We have now reached the last class of surnames—that which we have called Nicknames. We have dealt with local names, baptismal names, official names, and occupative names. With Nicknames we conclude our list. John At-wood, John Thomson, John Chamberlain, and John Baker, would respectively represent the classes already discussed. John Fox might as fitly act as the representative of our nicknames.
If Nickname be but prosthetically put for an ekename—that is, an added name, a, name appended to the Christian name to eke out or complete a man’s identity—then all surnames are nicknames and all nicknames are surnames. It is better, therefore, that I should state at the outset what I mean by a chapter on Nicknames.
I intend to take in only such sobriquets as were affixed upon individuals by their neighbours to express some physical or mental peculiarity, complimentary or the reverse, whether given in jest or earnest.
This is a very nondescript class, and is therefore much better illustrated than explained. If a man developed some grotesque or pitiful characteristic, either in his bodily shape or his mental attributes, it was just as easy to nickname him by the English term that most plainly described it, or to style him by some name of the lower creation that was supposed to represent that particular characteristic. Thus if Thomas were of crafty disposition, it would be as easy to nickname him Thomas Sly as Thomas Fox. Thus both Sly and Fox are nicknames. There is scarcely a moral attribute that is not found in our directories. In the same receptacle almost every name of every living creature in earth, sea, and air, is to be seen. Indeed, with respect to this latter class, we find in later days a reversal of the statement met with in Genesis ii. 19. There it is said, “And out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air; and brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them: and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof. And Adam gave names to all cattle, and to the fowl of the air, and to every beast of the field.” I say this statement was reversed four or five hundred years ago by our English forefathers. They gave the cattle, the fish, and the birds, men’s names, and gave to men the names of the cattle, the fish, and the birds. There is not a single domestic animal which was not familiarly known to our ancestors by a nickname taken from our baptismal nomenclature, while, on the other hand, there is not a single domestic animal whose proper name was not affixed as a nickname upon some member of the rational community.
I will give an illustration or two of what I mean. They shall be taken from the London Directory. Spenser says,—
“The ruddock warbles soft.”
Many of my readers will not know what a ruddock is. It was the old proper name for the robin-redbreast. Chaucer has the name in “The Assembly of Fowls.” But our forefathers nicknamed this homely bird robin. Every family then had a “Robin” in the household. Out of fondness for the bird that did not desert them when the winter snow enveloped the trees with a white mantle, but came hopping to the doorstep for a crumb, they styled it by the familiar term of robin. This nickname became so popular that it all but pushed out the more orthodox term of ruddock. But there are three Ruddicks and five Ruddocks in the London Directory! What does this show? Why, that as the man’s name of Robin was given to the bird, so the bird’s name of ruddock was given to the man. We find a Ralph Ruddoc registered so early as the Hundred Rolls. No doubt he got the nickname from some peculiar redness of the chin or throat, or because of some peculiarity in his habits or demeanour, which struck his neighbours with a fancied similarity to the bird. A sparrow was always called “Phip,” from Philip. On the other hand, I find no less than twenty Sparrows in the London Directory. Thus a pye became a Mag-pie, from Margaret, and we still chant in nursery song,—
“See-saw,
Margery Daw.”
Having given them Margaret, they have presented us with many of our Daws, all our Pyes, and the one Pie of the London Directory. How odd that while, as I have shown, there are so many hundred Cooks in the metropolis, they can only turn out one Pie! There is a large assortment of Cockerells, Cockrells, and Cockrills in the Directory. Young cocks still go by this name in Cumberland. Driving in my dogcart to visit a sick woman on the hill-side the other day, I went by a barn-door on which I saw a placard advertising the sale of fine healthy “cockerels.” But I may not linger. We may see in this same metropolitan record Swans, Finches, Herons, Cootes, Ducks, Drakes, Woodcocks, Partridges, Goslings, and Gosses, by the dozen. Gosling is often but a corruption of Joscelyn, and so is not of the nickname class. Goss is but the old spelling of “goose.” In our older records we find it registered as Peter le Goos, Amicia le Gos, or John le Gos. All our Pinnicks and Pinnocks are from the old pinnock or pinnick, the hedge-sparrow:—
“Thus in the pinnick’s nest the cuckoo lays,
Then, easy as a Frenchman, takes her flight.”