The name for the boy!

There was a spider spinning its web in a dusty corner of the ceiling of a hospital waiting room, somewhere, some place in the world one day. Not having the vision of a human being, let’s imagine the spider looks down, his arachnid attention would be drawn most certainly to the shiny bald head of Mr. McCreath, Walter Bannockburn Burns McCreath. A bald head from above looks entirely different, and this one shone like polished alabaster, a reddish peach alabaster. It shone like a beacon and reflected the ceiling’s neon lights; it was easy to see the reflection, a small white oblong patch amongst the shiny peachy red. Then the spider would see a different head next to the shiny bald pate; this head had hair, and it was permed. From above it looked like a bird’s nest, black in colour with greyish tints. It looked tired and dry. No artificial coloring, natural but aging; this was the head of Mrs. McCreath; Morag Alba McCreath. On the left-hand side at right angles were two other heads of Barnet fair - hair. One of the heads was owned by a man, his hair was losing its youthful luster, tired looking, uncombed, the beginnings of what would appear to be a bald patch on the crown. This was the head of Mr. Sibley, Ray Sibley. Next to the head of this man with the thinning bald patch, was the head of his wife, Mrs. Sibley, Joyce Sibley, her hair was long, straggly, not combed, blown by the wind, probably before entering the waiting room of the spider spinning its web, out of sight, and out of reach of the cleaner’s brush.

If the spider was a sensitive soul, he would sense the tension in the room. Tension is a funny thing, it doesn’t stay in an inhibited and stressful state inside the vessel of a human body, it seems to come out in spurts. Maybe, steam from the ears, like an old kettle boiling on the stove. Sometimes, it is ejected with a small cough to clear a dry throat, because of the dehydration or loss of water coming out of the ears. Tension comes out in twitches as well, twitches of the face, twitches of the limbs. We aren’t sure if the spider, nonchalantly spinning his web, could see all the tension. Maybe, his tiny spider eyes can see tension in the form of a colour, like the colours of a kaleidoscope or it might have an attached smell, or an associated taste, in the little spider world of senses. They say you could cut the air in the room with a knife, an interesting expression for tension. If the tension comes from these four people sitting in the room, there is no reason why it doesn’t have substance. Perhaps, one day a machine will be invented that measures tension, with its own scale and measurement. In the waiting room, that day the tension was astronomically high; whatever scale one used.

Let’s introduce the four heads, by introducing them as couples. From the spider’s view high above on the ceiling, there were more chairs than heads; that’s if he was clever and could count. In that case, the spider would count four empty chairs separating the two pairs of heads, the two pairs of separated heads occupied another four chairs in total. It was all very symmetrical, which knowing the infamous architect of webs, the most elaborate radial symmetry in the natural world, the spider would no doubt approve.

The McCreath’s were conservative Scots from Dundee, or as they would say “Tae Vallee”. Walter was a bank manager, in a local town branch in the “Tae Vallee”. Morag worked as a part-time kindergarten teacher. They were staunch Scots, with the pride of Scotland written like seaside rock candy in every bone in their body. “Gawd’s countree” was the punctuation used often to finish a sentence, especially when the subject matter was about Scotland.

Walter McCreath would say, the McCreath clan had lived in the highlands before Bonnie Prince Charles was a “bairn”, meaning a baby. Morag would pucker her lips and take Walter’s arm as a sign, with an unspoken look of admiration written all over her bonny face; “this is my man, a McCreath man”. It’s called Scottish pride; they were born with it, it’s in the water, and their bones. Now if the onlooking spider had X-ray vision, as well as the ability to measure tension, it would add up to nothing but an innocuous observation from a member of the Araneidae family going about its everyday business spinning a perfect radial symmetrical web to capture a tasty meal.

On the other hand, the Sibley’s were from Clacton-on-Sea. Their politics: if they had any, were planted in their garden, which was their pride and joy, with one or two meaningful exceptions: the first exception, most certainly their beautiful only child, Aimee, beloved by name, beloved by nature, certainly beloved and loved by Ray and Joyce. Inside their house was full of memorabilia, hundreds of photos of their prized daughter - Aimee. The second exception was their cat named Flower Child. The Sibley’s thought the name was “so hip”. Ray and Joyce met during the Hippy revolution, and in their early days of their romance, enjoyed music, friends, and on occasions some exotic chemicals being freely shared at parties. Most of that came to a grinding halt, when Joyce became pregnant with Aimee, the beloved.

All was bliss in the lands and the gardens of the McCreath’s and the Sibley’s. That was until the day when Aimee Sibley and Rory McCreath announced their intention to marry.

