Gaby, Kay and Frankie outside our hotel in Paris, September 2011.
Names, as much as any other word, are important to me. Especially when it’s my own name, or that of my family. So what brought me to change my name in an instant, or at least change the balance of my name. And once I had done that how did I handle the parental task of choosing my daughters names?
My parents christened me Maurice Robert so you can understand why as a teenager in the late 1960’s mine wasn’t a Christian name I broadcast. Like most other kids at the time I had various nicknames and they seemed to suffice. If the phone rang and Boz was requested my parents seemed to make the connection without too much of a problem.
Peer Pressure
By the mid 1970’s I found myself at Trent Polytechnic standing in line on day one of my Creative Photography and Film Making course. Good name for a course I thought and even better than Mass Media Communications which I had been previously studying at Aston Polytechnic (of course they are all universities now but I can’t lie). The guy to my left looked like Cat Stevens but with an Irish drawl. His name was Chris and he had previously been at Queens, Belfast. He told me he had run with the IRA, had left his pregnant girlfriend in Dublin, and was the guitarist in a band, any band, who knows.
When it came to my short biography and name in front of all my day one peers I immediately dropped the Maurice and went straight to the shortened middle name. ‘Rob’ I declared and Rob it has remained ever since. Besides the odd distant cousin who addresses his Christmas card to Maurice the name all but died for me in that instant. Rob suited the rock ‘n roll image better. It wasn’t brilliant of course, but it was better.
And even my parents were happy to play the game, which in hindsight, was quite magnamimous of them as I had basically ditched what they had considered for me, and chosen my own.
Rob met Kay. Her parents chose Kay because you could not shorten it, which did not sit entirely comfortably with me but I was not in this particular naming equation. Rob and Kay married in 1990 and soon Kay was pregnant.
Difficult Decisions
George was my first choice, it was my grandfather’s name and it was a robust name that had a little cache as an old fashioned name that was also coming back into fashion. But Gary Lineker had named his son George a few months earlier and I was concerned the name might become too topical and abundant. I needed a re-think. I had always liked Frank!
Frank Rock really was a solid name (sorry). That was his real name, and I had quite wished it was my name. Frank Rock was a member of ‘The Language’. They were a self styled bunch of lightweight hippies a year or two older than us, often seen clutching copies of Pink Floyd LP’s and patrolling the 6th form corridors at school. They had developed their own language so they could speak to each other without us kids having a clue. Quite clever really when I think about it.
Zappa the muso and Franchescoli the Argentinian No.9 were also both great advertisements for the name, so that was settled for me, but would Kay go with Frank?
‘What if it’s a girl?’
Such a common sense response, I do love her. I hadn’t thought about that but she might be right… 50:50 eh?
‘Okay, Francesca if it’s a girl, Frank if it’s a boy! Settled.
So what about the second name? H/She could not be deprived as Kay had been but we decided to wait and see and make the decision after the baby was born.
Is it a Car or a Child?
That would be on 10th October, 1990 at Good Hope Hospital (good name or not?) After the birth Kay had the cup of tea and I had the toast, which is probably what happens in most cases, though I still feel guilty to this day. My mouth was still full when a nurse asked for my name. Kay answered ‘Maurice’, probably because we were in a hospital, but I had not heard her call me that for very many years. ‘Good’ said the nurse, we will put a name tag on baby straight away and she proceeded to write on the little plastic bracelet MORRIS MINOR. I nearly choked.
Francesca was a beautiful baby and we were very lucky to have her but would Kay go with the middle name I had in reserve?
During the late 1970’s and early 1980’s I would often go down to the Birmingham Wholesale Flower Markets with my sister Mary who was the buyer for our Interflora florist shop in Castle Bromwich. It was early, usually cold, but always good fun. They even had their own pub that was open at 9.00am in the morning. The lead up to Valentine’s Day was the busiest and rose prices soared. Our importer (Wally Newnes) used to buy those beautiful long straight stemmed red roses in from Israel for the big day. They were unlike any other roses. The flower heads were perfect, but they do not have a smell. All the breeding went into the shape and colour I was assured. There was a choice of three, if memory serves me well, Sonia, Mercedes and Gabrielle. I was drawn to Mercedes, but could I name my daughter after a car?
A little bit of research soon uncovered that the car was in fact named after the girl, not the other way around. Mercedes was not an uncommon name in the Mediterranean regions, the English version was Mercy. Maurice was also Mediterranean (well maybe French) so it all seemed to fit. Francesca Mercedes Hall seemed to have lots of different possibilities for name contortions so she could change it as she grew. Kay also liked Mercedes, particularly as it was genuinely chosen after the rose.
It’s A Rose!
As with many prospective parents Kay and I planned a second child and we were back at Good Hope three years later when our second daughter was born on 11th February, 19994. We had decided to leave all the naming until after the event this time around. It all seem to flow more smoothly the second time and we went back to the three Valentine Roses and chose Gabrielle. Mediterranean, multi-syllabic, feminine and different, and it just felt right.
That just left the second name. Neither of us were drawn to Sonia, but we loved the flower connection still. Kay had a family member, and so did I with the name Rose. It seemed to close the circle. She was Gabrielle Rose Hall. At 6 years of age she adopted Ellie as her name and would not answer to anything else for 3 months.
My late father was Gerald Robert and was most proud of his cars and his registration mark 5 GRH. Today it is on Gabrielle Rose’s little MINI as she is minding it for her grandad.
Kay and I moved ourselves and our 2 daughters to a new house 3 years ago. The house is quite old and has a large Horse Chestnut tree in the front garden, right near the road. A rusty bracket that once held a sign has been partly swallowed by the ever expanding girth of the tree. I asked my neighbour Gordon what had hung from the bracket and it was the original name of the house he said, Good Hope!
Time Changes Everything
To this day both Francesca Mercedes and Gabrielle Rose seem happy with their names. They are both, of course, language students, I am preferring Robert to Rob after nearly 40 years and I actually don’t mind being called Maurice by family members anymore. It was the name carried by Maurice Meader, my grandmother’s sisters lad. He was a Spitfire pilot and 21 years of age when he lost his life.
I dedicate this to him and to his name.