World Wide Words -- 02 Jul 11
Michael Quinion
wordseditor at WORLDWIDEWORDS.ORG
Fri Jul 1 14:25:30 UTC 2011
WORLD WIDE WORDS ISSUE 743 Saturday 2 July 2011
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Author/editor: Michael Quinion US advisory editor: Julane Marx
Website: http://www.worldwidewords.org ISSN 1470-1448
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Contents
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1. Feedback, notes and comments.
2. Article: Of thimbleriggers and joculators.
A. Subscription information.
B. E-mail contact addresses.
C. Ways to support World Wide Words.
1. Feedback, notes and comments
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HOLIDAY BREAK My month's break is almost over. Normal service will
be resumed next Saturday, 9 July. This week, I'm reprinting the
last of four revised versions of pieces that first appeared in my
book Gallimaufry.
2. Article: Of thimbleriggers and joculators
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One especially widespread entertainment in Victorian London was
gambling. It took place anywhere that people gathered - in markets,
fairgrounds, racecourses, pubs, or in the street. Those in charge
of them usually had some way of diverting a mug from his money by
less than honest means.
One gambling game required a leather belt, garter or string tied
into an endless loop. The man in charge twisted it into a figure-
of-eight formation and asked someone to put a finger into one of
the loops thus made. If the string snagged on his finger when the
string was pulled away, he won. The trick was that there were two
ways to make the figure-of-eight. In one, the game was genuine,
with one loop snagging and the other not; in the other, neither
did, and the victim always lost. In Britain, from the eighteenth
century onwards, it was sometimes called pin and girdle, more often
prick the garter, but it had been known from the sixteenth century
and after as fast and loose, using "fast" in its sense of something
fixed or immovable. The expression "to play fast and loose" had
become an idiom before 1557, the date of its first recorded use. It
was an obvious progression from the nature of the game to a sense
of dishonestly or irresponsibly trifling with another's affections.
Another gambling game was thimblerig, also known as pea and
thimbles (as the shell game in North America, perhaps because the
game was at times played with half walnut shells in place of
thimbles) in which you had to guess under which of three thimbles a
pea was hidden:
All races, fairs, and other such conglomerations of
those whom Heaven had blessed with more money than wit,
used to be frequented by minor members of 'The Fancy,'
who are technically called "flat-catchers", and who
picked up a very pretty living by a quick hand, a
rattling tongue, a deal board, three thimbles, and a
pepper-corn. The game they played with these three
curious articles is a sort of Lilliputian game at cups
and balls; and the beauty of it lies in dexterously
seeming to place the pepper-corn under one particular
thimble, getting a "green" to bet that it was there, and
then winning his money by showing that it is not. Every
operator at the game was attended by certain of his
friends called "eggers" and "bonnetters" - the eggers to
"egg" on the green ones to bet, by betting themselves;
and the bonnetters to "bonnet" any green one who might
happen to win - that is to say, to knock his hat over his
eyes, whilst the operator and the others bolted with the
stakes.
[The Gaming Table: Its Votaries and Victims, by Andrew
Steinmetz, 1870. Cups and balls was the larger-scale
version of thimblerig. Green here means a naive player; a
flat-catcher caught flats, Victorian slang for a mug or
sucker, so named because he was the opposite of sharp.
The sharp ones, or sharpers, were in charge of the games
- in this case, he might be called a thimblerigger. The
thimblerigger used sleight-of-hand to ensure that the
peppercorn was not where it seemed to be when the punter
came to make his choice.]
A common name for this type of swindler or confidence trickster was
magsman, from "mag", a slang term for a chatterbox, good verbal
skills being a vital part of the technique (it may derive from
"magpie", a noisy, chattering bird).
Another gambling game was spin-em-rounds, usually played in the
street; it was mentioned by Henry Mayhew in his London Life and the
London Poor of 1851. Another name for it was wheel-of-fortune, in
earlier times the name for the drum in which lottery tickets were
spun before drawing. A slang dictionary of 1859 described it as
a street game consisting of a piece of brass, wood, or
iron, balanced on a pin and turned quickly around on a
board, when the point, arrow shaped, stops at a number
and decides the bet one way or the other. The contrivance
very much resembles a sea compass, and was formerly the
gambling accompaniment of London piemen. The apparatus
was then erected on the tin lids of their pie cans, and
the bets were ostensibly for pies, but more frequently
for "coppers," when no policeman frowned upon the scene,
and when two or three apprentices or porters happened to
meet.
[A Dictionary of Modern Slang, Cant, and Vulgar Words,
by John Camden Hotten, 1859. "Coppers" here referred to
the copper coins of small change; since Mr Hotten was
staid in his writing, I suspect that he wasn't making a
pun on "copper" in the sense of a policeman, so called
because he "copped" criminals, or more prosaically caught
them.]
The opportunity for cheating might seem less here, but, taking a
line through crooked roulette wheels, there was no doubt much
advantage to be got by a clever person in charge.
A game called three-up was also described by Mayhew. It was usually
played in pubs:
"Three-up" is played fairly among the costermongers;
but is most frequently resorted to when strangers are
present to "make a pitch", - which is, in plain words, to
cheat any stranger who is rash enough to bet upon them.
"This is the way, sir," said an adept to me; "bless you,
I can make them fall as I please. If I'm playing with Jo,
and a stranger bets with Jo, why, of course, I make Jo
win." This adept illustrated his skill to me by throwing
up three halfpennies, and, five times out of six, they
fell upon the floor, whether he threw them nearly to the
ceiling or merely to his shoulder, all heads or all
tails. The halfpence were the proper current coins -
indeed, they were my own; and the result is gained by a
peculiar position of the coins on the fingers, and a
peculiar jerk in the throwing."
