Category: Historical socio-onomastics

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.

See also:

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.

Perpetua som social markör

av Kaj Borg

Udda namn

I en 1700-talsdopbok från staden Gamlakarleby i svenska Österbotten påträffas två belägg på kvinnonamnet Perpetua (1712, 1714) (HisKi). I båda fallen rör det sig om ett utomäktenskapligt barn. Namnvalet är iögonfallande, eftersom namnfattigdomen var påtaglig under förra hälften av 1700-talet, och de flesta flickor fick då frekventa namn som Anna, Brita, Karin eller Maria. Vilken funktion hade namnet Perpetua vid den dåvarande dopnamnsgivnigen? Förekom namnet också på annat håll i Finland, och om så, vem döpte sin dotter till Perpetua?

Helgonnamn

Perpetua är ett helgonnamn från den katolska tiden och enligt Hanks m.fl. (2019) var Perpetua en ung, gift adelsdam som tillsammans med sin tjänarinna Felicitas antog den kristna tron och därför fick gå en martyrdöd till mötes år 203. Senare blev de helgonförklarade av den katolska kyrkan.

Helgonnamnet Perpetua ingick länge också i de finländska almanackorna. Enligt Nivanka (1957) var namnet med redan i den första finländska almanackan år 1705 och det ingick i namnlängden ända till slutet av 1930-talet, visserligen med ett antal kortare avbrott i kontinuiteten. Detta namn, som enligt Brylla (2004) betyder ’evig’, fanns alltså till buds för finländska namngivare genom den lilla skrift som kom ut årligen. Perpetuas namnsdag inföll den 7 mars. Numera ingår endast kortformen Tua i dagens finlandssvenska almanacka (den 7 maj) (Universitetets almanacksbyrå).

Sällsynt namn med bred geografisk spridning

Enligt Myndigheten för digitalisering och befolkningsdata är namnet fortfarande i bruk, men mellan åren 2020–2023 uppgick antalet namnbärare inte ens till tio. Intressant är att namnet förekommer både som mans- och kvinnonamn. Perpetua är också historiskt sett ett sällsynt namn. En sökning på namnet Perpetua som dopnamn i databasen HisKi ger en lista på 26 barn som fått namnet under tiden från 1600-talets slut fram till senare hälften av 1800-talet i Finland. Delar man upp den studerade perioden i femtioårsperioder får man en överblick över namnets kronologiska spridning: 1700–1749 2 belägg, 1750–1799 2 belägg, 1800–1849 11 belägg och 1850–1899 11 belägg.

Namnet har alltså genom tiderna varit sällsynt som dopnamn, men aldrig fallit helt ur bruk. Det har använts både på svenskt och finskt håll i landet och det har haft spridning över stora delar av landet. Perpetua är belagt i dopböcker åtminstone i Österbotten, Birkaland, Egentliga Finland, Nyland, Kymmenedalen och i det gamla Viborgs län.

Social markör – på både gott och ont

De två första beläggen på Perpetua var alltså dopnamn på utomäktenskapliga flickor på 1710-talet. Frågan är vem som valde namnet och vilken funktion det hade vid namngivning. Att Perpetua var en markering för barnets låga sociala status är väl uppenbart, men det är svårt att med säkerhet säga om det var fråga om ett kompenserande eller ett stigmatisande namn. Detta finns det inget säkert svar på, men med tanke på att de utomäktenskapliga barnen onekligen hörde till de utstötta i samhället är den senare tolkningen mer sannolik. Prästens roll vid namngivning under denna tidiga period går inte att underskatta. Det var kanske han som bestämde barnets placering i det sociala nätverket.

