink a little when I found one of my families described on census as “tramps”. The shame of it ;)

The James family that I had been erroneously researching were swiftly dumped and I began the painstaking research into families whose inclusion on censuses were purely a matter of luck – my good luck and their bad luck as it seems they were generally not delighted about being “found” by enumerators. Another piece of good luck was that census day was invariably close to Derby Day, one of the most important dates in the Romany calendar, when countless Romany families would converge in or near Epsom in Surrey and within enumerator range. But even if they did turn up on census, they did not consider it necessary to employ honesty! Some chose to call themselves whatever they fancied calling themselves on the day and some seemed to have an entire selection of Christian names, and a reserve surname or two anyway. Whose children belonged to which family was another area of indifference and I have spent hours untangling census sons and daughters who turned out to be nieces, nephews or neighbours’ children who were presumably within sight at census time. They neither knew nor cared where they were born, and their ages could vary by a decade from one census to the next. Though they were fairly reliable about getting married and having their children baptised, births were rarely registered, so it has been an uphill struggle over many years just to collect barely 50 certain gypsy ancestors and I still have crater-sized holes in those families that are unlikely ever to be filled.

I was fairly lucky with my direct line of James. They didn’t live in vardos (see – I’ve even got the lingo!) and though their census information was vague, at least they were there to be found. But the line stopped with 3xgreat grandfather Samuel. I know his father was called Robert and his mother was Eleanor Arch, but that is all I know and Samuel was (probably) the eldest of at least 5 wayward brothers, who appear and disappear at will, and one, Henry James, may have been the major protagonist in the Headley Riots. The family and their descendants marry into the Ayres, the Smiths and Drapers and adopt (in my lot) such characteristic and colourful gypsy names such as Charity, Vertina, Alienda, Elandia, Rosella, Veverly and Lavinia. (Was this how gran’s sister acquired the name Malvina? I’d wondered about that anomaly for years!) Of course, unusual names are no help on census when no-one knew how to spell them.

Just to make life even more interesting, I then discovered that one of gran’s nieces – the daughter of another of her sisters, married one Albert James Cooper, great grandson of the highly regarded (in gypsy circles) Matthias Cooper who is generally regarded as Romany Royalty on account of Matthias and his family’s relationship with Queen Victoria. Two distinct Romany lines coming together in gran’s family. Coincidence?? As yet I’ve no idea, but probably not.

I have very little family left with whom to mull over these findings. My parents and grandparents are all dead, but I strongly suspect my mother would have denied their existence in much the same way as her mother did. (Members of the Romany forum cited examples of how they had informed contacts that a line in their family trees was gypsy, only to see the offending line instantly erased from that tree and all contact with the informant dropped!)

Elderly aunt is not impressed either and shudders when I broach the subject, while younger aunt – gran’s youngest daughter – with a wilful streak, a penchant for colourful hippie clothes , excessive jewellery and wild hair – was surprised, but not remotely displeased! My children are wary and disinclined to discuss it, and husband just thinks it’s highly amusing and teases me relentlessly – as I teased him when I discovered that so many of his early ancestors were transported that his DNA must be in half the population of Australia.

I find myself constantly justifying my gypsies’ existence by pointing out that the true Romany life of yesteryear in a horse-drawn barrel caravan bears no resemblance to and has no connection with the “travellers” of today, with their illegal camps and fly-tipping. It was a different way of life for a different race of people back then, and despite its romantic image, undeniably hard. I also find myself looking for evidence of Romany traits in the family. Gran’s colouring was an obvious one, and not inherited by my mother or myself; both of us being fair like my grandfather, though my mother had brown eyes. I wonder if our love of animals, colour and craft, or our innate restlessness is Romany orientated, and our inability to stay indoors for any length of time without becoming stir crazy. But that is just me “romancing the genes”.

I ventured onto the Romany Heritage with trepidation, feeling like a bit of a fake; an unwanted intruder into a world that I didn’t quite get. Every other sentence would begin apologetically with, “I’m not a gypsy, but ..........” only to realise that genetically, Romany Rules and if you have even a drop of true Romany blood, you are considered to be wholly “Rom” and are welcomed with open arms. It has also turned out to be one of the most intelligent, non-confrontational and friendliest forums I have encountered.

Now I have become accustomed to the idea, and I have learnt much about their lives, I am delighted to have Romany ancestors; to be considered truly “Rom”. A bit of a mad bunch of ancestors, but they have added a welcome splash of unconventional colour, misdeeds and interest to the family tree and they stand out like curious but shining beacons in amongst a plethora of agri labs and other more mundane personalities.