THE DIVISIONS OF LONDON SURNAMES.
WE have explained the origin of surnames as an institution. We have
shown that as the population of the earth increased, and mankind began to
form themselves into closely-packed communities, a demand arose for a
more distinct individuality. As a consequence, men took an additional
sobriquet; or rather, it was fixed on them by their neighbours, for in
nine cases out of ten the bearer had no voice in the matter.
The peculiar feature of our earlier surnames is that they were _not
hereditary_—father, mother, daughters, sons, and even the grandchildren,
might all be living at the same time, in the same hamlet, even under the
same roof, and yet possess each a distinct sobriquet, which was the mark
of their identity. Let us first draw out an imaginary pedigree, and then
quote from a real one.
[Picture: Pedigree of Richard of Colton] {25}
This would have to be the kind of family tree drawn out among our country
yeomen and town merchants, from say 1200 to 1450, after which date we may
begin to look for hereditary surnames. The great-grandfather, Richard,
is known by the village in which his house is situate. Of three sons the
eldest, Richard, is distinguished from Richard his father by his small
stature. He becomes therefore Richard Little in the common parlance of
his neighbours. The second son, William, has taken charge of the village
pound for strayed cattle. He is known as William atte Pound (_i.e._ at
the Pound). The third son, Henry, has very light hair, almost white,
although he is still but a youth. This being somewhat remarkable, causes
him to be distinguished from all other Henrys in the same community by
the sobriquet of Henry Whitehead. Of the third generation, William atte
Pound has two sons, one of whom, Bartholomew, becomes a servitor of more
menial rank in the great baron’s castle hard by. Of course he becomes
Bartholomew Page. The other John stays at home to help his father.
Naturally he is better recognised by his filial relationship than his
brother, and becomes John William’s son, and by-and-by John Williamson.
But Henry Whitehead has a son also, and as Hawkin or Halkin was then the
pet form of Henry, Adam, the son, becomes Adam Hawkins. The fourth
generation will now be beyond the need of explanation.
Take now a real pedigree from Camden:—
[Picture: Pedigree of William Belward of Malpas] {26}
There is nothing that needs explanation in this pedigree except Philip’s
surname of Gough. The family residence was at Malpas, as seen above.
This was on the Welsh frontier. Gough is the Welsh for “red,” so that
Philip had evidently got his surname or nickname amongst the Cambrian
population from his ruddy complexion.
We are now well on the way to survey the groups or classes into which the
surnames in the London Directory can be divided. Nothing can simplify
the study of nomenclature so readily as a consideration of the classes
into which surnames may be placed. If the reader will turn to the
imaginary pedigree of the Colton family, he will see that the ten
surnames therein contained may be set under five heads. Richard of
Colton, William atte Pound, and James Bentham, are known by a
_place-name_; John Williamson, Adam Hawkins and Alice Adams by the
_father’s Christian name_; Richard the Baker by his daily _occupation_;
Bartholomew the Page by his _official capacity_; and Richard the Little
and Henry Whitehead by a sobriquet having reference to their _personal
appearance_. Here, then, are five distinct classes. There is not a
surname in the London Directory, nor in England, nor in Europe, nor in
the whole known or unknown world, that cannot be placed, and placed
correctly, under one of the five heads that I have thus foreshadowed:—(1)
Local names. (2) Baptismal names. (3) Names of occupation. (4)
Official names. (5) Nicknames. The first of these to become
_hereditary_ were the Norman local names. Many of the Conqueror’s
followers took or received as a surname the title of the place they left
in Normandy. He who left the chapelry of St. Clair across “the silver
streak” settled in England as “William, or Robert de St. Clair.” In
course of time this became “Sinclair” and “Sinkler;” just as “St. Denis”
became “Sidney;” “St. Pierre,” “Spier” and “Spiers;” or “St. Leger,”
“Selinger.” “Sinkler” is as vile a corruption of “Sinclair” as “Boil”
from “Boyle.” Some folk say, “What’s in a name?” One thing is clear:
there is a good deal in the spelling of it. These local names, however,
were the first hereditary names in England. But the Normans introduced
representatives of all five classes. Take a single instance of each.
Norman-English. Saxon-English.
I. Local Sidney Burton.
II. Baptismal Fitz-Hamon Jenkinson.
III. Occupative Taylor Baker.
IV. Official Chamberlain Steward.
V. Nicknames Fortescue Sheepshanks.
“Fortescue” means “brave” or “strong shield.” Hence the family motto has
a punning allusion: “_Forte Scutum_, salus ducum,”—_i.e._, “A strong
shield is the safety of leaders.” If we take a glimpse at any village
roll four hundred years ago, representatives of all these classes will
invariably be found, although the _baptismal_ and _local_ will largely
predominate. Look at the “Custom Roll and Rental of the Manor of
Ashton-under-Lyne, 1422” (Chetham Society Publications).
