The names we are

You bear a name from birth, not to distinguish you from the 9,579 other Donovans but to identify you as a person whom can be addressed and, unless one of those other 9,579 other Donovans is present, can respond.  And, if you don’t like the name Donovan, think for a moment how life would be without it.

In Sergio Leone’s famous trilogy of 1960s’ Westerns, Clint Eastwood donned the persona of The Man with No Name whose path crosses those done down by the rotten men whose fate is to be riddled by bullets Eastwood shoots faster than any other. Then he is gone.. unannounced and nameless as he came.  It makes for a good movie, but a life with no name would not be enigmatically romantic but ignored and discounted, disqualified from the human race.  

But that might not stop Jane from thinking herself a Plain Jane and wanting to rid herself of her name, as does Piscine Patel, in Yann Martel’s novel Life of Pi, when, on the first day at his new secondary school he faces the prospect of boys mercilessly pissing themselves whenever he says his name. They did it all through his primary years, but now he names himself Pi and answers to no other.  His father might be outraged that his son has discarded the name bestowed on him in honour of a famous swimming-pool in Paris, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Name-changing that matters is not, however, the province of fiction.  A close friend was christened Felicity, a name she abhorred but lived with until, as she entered her teens, Helen Shapiro happened in her life – and the lives of millions of the British public.  At fifteen, hardly older than Felicity, Helen Shapiro’s Walkin’ back to Happiness  topped the hit parade for weeks on end, was adored by Felicity who decided to call herself Helen and will be until her death certificate returns her to Felicity.

When I taught the history of English as a part of the high school syllabus, and covered the section on the meanings of first and surnames, no pupil ever admitted to a name change.  Had some of them known the original meaning of their first name, they might have, especially Cameron when his turn came to let the class know what his homework research had revealed.  “Crooked nose,” was the sheepish answer.  Hearing this, I doubt Rachel laughed much: her “ewe” puzzled everyone until she added, “female sheep”.  After that she and Byron, “cowshed”, had something in common .

In generations previous to theirs, meanings of names held greater significance.  Many carried religious origins from the Bible or were derived from it, like Joseph, Josef in Hebrew for “God will add or give”, with Yusuf as the Arabic equivalent. God’s generosity seems to have no end: Emma’s Diary, a website for prospective mothers and fathers, lists “100 names that mean Gift from God”.

To generations past what is now known as a “first name” was a “Christian name”, and it is sometimes a surprise for Chris to find out that he is a “Christ-bearer” and Liz that she is “God’s promise”. The tradition of children bearing the name of family forbears continues, though to a lesser extent than in the past.  If it is practised, that name may feature as a second or third name, but first names are now more likely not to be linked to the family’s past, especially if Horace or Ermyntrude is the esteemed ancestor whose character is to be honoured.  Some parents of the past made a child’s desirable qualities more obvious, naming daughters Charity, Faith and Patience for example –  our friend Felicity is a study in irony.  Boys did not make the virtues short-list, though they might be given names endued with strength: Howard, Duncan, Zirk.

Of the internet sources which prospective parents use the most, the name to choose for your baby is the clear winner.  The Economist (not that it’s expecting) of March 2025 brought in Large Language Model  AI to test the currents presently at work in the naming of children.  From the crunch of 400 million babies named by parents in America and England since 1882, a tally of 28,945 different first names has been recorded.  Significantly, in the last sixty years, 18,000 new names have shown up, which indicates that the trajectory of naming children has moved strongly into homespun territory.  Storms and Apples now live with us, Pablo and Gastard are two of many imports from other languages, and if you favour maths, X and A-Xii are in the books.

There has also been a shift towards “living” names: Ronaldo, Taylor and Lionel, stars of the popular firmament, are now found across the planet.  This is not new: in 1947 an American hit song, Linda, and Linda Darnell, a film star of that era, increased the Lindas in that world by 100,000.  But, as is the case with fame, heroes can soon become zeroes and the rate at which names now fall out of fashion has increased.  Newton’s Third Law of Motion also comes into effect: faced with the possibility of there being four Olivias or Joshuas in the class, parents-to-be may invent a Shilby, or scour their genealogical records and resurrect an Anstock.

Those at The Economist did not stop there.  With the LLM at their disposal they homed in on a contentious facet of a first name: its connotations.  Tasked with the brief of finding the top five connotations of 30,000 names, 7,439 different descriptions came back­ – 12,124 names were considered worthy of the description “unique”.

Bringing children into the world may now be easier than in the past, but naming them not.  Even with the headstart of knowing its gender, the obstacle course en route to the right name is formidable.  First up is easy and unlikely: leaving the child unnamed until he or she is old enough to choose for itself – a very open-minded road to confusion.  Second come personal connotations, not the gross ones like Wayne …too American, or Emily… too English, but the baggage of associations each parent carries: experiential – “No, I had a boyfriend Brad whom I’d rather forget.”, the political – “Donald ! Don’t you dare name my child “Donald.” and gut feeling – “Never, that’s a dog’s name.” Obstacle number three is where most fall short: having the chosen name actually used.  Classrooms turn Richard into Rich (better than Dick) and Benedict into…just one more Ben.  Yes, Elizabeth is a beautiful name, full of grace and strength, but do you want Lilibet, Lizzie, Libby, Liz and – oh no – Bess coming home from school?  Or a name of gravitas, Sophia, turning into “Sophie”?  If parents are determined to have the given name used, choosing a single-syllable route would be wise.  They could, of course, name him Godfrey.

A Boy named Sue was the famous Country & Western singer, Johnny Cash’s greatest hit.   A father gives his son that name, then disappears from his life.  Years later, Sue tracks his father down, intent upon killing him for that hell-given name. Hardened in both mind and fists, he spares his father’s life when he hears and recognises that, without that name, he would not have survived the circumstances in which his father had been forced to leave him. It is the stuff of ballads.  Parents who resolve to impress upon their children that they are not to answer to “Val” or “Ferdie” may be making those lives difficult.  “I would prefer you to call me Valerie,” may sound good when practised at home, but lead to snide remarks when people who feel more friendly using “Val” are ignored. Fighting the many abbreviations may build character, but choosing which battles to fight breeds wisdom. 

The first part of speech learnt in English grammar is the noun, a naming word.  Proper Nouns are those begun with capital letters and denote names of people, places and formal bodies.  Of all Proper Nouns, people’s names are by far the most numerous, ironic as the original meaning of the Latin root proprius means “one’s own, special”.  And my first name is special: it identifies me, places me in the world and brings me to respond to it. Without it I could not be here. 

Many thanks to Eliens of Pixabay for the photograph