Traveller Reflections Page
Destiny:
Irish Travellers, indeed all Travellers, seem to be especially
marked by Fate or God as a different sort of human being.
There is no escaping that conclusion with respect to me in the knowledge that I am only half a Traveller
by blood, for my parents were destined to be joined together. Theirs is a long tale about families that could not
be separated by thousands of miles or two score years of wandering, and an inevitable coming together by virtue
of impossible coincidences.
Perhaps within a longer story (see "Baby Rose and the Shajook") that tale might be told. At any rate, there are no grandchildren from their
union. If there is any higher purpose to their conjoined destinies, it must be accomplished within the span of
years allotted to my brother and myself.
The differences between Traveller and "country person" are generally obvious in lifestyle
and tradition, but otherwise subtle except for a strange thing about our minds.
Even without the language factor, a group discussion among Travellers, at least my branch, would be
incomprehensible to others. A group of eight, for example, will maintain perhaps three separate conversations.
All of them are usually conducted simultaneously. No one needs to stop talking in order to understand what anyone
and everyone else is saying and tailor his or her part of each conversation accordingly.
When we gather, there is a lot of catching up to do in a short time for a suitable gathering place
almost always borders a county line and there is ever a palpable sense of imminent departure. For the Travelling
People, flight has always been more profitable than battle when they had a choice. When one is a stranger everywhere,
there is no fallen enemy who will not be replaced by two.
Don't corner any of my family, though!
They have had no shortage of practice in extracting themselves from violent situations by whatever
means they find suitable. And, despite the limited education available to any nomads, I have never had any reason
to look down on the intelligence of my cousins. Indeed, in many circumstances, they'd be the first people I'd think
of when in need of help or advice.
Legend:
Would you believe that there is an ancient Irish legend about hi-tech weaponry.
An Irish Druid, or more exactly, the Irish equivalent of a Druid, a Draoi, named Mogh Ruith lived in the early Christian Era. That is, the Christian Era in the central Roman
world. Ireland still worshiped the Dagda and the Morrigan, his consort, and idols such as Crom Cruach or even the Sun-god, Bal. Yes, Bal was much the same god as Baal, the God of the Canaanites, and Taranis cast thunderbolts, as did Thor
or Zeus. This implies that once all of the Irish were well-traveled, doesn't it? The legend says that after mastering
all of the magical lore of Ireland, the Draoi sojourned to Italy to join forces with the Sorcerer Simon Magus. Together they created
a super-weapon, the Roth Remach,
the Rolling Wheel that travelled through the sky blinding onlookers and killing its targets with a single touch.
If that sounds like science-fiction, consider the story of Lebraid
Loingsech, an Irish king whose shameful secret was that under
his always-worn golden helmet he possessed the ears of a horse. Talk about science-fiction.
"Retreat into warp-space, Captain? I can't believe my ears."
"Frankly, Spock, I have never believed your ears."
I had an uncle with webbed toes, but it's just not the same.
I know: What does all this have to do with Travellers? Well, the toes.
. . . They were Traveller toes. They belonged to my well-loved uncle Eddie Burke (the "Little Colonel").
My family tree is a spruce instead of a chestnut:
I have to wonder about my chromosomes a little, at least once in a while.
Hatchet jobs done on the Clans by "20/20" and its ilk some time back made a great deal out
of Travellers generally marrying within the clan, and a lot of other garbage too. It is true that the children
of nomads tend to mate with other nomads, if they would stay on the road. It's not easy to find two Irish Travellers
who are not at least distantly related, and adaptation is difficult for outsiders who marry into Traveller families.
We are the one social group that I know of with the classification of double-first cousins, the relationship between
children born to siblings within one family who marry siblings within another.
It is not as though we are all first cousins though, and due respect is paid to the laws of church
and state in this regard.
In defence of intermarriage between more or less distant kin, my clan is a healthy one. I've seldom
heard of any genetic diseases within the family, and my cousins are usually bright as well as healthy. If that
isn't annoying enough to critics, they're usually good-looking too.
I'm the exception that proves the rule.
But it's not as if there are no children born that eventually fail to live up to necessary standards;
there are such children among us too. Leaving behind the rigors of the Travelling Life, they are usually quite
successful among the Country People.
Money:
Money is a funny thing.
In the American culture, -forgive the oxymoron- if you don't have any you're often treated like a
bum. Sometimes, it works the other way around as well.
A while back, there was a segment on the TV feature show, "20/20," about some Travellers,
mostly the Scottish clan. It was the same one I mentioned earlier that implied that we were all inbred. My only
comment on the journalistic bias displayed therein will be this: If it were Gays, Blacks, Indians, Hispanics or
even cartoon characters condemned en masse for the depredations of a few alleged rogue males in the herd, a humiliating
apology would have been required the following week.
Much was made about the arrest of a father and son for alleged crimes against the elderly, and the
fact that the permanent address on their driver's licenses were those of motels. I don't know the defendants or
if they're guilty or even if they are Travellers, but what the hell do you expect to find given as the permanent
address of people who don't have one? As long as they have no place to stay, you'd forbid them a license to go?
And it doesn't help if we settle down. There is a community of three thousand Irish Travellers in
the Carolinas. I won't mention the name of the village, although "20/20" did. The "Sorrys"
don't care for nosy gawkers. (The "Sorrys" is the name that was given to them years ago by my clan because
of a characteristic mode of expression; "It's sorrowful hot today" or "That's a sorry mess of trouble
you're in." You get the idea. It was not intended as an insult.) Their alleged crime on the show was to possess
nice homes. How could they possibly own nice homes if they were Travellers, unless they were super-successful crooks?
One cop claimed that there were ten thousand Traveller grifters roaming the country stealing three billion dollars
from decent people, all of them elderly. Give me a break! He makes his living tracking Travellers, as though he
were hunting Jean ValJean in "Les Miserables."
By the way, they generally got together to build those homes themselves and often several generations
of each extended family live in them, just like the Amish. But the Amish get a better press.
All of this was on the basis of three arrests of men they named as Travellers, for small time scams
or extortion. That was the unusual part. Normally, it's when they can't find the criminals at all that the Hue
and Cry of "Travellers" is heard in the land. You know what's strange? Pick out any of those other groups,
except the Amish; I'll bet you the Travellers have a lower arrest record. Not just convictions, arrests. The "Sorrys"
aren't necessarily all angels, but they are not all devils either.
The Romance of the Road:
The Clancy Brothers once put out an album with a very sentimental
song called "A Free-Born Man of the Travelling People" included in it.
Unfortunately, the Life isn't like anything you'd sing in a song. The work is still rough and open
to the elements. The campsites always turn into mud puddles when it rains.
And it seems to rain a lot.
In the old days, working bathrooms in travel trailers were non-existent, and even if they hadn't been,
sewer connections at trailer camps were also virtually absent. Water was often carried by hand in pails. -My job,
usually- Please don't confuse our homes on wheels then -our "norches"- with mobile homes, which are too large and ungainly for use on the road.
Let's just say that there was no way you could stay out of the rain for long.
Still, I remember once when we were assembled near Niagara Falls for a big wedding, hundreds, maybe
thousands of us; the days of gathering, and the quiet nights listening to the occasional wail of a locomotive across
the valley before falling asleep.
I was twelve, and it was a time of glory for me.
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