Surnames as first names in Denmark

by Birgit Eggert

In contemporary Danish naming conventions, it is uncommon to use surnames as first names. Consequently, many Danes may find it surprising that Møller is used as a first name. Møller is one of the most prevalent surnames in Denmark and is, in fact, the most frequent surname that is not originally a patronymic; it derives from a byname meaning ‘miller’. However, Møller is also an officially approved first name for boys, with 26 individuals bearing it as their primary first name as of 1 January 2025, according to Statistics Denmark.

The name enjoyed considerable popularity as a given name throughout the 1900s, particularly in the early decades of the century. Although it does not appear to have been used as a first name since 1980 (see Figure 1), Møller is currently an approved given name for boys. It was automatically approved with the introduction of the current name law on 1 April 2006, when all given names with at least 25 bearers in Denmark at that time were approved.

Figure 1: Number of new bearers of the name *Møller* as the primary first name per decade throug the 20th century. Figures from CPR in the database Danskernes Navne 2005 (The Name Research Archive).

Surnames as first names

The fundamental premise of the Danish name law appears to be that first names and surnames are entirely distinct entities. However, in practice, many names are used both as first names and surnames. These are often boys’ names that were originally used patronymically, such as Eggert, Helmer, Martin, Peter, and many others. Conversely, Møller and several other original bynames and surnames have transitioned from being surnames to first names. Very few of these names are approved today, either because no application for approval has been submitted or because they have been rejected upon application.

There are indeed several names that have undergone this transition, and it appears to have been a genuine, albeit minor, trend in Danish naming practices during the 1900s. However, this phenomenon has not been systematically studied, so detailed knowledge is lacking. Some other examples include:

Holten – 23 name bearers as the primary first name between 1900 and 1980 (Danskernes navne); fewer than 3 as the primary first name on Januar 1st 2025; approved boys’ name.
Kjær – 70 name bearers as the primary first name between ca. 1890 and 1970 (Danskernes Navne); 10 as the primary first name on Januar 1st 2025; not approved as a first name today.
Lund – 52 name bearers as the primary first name between ca. 1890 og 1960 (Danskernes Navne); 9 as the primary first name on Januar 1st 2025; not approved as a first name today.

Figure 2: Number of new bearers of the names *Lund* (blue) and *Kjær* (red) as the primary first name per decade throug the 1900s. Unfortunately, there are too few namesakes per decade of *Holten* to be shown as a graph. Figures from CPR in the database Danskernes Navne 2005 (The Name Research Archive).

Noble family names as first names

The phenomenon of surnames being adopted as first names is longstanding in Denmark. Among the earliest instances are noble family names that have been used as boys’ first names since approximately 1400, particularly when there was a risk of the maternal family name becoming extinct. This was investigated by Susanne Vogt in 1991, and there are numerous examples of the last female bearers of a family name passing it on as a first name to a son. In this manner, the family name could be preserved.

A very common and well-known boys’ name in Denmark that originated in this manner is Flemming. The same applies to other, less common boys’ names such as Falk, Hak, Manderup, and Stygge, all of which are approved boys’ names today.

Holten, mentioned above, also originates from a noble family. The basis for the given name is Johan Lorentz Carstens (or Castens) (1705-1747), who was ennobled with the name Castenschiold in 1745. He was married to Jacoba von Holten (b. 1705, daughter of Governor Joachim Melchior von Holten), and it was her family name that came into use as a first name through naming after her father in the third son of the marriage, Joachim Melchior Holten Castenschiold (1743-1817). As early as the 18th century, Holten was also used as a first name outside the nobility, and it continued to be used throughout the 19th century and into the 20th century, as mentioned above.

Should the name law be changed?

In recent years, the Name Research Archive has received several inquiries from parents wishing to name their child after a relative who bore one of these given names that are identical to surnames. If such a name is not already approved, obtaining approval from The Agency of Family Law can be very challenging, as surnames with fewer than 2000 bearers are protected in Denmark. Parents contact the archive because they find it difficult to understand why a name they are familiar with can no longer be used.

In some of these cases, arguments and evidence for the prevalence of these given names were successfully presented, which contributed to their approval. However, the exact criteria used by The Agency of Family Law remain unclear. It appears that deceased name bearers are not significantly considered in this system, which I find regrettable. This implies that traditional naming customs, which have not become part of the most popular naming trends, may vanish because there are insufficient living individuals with the specific name when one wishes to revive a grandparent’s or great-grandparent’s name.

Names such as these indicate that the strict distinction made in Danish the name law between first names and surnames is likely too rigid and hinders a naming tradition that may have been more widespread than commonly assumed, albeit dispersed across many different names. This type of naming practice should, of course, be investigated further. However, those names that were in use in the first half of the 20th century are now at an age where some individuals wish to name their children after these name bearers, and it appears to be challenging in some cases.

This blog post is an edited English version of Møller – et dansk fornavn

References

The Agency of Family Law: This is the public authority responsible for first names and approving new first names. See their English-language pages about naming.
Approved Names: The Agency of Family law’s lists of approved first names. The official, applicable list is available on The Agency of Family Law’s homepage.
CPR = Det Centrale Personregister [The central personal register]
Danskernes Navne 2005: Database at the Name Research Archive, Department of Nordic Studies and Linguistics (NorS), University of Copenhagen, containing all names of Danes recorded in the CPR since its establishment in 1968 until 1 January 2005.
Name Law 2006: LOV nr. 524 af 24. juni 2005 Navnelov [Law no. 524 of June 24th 2005 Name Law] (effective date: April 1st 2006). (The Name Law is continuously adapted, and the current version per August 9th 2023 can be found here.
Statistics Denmark’s pages on names.
Susanne Vogt, 1991: Mødrene slægtsnavn brugt som første fornavn i dansk adel. I: Studia anthroponymica Scandinavica 9, s. 61-99.

In the proofreading process of editing this blog post, the generative AI tool Microsoft Copilot Enterprise has been used.