Av de sammanlagt 26 flickorna med namnet Perpetua är faktiskt fyra utomäktenskapliga (1712, 1714, 1839, 1894), något som torde tala för att namnet mycket väl har kunnat användas till att peka ut flickor födda utanför äktenskapet. Intressant är emellertid att de övriga flickorna med detta namn inte tillhörde de lägre samhällsskikten utan snarare tvärtom. Nio av de 26 flickorna var döttrar till högre eller lägre tjänstemän, två till militärer och tre till präster och/eller lärare. Åtta av flickorna var döttrar till besuttna bönder eller motsvarande. Två av flickorna i den sistnämnda gruppen hade visserligen blivit nöddöpta – en omständighet som också kan ha avgjort det speciella namnvalet. Anmärkningsvärt är att namnet inte tycks ha använts av allmogen, t.ex. de obesuttna, arbetarna och tjänstefolket.

Det går alltså inte att säga att Perpetua uteslutande är ett lågstatusnamn, även om de utomäktenskapliga barnen kan anses vara välrepresenterade bland namnbärarna. Däremot kan det konstateras att det är ett polariserande förnamn som får sin funktion bestämd i den aktuella socioonomastiska kontexten. Det pekar ut sin bärare antingen i negativ eller positiv belysning.

Källor

Naming traditions as marks of kinship in Scandinavia

By Krister SK Vasshus, PhD-student at the University of Bergen

Many modern Scandinavian names have a deep linguistic history, and they come in many shapes and forms. Helge, Torkil, Arnhild and Inger are just a few examples. Names of this type all have in common that they are based on words that carried a semantic meaning at the time when they were formed. They could be formed based on verbs (such as Wīgaz from a verb meaning ‘to fight’), nouns (such as Aud, meaning ‘wealth’), or adjectives (such as Braidō, based on the adjective meaning ‘broad’). Most of the names used during the Scandinavian Iron Age and Viking Age are no longer in use today, but many are still fairly popular. Some of these names have even gotten more popular over the last two centuries due to the popular interest in the Old Norse literature and culture.

Graphs showing the popularity of the names Ingeborg and Ingrid in Norway the last 130 years. Source: ssb.no.

Names of Scandinavian origin can be formed based on one single word, often with the addition of a suffix. Examples hereof are Arne (meaning ‘eagle’), Karl (meaning ‘man’), and the above mentioned Wīgaz. But they can also be compounded from two words, such as Sigrun, Ingeborg and Wōdurīdaz. Names based on two words are often called dithematic personal names. The oldest written evidence we have of Germanic languages is written on a bronze helmet with Etruscan letters, dated to about 200 BCE, and this inscription contains the dithematic name Harigasti (‘warrior-guest’).

Even though names are formed on the basis of words from the source language, it may some times be impossible to determine what the original meaning may have been. A view commonly held by researchers of onomastics, is that the semantic content of a personal name deteriorates quickly after being used as a name. According to this view, Wōdurīdaz was not a wild and angry (which is the semantic meaning of wōdu-) horsebackrider (the semantic meaning of -rīdaz), and that his parents did not give such a name with the intention of giving these qualities to the child. Not all scholars agree with this, though, and some think that names may be seen as a linguistic expression that conveys the same ideas as we see in other artistic expressions of the time, such as metaphors used in skaldic poetry or ornaments on archaeological artifacts. As an example, the warrior-ideal was quite strong in the Viking Age, which is reflected in many names containing words connected to war and battle. Many of the animals we see in the arts, are also used in personal names of this period.

The clasp from Åker in Hamar contains the motif of a man mixed with other animals, which is common for animal art in the Scandinavian Iron Age. The man’s feet are wild boar heads. By the sides of his head  there are two eagle heads where the beaks meet the snout of the boar. There are also eagles on the top of the clasp. Both the word for wild boar and eagle were used in personal names during this period. Photo: Eirik Irgens Johnsen / Kulturhistorisk museum, UiO, available under CC BY-SA 4.0.

Judging from runic inscriptions, sagas and traditions up until now, we can see that Scandinavians have three ways one could name someone after another person. Today most people will probably think of naming someone after someone else as the two bearing the same name. Stereotypically this means that a child is named after a grandparent. This type of naming tradition first shows itself in Scandinavia during the Viking Age, and was probably adopted from elsewhere in Europe. The system usually is that the oldest child is named after their paternal grandparent, the second oldest child is named after their maternal grandparents, the third child after their paternal great-grandparents or uncles and aunts. It can, however, be difficult to determine whether a child is named after an aunt/uncle or a great grandparent, as these would share names according to the system.

