Some of my contemporaries are starting to acquire grandchildren, a
whole bunch of responsibilities by
proxy, one might say. One of these responsibilities could be, involuntarily
though proudly, providing a name for the new sproglet. I’m sure we’d all like
to think that our own name – unless it’s something really stupid - carries on
down the generations.
Naming a newborn can be surprisingly fraught. One has to exert
creativity rapidly and very carefully, a sometimes pleasant activity for a
proud new parent, but sometimes a trying one, with unpredictable consequences.
Large numbers of possibilities have to be scanned at speed, whittled down, some
rejected because of unwanted connotations (that maths teacher or mass murderer
– not necessarily one and the same person), others because of unfortunate
acronyms – risible or obscene - that might arise from the initials, others for
any number of reasons. Heading into this minefield the parent had better get it
right, because the infant is going to be stuck with it for a very long time.
Calling someone Stacey or Tyler (that’s Tyler with an “ah”), Piers or Penelope,
is perhaps every bit as influential to their life trajectory as the chromosomal material
one has recently donated to them.
The associations which can be made with personal names, first names
especially, form a whole field for subjective, stylistic study and a rich ore
of implicit information. Essentially we’re talking about name stereotypes,
something I’d like to explore here, despite it being a domain bristling with
opportunities for offending those who love to be offended. If you are one of
those, look away now.
An easy one to start with. Terence Alan Milligan. Remember him? Would
he have been so successful if he’d stuck with Terence, or Terry, or Alan, than
the seemingly perfect Spike?
Evidently some people possess names
which fit their personality characteristics well (or vice versa), while other
folk appear to have been inappropriately named. There are hyper-masculine
names, ultra-feminine names, sexually ambiguous names, names suitable for young
children or the elderly, names one associates with occupations, upper class
names, chav names. To a large extent, though not completely so, popular
agreement can be expected as to which is which.
Let’s imagine a conversation in the
maternity unit. The infant may not be of the gender mum and dad had imagined it
was going to be and prepared for (admittedly less likely to happen in this
ultrasonic era), nor “look like” the name they had in mind. Meanwhile relatives
and registrars want to know what it is going to be called. The birth may have
been medically traumatic, much sleep may have been lost, and here are the
harassed parents, pressured by those around them to make a choice. Each partner
may have very different views, but no matter, a decision has to be made in
hours or days at most, arguments won and lost, and agreement reached. This is a
demand for creativity with serious constraints. Suddenly the bewildered couple
find ourselves ruling out otherwise perfectly acceptable names because they are
popularly associated with an embarrassingly uncool singer, a notorious child
molester, a ludicrous tart or loathsome slob in a TV soap, or are familially
associated with some appalling old aunt or uncle. An unaccustomed need arises
to think laterally in many directions all at once, spotting potentially
hazardous nicknames, rhymes, malicious mispronunciations, and the like. While
one might be prepared to risk Fake Tania, Dustbin Lydia and Get Sonia Nerves,
it’s probably as well to avoid specific combinations like Annette Kirton, Jenny
Taylor, Rachel E. Harris or Eileen Dover. I’ve actually known two of these –
real people.
One is being asked to select a first name
that is already shared by other people with defined personalities, a name that is
felt to be appropriate and desirable for the puling neonate – who so far
doesn’t have a personality other than a blurred resemblance to the face (or
backside, or hole punch onomatopoeically named Clop) of Sir Winston Churchill. Well,
you might call it Winston, but you’re probably not going to go for Clop. The
requirement therefore is to match highly subjective name associations with
desirable and desired personality traits, while avoiding any potential for
future awkwardness and embarrassment. At most a few days are available to find
the right name for the young sprog, a name that has to stay being right for a
whole lifetime; it’s an unrehearsed venture into futurology.
If we’re the parents, these days we’re
probably not going to go for an obscure saint or a member of the royal family,
although we might cop out – as was usually the case in earlier times - by
borrowing the name of a close family member. Otherwise we might – if we’re especially
unkind - insist on a name celebratory of the location where conception is
thought to have taken place (“ah, coochie-coo little Travelodge, isn’t she
cute”; “so what exactly is wrong with Newport Pagnell?”), of our favourite
brand of car, of the members of our preferred football team, or of some other
random whimsicality, like Chlamydia (“we liked the sound of it, to be honest
wiv yer, it’s sort of classical innit, Chlamydi-ah”). We might look in a “baby
book” or on a website, seeking inspiration. If we hadn’t realised it before, we
do now - names are not just names.
Some names are spot on for their
owners, others way off the mark, but it will be years before we, or they, find
out – too late. Names themselves have suggestive qualities, mostly based on
their vowel sounds: an Eric ought to be thin, a Barbara blonde and plump. At
least first names are sort of voluntary, with surnames, unfortunately, we are stuck
with them unless we take drastic action, even if they happen to be Lillicrappe,
Eisenschitz, Sidebottom, Bastard or De’Ath. Would you want Shipman, Sutcliffe
or Savile as a surname? I once had the misfortune to be sent to a Dr Sidebottom
for a minor medical procedure. Since I was too insignificant a mortal to be
seen by the great man himself, I was attended to by one of his Underbottoms.
Somehow it just wasn’t the same. In the case of occupations it has been
proposed that the term “aptronyms” be used for highly apt names - none perhaps
more apposite than the poet Wordsworth, or even Dr Tuthaker, an odontologist
from South Bend, Indiana. Although I remember once encountering a corporate
chauffeur called Mr Bentley - Mr Škoda presumably having flunked the interview.
People can be made
or broken by their names, and despite there being no factual basis to the
popular myth that young Adolf (long before the aforementioned Spike worked so
valiantly to accomplish his downfall) changed his name because one cannot chant
"Heil Schicklgruber !" without having fits of giggles, show business
is replete with stars who have had to acquire more suggestive names than the
ones they were born into, in order to be credible, convincing, to convey the
appropriate image, to be thought of as sexually desirable, and – above all – to
be memorable. Budding British popstars of the immediately pre-Beatle era were
glorified with stage names suggestive of qualities it was thought their female
fans might want to identify with or drool over: Faith, Fury, Gentle, Eager.
And, er, Richard.
The choice of pseudonyms ought to reveal something about the intersubjectively
held expectations of personal name associations, but it is far from clear that
this works reliably, or why it does, or when. Why would a man called Harry want
to change his name to Cliff? What is the difference in the persona suggested?
What advantage is perceived in a switch from Norma to Marilyn, from Maurice to
Michael, from Reg to Elton? Elvis of course had the perfect über-fabulous name
and had no need to change.
More next time.
Meanwhile, don’t name that baby.
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