Name Game

His initials were and still are RFBK.

An interesting combination of consonants perhaps only found in pseudo terror organisations such as, I would imagine, Revolutionary Freedom Brigade Kommittee, action groups along the lines of Raise Furry Bunnies Kindly or political activists such as Republicans For Better Knowledge.

I was intrigued to read on a bit more about the man.

It was clear that someone called Randolph Falcon Baden King would have an extremely interesting story to tell over how he was given such an auspicious name.

I had not spoken with him to arrange to look around his property but I had an appointment for 3pm that afternoon and my office informed me that I would be let in by the occupant, a tenant. I thought nothing of such an arrangement which was common in my workload of inspecting and valuing investment type properties or Buy to Lets as they are more widely known.

Most days I had no idea who would be opening up the door of any particular address or if anyone would be there at all. Fortunately complete "no-shows" after a date and time had been fixed were quite rare.

The property of today's person of interest was a purpose built modern flat in a good location, central to the City, close to the river and just inside the ancient walls. The three factors themselves were dead certs for a premium element of value but the latter, secure within the battlements was in itself a special and attractive feature for those in the market for a rented place, second home or just a pad.

I had one other job in the city and the originally arranged time of 3pm fitted in well with my schedule making generous allowances for the usual traffic congestion and the problematic issue of finding a parking space.

En route however the circumstances of the other appointment changed and I had to think about bringing the mid afternoon job forward by a couple of hours,

I was nervous about contacting Randolph Falcon Baden King as the name conjured up an image of a power crazy tycoon type who did not suffer fools gladly and certainly not those who could not manage something as simple as a work day diary.

As usual I rang my office to get them to do my dirty work but thought twice in case such an indirect approach would cause criticism or annoyance to be levelled at my staff.

It would be easier and logical for me to just ring the man and cobble together a believable reason why I needed to change the appointment.

I imagined RFBK having to answer his phone whilst in a power lunch, striding forcefully across the golf course or tacking furiously on his yacht. If a Personal Assistant answered the call I would probably become flustered and sound like a completely gormless idiot.

After four rings I thought about cancelling the call but the line crackled and a soft, warm and distinctively Yorkshire accent could be heard.

It was indeed Randolph Falcon Baden King or at least his disembodied voice.

He sounded kind and considerate from the outset and was more than willing to drive from his home, some ten miles outside the city with his set of keys to the property so that I could get in at the earlier time than arranged.

I stood in the cold at the communal doors to the prestigious development of flats or rather apartments which was a more apt description looking towards the entrance to the car parking area. A few vehicles drew up and entered as the wrought iron electronically controlled gates strained and creaked open at a painfully slow rate. If being chased by Zombies this arrangement would be problematic, I could see that.

A dark blue saloon arrived and negotiated the security measures before disappearing out of view into the far end of the courtyard. My earlier perceived image of Randolph Falcon Baden King before having spoken with him put him firmly in the seat of a large executive motor or even sat behind a chauffeur in similar splendour. The mellow voice on the phone suggested that a dark blue saloon was the normal mode of transport of the man.

A medium height and white haired gent came down the steps from the car park onto the landscaped walkway towards me. He introduced himself and we shook hands in a formal but affable manner. I could not resist asking him about his name and he was more than pleased to explain how he came to have it.

He blamed it, he said, on his father rather than his mother.

He had been an avid devotee of the great men and heroes in his own lifetime.

Randolph came from the great Hollywood actor Randolph Scott of whom his father had been a great fan in the heyday of cinema going. Perhaps a bit lazy was the fact that the first middle name of Falcon also came from someone with the surname of Scott, this time the tragic South Pole Explorer Robert Falcon Scott. His exploits had inspired many in the early years of the emerging 20th Century and epitomised much of the British spirit for doing and invariably dying whilst doing. Baden needed no explanation as I had myself been a Cub Scout and Scout and knew of the background and pioneering skills of Baden Powell in wartime and afterwards when he wanted to encourage youths to take on the very best of a healthy and moral existence helping country and community.

No doubt my new acquaintance had been remorselessly bullied in his school days for the indulgence shown by his father in the naming of his son but he did not express any animosity or regret about it. He must have spent many similar times expanding upon his name.

My work completed we parted as though we had been friends for years. #

In walking away I thought about my own name. My Christian name and two middle names were those handed down in the family, the latter two being those of my grandfathers.

What if my own father had thought along the same lines as Randolph's calling upon the names of those things he admired or things he liked?

Realistically I could have been called Peter Morris Minor Thomson.