Chapter II: 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.