I. Local Robert of Chadwick Thomlyn of the
Leghes.
II. Baptismal Tomlyn Diconson Robyn Robynson.
III. Occupative Roger the Baxter Richard the
(Baker) Smith.
IV. Official Jak the Spenser William
Somaster
(Summaster).
V. Nicknames Elyn the Rose Hobbe the
Kynge.
Every secluded village in England at this moment, every churchyard with
its simple epitaphs, every vestry register with its recorded births and
marriages and deaths, contains representatives of these several
divisions. When we come to such a big place as the metropolis, a little
world of itself, we expect to find these classes largely exhibited. I
have taken the trouble to analyse the first five letters of the alphabet
in the London Directory. Curious are the results. We may premise that
there are about 120,000 names in the _Commercial_ list. My analysis
concerns about 30,000 of these—that is, exactly one-fourth.
A. B. C. D. E. Total.
Local 915 5093 3259 1377 716 11,360
Baptismal 1763 1647 1535 1935 1323 8203
Occupative 37 899 1546 169 — 2651
Official 139 575 949 48 26 1737
Nicknames 45 2089 685 210 67 3096
(Foreign) 184 569 293 419 119 1584
(Doubtful) 120 850 476 193 56 1694
Total 3203 11,722 8743 4351 2307 30,326
Without some further explanation, these figures will seem utterly
incongruous. I make no apology for the somewhat large number of doubtful
instances. Those who have studied this subject will consider it small.
Notice under “A,” the _baptismal_ names are double all other classes
added together; while under “B,” the _local_ names, excluding doubtful
instances (a large proportion of which must be local), are also double
the rest. This is easily explained. Five hundred years ago some
Christian names were enormously popular. Andrew was one. Under the
forms of Andrews and Anderson, etc., we have a total of 290 names. Allen
was another. There are 250 “Allens” {29} in London, without adding other
forms of the name. There is no _local_ name under “A” to compare with
these. Under “B” this position is reversed. Of _local_ names there are
about 142 Barnes, 56 Bartons, 37 Becks, 85 Berrys, 55 Boltons, 44 Booths,
58 Bradleys, 120 Brooks, besides a large list of lesser but fairly
proportionate names. _Baptismal_ names under “B” are not so fortunate.
’Tis true there are 70 Barnards, 66 Balls (Baldwin), 83 Bartletts
(Bartholomew), 52 Bates (Bartholomew), 199 Bennetts (Benedict and
Benjamin), and 40 Batemans (an old English baptismal name), but with
these the list is well-nigh exhausted. Under “C” the _occupative_ class
is larger than the baptismal. This would be unaccountable did we not
remember that there are no less than 283 Cooks and Cookes, 265 Coopers,
221 Carters, 64 Chandlers, 51 Carpenters, and 35 Cartwrights in the
Directory. Under “C,” too, the _official_ class is very strongly
represented. There are about 520 Clerks, Clarks, and Clarkes, not to
mention 120 Cohens and Cohns (_i.e._, priest), which, though of Jewish
origin, are not set down in the foreign list, inasmuch as the vast
majority of them have sprung from Cohens settled in England for
centuries; indeed, a large number of them pass for pure English blood.
_Nicknames_ are best exhibited under “B,” for there are no less than 650
forms of Brown in the London Directory alone, not to mention 160 Bells
and 120 Bishops—one hundred and twenty Bishops in London! This beats all
the episcopal conferences of modern times hollow. By-and-by I shall
explain why “Bishop,” and such names as “Pope,” “Cardinal,” “Prince,” and
“King,” must be set in the nickname class. I now may note the fact, and
pass on. With respect also to the 160 Bells, we must not forget that
they have three distinct origins. The following registered forms are
found five hundred years ago:—“Peter le Bel” (_i.e._, the handsome),
“Richard fil. Bell” (_i.e._, the son of Bell, _i.e._ Isabella), and “John
atte Bell” (_i.e._, at the Bell, the sign-name at some country hostel).