Da Tarm og Vorbasse ville skifte navn

Om mobbeafledte stednavneændringer (2)

af Johnny Grandjean Gøgsig Jakobsen

I mit forrige socioonomastiske blogindlæg (af 8. marts 2024) beskrev jeg to mobbeafledte stednavneændringer fra midten af 1920’erne, hvor Rumperup blev til Højsted og Gumperup blev til Klinteby. Begge blev faktisk forudgået af en beslægtet sag fra 1922, hvor beboerne i den nordsjællandske landsby Ludserød (Blovstrød sogn, Lynge-Kronborg h.) anmodede myndighederne om og blev bevilget et navneskifte til Høvelte, hvilket skete med den begrundelse, at det hidtidige navn »vækker Latter til største Gene i vort daglige Liv og Færden« (Stednavneudvalgets Brevarkiv 8-3/22).

Den hævdede morskab på Ludserøds bekostning bestod formentlig i navnets forleds delvise homonymi med substantivet lus, altså det blodsugende insekt, der plager både dyr og mennesker, og i dansksproglig sammenhæng også anvendes adjektivisk i en tydelig pejorativ betydning luset ’ringe, tarveligt’.

I modsætning til de to førstnævnte navneændringseksempler rakte kreativiteten hos beboerne i Ludserød dog ikke længere end at man bad om at det allerede eksisterende navn på den nærliggende nabolandsby Høvelte fremover også måtte denotere deres bebyggelse. Og således blev det.

Heller ikke her lagde Stednavneudvalget således nogen hindringer i vejen for et skifte væk fra et angiveligt mobbefremkaldende navn, og man kunne måske derfor fristes til at tro, at datidens udvalg bare generelt gav efter for den slags ansøgninger. Men sådan var det ikke, og i det følgende skal beskrives to omtrent samtidige sager, hvor ansøgningerne fik afslag.

Tarm

Den 8. april 1931 modtog Stednavneudvalget en ansøgning fra sagfører V.E. Johansen, bosiddende i den jyske by Tarm:

Ved en Sammenkomst her i Byen for kort Tid siden blev der nedsat et Udvalg med det Formaal at virke for Forandring af Byens Navn, der baade er uæstetisk og lattervækkende. Det blev vedtaget at undersøge Muligheden for at faa Byens Navn ændret til Tarum, der menes at være den ældste Betegnelse for Byen. I denne Anledning tillader jeg mig som Medlem af Udvalget herved at anmode Stednavneudvalget om at foretage Undersøgelse af, hvad Byens Navn tidligere har været, samt være os behjælpelig med at fremme Sagen.

Tarm benævner oprindeligt en mindre landsby i Egvad sogn (Nørre Horne h.), der i moderne tid er vokset op til en decideret provinsby bl.a. med anlæggelsen af en jernbanestation (1875) og en realskole (1879, gymnasium fra 1938); i 1980 udskiltes Tarm som et selvstændigt sogn fra Egvad sogn.

Det lattervækkende ved navnet består i, at navnet i sin nutidige form er skriftligt og lydligt identisk med substantivet tarm, ’den i legemets udførselsåbning endende rørformede del af fordøjelseskanalen’, som det så smukt er formuleret i Ordbog over det danske Sprog. Så hvis man i den omkringliggende omegn f.eks. kom afsted med at sige, at man lige havde været en tur i Tarm, ville det let kunne afstedkomme en vulgær-humoristisk association.

Tarm-borgernes formodning om at navnets oprindelige form havde været Tarum, og at det dermed knyttede sig til gruppen af stednavne med de fra hinanden ofte svært skelnelige endelser hēm, um (dativ pluralis) og rum, var på ingen måde urimelig, idet formen Tarum vitterligt optræder i såvel Pontoppidans Danske Atlas og på Videnskabernes Selskabs Kort, der begge skriver sig til anden halvdel af 1700-tallet.

Formodningen støttes også af belæg fra 1500-tallet (1532 Tharrom, 1534 Tarrem, 1537 Tarum, 1579 Tharrum), hvorimod de middelalderlige belæg peger i en anden retning (1332 el. 1344 Tharm, 1347 Thaarm, 1350 Tharmæ, 1462 Tharm). Derfor har der blandt stednavneforskerne været konsensus om, at navnet faktisk ER identisk med substantivet tarm (glda. tharm), i en sammenlignende anvendelse om en langsmal terrænformation – antageligt med sigte på Tarm Bæks leje (DS 17 s. 569-570).

Dette var også opfattelsen i Stednavneudvalget allerede i 1931, hvor man i sit svar til sagfører Johansen af 18. april 1931 derfor ikke kunne støtte forslaget om en rekonstruktion fra Tarm til Tarum, idet dette ville være onomastisk fejlagtigt:

Da den foreslaaede Form Tarum ikke som formodet er den ældste Form af Byens Navn, men er en nyere Form af ret tvivlsom Herkomst, vil Udvalget være noget betænkeligt ved at anbefale en Navneforandring i antydede Retning og vilde derfor gerne henstille til fornyet Overvejelse [i] Spørgsmaalet om, hvorvidt der i det hele foreligger tilstrækkelig tvingende Grunde til at tænke paa en Navneændring. I formel Henseende er der saaledes ingen Grund dertil, da Tarm stemmer overens saavel med Navnets ældste Skriveformer som med stedlig Dialektudtale.

Det betød dog ikke, at Stednavneudvalget kategorisk afviste muligheden for en ændring til et helt andet navn, hvis dette herefter måtte ønskes:

Om det mere æstetiske Hensyn vil være tilstrækkelig tungtvejende i denne Sag, vil det være vanskeligt at udtale sig om paa Forhaand, men fastholdes Ønsket om at søge Navneforandring for Byen, vil den rette Vej være at indsende en Ansøgning til Landbrugsministeriet.

En sådan ansøgning blev aldrig fremsendt, og borgerne i Tarm synes således at have accepteret deres stednavnemæssige skæbne — og ladet sagen finde sin ende, om man så må sige.

Selvom byskiltet i Tarm er formuleret ganske neutralt og undgår uheldige associationer med formuleringer som ”De kører nu ind i Tarm” eller lignende, så oplever byen til stadighed problemer med skiltetyve, der finder navnet så fornøjeligt, at de stjæler skiltene ved nattetide. (Foto fra GoogleMaps Streetview.)

