I was reminded of something that happened in my High school by Roy Wilson. I'd forgotten about a boy called Wesley Baird.
Wesley was, looking back, a country boy... A bit wild, and hard. He smoked roll ups from the age of eleven (at least) and smelled of nicotine always. He was a wiry guy, tall and had an accent from somewhere between a couple of spud fields. We called him "Big Baird," and he didn't like it. And one day, he must have lashed out and we were all (I'm not sure how many of us were involved), marched or ordered down to "The Dick's Office." The Dick was our very tall, Ulster intellectual headmaster who was almost Paisleyite in his verbal delivery of everything he uttered (in tone rather than belief). Mr Elliot in his cross examining of us came to Wesley for his explanation of what had happened.
" They keep calling me Big Baird," says he.
"But you ARE Big Baird." roars The Dick. "You are big, and you are Baird! Big Baird!"
We were all caned, just to make sure the guilty party was caught. But the Big Baird nick name was sanctioned from on high...