Our friends the Bells may choose which they like. I should select the
first, I think, but tastes may differ. Again, notice under “_E_” that
the _baptismal_ names far outnumber the aggregate of all other classes,
the _occupative_ being without a representative at all! The popularity
of Edward and Elias (always called Ellis) has done this. There are about
330 Edwards in London; and adding together the different forms of Ellis,
such as Elliot (the pet name of Ellis), Eliot, Elliotson, Ellice, Ellicot
(the pet form of Ellice), Ellison, Elkins, Elkinson, Elcock, Ell, Else,
Elson, and a dozen other dresses in which the name is arrayed, all of
which I shall explain hereafter, we have no less than 370 representatives
of Elias. That the Crusades brought “John” and “Elias” into favour in
England is easily proved, and I shall have a word to say about the matter
in another chapter. There are a hundred interesting remarks to make
about such names as these, if one allowed oneself to be tempted out of
the beaten track, but I control myself. Notice lastly, that under “D”
one-tenth of the names are foreign—that is, of recent importation from
the Continent. The explanation of such a large proportion is that very
many foreign local surnames preserve the “de,” or “del,” or “de la,” as a
prefix. “De Jersey,” “De Grelle,” “Delattre,” “Delcroix,” “Delavanti;”so
they run.
In concluding this chapter, the question may be asked—and a very
important one it is—how many differently spelled names, counting a single
spelling as one, are there in each class? The answer to this will show
the vast predominance of local names in our Directories. If we exclude
foreign (nearly all local) and doubtful (of which three-fifths must be
looked upon as local), then the local class under A, B, C, D, and E, is
double all the rest. We may prejudge that this ratio applies to the
whole alphabet.
Local. Baptismal. Occupation. Official. Nickname. Foreign. Doubtful. Total.
A 153 120 9 8 4 101 41 436
B 917 158 86 43 120 307 176 1807
C 952 168 100 48 122 231 173 1794
D 310 174 17 6 40 336 75 958
E 255 149 0 2 13 92 29 540
Total 2587 769 212 107 299 1067 494 5535
Thus the total number of distinct surnames in the London Directory under
the first five letters is 5535. Omitting foreign and doubtful, the local
class are double the rest. Therefore the rhyme quoted by Camden is true,
that
“In ‘ford,’ in ‘ham,’ in ‘ley,’ and ‘ton,’
The most of English surnames run.”
All names with this termination are local, and comprise a large
proportion of our national nomenclature.
One word about the doubtful class, and I have done. A hundred years ago
even, as our registers show, there was no established orthography for
surnames in the highest ranks of society. How much less so, then, among
the illiterate orders! I find a clergyman’s name, Bann, spelled Bann,
Ban, Banne, and Band between 1712 and 1736. He was Rector of St. Ann’s,
Manchester, during that period. The spelling of Shakespear’s name at
this moment is the subject of almost bitter conflict. Being clearly of
the nickname class, my view is that it must be written “Shakespear.”
Illiterate clerks have done much to obscure the meaning and origin of
names. I know a register where the clerk has written “Pickering” as
“Pikrin,” and on the next page informs the reader that several names have
been “rong placeed.” “Pamela” he inscribes as “Permelea.” Butcher is
found in the London Directory in the following forms:—“Boucher,”
“Bowcher,” “Bowker,” “Bosher,” “Bowsher,” “Bowser,” “Boutcher,” and
“Botcher.” The Norman “Chesney” (equivalent to English “Oakes”) is found
as “Cheney,” “Chaney,” “Cheyney,” “Chesney;” and “Chesnil” as “Chisnall,”
“Chisnell,” and “Channell.” Thus, too, “Solomon” becomes “Slowman” and
“Sloman.” Sir William Dugdale found the Cheshire “Mainwarings” in no
less than 131 forms; but this will not seem so strange when we consider
that they include “Mainwayringe,” “Meinilwarin,” and “Mensilwaren”!
I could furnish endless instances of names that have undergone
corruptions of this kind through defective spelling, and the lack of a
standard orthography. Few people would recognise Oursley as Ursula, but
that is a common form in the seventeenth century, when that was one of
our commonest girl names. In Hokington Church, under date 1611, occurs
the following entry:—
“George, sonne of Fenson Benet, and Jane, baptised.”
A previous Rector had been one Vincent Goodwin, and being popular, many
of his parishioners had had children christened after him. The form
entered is invariably Fenson, and I dare say after a generation or two
none of the less educated would know what the original name had been. In
the Calendar of Pleadings we find that one Quintin Snaneton, of Gringley
Manor, made three several suits within ten years—all in the reign of Good
Queen Bess. He is thus entered on each occasion:—
1. (15th Eliz.) Quyntine Sneydon of Gringley Manor.
