What's in a Name?

Grannies, sourdough and pancakes? Read on...

Okay… I know my weekly newsletter professes to be about art, but I have been distracted, so this week I’ll start with a story. I have four sons, the first three of whom we named Ben, Sam and Joe. Good solid old fashioned names that can’t be shortened and just so happened to be biblical but that was by coincidence rather than choice. But when I was expecting number four we were struggling to find something we both liked that fitted with the others. We thought about Tom, Matt and Luke amongst others, but none were really calling to us. I quite liked Zach but ex husband actively disliked it so that was ruled out. We even toyed with Kate but the chances of us having a girl didn’t really seem like a serious option. So, when our forth little boy arrived he was without a name for the first week of his life. We really couldn’t go on calling him ‘The Baby’ though, so someone had to make a decision.

Now while we were dithering over what to call him his eldest brother Ben, at 10 years old, had no such doubts. A very keen Spurs supporter he felt that his baby brother should be named after his football hero Gary Lineker who played for Spurs at the time. Nothing against the name Gary (actually I’m not keen but don’t want to offend anyone) but really… Ben, Sam, Joe and… Gary? We refused, obviously, and as a result no. 1 son refused to talk to us all week until we finally settled on a compromise and named the baby Jacob Paul (immediately shortened to Jake by his brothers) with Paul being a nod to another football hero at the time Paul Gascoigne. There were also three other forwards in the Spurs team at the time all named Paul, so we felt we were on safe ground and the name was grudging accepted.

And this story sprang to mind because we were visiting Ben and his family at the weekend and were offered a slice of ‘Gary’ bread with our lunch. Ben’s wife was never going to accept Gary as a name for their firstborn (not that it was any longer a serious option for Ben either) so when Ben got into making bread during 2020 he named his sourdough starter ‘Gary’ as a nod to his childhood hero and all resulting bread in their house is known as Gary bread. I’m hoping this is not a result of childhood trauma!

Incidentally, my sourdough starter* is called ‘Vincent Van Dough’ which is the nearest you are going to get to any art reference today. I digress!

It got me thinking about names and how important it is what we get called, either our given names or the things other people call us. As you know my name is Gina. Often I have had people ask is it short for something but no, it is just Gina… Gina Maria a bit like an after dinner drink! When my little brother was learning to speak he couldn’t say Gina and for a while I was called ‘Geega’ which fortunately didn’t stick. Then when I was in school my best friend used to call me ‘Gigi’ Being an avid reader of Enid Blyton adventures, I always liked the idea of having a nickname that implied I was an adventurous tomboy but Gigi? Not so much...more like a French call girl! Again, fortunately for me it didn’t stick. Much later in life I had friends who would call me ‘Gin gin’. By this stage in my life, I couldn’t really understand this need to shorten, abbreviate or change someone’s given name, unless they actually asked to be called something different. Again, the name (like the friends as it happened) was short lived. So Gina it has always been until I became a grandmother.

On the birth of our first grandson, my stepdaughter very kindly consulted me on what I would like to be called. Whilst I was absolutely thrilled to be a grandmother, I didn’t actually feel very much like one, so I ruled out ‘Granny’ immediately as it sounded way too old. In my mind a granny is at least eighty, although I suspect once I reach that age the bar might be raised higher. I had visions of a Roald Dahl character, and it didn’t match my self-image.

Old granny, glamorous granny… or just plain bonkers?

Whilst ‘Grandma’ was marginally better it still somehow felt too old. I do have a friend who calls herself ‘Glamma’ but I really couldn’t do that without a large dose of ironic self-depreciation. Besides I’m probably the least glamorous person you are likely to meet, so it would feel rather silly and I would worry people would think I was serious.

Growing up both my grandmothers were called Nanny or Nan and distinguished from each other by their surnames. Nanny seems to be quite a regional variation across the UK, common in some places but unheard of in others. I suspect it derives from the affectionate term for a caregiver who was usually employed to look after the children in wealthy households. A Mary Poppins figure! I never questioned it growing up and when I had my own children I assumed it would be automatic that that is what they would call my Mum. And they did. However, the afore mentioned ex-husband thought it was appalling. In his eyes a nanny was a paid servant, not something you called a relative, although I’m not sure he had any experience of paid servants in his childhood.

As a result, I was left feeling not very comfortable with ‘Nanny’ but equally cross that he could still wield influence over what I thought. So, a compromise was reached. I wanted something that sounded a bit fun, and not to be taken seriously.  Having just seen ‘The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel’ I thought of Sonny Kapoor and how he calls his mother Mama G and out of the blue I decided I would be ‘Nanny G’ and it has stuck… almost.

Ben’s wife, whilst not accepting Gary as a name for her son also wasn’t prepared to accept Nanny G as the name for her children’s grandmother, claiming it made me sound like a gangster rapper. I was actually okay with being a ‘Gangsta Granny’ but I respected that culturally, where she is from in Greece, there are not lots of different names for a grandmother but only one γιαγιά (pronounced yaya) and so that is what their two children call me.

So for four of my grandchildren, I am ‘Nanny G’ and for the other two I am ‘γιαγιά Gina’ and I’m just as happy with both. To be honest, I wouldn’t have really minded Granny either as long as I get to be the grandmother who does the fun, crazy and sometimes naughty stuff like riding on the playground equipment (I’m particularly fond of a zip wire), teaching them how to spit cherry stones, building dens, burying them in the grass…

making the best pancakes* and exploding volcanos, then I’m happy.

I’d love to know what other names are out there for grandmothers. What are you called or what did you call your grandmother? Do leave me a comment to let me know.

And next week? There’s going to be art… I promise!

But for now I’ll give you the recipe for my ‘Vincent’s Pancakes’. I don’t always make bread every week so to keep Vincent Van Dough* active and bubbling I feed it and use the excess in pancakes for a weekend breakfast treat.

For 10-12 American style pancakes you will need:

• 150g plain flour ( I use a mix of white and wholemeal but any combination works)

• 1 heaped teaspoon baking powder

• 1 tablespoon chia seeds (optional)

• 1 tablespoon flax seeds (optional)

• 1 tablespoon sugar

• 1 egg

• 200 ml milk

• 100 - 150g of sourdough starter

Whisk together all the dry ingredients and then whisk in the egg, milk and soughdough starter. Lightly grease a hot frying pan or griddle with butter and cook large dollops of the mixture (approximately 2 tablespoons at a time), turning once they begin to bubble. Serve hot with your topping of choice. This morning we had ours with Greek yoghurt, a banana and poached rhubarb straight off the allotment.