Vorbasse

Mit sidste eksempel i denne lille serie om mobbeafledte stednavneændringer og ønsker om samme, er af en lidt anden karakter. Det drejer sig om stednavnet Vorbasse, der benævner en kirkelandsby i det sydlige Jylland (Vorbasse sogn, Slaugs h.). Betydningsmæssigt er navnet lidt specielt, idet der atypisk i en dansk sammenhæng synes at være tale om en indbyggerbetegnelse vorbasse, sammensat af substantivet glda. wara ’overdrev, udmark’ og substantivet basse ’mand, beboer’ i den samlede betydning ”beboer på udmarken” — her formentlig i en stedbetegnende afledning til indbyggernavnet, således at det som stednavn egentlig betyder ”stedet for beboerne på udmarken” (DaSt s. 339). Udover at navnet kan klinge lidt spøjst i nutidige øren, især pga. endelsen –basse, afleder det umiddelbart sprogligt set ingen pejorative konnotationer eller associationer iøvrigt.

Det var imidlertid heller slet ikke sådanne, der fremførtes som grund for en ønsket navneændring, da denne fremlagdes for Stednavneudvalget i et brev af 13. marts 1923. Sagen er i øvrigt også atypisk ved, at anmodningen ikke fremsendtes af ansøgerne selv, men af den i stednavneforskningen nok så bekendte dr. phil. Marius Kristensen, der efter at have fået et besøg fra Vorbasse skrev til udvalgets sekretær Gunnar Knudsen på følgende vis:

Et mærkeligt besøg havde jeg forleden: en mand fra Vorbasse sogn som på en del beboeres vegne bad om, at dette navn måtte forandres til Vorballe, da det var alt for kendt, så folk ikke vilde tage tjæneste derude, ingen læge el. lign. bosætte sig dær, og i det hele blev distangserede af Bække og Hejnsvig, som ikke var så berygtede (markedet, krigshavnen og professor Labri). Jeg opponerede naturligvis, da Vorbasse er et godt gammelt og vel bevidnet navn, men lovede at sende meddelelsen videre. Vorballe er jo en komplet utilladelig nydannelse; snarere kunde jeg da tænke mig Slavby eller et lignende helt nyt navn (Slavgård ligger jo i sognet); måske kan I derinde finde et kønnere, som kunde foreslås, hvis det skulle være. Allerhelst må sagen naturligvis forfalde (også af krigshistoriske grunde). Men jeg lovede altså at lade det gå videre (sml. Ludserød – Høvelte). [Kommentar: Den for sin tid påfaldende og moderne skriveform er den originale og af Marius Kristensen praktiserede.]

Ifølge Marius Kristensen var det således ikke navnet i sig selv, der var problemet, men selve byens omdømme, som beboerne angiveligt ønskede at slippe af med gennem en navneændring. At Vorbasse skulle have eller have haft et specielt slemt omdømme, som hævdet af dr. Kristensens i øvrigt anonyme gæst derfra, er ellers ikke sådan at aflæse nogetsteds.

Men opfattelsen knytter sig tilsyneladende til det store, årlige Vorbasse Marked, der er et af Danmarks største og mest velbesøgte heste- og kræmmermarkeder, som har eksisteret siden 1730 og i nutiden tiltrækker omkring 250.000 besøgende. »Ses vi ikke før, ses vi på Vorbasse Marked«, er et udbredt mundheld i denne del af riget. Med markedet følger selvsagt en masse gøgl og ballade, og det kan vel have været dette og en deraf afledt berygtethed, som en gruppe af byens beboere var trætte af.

Den omtalte ’krigshavn’ og ’professor Labri’, der ligeledes anføres blandt argumenterne, fortjener også en uddybende kommentar. Professor Labri var en på de tider landskendt gøgler og tryllekunstner med det borgerlige navn Johannes Marius Dines Petersen (†1935). Han optrådte bl.a. på Vorbasse Marked og var berømt for sine salgstaler uden for cirkusteltet, der skulle lokke betalende gæster ind til forestillingen, med farverige og elokvente overdrivelser om alt det fantastiske, som man ville få at se. Særlig berygtet var slogannet ”Se skelettet af et menneske”, som så viste sig at være hans assistent, der løftede en ske (> ske lettet af et menneske).

Tilknytningen til Vorbasse bestod ud over Professor Labris optræden på de årlige markeder i, at han flittigt omtalte Vorbasse, når han optrådte andetsteds, blandt andet med benævnelsen Vorbasse Krigshavn om landsbyens gadekær og branddam. Året efter, i 1924, blev der faktisk søsat et modelkrigsskib i gadekæret, og siden er flere fulgt efter – bl.a. Korvetten Labri.

Gadekæret i Vorbasse a.k.a. ’Vorbasse Krigshavn’. (Foto: Hubertus, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

Det synes således at have været disse konnotative associationer til landsbyen, som en eller flere af Vorbasses beboere var svært kede af i 1923. Og man foreslog som nævnt i stedet en partiel navneændring til Vorballe, hvor det eksisterende forled er sammensat med den især i Jylland udbredte endelsestype balle af substantivet balle ’forhøjning, bakke’. Præcis hvorfor Kristensen fandt dette forslag ”komplet utilladeligt” anfører han ikke, men det antydes, at det skyldes at navnet derved ville give falsk indtryk af at være et gammelt navn af en anden navneklasse.

Stednavneudvalgets sekretær Gunnar Knudsen foreslog udvalget den pragmatiske løsning, at man simpelthen undlod at gøre noget, hvilket fremgår af en tilføjelse på det modtagne brev:

Uagtet Sagen vel menes – i hvert Fald fra Beboernes Side – at være forebragt Stednavneudvalget gennem den til Marius Kristensen foretagne Henvendelse, synes jeg ikke, der kan foretages noget, da vi ikke engang har Navnet paa den mand, hvorfra Henvendelsen stammer, og derfor ikke kan besvare den.

Dette forslag erklærede udvalget sig ifølge endnu en påført note ganske enig i, med den tilføjelse, at dette burdes meddeles Marius Kristensen. Og derfor hedder Vorbasse stadig Vorbasse den dag idag.

Her bor røvere!