2. (20th Eliz.) Quintin Snaneton of Grinley Manor.
3. (25th Eliz.) Quyntin Sneyton of Grynley Manor.
Thus there are three distinct variations of Christian name, surname, and
place of residence,—nine in all, when only nine were possible! This,
too, in a formal legal document. Take another instance given to me by J.
Paul Rylands, F.S.A. In Edward the Third’s reign lived one Henry le
Machun by name. His son was Adam le Machoun. Passing downwards, his
descendants are found as Macound, Macount, Macont, till in 1584 they are
Macon, a year later Maconde. In 1592 they are Makant, and Makont, in
1609 Macante, in 1610 Makin, in 1620 Macond, in 1624 Meacon, in 1626
Meakin, in 1644 Macant, in 1650 Meakyn. We are in a perfect wilderness
by the time the last entry is reached,—and thus some of our present
Makins, instead of deriving their surname from Makin, the once pet name
of Matthew, may be descended from Mason, which, belonging to a totally
different class, owes its existence to the occupation of its first
bearer. Thus, as we turn over the pages of the London Directory, we are
being ever struck by the many guises under which one single name may
appear. It is palpable to the most uninitiated that Langwith, Langworth,
and Langworthy are all the same, and that all _may have_ had the same
common ancestor. The merest tyro in nomenclatural knowledge must
recognise at a glance that Gibbins, Gibbings, and Gibbons are one and the
same name, and that Smithers, Smithies, and Smithyes may have boasted a
common progenitor. There is no Raleigh in the London Directory. Has,
then, Sir Walter no representative? Yes, for there are three Rawleys,
who have learnt to spell their name as it was _pronounced_ three
centuries ago. But how do we know Sir Walter’s name was pronounced like
Rawley? The following skit was written at the poet’s expense by a
contemporary critic, who attacked his supposed atheistic notions. We may
premise that _Walter_ was always pronounced _Water_ then.
“_Water_ thy plants with grace divine,
And hope to live for aye:
Then to thy Saviour Christ incline,
In Him make stedfast stay.
_Raw_ is the reason that doth _lie_
Within an atheist’s head,
Which saith the soul of man doth die,
When that the body’s dead.
Now may you see the sudden fall
Of him that thought to climb full high;
A man well known unto you all,
Whose state, you see, doth stand _Rawly_.”
The last word is supposed to mean “rarely,” and thus a double pun is
attempted, both proving the name to have been pronounced in a fashion not
common now.
But while these names can be traced to their true source and meaning, it
is not so with others. Take the following from the London
Directory:—“Six,” “Seven,” “Nine,” “Spon,” “Spitty,” “Kiss,” “Slape,”
“Im,” “Ey,” “Tattoo,” “Tubby,” “Yewd,” “Zox,” “Toop,” “Kitcat,” “Sass,”
“Knags,” “Neeb,” “Siggs,” “Saks,” “Toy,” “Stidd,” “Stap,” and
“Shum,”—what do they mean? Whence came they? Ask the bearers, and they
will say, no doubt, that they came over with William the Conqueror. They
are not the only people who have tried to come William the Conqueror over
us.
In this last list we have mentioned “Kiss.” This reminds me that there
is one instance in the same tome much more demonstrative than
that—namely, “Popkiss”! But there is no difficulty in deciphering this,
as it is a manifest corruption of Popkins, and that of Hopkins. The
Directory teems with examples of the termination _kins_ being turned into
_kiss_ and again into _ks_. Thus we have not merely Perkins, but Perkiss
and Perks—not only Hodgkins, but Hotchkiss—not alone Wilkins, but Wilks;
and so oh with many others.
While some surnames are hopelessly corrupted, and therefore incapable of
interpretation, others are a stumbling-block because they seem so easily
explainable. Such are names like “Coward,” “Craven,” and “Charley.” The
“Coward,” or Cowherd, was a tender of kine; “Craven” is local; and
“Charley” is the same. “Deadman” and “Dedman” are, like “Debnam,” but
corruptions of “Debenham,” and therefore local also. “Tiddyman” looks as
if its first bearer had been tidy in his habits; but it was once a
Christian name, and therefore is a patronymic. “Massinger” has been not
uncommonly explained as Mass-singer. Of course it is the early form of
“Messenger.” “Diamond” is a form of “Dumont,” and “Doggrell” of
“Duckerell”—that is, little duck, a manifest nickname. “Eatwell” and
“Early” are also both of local origin. “Portwine” is first found as
“Poitevin,” the old name for an inhabitant of Poictiers; and “Coleman,”
though apparently connected with the black diamond, is an early baptismal
name. There is a peculiar tendency to skip the natural solution, and go
to the Continent, especially Normandy, for the origin. Thus “Twopenny,”
a palpable relic of the twopenny piece, and twopenny ale, is represented
as hailing from Tupigny in Flanders. “Death” is said to be from D’Aeth
in the same; “Bridges” from Bruges; and “Morley” from Morlaix, where
lived St. Bernard—regardless of the fact that there are a dozen hamlets
styled “Morley” in England; indeed, wherever there is a moorland reach
there is a village or farm styled “Morley.”
