EARLY PET NAMES.
THE present and following chapter I purpose devoting to the further
consideration of the subject of baptismal names. There are distinct
epochs in the history of names, as in the history of everything else.
One great crisis in our national nomenclature was the Norman Conquest.
With the exception of Alfred, Arthur, Edwin, Edward, Ethel, and say a
dozen other agnomens which were preserved through various accidents, all
English names of the pre-Norman period disappeared before the end of the
twelfth century. They were literally submerged beneath the advancing
tide of Norman titles and usages. All the great popular sobriquets so
familiar to us to-day, such as William, Henry, Ralph, Richard, Gerald,
Robert, and even Scripture and Saint’s-day names like John, Ellis
(Elias), Stephen, and Matthew, belong to the later epoch.
But an equally grave crisis in English nomenclature was the publication
of an English Bible, and the Reformation of Religion that followed. From
that day all our common and familiar Bible names came into use. Till
then the only Scripture names in vogue were those set down in the
Calendar of the Saints, or such names as were employed in the
“Mysteries,” or “Plays” taken from Scripture stories, performed at
festivals for the amusement and instruction of the peasantry and
tradespeople. From the day of the Reformation the _out-of-the-way_
sobriquets of the Bible came into favour. As these increased, what we
may call the pagan names decreased. The popularity of Harry, Dick,
Robert, and Walter began to fade. Some, like Hamond, Avice, Drew, Payn,
and Warin, altogether disappeared, while Guy, Baldwin, and Edward held
but a most precarious existence.
Here then are two epochs—the Norman, and the Puritan. Let us confine
ourselves in this chapter to the first.
“_Pagan_” and “_Christian_” were both favourite baptismal names in the
Norman epoch. The former was registered as “Payn” or “Paine.” Chaucer
says,—
“The constable and Dame Hermigold, his wife,
Were payens, and that country everywhere.”
All our “Pagans,” “Payns,” “Paines,” and “Pinsons” are from this
old-fashioned sobriquet. A century ago, the Hon. Thomas Erskine having
been seized with a serious illness, and kindly tended at Lady Payne’s
house in London, wrote,—
“’Tis true I am ill; but I need not complain,
For he never knew pleasure who never knew Payne.”
_Christian_ has never been popular in England, but Christopher has; and
besides the long “Christophers” and “Christopherson,” has left us Kitts
and Kitson.
Another name, a Scripture name too, is now all but wholly disused—that of
Samson. I daresay many of my readers have thought that our many Sampsons
are all but entirely descended from Sam-son, _i.e._, the son of Samuel.
I have no hesitation in claiming a full half for the son of Manoah, the
Danite. The old registers teem with entries like “Samson de Battisford”
or “Sampson Dernebrough.” Shallow says (2 _Hen. IV._), “And the very
same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer behind
Gray’s Inn.”
“I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
To mow ’em down before me,”
says the porter’s assistant in _Henry VIII_. The fact is, the story of
Samson was a favourite one with our forefathers, and often performed at
the miracle-plays. There are nearly fifty Sampsons and Samsons in the
London Directory, some of them being of purely Jewish descent. “Elegant
Extracts,” a favourite storehouse of good, bad, and indifferent (very)
poetry for the youth of our country in the last century, has the
following, anent this name:—
“Jack, eating rotten cheese, did say,
‘Like Samson, I my thousands slay.’
‘I vow,’ quoth Roger, ‘so you do,
And with the self-same weapon too.’”
Speaking of Roger, we may note that he is fast going out of fashion.
There was a day when “Hodge” was as familiar as Hob, Dicon, or Harry. A
single glance at our Directory will prove this, for to him we owe all our
Hodges, Hodgsons, Hodgkins, Hodgkinsons, Hodsons, Hotchkiss’s, etc. Just
as Hob, from Robert, became Dob in North England, so Hodge, from Roger,
became Dodge. From Dodge we get our Dodgshons, and Dodgesons. Just as,
also, Hodgson became Hodson, so Dodgson has become Dodson. The Welsh
turned Ap-Roger into Prodger. All this proves a popularity for Roger
utterly beyond its present modest pretensions.
A great deal of nonsense has been written upon one of the noblest family
names in England—Howard. It is constantly said, and as constantly
reiterated, that the sobriquet is one of occupation, being nothing more
nor less than Hog-ward, or hog-herd, corresponding to Swinnart from
swine-herd, Coward from cow-herd, Shepherd from sheep-herd, Calvert from
calve-herd, and Stoddart and Stottard from stot-herd (_i.e._, stot,
bullock). All these latter are without doubt what they seem to be, for
old registers give them in their more manifest dress. But Howard is only
another form of Harvard, or Hereward, or Heoruvard. Thus we find such an
early entry as John Fitz-howard (that is, John, the son of Howard),
clearly a baptismal surname. When Byron wished to hurl an invective at
the head of his relative, the Earl of Carlisle, he quoted Pope,—
“What can ennoble knaves, or _fools_, or cowards?