Om et navneforklarende element i et sagn fra Samsø

af Martin Sejer Danielsen

Soldater gør indfald i Nordby på Samsø

I fjerde bind af værket Danske sagn (1892–1901) udgivet af folkemindesamleren Evald Tang Kristensen (1843–1929) læser man følgende sagn (udgivet som nummer 453):

Min bedstemoder fortalte mig, at den, hun var kaldt efter, fortalte for hende, hvordan det gik til her, da Polakkerne var her. De lå på skibe her uden for, og der var jo ingen soldater her i byen, men så gik kvindfolkene oppe på klitterne langs med havet med deres røde skjörter oppe over skuldrene og vilde forestille soldater. Men fjenderne kom alligevel i land, og da de kom ind i min faders hjemning i Mårup, tog de alle dynerne og rystede fjerene af og lagde så vårene på deres heste. Der lå et lille barn i vuggen, og det tog de og lagde på gulvet. Derefter tog de også puderne af vuggen og gjorde lige sådan med. Da siger konen: »Har I nu røvet og plyndret alt det, vi har, kan I så ikke lade det kjære barn ligge.« Så rendte de ud og råbte: »Her boer røvere!« Siden fik manden og hans hele familie navnet Røver. Røver-Grete var min mands bedstemoder, og min fader blev kaldt Ras Røver, han hed nu egentlig Ras Printz. Andre steder her i Nordby tog Kosakkerne også dynerne og rystede af ude på marken. De tog börnene og slog dem ihjel og hængte dem op på bjælkehovederne.

Sagnet fortaltes af Mette Printz (1825–1903), en kvinde der havde boet hele sit liv i Nordby på Samsø, netop den egn sagnet også foregår i. Sagnet havde Evald Tang Kristensen selv indsamlet i 1894 sammen med resten af de fortællinger Printz kunne berette.

En nærmere analyse af sagnet i relation til andre af Mette Printz fortællinger og det samfund, hun levede i, vil følge i min artikel der snart udkommer i andet bind af Studier i Samsøs Historie og Arkæologi udgivet af Samsøs Museumsforening.

En lille omvej omkring stednavnene

I min ph.d.-afhandling fra 2017 fokuserede jeg på navneforklarende elementer i sagn, og Printz’ sagn ovenfor hører jo umiddelbart til dette tema. Når det alligevel skiller sig ud, er det fordi objektet for navneforklaring er et personnavn – nærmere bestemt slægts- eller kaldenavnet Røver. Langt de fleste sagn jeg stødte på i Evald Tang Kristensens værker i forbindelse med mine studier, havde nemlig stednavne som forklaret objekt. Naturligvis findes der andre eksempler på sagn hvor ophavet til et kalde- eller slægtsnavn forklares, og jeg har tidligere kommet med et eksempel herpå i anden sammenhæng.

Sådanne ætiologiske (forklarende) elementer, kaldet stedfæster, har en troværdighedsskabende funktion. Sagnfortælleren peger på et objekt fra sin eksterne virkelighed, enten noget fysisk man i princippet kunne tage hen og kigge på (en bemærkelsesværdig stor sten sten på en ellers flad mark, en rød plet på kirkemuren osv.) eller noget kulturelt (et navn, en tradition osv.), og forklarer hvordan objektet er blev til som et resultat af (dele af) sagnets handling.

De snarrådige kvinder

Ved studier af kirkebøger og folketællinger fandt jeg nogle faktuelle oplysninger om sagnfortælleren Mette Printz og hendes liv. Hun havde været gift med skipper Jørgen Degn (1820–1868), men han døde tidligt, allerede som 47-årig i 1868, og Printz havde altså været enke i henved 26 år da hun fortæller sagnet til Tang Kristensen i 1894. Sammen havde ægteparret fået ét barn der overlevede til at blive voksen, nemlig Jensine Degn (f. 1849) der som sin mor også blev gift med en skipper, Søren Peter Degn. Mette Printz levede på aftægt i mange af årene hos datterens familie.

Mette Printz var en meget stedbunden nordlænder, altså her forstået som en person bosiddelse i den nordlige del af Samsø, og hun beskriver i sagnet at hun har rødder i lokalområdet langt tilbage i tiden. Nordlænderne så sig selv som kulturelt anderledes end folk fra den større, sydlige del af øen, og det er netop et tema Printz afsøger i andre af sine sagn. Printz’ sagn ovenfor er altså med til at historisere hendes slægt og forankre den solidt i lokalområdet i Nordby-egnen på Samsø.

Slægts- eller tilnavnet Røver er ikke just flatterende hvis navnet, som det sker i sagnet, associeres med substantivet røver i betydningen ‘person der overfalder og plyndrer vejfarende, rejsende’ (ODS betydning 1.1). Måske sagnet således er med til at sætte navnet i et mere positivt lys med tanke på de handlekraftige kvinder?

Sagnets tema om kvinderne der står alene da truslen kom, og derfor snarrådigt selv håndterer situationen så godt de kan, må i hvert fald have vækket genklang i et samfund hvor mange mænd var på søen i længere perioder, jævnfør hvordan både Printz’ mand, Jørgen Degn, og deres datters mand, Søren Peter Degn, var skippere. Mette Printz og hendes datter må mange gange selv have stået alene om at håndtere hverdagens store og små problemer, også den slags der typisk faldt under mandens ressortområde.

Att vara opponent på en avhandling

Av Linnea Gustafson

Efter att ha avslutat förra veckan med två dagar i Uppsala för att opponera på avhandlingen ”Ekberg, Ljung och Rattfält. Soldatnamn i Värmland 1684–1900” är jag åter på hemmaplan. Det var ett roligt uppdrag, men samtidigt var jag ganska nervös, och resan var lång.

Avhandlingen baseras på ett stort material som har hämtats från en lång tidsperiod. Det är en av de styrkor som avhandlingen har. Andra styrkor som finns är att materialet har hämtats från ett förhållandevis stort geografiskt område, att det baseras på två olika typer av soldater – indelta soldater och fältjägare – samt att materialet nu är tillgängliggjort digitalt.

Fanns det inga svagheter, då? Jodå, det finns alltid saker som är värda att diskutera i avhandlingar. Intressanta frågor som hade förtjänat att utvecklas ännu mer, eftersom de är så intressanta, är soldatnamnens identitetsskapande funktion, på vilket sätt soldatnamnen är besläktade med binamn och om de skulle kunna betraktas som varumärkesnamn.

Många frågor som väcker mersmak presenteras också i slutet av avhandlingen, t.ex. att göra jämförelser mellan soldatnamnsskicket i Värmland och andra regioner i Sverige, eller att jämföra soldaternas namnskick med namnskicket i andra samtida yrkesgrupper.

