‘Singh’ isn’t a family name, it’s a religious identifier (well, for Sikhs: some Hindus also have the name ‘Singh’). Many Sikhs have 3 names: a given name, “Singh”, and then a family/surname in that order. The famous 19th-century emperor of the Punjab, Ranjit Singh, had “Ranjit Singh Sandhanwalia” as his full name.
How do illegitimate children get named in Iceland? (i.e. if the father is unknown). Or rather, how did they get named in the era before paternity testing?
For that matter, how do Russian naming customs traditionally handle children whose father is unknown?
It’s still like this, according to an Icelandic acquaintance of mine. Apparently, international air travel for Icelandic families with children can be frustrating as a result. Also, the phone book in Iceland (I believe there’s only one for the nation – I may be incorrect) is organized by first name.
That’s where you get matronymic names like “Ingridsdottir”. And presumably, if you have a foundling with neither parent’s name known, that kid just doesn’t have a surname.
According to this source they were traditionally called “Abramov”.
(Which subsequently references this old, but not as old as this one, thread).
Josh bar Joseph.
Yehoshua bar Yahweh?
I’m going to guess that the closest they get to the convention of “Mrs. Smith” would be more like “Carl’s wife”.
Iceland has genealogical records going back, … I think more than 1000 years. Back in the 90s, they put all that online.
A few years back they held a contest for someone to make use of that. The winner was a thing called The App For Icelanders.
See, one of the problems with the lack of family names is it can be hard to tell if you are related to someone.
I, for example, have a pretty rare family name. Anyone in the US with the same family name as me is probably related to me, and we probably have a common relative more recent that 1850.
But if I lived in Iceland, my brothers and I would be named Johnson. And we’ve got cousins who would be Robertsdottirs. And both John and Robert are pretty common names, so …
The article I read quoted an official mentioning an old Icelandic joke about going to a family reunion and running into an old girlfriend.
The App For Icelanders will let you touch smartphones with another person and learn how closely related you are. And it comes with an alarm if you shouldn’t sleep with that person.
So technology (and hundreds of years of good records) solves a low-tech problem: how to tell if that hot girl you just met in a bar is a cousin you haven’t met.
For current versions (both mothers said their choice isn’t traditional), I know one who uses a matronimic and another who inherited her mother’s patronimic because at the time the mother was living outside of Russia and it was just easier that way.
Most Icelandic people do use the naming convention [father’s christian name][-son/dottir].
However I know that one of Iceland’s most famous son’s who also had a famous father didn’t use this convention. Eiður Guðjohnsen (known in England as Eidur Gudjohnsen) is by far Iceland’s best and most famous football (soccer) players, who played is most famous for playing for Chelsea and Barcelona. Arnór Guðjohnsen, who before the emergence of his son was regarded as Iceland’s best ever player (famously their careers overlapped and Eidur came on as a substitute for his father for the Icelandic international team in one match)
I met an Icelander who told me that story. Given Iceland’s isolation, and homogeneous and tiny population, the gene pool is rather shallow. This is a real concern that I never actually thought of.
BTW, I am envious of countries with fluid naming conventions. In Hispanic countries you family names follow you around forever.
One example. When Vladimir Ashkenazy married an Icelandic woman and moved there, he got special permission to keep his family name. I don’t know if they had children, but I believe they would get to keep that name too.
For some time, the president of Iceland was Vigdis Finbogadottir. As it happened the genitive of Finbog was Finboga, the g pronounced as a y: Finboy, according to my Icelandic friend. Well he was actually born in Gimli, Mantoba, the second largest Icelandic speaking city in the world.
Snow?
“Hansson”/“Hansdóttir” was, I believe, sometimes used.
(It’s a pun, sort of: Hansson = Hans’ son/ his son).
Yeshua bar Yusuf – as far as any earthly authorities were concerned he was the son of his mortal father.
As a non-Icelander, if I moved there, would I be expected to use a patronym myself?
My Dad’s name was Intermittent, so would I be expected to call myself Annoying Buzz or Annoying Intermittentson? (And my kid would be Threebeer Annoyingdottir).
AFAIK, the use of surnames is discouraged in Iceland, but not forbidden to those who have them.
But surely the real issue is not whether you could use your surname, but whether you could get others to do so? You can sign your name “Annoying Buzz” as much as you like, but most Icelanders will address you, and refer to you, as “Annoying”. And if they need to distinguish you from some other person also called Annoying, they might use your surname to do so, but that wouldn’t be their first instinct. They likely won’t know, at least at first, that you are Annoying Intermittentsson, so if asked something like “Annoying? Do you mean Annoying Bjornsson?” they might say “No, Annoying Buzz”, but they might equally say “No, Annoying the American” (assuming you’re American, of course) or “No, the charming and devilishly handsome Annoying” (charitable assumption there). The truth is that they just don’t have a lot of use for surnames. You can use your surname, but you can’t make them use it.
And does he live in Wisconsin, and work in the lumbermill there?
:: golf clap ::
Yeah, Iceland seems a bit like the town my Dad grew up in writ large.
My Dad grew up in a town of about 800 people in north-central New York.
There was a guy in town named One-Eyed Owen. I assume he had only one eye, much as I assume there was someone else in town named Owen, so the One-Eyed thing came about as a way to distinguish which one you meant.
Decades after moving away, Dad still recognized almost everyone in town by their first name only. If my aunt told him that Michael’s father had died, Dad knew exactly who that meant.
The only person in that town who I can recall consistently being referred to with a family name was my grandfather, who moved there when he was 30.