Another way of naming was by alliteration, where the name starts with the same (or a similar) sound. This is a type of naming we see in the royal Yngling house, where Domalde, Domar, Dyggvi and Dag follow each other in succession. The same dynasty later uses vowels: Aunn, Egill, Óttarr, Aðils, Eysteinn and Yngvarr. This tradition is still in use today, although people are probably a bit more strict on using an identical vowel.

The third way of naming is the principle of variation, which can be used in the dithematic personal names. When a child was named, one could use naming elements that were otherwise used in the same family. This means that a person could be named after more than one family member at once. On the Upplandic runestone U1034 we can read:

þorbiarn·auk·þorstain·uk·styrbiarn·litu raisa stain·eftir·þorfast·faþur sin ybir reisti (Thorbjørn and Thorsteinn and Styrbjørn raised the stone after Thorfast, their father. Øpir carved [the runes]”).

Here we see that Thorbjørn and Thorsteinn are named after their father, as all their names starts with Thor-. Furthermore we see that the brothers Thorbjørn and Styrbjørn share the naming element Bjørn, but we cannot determine whether they are named after someone else in their family, or if it was made to show brotherhood.

Bildetekst: The runestone U1034 show the use of naming based on variation in dithematic names between the brothers Thorbjørn, Thorsteinn, Styrbjørn and their father Thorfast. Photo: Bengt A Lundberg / Riksantikvarieämbetet, available under CC BY 2.5.

This way of naming is still in use in Scandinavia today, and many new names has been made on the basis of this principle (some examples are Kjærlaug, Norunn, Vilfrid, Tryggvald, Norulv and Bjørgny). This principle lead to a substantial amount of dithematic personal names. Gjrotbjørn, Ljotunn, Igulfast, Ulvhild, Geriheid and Wōdurīdaz are examples of names that has gone completely out of use, in contrast to Ingeborg, Bodvar, Gunnhild, Sjurd (from older Sigurd), which has survived to this day.

Exactly why some names survive and some fall out of use, is sometimes difficult to determine. In some cases it may come down to chance, and in some cases we see that a name may live for a long time but only in a very constricted region. And although kinship plays a much less important role in the modern Scandinavian society compared to in earlier times, the naming traditions still show that to some people, it still plays a role.

What is behind the name?

by Peder Gammeltoft

One of the core questions in place-name research is: What is the motivation for a name? On the surface, this looks pretty straightforward. All place-names are formed from the existing, spoken language at the time of formation. So, if we know what words existed at any given time, their declension and meaning, then it is a matter of correctly interpreting the individual components of a place-name, and then we have the meaning of the name, right?

Unfortunately, things are not as simple as that. In an ideal world, an interpretation gives a formal origin: name X consists of element 1 in the genitive singular + element 2 in the plural. This allows us to show what the constituents of a place-name is and what the meaning is. However, the factual assessment is often based on parallel examples, even in cases where we are temporally almost in touch with the actual naming moment. And although we can probably guess what must have been the naming motive, we cannot be sure.

For instance, take a place-name like Gåserød (1575 Gaaßerudt) in Andebu, Vestfold, Norway. Formally, the first element is either Old Norwegian gási, m. ‘gander, male goose’ or the derived male byname Gási, m. The last element is more straight forward, Old Norwegian ruð, n. ‘a clearing’. But what is the naming motive behind Gåserød? Was the settlement cleared by a man named Gási, had geese been spotted at the locality, or were geese being reared at the settlement? This we can never know, as we do not have a record of why people started calling this place for Gåserød.

An illusive Find or a name transfer?

In a few cases, however, we can prove a naming motive through historical records. Near the famed Ulefos Ironworks in Holla in Telemark, there used to be a smallholding or homestead, in the sources variously spelled “Findsruud” or “Finsrud” or “Finsrød”. The smallholding is not of great age, being recorded no earlier than the beginning of the 18th century. It was originally set up on cleared land outside of the cadastral system, as was the norm earlier. Finsrud holds some fame locally, as it used to be the permanent residence of the hammer masters at the ironworks, which were central persons in the community.