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.”
The italics are Byron’s, and every one knows the family name of the Lords
of Carlisle. As a quotation, it was apt; as applicable to the Earl, it
was the opposite; but Byron in a rage meant Byron ungovernable either by
courtesy or truth. However, my point is, that the ancestral house of the
Howards are not descended from a hog-herd,—though it would be no disgrace
if they were, for a shepherd once became a king and a poet,—but from one
of those grand personal names which existed in England before the Norman
Conquest was dreamt of. “Hereward, the Saxon” has been made familiar
within the last few years by Charles Kingsley. This is but the same name
in an earlier dress. It might have been considered a happy thought, if
the author had dedicated his book to one of the Howards, and stereotyped
their identity.
In my work on “English Surnames” I have given a somewhat exhaustive list
of the various appellations formed from English baptismal names. So I
will merely hint at a few and pass on. Walter, as Wat, gave us Watkins,
Watts, Watson, and Watkinson. The old familiar form for Walter was
Water, which explains Shakespear’s play upon the name in _Henry VI._:—
“My name is Walter Whitmore.
How now! why start’st thou? What, doth death affright?
_Suffolk_. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
A cunning man did calculate my birth,
And told me that by _water_ I should die.”
Our Waters and Watersons are thus explained. _Antony_ has bequeathed us
Tonkin, Tonson, and Tounson; _Philip_, Phipps, Phillips, and Philpotts
(_i.e._ Philipot, that is, little Philip, a pet name). A curious form of
Philpot may be seen in the Directory in the shape of Fillpot. This
reminds us that many a play has been made on the name. It was not so
very long ago that Punch facetiously remarked upon the fact that the
newly elected Bishop of Worcester was Philpott, the then Bishop of Exeter
being the celebrated Philpotts,—
“‘A good appointment? No, it’s not,’
Said old beer-drinking Peter Watts;
‘At Worcester one but hears “Philpott,”
At generous Exeter “Philpotts.”’”
A large number of patronymics are to be seen in the surnames that come
under the division “N” in the Directory. In the old song “Joan to the
Maypole” it is said,—
“Nan, Noll, Kate, Moll,
Brave lasses, have lads to attend ’em:
Hodge, Nick, Tom, Dick,
Brave country dancers, who can amend ’em?”
“Nan” stands for Anna or Hannah, Noll for Olive or Oliver, in this case
Olive, a girl’s name. In fact, every name that began with a vowel was
turned into a pet form beginning with “N.” Edward became Ned, and Emma
Nem. Thus in St. Peter’s, Cornhill, the register says,—
“Sept. 20, 1577. Fryday, buryed, Nem Carye, daughter of Harry
Carye.”
Humphrey became Nump, and Abel, Nāb. In Ben Jonson’s “Alchemist,” the
tobacco man Abel addresses Face,—
“Yes, sir; I have another thing I would impart,”
to which Face replies,—
“Out with it, Nāb.”
Again, Isabella became Nib. The result of this is, that such surnames as
Nibbs, Nabbs, and Nemms or Neams, are common. Even Nance, which figures
twice in the Postal Directory, is just as likely to be the old “Nans,”
from Anna, as from the town of Nantes. The owner can take his choice,
however, and probably will prefer the local origin.
Talking of girls’ names, we may notice how many surnames owe their origin
to Matilda, Emma, Isabella, and Petronilla. There are pages of
Tillotsons, Tillots, Tilletts, Tilts, and Tills, all from the old pet
form Till. Emma, too, is commemorated in little companies of Emms, Emps,
Emsons, Empsons, Emmotts, Emmetts, and Emmotsons; while Isabella is not
far behind with the retinue of Ibbs, Nibbs, Ibbotts, Ibbetts, and
Ibbotsons. Petronilla, the feminine form of Peter, was always known as
Parnel, and is thus found in St. Peter’s, Cornhill:—
“1586, Aprill 17. Sonday, christening of Parnell, daughter of
William Averell, merchaunt tailor.”
Hence our many Parnells and Parnalls. Mary has left us Mollison and
Marriott (_i.e._ little Mary), but was never popular in England during
the days of surname formation. Maria was practically unknown till the
seventeenth century. As Charles Lamb says,—
“_Maria_ asks a statelier pace,—
‘Ave, Maria, full of grace!’
Romish rites before me rise,
Image worship, sacrifice,
And well-meant but mistaken pieties.”
