Open Writing

A nurse called out, 'Mr Barratt', and I took no notice. Over the previous half hour, people had been called in to see various specialists. Their sadly nervous faces became apprehensive as they rose to follow a nurse into the bowels of the consulting rooms. I was waiting to have an angiogram of my heart. And I ignored the nurse.

She had called out, 'Mr Barr-ATT' and that is not how you pronounce my name. When she called a second time, I looked over at her and enquired, 'BA-rratt?' Yes, that's what she really meant. It's strange how names are mispronounced. Her confusion probably arose from Barnett, which always had the stress on the first syllable. It now has stress on the second syllable and has become Bar-NETT. Fifty-five years ago, one of my teachers was Mr Rendell, clearly enunciated as REN-dell. Now I hear people on telly talking about a novelist named Ruth Ren-DELL.

One of my pals at school was Colin and we said it with a short 'o' sound. In recent years, I've heard of a Mr Powell whose first name, Colin, is spoken with a long 'o', rather like Coal-in. I suppose his nickname, if he has one, is Coal or Cole rather than Col.

We accumulate nicknames over the years, don't we? At infant school in the 1940's, I was Carrot. No, I don't have red hair. My pal Philip decided Carrot rhymed with Barratt, and that was that. Phil was a good lad, and I was delighted to rediscover him via the Internet. He's an excellent letter-writer too, which is rare in these days of non-reciprocal four-sentence e-mails.

At grammar school I became Bishop, because of my interests, little intellectual that I was. Thirty years ago, I had a boss who shortened or adapted everyone's name. It's an Australian habit. Richard was Dick. Robert was Bob. Ross was Rosco. He was stuck when he came to Brian, so opted for Bri-Bri. Yuk!

I'm sometimes Barry. You know what it's like — some bright young thing at the other end of the telephone asks for your name. 'Brian Barratt'. She responds ever so sincerely, 'Hello Barry'. Surely I'm not mumbling? After all, people used to say what clear mellifluous delivery I had on radio.

Spelling can be a bit of a problem, too. Barratt can turn out as Barrett and Barrott. To one of my teachers at grammar school I was Barritt. Not only was he unable to spell but he was also a sadist, bashing our heads against the wall when he was angry, which was not infrequent. After one term of this, we saw him no more.

I sometimes wonder how many people realise that the name of my website, The Brain Rummager, includes a play on words using my first name. The website is about creative thinking and writing, the meaning and usage of words, and word histories. There are sections on editing, too. And this is where I have to confess to an embarrassing oversight.

An educational consultant with connections to a well known and respected university wrote the Preface to one of my books. She referred to the challenge of providing appropriate material for gifted children, and 'Brian Barratt has accepted the challenge'. The manuscript was read and accepted by the publisher. It was industriously corrected by an excellent editor. I worked on her corrections. She read the page proofs. I read the page proofs. She made the final corrections. And, in due course, the first copy of the book arrived. What hit me in the face? 'Brain Barratt has accepted the challenge.' So I became Brain Barratt.

Five years ago, I had another angiogram (it's one of my hobbies). This time, my brain was being investigated. A week before that, it was subject to a CT scan but then they wanted to see it in 3-D and glorious technicolor. I can't remember if the nurse said, 'We've scanned your brain, and there's nothing there'. However, the large packet containing the results on film is labelled, in part, 'CT orbit with or without brain'. With or without? I can cope with the name changes but I do wish people would be more careful where they put my brain.

© Copyright Brian Barratt 2008