I was surprised to discover that Ireland still has gypsies. Growing up in the States, I had the understanding the caravan days of fortune tellers and gypsy violinists were long passed into fable.
This is not so in Ireland. Estimated numbers today that I've heard vary from 10,000 to 50,000 members in Ireland's Traveling Community--- in any case, about a dozen Winnebagos full were stretched out along the shoulder of the road, one night last week.
This one neighbourhood chick I met at the pub was not too happy. All is apparently not fortune telling and violin dancing, in reality. She told a story of the ungrateful Traveler child who had been in her class, one year in school, then she told a story about the Travelers and her mother. "They go around the neighborhood, pairs of them, ringing on doors. 'Give us a tenner for this carpet here, won't you Missus? Give us a tenner!' The gear they flog is good enough quality at least. My mother likes bargaining with them, 'Ah, that old thing, why that'll fall apart inside a week, it's not worth three pounds even!' - 'Oh, common Missus, we'll give it ye for eight!' Well, she bought one carpet off them about ten years ago and now they always come by our door. I suppose they have us marked."
They have a bad reputation like that. People call them Tinkers or Knackers. I've heard fears expressed that you will be stabbed if you walk down a street in a poorer area where they have set up camp. These stretches of roadside certainly look trashed and dangerous-- burnt-out cars, laundry hung out on park fences, broken glass in profusion. All the jokes that circulate North America about West Virginians you hear in Eire with Travelers as the butts. "--- then Daddy, when we were changing for Sport, I noticed my Johnson was three times as big as any other 3rd Graders. Is that because I'm a Traveler, too?" - "No, son, that's because you're seventeen!" All those.
I've had little personal contact with the Travelers here. One chick I was working with, mates said in a pub, was a Traveller. She was, indeed, slightly dusky, with very long brown hair and that rough, sore-throat voice. She was a nice enough girl. The only other I have seen were old ladies who came begging. "Give us some milk fur the babby, milk fur the babby-" (They wanted money, not milk.)
I understand many of these itinerants live in poverty- inadequate facilities and opportunities. Education is reported to be very poor, normal jobs are very difficult to find, and domestic violence is commonplace. Gabriel Byrne's movie Into the West portrays contemporary Traveller life... the children accused of the crime they did not commit are Travellers. Not a bad flick.
The caravans up my road vanished just as suddenly a few days after they arrived. They left our stretch of road clean anyway. Wherever they've gone, I wish them the best.
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