Throughout the next two centuries we find the name with theses spellings. However, in local historical literature from the 20th century we find “Finsrod” or “Finnsrote” as variant spellings of the place name. In 1732 Findsruud became the permanent residence for a hammer master Niels Olsen Finsrod at Holden’s Ironworks (later Ulefos). He was a member of the Finsrod family who immigrated from Sweden in the 17th century, possibly via Finnskogen. For this reason, local historical literature has assumed that “Findsrud” or “Finsrod” is the same name, but with alternative spellings. If this is the case, then Finsrud would be an adapted name transfer either from an original settlement of Finsrod, or more probably from the family name Finsrod.

It is not unknown that a family name can be transferred to a settlement, and “Finsrod” may also lie behind the name form “Finsrud” or “Finsrød”, if the surname origin has been either misunderstood or rather a reinterpreted analogous to the very frequently occurring place-names –rud/-r­ød in Eastern Norway. However, since the family name would have been alive or remembered when the name became established locally, such a change should not have been a likely occurrence. Is there another explanation?

The smallholding was one of the pieces of property in the parish from which the local priest had income (prestebord) for his sustenance. Therefore, we have good early record of the Finsrud settlement. When the priest leased the smallholding to Niels Olsen Finsrod in 1732 (the rectory owned the land), the lease document tells that the name of the previous lease holder was a Find Findsen. We know from church records that Find Findsen lived from ca. 1654 to August 4th, 1720, but more importantly, the document also states that Find Findsen owned the right to clear the site, but that the clearing right had been sold back to the rectory by the widow. This clearing right was incidentally purchased by Niels Olsen Finsrod in 1738.

Figure 1. Photograph from c. 1910 in the direction of where Finsrud was situated. Finsrud is the settlement with the white gable to the right of the church. The area is now part of central Ulefoss.

The naming motive established

The lease agreement determines that Find Findsen had leased the smallholding Findsruud and had had the clearing right there. This means that the place-name must have been named after him, or possibly rather his father, who the patronym shows was also called Find. Since the ironworks was founded in the 1650s, it is quite possible that the settlement had been in the possession of the same family since establishment.

Local historical research has not been able to establish any indication that neither Find Findsen nor his father belonged to the Finsrod family. The first Finsrod that can be definitely linked to Finsrud is aforementioned Niels Olsen Finsrod in 1732. Finsrud was named after the original clearer of the smallholding.

This case study shows that the naming motive is often quite illusive, but it may be found in certain instances – especially if attention is paid to historical research, either locally or in central archives.

Note: This article has been conceived with inspiration from an e-mail correspondence with archivist Nils Stoa in relation to an article he publishes later this year on the same subject.

Literature

  • Stoa, Nils. 2023 (forthcoming). ‘Plassen Finsrud på Ulefoss’. In Gunnar Sanden (ed.), Holla Minner. Holla.
  • Strøm, Gard. 2018-2023. ‘Findsrud under prestegården’. In: Gamle Holla. Interaktiv bygdebok for Holla.

The alphabet of the land(scape): Children’s place-names

by Birna Lárusdóttir

Reading the landscape

“Children learned the alphabet of the landscape before and at the same time as they learned the alphabet of the book.”

This comment, in a place-name record put together in 1994 by Lúther E. Gunnlaugsson, farmer at Veisusel in Fnjóskadalur in northern Iceland, indicates that in Iceland in previous times, the ability to read the landscape, not least on the basis of place-names, was thought to be important. Each place-name represented a letter or sign, as in an alphabet, and as such, was part of a bigger whole.

Farm landscape through the eyes of a child.  Halldór Pétursson 1924.  National Museum of Iceland.

Lúther’s comment fits well with well-known theoretical ideas about landscape and the marks that humans make on/in it. Scholars have, for example, compared landscape to a text in which writing, reading and literacy are implicit, and also to a palimpsest manuscript – a manuscript whose text has been scraped off and written anew with new ink. In this way, landscape, along with the place-names in it, is multi-layered, constantly changing and often complex. At the same time, it is necessary for those who live in and interact with particular places to be able to read it, or read out of it – to understand what place-names referred to, and what kinds of meaning they contained.

