I have always enjoyed nicknames, as do most people, as long
as they are good-natured and in no way malicious or insulting. The kind I mean
are those encountered on the matchless pages of P G Wodehouse – Pongo Twistleton, Tuppy Glossop, Bingo Little
or Catsmeat Potter-Pirbright, usually
denizens of the Drones Club, members of Bertie Wooster’s social circle, and “up
to a lark as a rule” in Betjeman’s phrase. Somehow their names are appropriate
to their genial adventures in love and confrontations with an array of
formidable aunts.
These names are, alas, fictional and when harsh reality
butts in, the good-natured nickname tends to fade away. History has a full
house of nicknames. The Emperor Gaius Caligula
(Little Boot) acquired his nickname as a young boy, but he grew up to be a very
naughty boy indeed, and so atrocious were his atrocities that the moment he
shuffled off this mortal coil had to be accelerated by his Praetorian Guard in
41 AD.
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| Malcolm McDowell as manic Caligula |
At least the church hierarch St John Chrysostom
(Golden-mouthed) had a complimentary nickname in honour of his alleged
eloquence, but his talent was often used in anathematising Jews and alleged
heretics. On his death in 407 AD he left behind hundreds of homilies and many
treatises. These, together with his ascetic lifestyle, make it unlikely that St
John, despite his nickname, was a fun person to my shallow tastes and indeed
all the furiously disputing early church fathers were a rum bunch, getting into
a lather about Arianism, Homoousios and the True Essence, when they should have
been taking a relaxing dip in the Med.
The Byzantine historians dished out nicknames, often
posthumously. Justinian II The Slit-Nosed
earned his moniker by being restored to the throne after suffering the
unlovely Byzantine custom of mutilation by his enemies. Later Leo The Iconoclast started a controversy
that bedevilled the Empire for over a century. His even more enthusiastically
iconoclastic son Constantine V Copronymos
(The Dung-Named) allegedly excreted into his baptismal font, but this is
perhaps a later libel spread by the iconodule faction, who revered icons.
Iconoclasm finally ended in the reign of Michael III The Drunkard and emperors turned to more conventional activities
like Basil II The Bulgar-Slayer, who
restored the empire’s fortunes for many generations and cruelly suppressed the
vulgar Bulgars, once taking 15,000 prisoners and blinding 99 out of every 100.
Charming!
 |
| Basil the Bulgar-Slayer |
Further west the nicknamed flourished. The Norsemen were
particularly fond of them and with the likes of Thorfinn Skull-Splitter on the rampage, I have much sympathy for sad
Ethelred The Unready, caught on the
hop by the axe-wielding horde. I believe it is an Icelandic saga which sings of
Herjolf Hrokkineista (Wrinkled-Scrotum),
whose best long-boat days were probably behind him, and whose little secret evinces
wry recognition from many males of a certain age. Rather later Edward I Longshanks was far from lovable, especially towards the Scots – his
unlucky son got the comeuppance his father deserved at Bannockburn in 1314.
The 18th century gives us Turnip Townsend, the inventor of 4-crop field rotation, then usually
wheat, barley, turnips and clover which greatly enhanced the productivity of
British agriculture. This useful
comestible was put to less agreeable work when the red-top press unfairly
vilified England football manager Graham Taylor with the sobriquet Turnip-Head after a run of dud results,
complete with a mock-up misshapen face and sprouting ears. We Scots enjoy
turnips too, with haggis, bashed neeps and tatties a Burns supper staple as
someone recites hilarious Holy Willie’s
Prayer.
 |
| Oscar and Bosie |
Late Victorian sensibilities were offended by Lord Alfred Bosie Douglas, a nursery nickname,
though Nanny would certainly not have approved of his louche lifestyle -the notorious liaison with Oscar being one of the
more respectable. In our own time Boofy
Gore, 8th Earl of Arran, was a newspaper columnist who crusaded in
the Lords with bills to reduce the age of homosexual consent and to stop the
culling of badgers. On his deathbed he said “I could never understand why my buggers’
bill got overwhelming support in the House and my badgers’ bill hardly any” A
friend remarked “Boofy, is it possible that there are not many badgers in the
House of Lords?”
The current crop of nicknames would include John Two-Jags Prescott, once deputy prime
minister but reduced now to displaying his boxing skills in a TV commercial for
car insurance. Fred The Shred
Goodwin, erstwhile infallible master of RBS, now keeps a low profile after
running his bank and his own career into the ground and no doubt many other
careers too on the way down.
I return to memories of boarding school nicknames and most
were genial enough. I recall Busters,
Barrels and Beefers (usually the better-upholstered), a Stinker – indicating caddishness rather
than malodorousness- Shorty, someone
tall, or Speedy. Masters acquired
names like Bonkers and the more
etymologically obscure Zeep or The Oincks. I do cringe at the
occasional prep-school cruelty. I recall an entirely inoffensive
muddy-complexioned 9-year old. This hapless lad was known ignominiously as Fart.
SMD
9.8.11 and 1.8.15
Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2011 and 2015
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