What's in a Name? Plenty, Apparently!

During my early morning musings today, my fevered mind settled on the subject of names of population centers and whether they had any effect on the residents.

The persons who prompted this inner debate, were Ola Jordan and her husband, James Jordan, who are currently cutting the light fantastic with two celebrities (damn the word) on Simply Come Dancing in the UK. I noticed that James was British and born in Gillingham in Kent.

I happen to know Gillingham from being stationed close in Chatham during my navy service many moons ago and a more drab and dull place takes some locating. I wondered that if Gillingham had been called, say, San Francisco, it would have been a better, more interesting and attractive town. I thought perhaps it might.

I then thought of other British cities and how their names reflected the misery and despair, along with better days, that was their story up until 2011.

Liverpool, for example. If you're suffering with depression and want to graduate to suicidal, go stay for a week in Liverpool during a British winter. I mean, the very name Liverpool conjures up an image of “a malodorous puddle of stagnant fluid reposing deep inside an organ of a decaying corpse.”

Then there’s the fair city of Hull. “A hulk of a beached trawler abandoned on an icy beach.”

How about Stoke on Trent. “An insatiable coal-hole devouring more than we can give.”

If Liverpool wasn’t enough, go stay in Britain’s top resort, yes, Blackpool. Do you need any help finding an image for that!

Britain’s fishing industry is nearly dead these days; do you think the name of its centre helped its demise...Grimsby. “Ay, lad, things is real grim around here these days.” I bet they were.

The industrial north of the UK is full of cities with names guaranteed to make the residents feel dour every day, if the economy wasn’t enough.

The old textile city of Lancashire, Blackburn. Never mind a name that might have made people feel up beat and cheerful, like Grand Rapids in the USA, for example. No, here you will be dead and black when you’ve burned to death!

Bolton, another monumental disaster a bit further south. “Yes, mate, bolt while you have the chance!”

How about Shudderfield! OK, it’s really Huddersfield, but you get the point I’m sure.

Then there’s Pakistan North, Leeds...just add a “B” Bleeds, like the poor folk stuck there these days.

There’s always Wakefield, a few mile further north. One and all are ready for your funeral here!

Fancy another resort? How about the fair town on Scarborough on the East coast of Yorkshire; you will wear the scars of much time here for the rest of your days.

With unemployment as it is in the North (in some places, 50% on welfare), let’s kid ourselves by moving to Workington, actually a better town than the name suggests on the Solway Firth - but still no work there.

Even moving to London in the South-East you have to be careful of your address. “Hounslow,” so are the residents. “Barking,” unhappy canines and crazed residents again (barking-mad).

“Staines,” on the walls, the town-hall, everywhere.

I love this one...“Fickleshole,” That b---h! It’s divorce this time!

“Leighton Buzzard,” and they’re looking for you to drop!

North again: “Sutton Coldfield,” good place for tent camping.

Or “Coalville,” They all live in mine shafts.

If you’re obese, you might consider a move to “Nuneaton,” (no people, they all died of starvation), or for religious bulldust, how about “Kidderminster,” “You really thought I could get you to Heaven! Ha!”

I could go on for ever listing Britain’s sadly named townships and cities. If you were planning a trip here, would you get excited about the names of any of the above?

On the other hand, Britain has many zany and charmingly named villages, especially in the Cotswolds. They are for another hub.