Mitt slutord om avhandlingen är att det är ett gediget hantverk som respondenten arbetat med under 30 år(!). Jag misstänker att det är skönt att vara i mål nu. Grattis!

Typical and untypical in Norwegian naming formations

by Krister Vasshus

In the Norwegian language one can, for the most part, recognise a place name on how it is formed as a «word». They may be words that describe topography, such as Vik (‘bay’) or Haugen (‘the mound’), or words that describe human activity on the place, such as Åker (‘field’) and Smia (‘the smithy’).

Place names are often compounds consisting of several words, such as Straumvika, Haugstad, Brunåker, Smiehagene. Some words that were used as terms for different kinds of settlements have even developed into a sort of suffix that we mostly see in place names, such as –tveit, –stad, –rød and –heim.

Imperative names

Our brains have a whole lexicon designated for names in our landscape. But in some cases names look different from the pattern we are used to. One example of this are imperative names such as Kikut and Bilitt. These names are compounded with a verb in the imperative form followed by an adverb. Hence Kikut means ‘take a look outside’ and Bilitt means ‘wait/rest a while’. This seems odd to Norwegians because place names are grammatically and syntactically close to nouns in our speech, whereas these names seem more like a verbal phrase.

As a type of placenames, however, the imperative names are not so uncommon, and exist in both Danish and Swedish as well. These names are for the most part a south-eastern Scandinavian phenomenon, and in Norwegian terms almost all these names can be found within the eastern Norwegian dialectal area.

On each blue marker there is a place called Kikut. Map from www.norgeskart.no

More than one word

It is not uncommon to find Norwegian place names consisting of more than one word. Some of these feel perfectly normal, such as Austre Haugland (‘eastern mound-land’), Ytste Vika (‘the outermost bay’) and Gamle Grindebue (‘the old gate cottage’). The first word is always an adjective describing position, size or age. However, names like De ukvilte åsene (‘the unrested hills’), Den lange renna (‘the long run’) and Det lisle veirehovudet (the little ram’s head’) are not typical. In fact, most of these names are restricted to Telemark and Agder.

Bildetekst: An untypical name for a stream, Grovi som kjem ut or fjellet. Map from www.norgeskart.no

As soon as names consist of more than three words, Norwegians will generally feel it as an odd name. But such names can still be found in Norway. In Fjærland there is a stream named Grovi som kjem ut or fjellet (‘the stream that comes out from the mountain’). If we were to follow common naming patterns in Norwegian, a more suitable name could be *Fjellgrovi (‘mountain stream), but for some reason people in Fjærland have felt it important to point out that the stream comes out from the mountain.

Similarly, we find the name Den lange Haugen austmed vatnet (‘the long mound on the east side of the lake’) in Vinje. These names seem more like descriptions than actual place names, but if there are no other names for these places, such descriptions can become fixed and start functioning like other place names in daily speech.

A place name is in some ways a linguistic agreement between locals on how a place is to be denoted, and names therefore follow patterns of naming that a linguistic community (subconsciously) agree upon. But in the larger Scandinavian language continuum, we can see differences in what these agreements are. As we have seen examples of in this blogpost, some can be very locally restricted, and others form larger distribution patterns.

Cultural Identity Through Personal Names: Insights from the Danish-Argentine Migration

by Peder Gammeltoft

Names carry profound meaning, serving as personal identifiers while also reflecting broader cultural, familial, and societal influences. Data from the Danish Link-Lives project, offers a unique opportunity to explore how personal names reveal patterns of migration, identity, and cultural adaptation. The census includes families that migrated to Argentina, had children born there, and later returned to Denmark, reflecting a rich story of transatlantic movement. The analysis of these names offers insights into how families navigated between Danish and Argentine cultures, particularly through the naming of their children.

Personal Names and Migration: What’s in a Name?

Migration is not just about moving from one country to another – It involves the transfer and negotiation of identities, traditions, and cultural norms. Personal names are a powerful reflection of this process, capable of signaling an individual’s cultural roots, religious beliefs, or even social aspirations. In the case of Danish families who moved to Argentina and then re-immigrated to Denmark, the naming of children born in Argentina can tell us a great deal about how these families balanced their Danish heritage with the new cultural environment they encountered in Argentina.

The Link-Lives Project, is part of a broader effort to link historical records of individuals across generations, including censuses, church records, and civil registries. The project’s aim is to create a connected and accessible database for researching personal histories. The 1901 census in the Link-Lives project includes 17 households, each containing a mix of children born in Denmark and Argentina. Among these families, there are 41 children, 29 of whom were born in Argentina and 12 in Denmark. By analyzing the first names of these children, we gain insight into how these families navigated their cultural identities, particularly in relation to their stay in a part of the Spanish-speaking world, Argentina. Although the material is small, there are clear tendencies.

A Closer Look at Family Composition

A breakdown of the families included in the dataset, showing how many children were born in Denmark versus Argentina:

Table 1: A snapshot of family structure and migration patterns. Many families had at least one child born in Argentina before re-immigrating to Denmark.

Cultural Identity Through Personal Names

The study of names in this dataset reveals three distinct categories based on how well a child’s name would fit into a Spanish-speaking country like Argentina. These categories – formally usable, possibly usable, and not usable – help us understand how families integrated (or resisted integration) into Argentine society through the naming of their children.

Formally Usable in a Spanish-speaking Context: Names that would easily be recognized in Argentina, either because they are common in both cultures, or have Spanish equivalents.
– For instance, among the children born in Argentina, names like Elena, Eleonora, Oskar (Oscar), Pedro, and Enrique would have been very familiar in both Argentina and Denmark. Of the 29 children born in Argentina, 9 had names that fall into this category. These names reflect a potential desire for integration into the local culture, possibly making it easier for children to fit into Argentine society.
Possibly Usable in a Spanish-speaking Context: These names are less common but still recognizable in Argentina.
– Names such as Christian, Ingrid and Peter are familiar but less frequent in a Spanish-speaking context. Nine of the Argentine-born children had names in this category. These names suggest that the family retained a connection to Danish traditions while also choosing names that would not be entirely out of place in their new environment.
Not Usable in a Spanish-speaking Context: Names that are Danish and would likely have stood out in Argentina.
– Examples include Arne, Inger and Valdemar, which are typically Danish and would be unusual in a Spanish-speaking country. Eleven Argentine-born children had names in this category. These names likely reflect a stronger attachment to Danish identity, suggesting that the family wanted to maintain their cultural roots despite living abroad.

