Namesakes

A namesake is un tocayo, so on meeting someone who shares his or her first name, a Spanish person is likely to remark soy tocayo tuyo or soy tocaya tuya as the case may be. Or, if you tend to look as things from your own point of view, eres tocayo mío / eres tocaya mía – you’re my namesake.

Tocayo is said only of first names and not a surname -  un apellido, possibly because usually there is little novelty value in coming across your own, especially if it happens to be García or Martínez – two of the world’s most common.  

Catalina, Jasper and Flora all have namesakes

 

But even the commonest Spanish surnames are special in their own way, though, because a woman does not relinquish hers on marriage and also bestows her surname on her children.

In earlier times when children tended to be born (if not always conceived - in wedlock, those who were not and whose fathers declined to acknowledge them and register the birth had to bear the burden of going through life with only the mother’s surname.

Society might have been paralytically rigid on the surface and the rules never openly flouted but they were bendable.  Before divorce was legalised, couples did separate and more than one baby from a second relationship was registered in the local records – registro and Libro de Familia (the Family Book or personal register issued on marriage) as though born to the father’s legal wife.

A man who could afford the expense (and many who could not) kept a mistress – una querida, literally a loved one.  Less-loved by the wife, she would unlovingly describe her as la otra – the other.

Even a superficial glance reveals how most Spanish surnames have English counterparts, although their prevalence or scarceness vary as widely as both societies at the time when people acquired them.

There’s probably level pegging between Pastor – Shepherd but Herrero, the Spanish equivalent of Smith, which is one of our commonest last names, is less common here. 

Mayordomo is not as widespread as Butler and nor is Tejero – Tiler (an English Tyler) but you’re more likely to find an Escribano than a Scrivener and will probably have a long wait before being introduced to a Tornero - Turner.

The surname Batanero – Fuller exists, but isn’t particularly popular, possibly because Spain was less bothered about processing cloth than exporting its raw materials. 

It’s easier to come across a Sastre – Tailor (an English Taylor) although you don’t often come across the equivalent to Fletcher which is an obliging Flechero.  Nevertheless you occasionally encounter the surname Flecha which – surprise, surprise – means Arrow. 

Christian names appear as surnames, too, of which María, Marías, Elvira, Elena, Ricardo, Bautista are just a few. Some bear a built-in –ez, the equivalent of an English son: González – son of Gonzálo; Benítez – son of Benito; Estebánez – son of Esteban  and Juanez, which is exactly the same as Johnson.

Towns, cities, provinces, countries or nationalities account for many Spanish surnames: Soler, Ocaña, Castilla, España, Catalán, Toledo, Madrid, Sevilla, Bilbao, Inglés, Francés and Alemán and so on and so on from one end of Spain to the other and half-way across Europe.

The prefixes Ben- and Ab- usually denote Jewish or Moslem origin, but city surnames – for instance Madrid, Toledo – are another indication of Jewish or Moorish ancestry. 

At the end of the fifteenth century the Reyes Católicos – Catholic Monarchs expelled all Jews and Moslems unless they converted to Christianity and many changed their names, adopting the name of the city where they lived.  Others chose a saint’s name: San Juan, Sanjuan, Santamaría, San Pedro or Sampedro  (where the –n becomes an –m in line with spelling rules). 

When a first name is used as a family name, it is often preceded by de: E de Juan or de Andrés for instance.  This also happens when a surname is a noun: Dolores del Río.

Some surnames originating as nicknames occur in in both languages: Rubio – Blond, Blanco – White, Valiente – Valiant but some, like Mago – Magician, Regatero – Bargainer and Izquierdo – Left, do not (although a telephone directory might say otherwise).

Others recall an employer or landmark: Conde – Count, Barón – Baron, Castillo – Castle, Sala – Hall, Ribera - Riverbank.  Spellings can vary, as in English, and for the same illiterate reasons on the part of clerics or registrars, which is why you get Rivera too. 

Spanish surnames are occasionally plural where ours aren’t and vice-versa: Molino – Mills, Tapias – Wall, Prado – Meadows but often they correspond exactly: Campos – Fields, Arenas – Sands.

Before migration and emigration, the prefixes in Macdonald, Fitzgerald, Tremayne were instant geographic markers for British surnames. Similarly, Ll at the beginning and –ll at the end of a name indicate Valencian, Catalonian or Balearic origin, as do surnames ending in –á: Llinares, Ripoll, Durá. 

Likewise -uru, -egui, -echea, -alday are classic Basque endings and González, Fernández and Hernández were originally Asturian; the last two are also a textbook example of how F morphed into H centuries ago.

Márquez, Marín or Carrasco originated in Andalusia.  Other surnames traditionally – but not exclusively – belonged to gypsies: Carmona, Cortés, Montés, Montoya, Correa, Reyes, Heredia, Giménez and Jiménez.

Every language possesses surnames that defy categorisation and their owners must regret that legal name-changing in Spain is such a palaver.  Like the man overheard giving his name to an hotel receptionist and who, with the weary air of one who knows what to expect because it has happened so often before, reluctantly spelt out J-o-d-a-s. 

The startled young woman looked up and exclaimed ¡no jodas! - a favourite but extremely rude phrase approximate to You don’t say!