[London Labour and the London Poor, by Henry Mayhew,
1851.]
The most famous of such crooked games is find the lady or the
three-card trick, which is still widely played. Three playing
cards, one of which is often the Queen of Hearts (hence one name
for the game) or a king (sometimes known as "the gentleman") were
shown face up and then laid face down and rapidly moved about by
the sharper. Somehow the mark never found the vital card. One way
to disguise the final position was to collect the three cards in an
open stack between the joints of thumb and second finger. With some
practice, the dealer could release whichever card he wanted as he
flicked your hand across the table and so confuse even someone
watching closely. The game is often called three-card monte in
North America, a name taken from "monte", a Spanish game using 45
playing cards, which was once common in Mexico and California.
Such gambling games existed alongside street entertainers of many
kinds, singers, hurdy-gurdy players, joculators (an elevated term
for a jester or minstrel, from Latin "joculatorem", a jester),
engastrimyths (a ventriloquist, another highfalutin term, from
Greek "gaster", belly, and "muthos", speech, an exact translation
of the Latin "ventriloquist"), plus blind fiddlers, dancing dogs
and performers of strange and exotic feats of strength and
endurance.
Street entertainment in London at the end of the nineteenth century
was recalled by a writer many years later:
At one point you would find a Highlander (probably
from Camden Town) with bagpipes, and a lady partner doing
the sword dance. A few yards away a man and woman doing a
thought-reading act. Then a trained horse spelling "corn"
and "hay" from lettered cards. ... Then a one-man band -
a man who carried and worked with mouth and with
different limbs, a big drum, a triangle, Pan-pipes,
cymbals, and concertina. Then a contortionist and
escapist being roped and manacled. Then a weight-lifter;
an Italian woman with a cage of fortune-telling
budgerigars; a tattooed sailor advertising a tattooist -
in short, a small Bartholomew Fair every Saturday night,
and a gusto to it which is, or seems to be, absent even
from the Bank Holiday Fairs of to-day."
[London in my Time, by Thomas Burke, 1934. Bartholomew
Fair had once been one of London's most important summer
fairs, trading in cloth and other goods as well as
providing entertainment. It was suppressed in 1855 for
encouraging debauchery and public disorder.]
He might also have mentioned the hokey-pokey man, who sold ice-
cream on the street, with his cry of "Hokey-pokey, a penny a
lump!", whose name may be from "hocus-pocus", though some have
pointed instead to the Italian "O che poco!", "Oh, how little!"
Incidentally, the dance called the Hokey-Cokey ("You do the Hokey-
Cokey and you turn around / That's what it's all about", in the
version I know best) was originally the "Hokey-Pokey" (as it still
is in North America) or perhaps the "Hokee-Pokee", definitely from
"hocus-pocus". Other foods were sold by the muffin-man, who in the
winter usually sold crumpets instead, and the orange-girls of
street and theatre, of whom Nell Gwyn is the most famous.
A journalist asked a workhouse master about the performers fallen
on bad times who came through his doors:
I really believe we might give a very decent
entertainment to our old people, if it was the time for
their annual treat, without hiring a single professional
from outside. We have at present in the house two
families of acrobats, a sword-swallower, the fellow that
eats burning tow with a fork [and] the black man who
throws the half-hundred weight.
[Mysteries of Modern London, James Greenwood, 1883.
Tow is a bundle of untwisted fibres.]
It occurred to the workhouse master with some surprise that he had
never entered a Punch-and-Judy man on the parish books, which he
suggested was remarkable, considering that for more than a quarter
of a century Punch had been supposed to be on his last legs. What
had vanished, he commented, was the gallanty show (possibly from
the Italian "galante", courteous or honourable, which also gave us
"gallant"). Punch-and-Judy men of a previous generation had found
it to be a good way of earning money after dark. It was a shadow-
puppet show, using silhouette figures projected on a white sheet
stretched across the front of the booth, with a lantern or candles
behind.
Another common public entertainment in towns and cities was the
theatre or music-hall. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries,
any cheap playhouse was a gaff (from Romany "gav", a town, which
could also mean a fair or exhibition). The very cheapest sort, the
lowest-life relative of the music-hall, was the penny-gaff, from
the price of admission, mostly patronised by young people. Every
social investigator who described such places was appalled by them:
The true penny gaff is the place where juvenile
Poverty meets juvenile Crime. We elbowed our way into
one, that was the foulest, dingiest place of public
entertainment I can conceive. ... The odour, the
atmosphere, to begin with, is indescribable. The rows of
brazen young faces are terrible to look upon. It is
impossible to be angry with their sauciness, or to resent
the leers and grimaces that are directed upon us as
unwelcome intruders. Some have the aspect of wild cats.
The lynx at bay, has not a crueller glance than some I
caught from almost baby faces.
[London: A Pilgrimage, by Blanchard Jerrold, 1872.]
A cheap theatre that presented lurid melodrama was given the slang
name of blood-tub, from the vessel into which an animal's blood was
drained after slaughtering:
"I'd no idea there was a theatre in Bursley," she
remarked idly, driven into a banality by the press of her
sensations. "They used to call it the Blood Tub," he
replied. "Melodrama and murder and gore - you know."
[Hilda Lessways, by Arnold Bennett, 1911.]
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