What's in a name?

Many people will recognise this question, and some may know that it comes from Shakespeare's play, Romeo and Juliet. On discovering that Romeo is a Montague, Juliet attempts to convince herself that names are unimportant, as her family, the Capulets, are involved in an 'ancient feud'  with the Montagues.

Despite Juliet's attempts to deny the significance of names, she knows, and so do we, that names are central to a person's identity. I live bang opposite a children's nursery and every day I hear the names of the children. There is an interesting retro choice of names currently. There's a  Mabel, a Martha and an Edith. For the boys, not to be outdone, there's an Arthur, a Humphrey and an Archibald.

Names, like fashion, follow trends and so along with the retro names, there are other very modern names; modern to my ear anyway. Uncertain as to its correct spelling, I notice nevertheless that Diyora attends nursery each day, along with Joshene, whose genders are not apparent, by their names. There are some names which just continue, never fall foul of fashion and in addition succeed in crossing all class boundaries. For girls, the name Sarah fulfils this role. For boys I would suggest that Jack is the one. My father, who was born in November 1918, as The Great War came to a close, was called Jack. In truth. he was christened John, but everybody called him Jack. So congratulations to the Sarahs and the Jacks, whose timelessness and classlessness are unequalled.

As a teacher for thirty years, I can remember when I first started that classes were populated by Dawns, Traceys, Darrens and Waynes. Shockingly, those people will be in their mid thirties now. They are still a way off old age, even middle age, but now that the social commentators are  telling us that fifty is the new  thirty and sixty is the new forty, all very cheering if a little unconvincing, it will be perhaps as much as half a century until those Darrens and Traceys will be occupying  the seats in the old people's homes. But they will be, one day, and it seems odd to my mind that Wayne and Dawn will be occupying the seats as some well-meaning middle class girl or boy, maybe Sarah or Jack, will volunteer to sing on a Wednesday afternoon in a bid to improve their curriculum vitae, in one of the care homes.

Before that though, along will come my generation. There will be Peter, Andrew, Steven, Graham, Roy, John, Colin, Dennis, David and Ian. Their female counterparts will be Mary, Margaret, Susan, Jean, Yvonne, Jacqueline and Valerie. We will oust Edith, Gladys, Rita, Elsie and Evelyn, Albert, Fred, Earnest, Harold and Cyril. They will all have gone to glory and in we'll come, aided by sticks, zimmer-frames or an impatient relative. Then we, in our turn, will be replaced by... well, you get the idea.

Ask any parent how they came to the decision to call their child the name they have attached to him or her and you will, I suspect, receive a huge variety of reasons. That said, it is doubtful that many or even any will say they put no thought at all into their choice. You carry a name with you throughout your life. It is a part of you and though the name you have may suggest your age, it will not wither and wrinkle like the outer-casing, about which we are unable to do very much to prevent. Even Joan Collins and Joan Rivers must know they (both Joans!) are ultimately going to lose the battle they are fighting with such vigour. What's in a name? An awful lot, I'd say.