Published The Advocate, October 29, 2005


A DISTANT cousin and his wife recently had a new daughter, a sister for Jake. The choice of Jake as a name caused such a family kerfuffle the naming of the new baby is on hold while guidance is sought in the arrangement of the stars and the entrails of chickens. I don’t mind Jake as a name. Not as good as Jack, in my opinion, but better than, well, Des. I was named after a mate of my father’s. I never met the mate. He never visited home that I remembered. He never appeared at any birthdays. Good old Des. It makes me wonder what kind of friend Des really was. More like a pub mate, I suspect, a passing ship in the night. I count myself lucky not to be named after whatever tipple my father was drinking at the time. A Swedish couple recently won a court battle to name their daughter Edradour. The authorities first refused to register Edradour because it was the name of a Scotch whisky brand, and to be named after an alcoholic drink was thought inappropriate. Goodness knows what the Swedish authorities would make of someone named Benedict, as in Dom Benedictine, or James, as in Boag. The parents eventually won the court battle after pointing out that Edradour, as well as being a whisky, was also a charming little town in Scotland. I looked up Des in a book of names’ origins. I was hoping for something like "dragon slayer" or "brave and merciful". It said Desmond was Irish, "from the surname". Tremendous. Early on I would have preferred Dan although, having since met a few Dans, they are not necessarily the people you’d like to be named after either. I have three names, Desmond John Gerard, after my father and an uncle. My mother has just one, Patricia. She says her parents were so poor they couldn’t afford a second name. Names can make a big difference to your self-image. What would you rather be, Marmaduke Preen or Steele Champion? One way or another, your life would follow a different pattern. Our parents had names like Bert and Frank or Norma and Mary. Solid, reliable names that went naturally with Uncle or Aunty, unlike the current crop of Icelenes and Beyonces. But you cannot razz people about their names. They take it as a personal insult against themselves and their hippy parents’ drug taking. Never have I met as many Aarons and Seans as I have in Tasmania, or Libbies and Elizas. It’s as if Tasmanian parents choose names from a set government list. Not as bad, however, as Our Mary, Crown Princess of Denmark, who must call her first-born, Christian. The heir to the Danish Crown is always Frederik or Christian in alternate generations, and it’s Christian’s turn. As for my cousin’s new baby, after two weeks the girl remains nameless while the family continues to squabble over what to call her. Dad has called her Homebrand.