On Rabness

The letter in the newspaper was typically irate in inverse proportion to the gravity of the subject-matter. The national bard, quoth the correspondent, was not Rabbie Burns, he was Robert Burns, shortened if anything to Rob or Rab.

Was there ever a name so vexatious to the popular Caledonian mind than Robert? The name is supposedly Norman (as in Conquest, not in Wisdom), a source of shame in my view. To clarify, it was brought to these silly isles by the Normans but, linguistically, its origins were Anglo-Saxon. My shame grows. Joke.

I address the subject here because, every time I’ve joined a new paper, there’s been pressure to have my byline as Rab McNeil, and I’ve always been suspicious of the motivation. It’s possible that, in Scotland, people just like it. But, often, I think they’re trying to take the piss, to keep one in one’s place, and pull the old “kent yir faithir” gag.

Lord knows, I’ve tholed it often enough in the past. On my local paper, I was bylined thus for five years, having let it go at the start, as I hadn’t planned to stay. Holyrood magazine, for which I also write, bylines me similarly, and I don’t mind. Indeed, in the contents section, where subjects are given, such as Interview, Letters, News Round-up, and so on, the entry for my column just says “Rab”. Here, it’s clearly affectionate (I hope!).

No, I don’t get het-up about these things. When they’re done, they’re done, and many journos or writers know that curious feeling where you feel divorced from your name in print anyway. It’s as if neither the name nor the article has anything to do with you, however you are bylined, and this is particularly so where you write in character – as happens even in news (when did you ever hear a reporter down the pub “launching a bid” for a drink?). God knows, I’ve tholed for years the most appalling picture by-lines in newspaper history without saying a word.

But why should Rab be so controversial, such a done-down name? Well, I suppose it’s a contender for national name of Scotland, like Paddy in Ireland or Dai in Wales, which similarly come with titters. Interestingly, there’s no equivalent for England, except maybe Nigel or Cecil to delineate poshness. Mock Rab and you mock Scottishness – now almost a worldwide pastime (see The Simpsons etc).

As for whether Rab, Rob, or Rabbie is technically correct, I cannot say. Rob is obviously the most natural shortening, though in Scotland it tends to reek of attempts at anglicisation. It would take an expert in the guid Scots tongue to explain to me why Robert was ever shortened to Rab. After all, the full name was never Rabert. Or was it? The first Google search result is from thinkbabynames.com, and says:

“The boy’s name Robert is pronounced RAH-bert [their emphasis]. It is of Old German origin … Especially favoured by the Scots, due to 14th century King Robert the Bruce and to poet Robert Burns.”

I don’t suppose thinkbabynames.com is the most authoritative anthroponomastical source, so let’s try – what else? – Wikipedia, which says the Old German constituent parts are “hrod” (meaning “knob”) and “beraht” (meaning “massive”). Leaving aside my arguably dodgy translations, that looks like Rodbert, which became Robert in Old French. So, the “o’s” have it, as far as that first tricky vowel is concerned.

Still, it’s fair to say that, originally, I Rabbed myself – much to my Maw’s horror – and, as a reporter, used the name,when phoning top people and whatnot. It was like saying it was Fingers McNeil calling. Or: “Hello, my name’s Mr Thug. May I speak to the Prime Minister?”

One notorious Craven Scotchman in my ken always pronounces it “RRRRRRRRRab”, embarrassed as he is by any signs of Scotticisms. And it’s good to stand proud against such people and hope that, one day, if ever Scotia is independent and free, the name will become normalised again.

I also like it when I get to ken people online and they start to call me Rab. Online Rabists tend to be supporters, often bravely battling the malevolent psychopaths and unlettered dimwits who haunt comment sections. As for the newspaper letter-writer’s denial of Rabbie, I’m not so sure. My favourite kids in the world spontaneously called me Rabbie, before they were of an age to read Burns.

In the meantime, I’m keeping my moniker a movable feast. Luckily, I can tell when someone is deploying “Rab” to take the piss, and I tell them: “No, it’s Robert.” And, often, when folk call me Robert, I’ll say: “No, it’s Rab.” Or Robbie, but not Rob. Thrawn, you see? That’s us Berts.

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