On quite another matter
I have been challenged recently on my origins and antecedents! Not quite so scary as it sounds – but I was asked whether I consider myself a Weegie, or a Bugger (for those unfamiliar with the terms, they simply mean one who hails either from Glasgow and is a corruption of the standard term Glaswegian, or from Edinburgh and therefore an Edinburgher) and I was momentarily nonplussed, quite an unusual experience for me, Anyone who knows me will say that I am usually very quick with an instant opinion (although, on serious reflection, I may change my mind, but at any rate, I am rarely lost for words, Here, we would suggest someone garrulous and with an extensive vocabulary – or uses a word or term not frequently heard, if at all – as having 'swallied a dickshinry'!
When I was young, I would either launch into a detailed account of my life from birth: including details of the Maternity Hospital and the Midwife on duty, then through temporary stays at my grandparents' homes and the various houses and flats we lived in as my parents moved – usually due to my father's work – and sometimes took us. Us refers to my wee sister, Daisy, and brother, Wullie. I
should point out that his name is exactly as written on his birth-certificate, which has caused the usual discussion whenever we were enrolled at new schools – starting off with: “you mean William?” “Naw, Wullie.” “Willie? As a contraction of William?” “Naw, jist Wullie.” And then moved on to whether he wanted to be addressed as William, Will, Willie, Billy (and as he got older, Bill) but his answer was always, “Naw, Wullie.” I should point out that Wullie was perfectly capable of saying, No, and usually did, but when his name was the topic, he always lapsed into a truculent callowness and employed the vernacular for his responses.
Daisy had no such problems. The only possible contraction of Daisy sounds like Daze or Days, depending on how you feel about her, but as that doesn't affect the pronunciation, she tended simply to be properly addressed as daisy, which made everyone happy.
Theresa does offer a variety of spellings and pronunciation and different diminutives. The one I really didn't like was the one that sounds – and is intended so – as Trees are Green! I once punched a boy on
 
the head for saying that to me, because he knew I didn't like it and he'd kissed me rather aggressively when we were playing Postman's Knock. When I asked my nephews and nieces if they still play it, they looked vacantly at me, which was an answer in itself. Anyway, this boy, Tam Black, tried to push his tongue into my 9 year-old mouth, which was horrible to be on the receiving end of, so naturally I punched him, which brought an untimely end to the game and me being sent home early. He couldn't be sent home, as it was his house and his birthday party. So I began to punch him at every opportunity and for any excuse, including the Trees are Green jibe, and others more tenuous: it was Wednesday, he tried to sit beside me, and he had put his hand up to answer a question in class before me, and his answer was right (mine would have been wrong, if I'd been first) and I admit that some of theme are unworthy of me – I hope he doesn't harbour a grudge. Perhaps I should just refer to him by initials, in case he reads this and decides to avenge himself on me for my War of Attrition. It only lasted a few weeks of the final term, before the Summer Holidays and then different Secondary Schools – gender restrictive, of course.
But I haven't really answered the question, have I? Well, my Mother came from Glasgow, my Father from Edinburgh – which has just reminded me of a poem the great John Grieve used to recite: it
 
began “I'm a GlasEdinburghwegian, I was born on the 3.30, you see!” But I can't claim to have been born on a train mid-way between Glasgow Queen Street and Edinburgh Waverley Stations. Far more prosaic. I entered the world in a cottage on the West Coast of Ireland, almost exactly a year to the day of my parents' wedding and in the same cottage where they had spent their Honeymoon. So some would say, “She's not even Scots, she's an Irish Colleen!”