It is a proof that even in days long anterior to the Reformation the
English peasantry had an inrooted objection to a foreign religious yoke,
in the shape of Popery, that such names as Peter and Mary should be so
scantily represented. ’Tis true that Peter has left his mark upon the
Directory. There are shoals of Peters, Petersons, Perkins, Pearces,
Piers, Pierces, and Pearsons, but their origin belongs to an earlier day.
Certain it is, that at least a century before the reign of Mary, the name
was growing into disrepute with the English people, and no doubt the
obnoxious tax of Peter’s-pence was at the root of it.
_Guy_ was turned in Norman nurseries into Guiot (_i.e._, little Guy);
this in English was transformed into Wyatt. How popular this name was
four hundred years ago, is proved by the fact that there are nearly sixty
Wyatts set down in the London Directory alone. William, Walter, Warin,
and Wyatt all testify to the change of French G into English W. In the
French Directories they will still be found as Guillaume, Gualter,
Guarin, and Guiot. And as Guillaume became William, so Guillemot (little
William) became Williamot, and then Wilmot. The French, however, unlike
the English, were very fond of adding _two_ diminutives to the name.
Thus, Guillot (little Will) became Guillotin (little wee Will). This
reminds us of Dr. Guillotin, who invented that terrible instrument which
played such a horrible part in the French Revolution. In the same way,
Hugh (always spelt “Hew” in mediæval records) became English Hewet
(little Hugh), and French Hugot. But our neighbours, inserting another
diminutive, turned it into Hugenot (little wee Hugh). This at once
explains a matter of much contention. There has been much strife as to
the origin of the word Huguenot. Had our friends only been aware of the
fondness of the French some centuries ago for _double diminutives_, they
would have seen at once that the sect sprang from some _individual_
bearing that name, the origin of which is perfectly simple. It may be of
interest to add, that we in England have never used _double diminutives_.
In France it was the rule rather than the exception, as their Directories
fully prove. Introduced by the Normans, we have both “in” and “ot” or
“et,” as in “Col_in_” and “Hew_et_,” from Nicholas and Hugh; but we never
conjoin them to one name. A Frenchman four hundred years ago would have
turned them into “Col-in-et,” “Col-ot-in,” “Hugu-in-ot,” or “Hug-ot-in.”
’Tis true, we in England called children “Rob-in-et,” as I have shown in
a previous chapter; but it was a mere passing fancy. I was wrong,
however, in stating that the surname “Robinet” is practically obsolete,
for Mr. Hutton, the Rector of Stilton, writes to inform me that in a
village adjacent there are several families of this name.
Thomas owed its great popularity to Thomas à Becket, who for a time at
least was a popular idol. Few baptismal names have laid their impress on
the London Directory as this has done. Rows of Thomas’s appear, many
hailing from the Welsh border. These are flanked by columns of Thompsons
with a “p,” and Thomsons without a “p.” Dancing attendance on these more
important members of the Thomas family, are scattered up and down a few
Thomassets, and Thomsetts, memorials of the old pet name “Thomaset”
(_i.e._ little Thomas). But Thomas seemed to imagine that the “h” in his
side ought to be got rid of, so he appears in shoals as Tompkins, with a
“p” again, and again as Tomkins without a “p.” Poor relations do not
like to make their connection too prominent, for fear of giving offence,
so in the background, but close enough to be ready to make good their
claim, appear several Toms, Thoms, Tomes, and Tombs. This last looks
very funereal indeed, and would seem to be a local name taken from one
who has had his dwelling amid the tombs, but “b” was often put at the end
in that way. Thus Timbs is from Tims, that is, Timothy. A string of
Tomlins and Tomlinsons completes the list. Many will remember the rhyme
about Thomas the footman, whom his lady married:—
“Dear lady, think it no reproach,
It showed a generous mind,
To take poor Thomas in the coach,
Who rode _before behind_.
“Dear lady, think it no reproach,
It show’d you loved the more,
To take poor Thomas in the coach,
Who rode _behind before_.’”
There are a fair number of Guns, Gunns, and Gunsons, in our Directory.
There is a slang phrase about being the “son of a gun.” This was a
common occurrence in old days when such entries as “Richard filius Gunne”
were frequently made. The fact is, “Gun” was a baptismal name, and the
surnames mentioned above are but sprung from it. It is not many years
since Mr. Gunson preached the assize sermon at Cambridge before Mr. Baron
Alderson and Mr. Justice Patteson. The following rhyme got abroad:—
“A Baron, a Justice, a Preacher,—sons three:
The Preacher, the son of a Gun is he;
The Baron, he is the son of a tree;
Whose son is the Justice I can’t well see,
But read him _Pater_son, and all will agree
That the son of his father the Justice must be.”
