Luky;
BEFORE I WAS MARRIED I OFTEN ASKED WOMEN WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO EXPECT A BABY OR GIVE BIRTH TO ONE, and I never got much of an answer.
I have since found that giving birth is like walking alone in a valley, huge mountains on either side of one, from which kind faces - those of the doctor, the nurse, one's husband - look down helpfully; but that for all their help, this is something I have got to see through myself. I always found it a most frightening experience, and I have a feeling that it will be the same one day when I die.
The difference between dying and giving birth, however, is that although I'm not sure exactly what follows death, I know what is born from labour pains: a beautiful baby. The greatest happiness I have known throughout my life has been occasioned by my children, their humour and their innocence. One feels very close to God after giving birth, and this is why I always chose names of favourite Saints for any children. I may not always be there, I think, but my child's Patron Saint will care for him.
These days people don't go in much for giving children names of their grandparents or near relatives.
"Call your child anything you like", today's grandma cries, and whether she really means what she says only grandma knows. But one of my sister's daughters is called Lucy after me, and it means an awful lot to me.
Mind you, you can carry this name business from the sublime to the ridiculous. I know a woman who was born instead of the son that had been ordered, and she was called Joachim after her grandfather. Some people feel that you should call your children after rich relatives so that they will leave you a lot of money, and this is another reason why I called my children after the Saints.When my son Joseph was three years old he still couldn't walk, and I was expecting his younger brother, and worried how I'd cope taking two non-walkers on the bus to the Doctor since we had no car. One nineteenth day of March I took the bull by the horns and went to Mass, bringing Joseph in his pushcart.
"Listen, Saint Joseph", I said firmly, "you have no idea how badly I wanted to call this child Brett or Gary or Grant. When I gave up this idea in your honour, I couldn't guess that even you wouldn't do anything for him. Had I known that, his name wouldn't have been Joe today, of that you may be sure." Believe it or not, six weeks later Joe took his first steps - sixteen the first day.
I think a name does things for its bearer. I've never met a Theresa or a Philomena who wasn't a staunch personality. On the other hand I feel that you are putting the child too much on its mettle by naming it Faith, Hope or Charity; and it's all very well being called Melody if you can keep a tune, but what happens if you're tone deaf?
I've got a lovely name, Lucia, but no one ever calls me by it. I was called after my grandmother, as were several of my first cousins.
Reading a book by Graham Greene the other day, one of whose unappealing characters was also called Lucia, I was cross to find that he devoted an entire paragraph to deploring the girl's name - in as acid a fashion as another novelist did when writing about an unmarried girl named Priscilla, and ascribing her single status to her name.
Unfortunately his was a prescribed book for matric the year one matric pupil just happened to be Priscilla. Writers have to bear that sort of possibility in mind . . .