Dataset Breakdown: Children’s Names by Birth Country

Let us look at children’s first forenames, birth countries, and whether their first forename would work in either a Spanish-speaking or Danish-speaking context:

Table 2: A detailed look at how children’s names correspond to their cultural environment in an Argentinian, illustrating the variety of naming strategies employed by Danish families in Argentina.

Table 3: A detailed look at how children’s names correspond to their cultural environment in a Danish context, illustrating naming strategies employed by Danish families having returned from Argentina.

Conclusion: The Significance of Name Research in Migration Studies

The study of personal names within the context of migration provides a unique lens through which to explore cultural identity. For families that migrated to Argentina, naming their children involved a balance between maintaining their Danish heritage and integrating into Argentine society. Children with names like Elena or Pedro may have been better able to navigate both cultural worlds, while those with distinctly Danish names may have faced greater challenges in fitting in.

For the children born in Denmark after their families’ return, the predominance of traditional Danish names suggests a desire to reclaim or reinforce their Danish identity. These children would grow up in Denmark, and their names reflect a re-rooting in their home country’s cultural norms. The choice of names illustrates how these families viewed their identity – both abroad and at home.

Literature

Hornby, Rikard, 1978. Danske personnavne. København.
Link-Lives: https://link-lives.dk/
María Bjerg, 2019. Brudte bånd. Immigration, ægteskab og følelser i Argentina mellem det 19. og 20. århundrede. Bernal.
Meldgaard, Eva Villarsen, 2002. Den store navnebog. København.
Tibón, Gutierre, 2002. Diccionario etimológico comparado de nombres propios de persona. Mexico City.

SUSTAINABILITY OF INHERITED FORENAMES

by Sofia Kotilainen

In 19–23 August 2024 I had a privilege to participate the 28th International Congress of Onomastic Sciences in Helsinki. It was inspiring to hear and see so many great presentations of colleagues. They introduced plenty of new perspectives to onomastic research.

Theme of the multidisciplinary conference was Sustainability in names, naming and onomastics. I have studied the history of inherited first names in the Finnish rural families. Recently, I have started to conceptualize these findings and results of my earlier research. Using the concept of onomastic literacy has proved to be fruitful in reaching the mentalities of the people and local communities studied.

Onomastic literacy means the knowledge and skills the parents of a child need to interpret the local naming culture and communal norms of naming. Parents had to be familiar with the traditions of the family and the locality to be able to choose a ‘suitable’ name. In this respect, names functioned as cultural symbols connected with identities and kin networks.

Honouring the ancestors

Universally, the most common social norm governing the choice of names has consisted in giving a baby a name handed down within the family, mainly the name of a grandparent. Giving the name of a living relative would have detracted from this person’s good fortune as it correspondingly added to that of the younger namesake. And especially in the case of grandparents, it may have been thought that the blessing and luck received by the oldest members of the family would in this way be transferred to the newborn baby. For example, in Finland in the olden days, it was said that a child would turn out like his or her namesake.

There would seem to have been many kinds of religious and social functions attached to the choice of names of ancestors besides honouring them. For example, namesakes might have been thought to hold certain responsibilities towards each other when both, for example a grandparent and a grandchild, lived in a certain community at the same time. It was perhaps possible to perceive in the child family traits or a resemblance to a forebear, after whom the parents then might wish to name him or her. Behind this way of thinking can be perceived an ancient Finno-Ugric belief about the soul, according to which a child who receives an ancestor’s name also inherits his or her persona or soul.

This then was the case when a child was named after a dead relative. The child was in this way symbolically connected to the earlier bearer of the name. It was believed that when for example the first-born boy in the family was given his grandfather’s name, the latter would in some way continue his life in the new member of the family. Even though the belief had spread into Scandinavia in the pre-Christian era, it continued to exert an influence later. It has been assumed in earlier research that in Finland, too, the relics of such naming traditions can be perceived right up to the twentieth century.

Inherited first names in the Finnish rural families

The above-mentioned conceptions of the early modern beliefs and mentalities that regulated naming, were based on oral memory accounts that were mainly used as a source in ethnological research rather than on the systematic empirical use of written documents as sources of historical research. However, with the help of extensive collective biographical databases, for example, and by utilizing the genealogical method, it is possible to examine to what extent traditional beliefs any longer influenced naming practices from the seventeenth to the twentieth centuries and were realized in it in practice.

In all ages an inherited family name has played an important part in the shaping of a person’s identity. Particularly in the pre-modern age, a personal name also made rural people a part of a family community and defined their place in it. In the agrarian society of former times, the traditions of the family were respected. The networks between relatives also formed an economic and social safety net on which a person could rely. Inherited names were also associated with a feeling of the continuity of the family and traditions. That is why it was important to name a child after his or her grandparents or parents because in the name-givers’ world view it bound a child and his or her future into the enduring immaterial heritage of the family.

The practices of naming did not change sharply in the shift from the early modern to the modern period, and many interacting cultural layers from different periods continued to influence naming practices in an essential way. The relics of ancient practices and beliefs were preserved to some extent right up to the twentieth century. A more exact analysis of local naming practices using a variety of document sources and collective biographical databases shows that, regarding inherited names at least, the modernization of naming practices took place slowly. They were affected not only by the local living conditions of the community but also by the complex and asynchronous effects of the modernization of society.

Recycling the names

Family traditions, being grandmother’s or grandfather’s namesake, or having name of a valued member of the family community, were signs that name-givers, i.e. usually parents of the children being culturally ‘literate’ and honouring the elder generations in Finnish rural local communities. This created sustainability and good reputation of the first names of the forefathers and -mothers, as they were inherited from generation to generation.

Onomastic sustainability has been important for the development of social traditions, values, identities and intergenerational relations. Local naming traditions change slowly and may influence naming practices of several generations. Active reusing the names keeps the cultural heritage alive.