A lady wrote to me the other day to inform me that I had made a mistake
in ascribing the name “Mason” to the craftsman of that name, for she was
sure she was sprung from Mnason in the Acts of the Apostles, and that the
family had worked its way through Phrygia, and Italy, and Germany, into
England. If she can prove her pedigree, she may boast a genealogy which
the proudest monarch in Europe might envy. The fact is, it is as true of
a hundred reputed foreign names as of the rhyme of the three Devonshire
families, which asserts that
“‘Croker,’ ‘Crewys,’ and ‘Coplestone,’
When the Conqueror came were at home.”
What a pleasant book to look upon would our Directory be if we had all
had the selection of our own surnames! There would have been no
“Pennyfathers.” This was an old English nickname for a miser. An old
couplet says,—
“The liberall doth spend his pelfe,
The pennyfather wastes himself.”
That such a disposition need not be hereditary is proved in the case of
one of the most generous, earnest Christian ministers who ever worked for
Christ in London. Mr. Pennefather is dead; but who would think of
connecting him with the characteristic his name implies? Again, there
would have been no “Piggs,” no “Rakestraws” (an old nickname for a
dust-heap searcher), no “Milksops,” no “Buggs,” no “Rascals.” But the
fact is, the man who had most interest in the matter had least to do with
it. All he could do was to accept his sobriquet, if not with thanks,
with such grace as he could muster. If his children could shuffle it
off, so much the better. Our Directory proves that this was not always
possible. ’Tis true, we have got rid of “Alan Swet-in-bedde’s” _nominal_
descendants, not to mention such cognomens as “Cheese-and-bread,”
“Scutel-mouth” (what a great eater he must have been!) “Red-herring,”
“Drink-dregs,” “Cat’s-nose,” “Pigg’s-flesh,” “Spickfat” (_i.e._
bacon-fat), “Burgulion” (a braggart), and “Rattlebag.” But many of these
names made a hard fight for it, and contrived to hold out till the
seventeenth, or even eighteenth, century. “Piggs-flesh,” I say, is gone;
but “Hog’s-flesh” has been a name familiar to Brighton and its
neighbourhood for six hundred years, and still lives. Charles Lamb’s
little comedy, called “Mr. H.—” (_i.e._, Hog’s-flesh), had for its hero’s
sobriquet no fanciful title. No doubt Mr. Lamb had seen the name in a
Sussex Directory. The story is a relation of Mr. H.’s troubles in polite
society through the attempt to hide his name under the mere initial.
When it is discovered, everybody deserts him. As he quits his hotel, his
landlord says:—
“Hope your honour does not intend to quit the ‘Blue _Boar_.’ Sorry
anything has happened.”
_Mr. H._ (to himself): “He has heard it all.”
_Land._: “Your honour has had some mortification, to be sure, as a
man may say. You have brought your pigs to a fine market.”
_Mr. H._: “Pigs!”
_Land._: “What then? Take old Pry’s advice, and never mind it.
Don’t scorch your crackling for ’em, sir.”
_Mr. H._: “Scorch my crackling! A queer phrase; but I suppose he
don’t mean to affront me.”
_Land._: “What is done can’t be undone; you can’t make a silken purse
out of a sow’s ear.”
_Mr. H._: “As you say, landlord, thinking of a thing does but augment
it.”
_Land._: “Does but _hogment_ it, indeed, sir.”
_Mr. H._: “_Hogment_ it! I said _augment_ it.”
_Land._: “Ah, sir, ’tis not everybody has such gift of fine phrases
as your honour, that can lard his discourse.”
_Mr. H._: “Lard!”
_Land._: “Suppose they do smoke you—”
_Mr. H._: “Smoke me!”
_Land._: “Anon, anon.”
_Mr. H._: “Oh, I wish I were anonymous!”
It is curious to notice that many objectionable names still exist, simply
because the words themselves have become obsolete, and the meaning
forgotten. We will leave them in their obscurity.