There is a warm bond of friendship between Lord Grey and Mr. and tents of a cinema company. Here dwelt the actors and actresses for a Romany film. There was nothing for it but to descend the {hill and walk into the camp. The work was in full swing. In the centre of a crowd of Romanies an old hag of a witch was gesticulating and shouting maledictions, shaking her stick and pointing a skinny finger of fate at the fair young heroine of a gipsy queen. The camera clicked. The producer, with a sheaf of manu-. script in his hand, was working feverishly as he directed the whole, sometimes using a megaphone to shout instructions, while 2 man manoeuvres a great square tin reflector, which winked and flashed sunlight on the faces of the swarthy group.
True-born gypsies, old and young, hanging about the camp; tall dramatic figures of actors and actresses in brilliant gypsy costume waiting to do their turn; the impassioned voices of the players speaking their parts; an old grandmother sitting knitting on the steps {Of a caravan with a fine Paisley Shawl over her shoulders; hobbled horses feeding quietly and dogs playing with children—it was a perjfect picture of Romany life in a mountain land of real romance which would have gladdened the heart of George Borrow Sitting on the grass in the sunshine, care-free and friendly, we talked and smoked and exchanged experiences, and the world seemed very far away.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.