Landscapes underwater: Place names in Stífla, N-Iceland

by Birna Lárusdóttir

The arrival of modernity in a remote valley

Iceland is famous for its abundance of water resources which have in many cases been harnessed to generate electricity. Although often claimed to be sustainable this has not come without sacrifice. The first hydropower station in Iceland was built in Fljót, N-Iceland in the 1940s to generate electricity for the rapidly growing herring industry in the neighbouring town of Siglufjörður.

Overlooking the reservoir to the south. Photo: Birna Lárusdóttir 2023.

The location was favorable for such a project: a deep valley nearly closed off at its furthest end by an old landslide, making it relatively easy to build a dam. The level of the reservoir rose quickly and the bottom of the valley, described as beautiful hay meadows with clear ponds and creeks, disappeared. Before all this, the so-called Stífla area (Stífla ironically translates as dam or blockage) was rich farming land, the home of many people most of whom lived on relatively small farms located uphill from the level bottom of valley. Many of the farms were abandoned in the years following the building of the dam and today none remain around the reservoir, only a few summerhouses and an old church (Knappsstaðakirkja) that had belonged to one of the earlier farms.

Although the ethics of the project were not discussed much at the time (at least not officially) this landscape intervention seems to have left deep scars on the community.

Conserving place names

In 1983 an interesting paper about the vanished place names of the area was published in Grímnir, the journal of the Icelandic Place Name Institute. It was based on a map drafted by Páll Sigurðsson, who had lived in Stífla for decades. In the mind of the author, Þórhallur Vilmundarson, who was Head of the Place Name Institute at the time, the damage done to the landscape in Stífla was immense. He suggests in the paper that places which carry curious names should generally not be damaged. If there is no other alternative, place names ought to be registered and located on a map before the destruction of an area.

Place names at the bottom of the reservoir. Map from *Grímnir* 2, pp. 42-43 (click on the image for a larger version).

The vanished place names of Stífla show how it was the heart of a thriving farming community – mostly fertile wetlands, pastures and meadows on which the farms built their existence. Many of the areas carried names according to their nature (as wetlands), f.ex. Útmýrar and Hringsflói. Some of the names indicate the size of meadows and how long it would take to cut the grass on them (Hamarsdagslátta, Þriggjadagasláttur – in this case one and three days).

Many parts of the banks of rivers and ponds also had names (Ytribakkar, Skriðubakki, Bakki) and yet others paint a landscape formed by creeks and ponds (Austuráll, Laufskálanes, Lambatangi) – and humans/animals. There are also names of structures related to farming activities which vanished into the deep: Völugarður – an ancient turf wall, Melbreiðarstekkur – a sheep fold, Draugatóft – literally “Ghost ruin”. And at the bottom of the center of the reservoir lies Einbúi, the alleged grave mound of the slave of Nafar-Helgi, the main settler of the area according to the twelfth-century historical work Landnámabók, ‘The Book of Settlements’.

The value of names

The names represent different values and draw up a different picture of the landscape than that which one builds up through objective description of natural elements or vegetation. Vilmundarson’s position on how place names should be valued and protected or mapped in the context of construction or other landscape change caused by humans contributed to discussion in Iceland on nature conservation and raised questions that seem to be still critical today – perhaps even more so than when the paper was published forty years ago. What happens to place names when great landscape-change takes place and what are they really worth? What is the difference between experiencing place names “in situ” – in their own settings, or reading them from a map or some other textual record?

Many hydropower plants have been built in Iceland since the one in Fljót although none of them has destroyed inhabited farmland. In some cases, place names have been mapped specifically before disappearing, f.ex. in the area which vanished under the Hálslón reservoir near Kárahnjúkar north of Vatnajökull glacier. In many other cases landscape change induced by humans takes place without any regard to place names – f.ex. through forestry, the building of large scale factories and the expansion of urban areas.

Hur dör och återupplivas ett förnamn?

Av Lennart Ryman

I min tjänst vid Institutet för språk och folkminnen, inom det förutvarande Namnarkivet i Uppsala (som i sin tur gick tillbaka till Ortnamnsarkivet i Uppsala och Sveriges medeltida personnamn) ingår att årligen skriva en bloggtext, som ska vända sig till den intresserade allmänheten.

Ibland när man ska skriva en text av det slaget uppstår idétorka. Jag tittade mig emellertid omkring och fann en rätt intressant personnamnslista, ”Släktforskarförbundets namnlista” av Håkan Skogsjö.

Syftet med listan är att försöka standardisera stavningen av historiska personnamn, vilket jag fann rätt intressant. Men av någon anledning fastnade jag för ett kvinnonamn Ingemo, som uppgavs vara fornsvenskt (utvecklat från Ingemodh, se Otterbjörk, Svenska förnamn) och efterreformatoriskt och förekommande i Småland. Det blev nu ämnet för min text: ”Kvinnonamnet Ingemo – eller vad hände under det förra 00-talet?”.

Ämnet var alltså mer eller mindre valt på måfå, men förvånande nog rönte den ett för våra förhållanden livligt intresse när den delades på vår facebooksida. Resultatet var väl delvis slumpartat men kom sig väl också av att den kunde appellera både till släktforskare och till sådana som råkade känna en Ingemo. (En intressant upplysning som kom fram i kommentarerna var att en persons föräldrar valt Ingemo efter att ha läst Erik Dahlbergs Svecia, där Ingemo källa förekommer.) Förmodligen var det också positivt att jag nästan helt lyckades undgå att skriva om medeltiden som är min vanliga tidsperiod.

Från onomastisk synvinkel är namnet principiellt intressant, vill jag hävda, framför allt i hur det kom att återupplivas vid början av 1900-talet i Finland och Sverige, sannolikt (gissar jag) genom att det aktualiserades i strödda tidningsartiklar om ”offerkällan” Ingemo källa i Västergötland under en lång följd av år, men även i hur det kom att dö ut, i alla fall i ett fall.

Den hittills sist kända namnbäraren av det historiska namnet uppträder 1812 i en bouppteckning: Ingemo Månsdotter i Järstorps socken, Småland. Hon skrivs dock märkligt nog Ingrid i kyrkliga källor, skriver jag i bloggtexten. Min kollega Leila Mattfolk lyckades dock hitta skrivningar av henne som Ingemo och även som (troligen) Ingemor, en namnform som är känd från 1900-talet och som rimligen beror på association till namn som Lillemor. Denna association förekom alltså redan i ett kyrkligt dokument från 1780-talet. Någon kontinuitet till 1900-talets Ingemor kan knappast finnas.