The announcement of the marriage to Aimee, by the only son and heir of the McCreath’s; Rory Murray Bannockburn McCreath, was a catastrophe of epic proportions. The shared news of the announcement to Aimee and Roy’s parents stirred up the passions for a second battle of Bannockburn, and rebuilding permission for Hadrian’s Wall. Both sets of parents had conflicting views on every single item of the marriage ceremony, and the entire arrangements. Rory was the only son and heir of the McCreath clan, the marriage was the single most important event of their one and only sibling; the apple of their eyes, their shortbread, tablet and clootie mixed into one. It was the most important event since Scotland announced its intent for independence. No less important was the marriage of their beautiful flower child, beloved Aimee, to the Sibley’s. It was a one-off lifetime event with only the opening of Butlin’s holiday camp at Clacton-on-Sea coming anywhere close.

It wasn’t just disagreement; it turned into a family feud of Hadrian’s Wall propositions. No side would compromise on a single item of the wedding arrangements, and both sides went into any dialogue with defiant arms crossed, and ears closed, and a “don’t to give an inch” mentality.

Aimee and Rory, the darlings of their parents’ eyes, our young lovers in the middle of this story met in France, both were on cycling holidays. A good start: both had a shared interest, the art of bipedal travel with the twin wheels of le bicyclette. They both worked in London and very quickly moved in together. The shared living arrangement was a progressive move for their relationship, it was an easy downhill ride, both Aimee and Rory were in tandem, in their small cozy apartment in the suburbs.

When the McCreath-Sibley conflict broke out, and the proverbial Hadrian’s Wall was erected, Aimee and Rory decided on a quiet affair with a registry office marriage. These young lovers seemed to know how to circumvent the major conflict, and trench warfare between the auld enemies, with agility and wisdom their parents obviously lacked. A good start to their marriage, and bliss continued, at least for Aimee and Rory.

The problems were just out of sight, smoldering over the horizon, only to reappear when the beloved Aimee became pregnant.

Where before the Sibley family strings tugged in the background with Aimee, and the McCreath family strings pulled on Rory, with this announcement, matters went into overdrive. A grandson and future heir of the clan McCreath. A future star of the hippy and flower power people of the Sibley’s. The tension rose on the barometer scale from hot to stormy. At the epicenter of all this pressure was the name of the unborn boy.

As the proverbial Hadrian’s Wall prevented any reasonable dialogue, poor Aimee, and Rory, had to go into “détente” mode with their respective parents, and keep “ent cordial” between themselves. How did our lovers cope, you may ask? Well, it happens something like this. The McCreath seniors call Rory, and with the small talk over, the main reason for the call becomes apparent with “your father and I have discussed the name of our beautiful unborn grandchild. You must understand by now the naming convention of the McCreath’s, is to keep your father’s name, and then combine his name with your grandfather’s name. So, we already have Walter and Bannockburn. But the third name is unique to the child. So, your father and I suggest the following names: Fochabers, which is the McCreath’s clan chief’s name, or the McCreath clan location; Bercilak, such a lovely little village in the highlands on the banks of Loch Fein. But there is a third choice my dear; Ruiseart, meaning a powerful ruler, which was your great uncle’s name. It’s the boy’s birthright; my dear, and we must keep those meddling Sibley’s out of this, do you promise?”

At the same time Aimee was getting similar subtle but demanding requests from the Sibley seniors. “Beloved dear, our beautiful little bundle of joy should have a name that is connected to the day he was born, which we have been told; the stars are in a very positive position on the day of his birth. Both Mercury and Venus are in ascendancy, and they are beautifully trined with Jupiter, this is an incredible day to be born. He will be a special child, the universe has collaborated, and he is bound to bring love and peace to the world. There can only be one or two names to give this child. We consulted the tarot cards, and they also spoke of the importance of naming this child. It must be “Banjo” or “Perseus”. Perseus is from Greek origins, and you know how much you love your holidays in the Greek islands, and we must keep those barbaric Scots out of the naming of our beautiful honey bundle.”

When the main actors in this drama, Aimee and Rory came back to recount to each other these continued heart tugs, and pressured suggestions, Aimee and Rory would roll around in convulsions of laughter.

That was before the main act in this play. The main act is now playing out, with Aimee in labour, and Rory looking on, worried and feeling like a sixth toe in a shoe; basically, of no value at all. The spider is looking down from the wings of the waiting room, at the top of four heads, and a room full of tension, and unease, but in wordless silence.

Suddenly, a lady, it’s the nurse; pops her head around a slightly opened door to the left.

“It’s a girl!” She cries and then in a trice disappears behind the closed door.

The four heads rock back in surprise, the unsettling and nervous movements of all their bodies continue, but the room remains silent.

Only minutes later the same girl nurse appears like a recording or a repeat performance, maybe an encore for the four heads below the indifferent onlooking spider.

“It’s twins, both girls” she cries, with much more emotion in her voice, perhaps our stage director of the scene requires more passion with this announcement. Nonetheless, the nurse played her part well. She closes the door with more gusto, and there is a rush of cool air into the stuffy room. The spider nearly falls out of the web, with the consequent sudden updraft of air. The heads below start to become more animated, and one or two now stand up from their chairs.

“Help ma boab! We’ll save money on the sporran” Blurts out Mr. McCreath.

*A sporran is a male purse, worn around the waist of a kilt by a Scotsman.