Place-name knowledge in past times could be an indicator of an individual’s status within a particular group, and it could enable children to accomplish tasks or work that carried with it a certain responsibility. Thus, in a place-name record for the farm of Brekka in Svarfaðardalur in northern Iceland, we read how adults had names for every landscape feature at their fingertips: “…each hill, gully or cliff … on every upland heath between Bakkadalur and Holtsdalur.

These place-names were necessary for boys to know if they hoped to become a shepherd, because otherwise it could be difficult if, for example, the dairy-women asked where the ewes had been found, and if he could not identify the place by name then he was an idiot and would be laughed at by them.” Aged nine, having accompanied his uncle up on the heaths searching for sheep, the author of these words had become a competent shepherd who was knowledgeable about place-names in the area.

Children as authors

Children were not only passive readers of the landscape but also active authors. There are various hints that suggest this in the place-name records. The informants in the records had generally reached old age when the place-names were put down in writing but were happy to go back in time to their early years when they were recalled.

There are examples of ruins of shepherds’ huts in outer meadows that had names such as Markúsarkofi, Bensagerði and Rönkukofi, all most likely named after children who looked after the sheep, possibly by other children. Other examples of hut names include Bræðraborg (Brothers´ Butte), Krummastaðir (Krummi´s farm or Raven´s Farm) and Barnabaðstofa (Childrens´ living room).

Ruins of a shepard´s hut.  Öxnadalshreppur, N-Iceland.  The Institute of Archaeology, Iceland.

Sites of play were probably the most common places that children named: these were places that were central to their early world but did not have much significance in the daily life of adults. Examples of these may include Gullatóft at Austdalur in Seyðisfjörður in the east of Iceland, and Leggjabú at Dalbær in Hrunamannahreppur in southern Iceland: both names refer to toys directly.

There are other examples where play-sites were given farm-names, e.g. at Litli-Galtardalur on Fellsströnd in western Iceland where kids built “houses and halls, sheep-pens and fences” all around a certain hill. Fögruvellir (Fair Grounds) was nearby, as was Vallabú (Valli´s farm), “under a grassy overhang” – so-called because a boy called Valli built a structure there. At Austurhlíð in Eystrihreppur, southern Iceland, at a place called Kirkjulundur (Church Grove) there was a fenced-off plot where children buried dogs, cats and other animal friends. There was even a little church that the children had built: inside there was space for one person. These are all intriguing indications of how children named places to create a space for their games: they built their own world on the basis of various ideas taken from the adult world, adapted to their own sphere and rules.

Sometimes children’s place-names are not paid much accord in the place-name records. An example of this is found in the record for Staðarhraun in Mýrar in the west of Iceland: a certain channel that children called Kjóamýri because of Arctic skua attacks (kjói = Arctic skua) is mentioned, but the informant makes it clear that that name disappeared from use as soon as the children had grown up.

At Landakot on Vatnsleysuströnd on the Reykjanes peninsula there is a description of a boggy area called Móar where there were bare patches of earth and rocks to which children gave “various names, which hardly count as place-names.” Unfortunately, these names were not recorded.

In both of these examples we can see the assumption that place-names used by children were not thought to be of much significance: maybe the names had not been passed on to others or become established in the adults’ language, likely because they were only used within the children’s group and therefore the chances of them becoming fixed were smaller.

Another example, though, from Vatnsleysuströnd, might point to a contrasting idea: that children themselves were also part of the place-naming process: there, children came up with new names for places that already had names – thus they began to call “Síki” (Canal) by another name, “Sílalækur” (Small Fish Creek), and the ruins of the old farm-house at Stóru-Vogar “Rústir” (Ruins). Both of these names seem to have survived.

