As I lay in bed the other night, my mind drifted. I love that pre-sleep drift, when you’re so tired your mind begins to shut down, to settle into a shallow consciousness. Your body relaxes into the comfort of your bed to the softening of a stream of consciousness that is outside of your control. For me, this is a rare treat, because it typically takes a lot of work for my brain to settle down and body to process the emotions of the day.
But, sometimes, I’m lucky enough to find a pre-sleep euphoria. This space often becomes a springboard for ideas, some of which I circle back to later in my waking moments. There is no conscious agenda; it almost feels like giving my brain free rein to play.
With the work on genealogy we’ve focused on, even more intensely over the last few months as we planned Maiden Name Unknown, my brain drifted into the following question:
If we were named for the women in our family, instead of the men, what would my name be?
Cultures embrace a variety of naming traditions. I can name my male and female great-grandparents for about the past 150 years. That is rare – hence the name of our blog…Maiden Name Unknown. Since women most often take their husband’s surname through marriage, the children then bear the name of the father. It makes it easier for the unimportant female name to disappear – the women move into a different home and procreate for that particular family lineage. Their brothers marry (or don’t marry…) and then continue the “family” name into the next generation.
Names and heritage are a large part of our identities. I have personally struggled with my last name for decades, because I thought it wasn’t fair that I didn’t have my mom’s last name. After my parents divorce, I primarily lived with my mother, and spent more time with her family than my father or his family. Having a different last name led to this idea that I was an outsider, a message subtly reinforced by extended members as I grew into adulthood. Even as a young child, entering Head Start and beyond, the issue of my name being different from my mother brought many complications and misunderstandings within the school district. And this was the 1990s – it wasn’t as if divorce was all that common.
So, I wanted to know – if our society followed a matrilineal naming pattern, what would my name be? (Merriam Webster Dictionary defines matrilineal as “relating to, based on, or tracing descent through the maternal line.”)
The answer is…
Chelsea Marie or Chelsea Mariedatter, depending on if my Norwegian ancestors kept or dropped datter.
Let’s explore.
Norwegian families used what is known as a patronymic naming system. This is defined as “a name derived from that of the father or a paternal ancestor usually by the addition of an affix.” In my familial line, this looked like the following… Lars Larsen’s son is John Larsen, and John Larsen’s son is Lars Johnson. To complicate matters, they also tacked on the name of the farm or area they lived in to become even more specific. Skimmili and Vollen are two examples. Using the above-named men, their full names are Lars Lars Skimmili, John Larsen Vollen, and Lars Johnson Vollen.
So, if a father had a boy, -sen or -son was added to the father’s first name. For daughters, -datter or -dotter was often added to the father’s name. When the women married, they retained their birth names but their children will then have the father’s -sen, -son, -dotter, or -datter.
This naming tradition begins to change about the mid-1800s as non-royal families began to adopt one name only. Read more about Norwegian naming traditions here! In 1923, Norway passed the Law on Personal Names, which required surnames to remain fixed. It also required women to take their husband’s surname upon marriage.
There are clearly many layers to dissect, and it’s fascinating to see how culture, laws and power intertwine to create changes in communities. It creates a context for us to understand what is happening during the time our ancestors lived.
To circle back to the question at hand, if Norway had followed a matrilineal naming pattern, what would my name be today?
My great-great grandmother, Anna Larson Wollen, immigrated to Chicago in 1901. Anna immigrated under less than ideal circumstances, so it’s reasonable to hypothesize that she was Anna Larsdatter prior to immigrating. However, when she did make the trip, she switched it to Larson instead. Maybe she did it to integrate more seamlessly into the United States, or maybe she did it to put distance between herself and her biological family. It could have even been a mistake by an immigration official who simply wrote the name down incorrectly. We also see her farm name as Wollen, a common mistake often made when German or Scandinavian languages are translated into English.
In Chicago, Anna marries Hans Stahl and takes on his last name. Moving forward, the family follows the expected patrilineal name pattern we see in the United States.
That information combined, the following matrilineal naming pattern emerges:
- Mari (b. 1814)
- Marie Maridatter (b 1841)
- Anna Mariedatter (b. 1872, immigrated in 1901)
- Florence Mariddatter (b. 1908)
- Storm Mariedatter (b. 1936)
- Pamela Mariedatter (b. 1958)
- Chelsea Mariedatter (b. 1988)
This exercise made me giggle. Being raised primarily by the women of my family, this naming system would be far more appropriate. Even so, saying, evening typing, the word “Mariedatter” feels so odd. It isn’t a name you hear; it isn’t familiar like Larsen or Johnson. These are common names, ones that harken back to patronymic naming traditions emphasizing the importance and power of men.
Names are powerful and reflective of societal norms. As you’re exploring your family history, take note of the women who appear in your work, and seek to understand their narratives and essential roles in the lives of their loved ones.
Maiden Name Unknown 