Förutom urspårningar kunde man möjligen skylla Ingemo Månsdotters varierande namnformer på beröringsskräck från prästerskapets sida till den katolska (eller som hedniskt betraktade) Ingemo källa. Det vore intressant om det ginge att få tag på större material om de sista namnbärarna och komma på fastare mark.

Fra Havkrog til Jensen

– en kuriøs navneforandring fra 1905

Af Martin Sejer Danielsen

Indledning

I en artikel om navneforandringer foretaget i 1905 på øen Samsø i Kattegat omtalte jeg et særligt navneskifte: Clemen Jørgen Havkrog skiftede med navnebevis udstedt af Samsøs birkedommer den 30. december 1905 navn til Clemen Jørgen Jensen. Det fremgår af navneforandringsprotokollen fra Samsø Birk (side 97), ligesom det blev føjet til Clemens fødsels- og dåbsoptegnelse i kirkebogen fra Samsøs Nordby Sogn.

Det juridiske grundlag for navneforandringen var loven af 1. april 1905 – en lov jeg også tidligere har omtalt i denne blog. Her skriver jeg blandt andet om hvordan loven egentlig var en tillægslov til navneforandringsloven af 22. april 1904, og fortsætter: “I sin relative enkelthed gav [tillægs]loven mulighed for at man inden nytåret 1905-06 gratis kunne ansøge den lokale politimester om at tage et tilnavn som slægtsnavn hvis man i de sidste 20 år havde været alment kendt under tilnavnet og i øvrigt selv anerkendte sig det.”

1800-tallets navnelovgivning havde utilsigtet medført at den støt stigende befolkning bar de samme efternavne; især patronymer såsom Jensen, Nielsen, Hansen med videre toppede listerne.

Mens ånden i navnelovgivningen i 1904-05 egentlig var at skabe en større variation i slægtsnavnene i Danmark, medførte lovens bogstav at Clemen i 1905 kunne få lov til officielt at erstatte det mere ualmindelige slægtsnavn Havkrog med noget så almindeligt som Jensen. Navnet Jensen var op gennem det 19. og 20. århundrede det mest almindelige efternavn i Danmark. Først i 2016 overhaledes det af patronymet Nielsen.

Hvad hed Clemen sådan rigtigt?

Man skal ikke beskæftige sig længe med slægtsforskning og anden personalhistorisk forskning før man opdager at en persons navn ikke gengives på samme måde på tværs af de historiske kilder. Eksemplet med Clemen viser til fulde hvad jeg mener.

Ved fødsels- og dåbsoptegnelsen fra 1836-37 i kontraministerialbogen (kirkebogen) fra Nordby Sogn, skrives hans navn Clemmen Jørgen Haukrog. Samme staveform går igen ved hans konfirmation i 1851. I 1865, hvor han blev gift i Besser Kirke, staves hans navn Clemmen Jørgen Havkrog, altså med -v- i stedet for -u- i slægtsnavnet Havkrog. Så langt vidner kirkebøgerne kun om en lille stavevariation i slægtsnavnet. Folketællingerne (FT) derimod vidner om en større variation, her opsat i kronologisk rækkefølge:

FT 1840 Clemmen Jørgen Jensen
FT 1845 Clemmen Jørgen Haukrog
FT 1850 Clemmen Jørgen Haukrog
FT 1855 Clemmen Jørgen Jensen
FT 1860 Clemmen Jørgen Jensen
FT 1870 Clemen Jørgen Jensen
FT 1880 Clemmen Jørgen Jensen
FT 1890 Clemen Jørgen Jensen
FT 1901 Klemmen Jørgen Jensen
FT 1906 Klemmen Jørgen Jensen

Allerede i 1840 hvor Clemen er fire år gammel, optegnes han altså med efternavnet Jensen og ikke Havkrog; faktisk optegnes han i eksemplerne ovenfor kun med navnet Haukrog i 1845 og 1850. Bemærk her at Clemen altså først i 1905 officielt tog navneforandring fra Havkrog til Jensen som ellers står anført som hans efternavn gennem hele anden halvdel af 1800-tallet og i 1901.

Det er værd at fremhæve at Clemen på et tidspunkt inden for årene 1850-1855 flyttede hjemmefra, og derfor har han i folketællingerne fra og med 1855 sandsynligvis selv meddelt sit navn da folketællingen fandt sted. Ved folketællingerne 1840, 1845 og 1850 var Clemen hjemmeboende, og det har i praksis nok været forældrene, sikkert Clemens far og husstandens overhoved, der meddelte hvad familiens medlemmer hed.

Uanset hvordan navnene helt lavpraktisk blev optegnet i folketællingerne, blev Clemen i de fleste tilfælde opført med det Jensen han, jævnfør navneforandringen i 1905, selv opfattede som sit efternavn.

Clemen var jo ‘søn af Jens’

Efternavnet Havkrog var for Clemen sandsynligvis bare et navn han var blevet tillagt ved dåben. Clemens storebror fik allerede det særlige slægtsnavn da han i Nordby Sogn døbtes Morten Jørgen Haukrog i 1829, så da Clemen døbtes i 1837, fik han samme slægtsnavn. Således er brødrenes slægtsnavn Havkrog måske snarere et produkt af præstens forsøg på at leve op til ånden i dåbsforordningen i 1828 om at tillægge nyfødte børn faste slægtsnavne, noget som netop præsten i Nordby Sogn på Samsø fremhæves for at gøre, jævnfør side 65 og 118 i værket Dansk Navneskik fra 1899.

Men Havkrog har som slægtsnavn sikkert været fremmed for Clemen. Hans far hed Jens Clemmensen, stedvis benævnt Jens Rysser, og Clemens mor hed Ane Jørgensdatter. Når Clemen kaldte sig Jensen, er det altså et primærpatronym, det vil sige fars fornavn Jens efterfulgt at -(s)en ‘søn’. Clemen konstaterede altså at han var ‘søn af Jens’. Man kan altså formode at navnet Jensen har været en langt mere personlig og identitetsbærende konstatering for Clemen end det for ham upersonlige Havkrog.