All of the examples in this paper derive from place name registers preserved in the archive of The Árni Magnússon Insitute, Iceland.  Most of them are accessible online at: www.nafnid.is

This paper is an English translation of the Icelandic Stafróf landsins: Örnefni barna that appeared on the Árni Magnússon Institute web page in November 2020. Translation by Emily Lethbridge.

Ingeborg Svantes – ett exempel på identifering genom tidigare husbonde

av Lennart Ryman

Svantes Ingeborg 1515

År 1515 omtalas en ”Svante Ingeborg”, även skriven ”Ingeborg Svantes” och ”hustru Ingeborg” i Stockholms tänkeböcker (tryckt i Stockholms tänkeböcker 5, s. 36 f.). Det framgår att hustru Ingeborg några år tidigare hade tillerkänts den betydande summan av 20 mark av Stockholms rådhusrätt, som ersättning för sitt omak och sin trohet mot en viss Hemming. Detta beslut bestreds nu av en av Hemmings arvingar, hustru Anna. Ingeborg hade själv hunnit avlida, men hustru Anna krävde nu (utan framgång) ersättning av en av Hemmings testamentsexekutorer. Ämnet för den här texten är frågan vilka Ingeborg och Svante kan ha varit. Att det rör sig om ett äkta par vore den mest närliggande gissningen, men sanningen är troligen en annan.

Svantes barnmorska 1496

I artikeln Ingeborgh i Sveriges medeltida personnamn upptas år 1496 en viss Jngeborgh Swantes barnamoderske i ett belägg från Stockholms tänkeböcker (band 3 s. 274). Anledningen till att hon omtalas är att hennes bror har mördats. Ingeborg bör ha varit en välkänd person och kan dessutom ha varit berättigad till mansbot, vilket kan ha gjort hennes identitet intressant i sammanhanget. Oavsett anledningen har vi här för ovanlighetens skull en man som identifieras i relation till en kvinna. Men Ingeborg relateras i sin tur till till en viss Svante. Tydligen har hon varit i tjänst hos honom, vilket kan tyckas egendomligt för en barnmorska. Förhållandet är dock inte unikt: en anonym barnmorska tycks på annat ställe i tänkeböckerna ha varit i tjänst hos en viss Måns guldsmed (band 2 s. 507). Men vem var Ingeborgs husbonde Svante?

Vid denna tid i Stockholm kan det inte råda några tvivel om att det mycket ovanliga mansnamnet Svante syftar på Svante Nilsson, riddaren Nils Stures son, riksråd från 1482, dubbad till riddare 1497 (av unionskungen Hans efter att ha ställt sig på dennes sida mot Sten Sture) och slutligen svensk riksföreståndare från 1504. Ingeborg kan tänkas ha förlöst Svantes son Sten, som antas vara född 1492 eller 1493 och för eftervärlden är känd som Sten Sture den yngre.

Beläggen i Sveriges medeltida personnamn låter oss följa Ingeborg från 1496 till en anteckning i Stockholms skattelängder 1504. I det opublicerade ordboksmanuskriptet finns även de ovannämnda beläggen från 1515 med, liksom ett par till från 1517. Hon skrivs vanligen ”Svantes Ingeborg”, någon gång även ”Svante Ingeborg” och ”herr Svantes Ingeborg”. Intressant är att Svantes herretitel vanligen inte sätts ut, trots att den var närmast obligatorisk för riddare. Detta tyder på att attributet stelnat som binamnselement före Svantes riddardubbning 1497.

Avslutning

I Agneta Sundströms monografi över binamn i Arboga stads tänkeböcker behandlas bland mycket annat en Jon Finska (s. 74). Som Sundström framhåller syftar binamnet med all sannolikhet på att han varit i tjänst hos en Margit Finska. Namnbäraren vinner burskap men behåller anknytningen till Margit. Svantes Ingeborg är en rätt tydlig parallell till Jon Finska. Ett annat fall är troligen (Sigrid) Krakadegia (1478 Stockholms tänkeböcker 1 s. 162), som kan syfta på att Sigrid är eller har varit deja hos borgaren Hanis Kraka, som förekommer i Stockholms stadsböcker 1472–1480. (Hans Kråka bar troligen det tyska släktnamnet Krahe, men anslutet till det fornsvenska appellativet kraka; jfr Sveriges medeltida personnamn under Hans, början 1430-talet och 1472 14/10).