Alderson is but a form of Aldrichson, Aldrich being once a common
baptismal name; while Patterson, Paterson, Pattison, and Patteson, are
all commemorative of Patrick, who, strange to say, was scarcely
remembered at the font at all in Ireland at a time when he was very
popular in England.
Every country has a sobriquet which stands as a kind of baptismal name
for the nation, as distinct from the individual. England is represented
by John, or John Bull; Scotland by Alexander, as Sawney or Sandy; Ireland
by Patrick, as Pat; and Wales by David, in the dress of Taffy. Let us
trace their origin very briefly, and see their effect upon our
nomenclature. In 1385 the Guild of St. George, at Norwich, contained 376
names; of these 128 were John! This extraordinary proportion was the
direct result of the Crusades. From the Jordan, in which Christ had been
baptized, every crusader brought home in his bottle water for baptismal
purposes. He could not christen his child by the name of Jesus, the
Baptized—this would be blasphemy; but he could give it the name of the
baptizer, John. Remember, too, that John the Baptist was “Elias.” Hence
Baptist, John, Ellis, and Jordan, became the favourite baptismal names
for several generations. Our Jordans, Jordansons, Jordsons, Judds,
Judsons, and Judkins are all memorials of this, for Judd did not become
the pet name of George till the seventeenth century. In early days it
was the nickname of Jordan. The other day I saw a register of a child
christened “River,” his surname being Jordan. Thus both names have the
same origin. This kind of thing is common. I know registers where may
be seen three “River Jordans.” “Windsor Castle” occurs in a Derbyshire
church record. But John took the lead.
One of the most curious freaks in the history of nomenclature is that
which made Jack the nickname for “John.” The French for James was Jaques
(Jacobus). This being the then favourite name in France, got popularized
in England, with this difference, that the common folk took it and made
it the pet name of their own favourite name “John.” Thus our Jacks,
Jacksons, Jacklins, are all reminiscences of John rather than James. It
is so still. No one ever dreams of styling a boy called James, Jack. To
this day, John and Jack are synonymous. The Flemings brought in “Hans”
(_i.e. Johannes_). These have originated our Hankins, Hankinsons,
Hancocks, Handcocks, Hanks, and Hands. Further distinction was obtained
by nicknaming some boys as “Little-John,” “Proper-John” (_i.e._,
handsome: in country parts, they still say of a young man, “He’s a proper
young fellow”). The French introduced Gros-Jean (Big-John) and Bon-Jean
(Good-John), and the latter got corrupted into Bunyan. To John we owe
our Johnsons, Jones, Jennings, Jenkinsons, Jenkins, and Jenks. No doubt,
when Mr. Jenkins wrote “Ginx’s Baby,” he was aware that both author and
hero bore the same name, for “Ginx” is simply “Jinks” or “Jenks”
caricatured.
Miss Yonge thinks that Margaret Atheling introduced Alexander into
Scotland from the Hungarian Court. Her third son was Alexander, and
under him and the other two Alexanders Scotia was prosperous. Hence its
great popularity. Sawney and Sandy are the pet forms, and the surnames
Alister, McAlister in the Highlands, and Sanders or Saunders in the
Lowlands, will for ever prevent the name being forgotten.
Patrick, the patron saint of Irishmen, whose festival is kept wherever
Irishmen may be, has, strange to say, left scarcely a single surname.
There is “Kil-patrick,” and “Gos-patrick”—_i.e._, servant of Patrick (Gos
= gossoon, _i.e._ garçon), but no real patronymic. How is this? One
single reason will suffice. At the time of surname formation “Patrick”
was scarcely ever used at the font. “Teague” was the popular name till
the end of the seventeenth century. Under 150 years ago, Englishmen
spoke of an Irishman, not as “Pat,” but as “Teague.” I could prove this
equally from registers and ballads.
“Taffy,” of course, was and is the Welsh national name, and owes his
origin to St. David, who lived in the sixth century, and through his
sanctity caused his bishop’s see to be changed from Menevia into St.
David’s. Davy, Davis, and Davies are therefore common enough in the
Principality. From our childhood we have heard that—
“Taffy was a Welshman,
Taffy was a thief;”
but we trust, for the credit of our friends across the Severn, that this
refers to a particular Taffy, and not to the national Taffy. Black sheep
are to be found in every flock. That Taffy can be a hero, Happy Dodd and
his compatriots can prove; and never was the Albert Medal more richly
deserved or more bravely won, than on the morning that witnessed the
rescue of the imprisoned miners in the Welsh coal-pit. All honour to
Taffy!