What's In A Name?

I have recently discovered the unwritten rule for the naming of children in the bygone centuries of Europe, and the British Isles. It's a wonderful tradition to pass along family names, and I'm sure it has more to do with honor and respect, rather than a simple lack of imagination. I hope. It goes a little something like this

--The first born son is to be named either after the father, or the father's father (which in most cases IS the father's name, simply by means of the tradition).

--The first born daughter is to be named after the mother, which again, probably references the mother's mother.

--Every child following, should be named after a sibling of either the mother or father. Most often, in order of birth. However, some would be named after a sibling who had passed away early in life, which sadly, was very often the case.

--If a man should lose his wife, and marry again, he is likely to name his first son, by his second wife, after himself, leading to two Jr's. Or would that be a Jr and a Third? Heaven forbid a man should have a third wife, which some often did! ... oy vey.

Living now, in current times, with unique and trendy names running rampant, I am a somewhat traditional mother. My eldest daughter bears two middle names that correspond to at least ten different people in my family... myself, my mother, my ex-husband's mother, my grandmother, my Great Aunt, and several others that I didn't even know existed, at that time that I was naming her.

My son's middle name is a reflection of my father, and my brother, and his father's grandfather, who had died a year before his birth.

My third child is named after her grandmother, but typically goes by her middle name, which wasn't specified for anyone. At least that's what we thought at the time. 

And then there's my baby girl, who was given a name all her own. No remembrances, no namesakes. That is, until I began my ancestry research, and discovered about eight other people who bear the same name.

At least I can say future genealogists will have little trouble identifying my family. Unlike myself, who often rants and curses at the families that I've come to know, and dearly love. 

For instance, the Englishman in the 16th century, who had three wives, and a namesake with each. Of course, the three young Richards' grew up to name each of their seven children after all of their brothers and sisters. And let's not overlook the fact that, as they reached their reproductive years, their father was still siring further children! It turned out that his favorite son was his youngest, Nicholas.

"Thank God", I said, "A new name!". I later cursed Nicholas for naming all of his children after his siblings, and his siblings' children. 

I know an Irish family, whom I have only been able to trace back five generations. There are more Patricks', Josephs', and Francis' in those generations than there are saints by the same name.

Speaking of religion, sort of, I know another British family that references the name Samuel more times than the Bible itself.

On the other side of the coin... or the parentage... my mother's family is known for passing along surnames as middle names. A genealogist's dream.  I can often discover a woman's maiden name simply by the middle name of one of her sons.  Or it may be the maiden name of the mother's mother.

I once found a woman who named her son after the man who took in, and raised her little sister, after their father died at an early age.

So, really, I do love the repetition of family names. It keeps the memory alive, and honors the past by bringing it into the future. But, sometimes ... just sometimes ... uuuuugggh!!