Den här typen av binamn eller attribut som på ett relativt fritt sätt relaterar en människa till en annan är ovanliga och svårupptäckta i källorna men är enligt min uppfattning av stort intresse. De kanske var relativt vanliga i tidens muntliga vardagsspråk.

Referenser

  • Stockholms stadsböcker från äldre tid. 2, Tänkeböcker 1–5. 1917–44. Stockholm
  • Sture (yngre ätten). Artikel i Svenskt biografiskt lexikon av bl.a. Hans Gillingstam och Gunnar T Westin. 2013 urn:sbl:34629
  • Sundström, Agneta. 2015: Binamn i Arboga stads tänkebok. Uppsala: Uppsala universitet. (Namn och samhälle 25.)
  • Sveriges medeltida personnamn. [Numera:] utgivna av Institutet för språk och folkminnen. 1–. 1967–. Uppsala.

Se även mitt tidigare blogginlägg med referenser.

New collection of articles casts light on place-name databases as research infrastructures in spatial humanities

By Alexandra Petrulevich

The upcoming volume “Digital Spatial Infrastructures and Worldviews in Pre-modern Societies” published by ARC Humanities Press introduces nine Nordic research infrastructure outputs with spatial focus: Norse World, Mapping Saints, The Icelandic Saga Map, Nafnið.is, TORA: Topographical Register at the National Archives of Sweden, The Swedish Digital Place-name Register, The Swedish Open Cultural Heritage, and DigDag: A digital atlas of the historical and administrative geography of Denmark. Research infrastructure here is understood as carefully curated research data collections made available for researchers, students and the general public for exploration and analysis.

This segment of research outputs has grown immensely over the recent decade in the Nordic countries. There are many reasons for this development, for instance, researchers’ interest in spatial dimensions of various materials such as place-names, early modern inventories and cadastral maps, medieval literature and art etc., and interdisciplinary methodology combining traditional and digital methods as well as availability of specific research funding calls.

Apart from presenting the resources and the data they offer, the chapters of the volume include example studies showcasing the potential of these newly developed spatial infrastructures for research as well as practical applications of digital methods.

Map showing result of not stating a same-origin place-name (Ypso and Øpso) relationship between localities/feature types from chapter 6 by Peder Gammeltoft.

The spatial focus of the aforementioned projects implies, quite unsurprisingly, that many of them deal with place-names, modelling of place-name data or place-name databases in one way or another. This is a welcome development in the field of spatial humanities where collation and processing of name data traditionally received little attention.

In the realm of the digital, place-names are seen as mere attributes, an almost arbitrary addition to the core values in the digital gazetteer model, coordinates and feature type, widely used to both define and describe any location in a spatial database. This volume provides several examples of how geocoded humanities data challenge this model and in what ways the model can be adapted and further developed in accordance with the project’s ambitions and needs.

For instance, Peder Gammeltoft re-considers the mainstream approach to handling place-name data in digital gazetteers in chapter 6. Because place-names occur in etymologically and otherwise related clusters and because one and the same locality can be associated with multiple names or name forms, Gammeltoft introduces the concept of a unique place-name identifier and thus a novel approach to structuring place-name data in databases.

Another example is chapter 11 where I also make a contribution to reform the mainstream gazetteer structure and its approach to place-name materials. Chapter 11 offers both theory and methodology for dealing with place-names and place-name variants in spatial research infrastructures in analytically meaningful way—facilitating not least socio-onomastic studies of name variation in texts of different genres. These two chapters—as well as related studies in chapters 1, 10 and 12—offer innovative approaches to place-name modelling that captures the essence of place-names and that would be of interest to anyone interested in developing a spatial dataset from scratch.

The volume Digital Spatial Infrastructures and Worldviews in Pre-Modern Societies edited by Alexandra Petrulevich & Simon Skovgaard Boeck will preliminarily be published by ARC Humanities Press on April 10.