In the mornings before we begin our lessons, Mrs Jones reads out the names of all the children in class in alphabetical order. It's called Taking The Register and I am captivated listening to a whole line of wondrous new English names, Peter, Andrew, Michael, Paul, Jane, Sarah, Helen, Amanda. If this were a school back on my Island (see post Share The Moon), it would be packed with Marias: Maria Dolores, Maria de los Angeles, Maria del Rosario, Maria Agustina, Maria del Sol, Maria de las Mercedes, Maria Elena, Maria José. In my class today there is just one Maria, she is called Maria del Carmen, and that is me.
Mrs Jones calls out my name, Maria. I want to put my hand up to tell her that I have two names that are one and that Maria is not my name. But I don’t have the words inside me in this strange new language that they call English, so I just put up my hand and say in a small voice, Mari-Carmen. I want to tell Mrs Jones that Mama, Papa and everyone else back on my Island call me Mari-Carmen and that they say, Maria del Carmen only when I have been very naughty or when Mama is calling me in from the playing outside in the street. But I cannot say that either so put my hand down after I have said my name in Spanish and she carries onto the next name on The Register.
Mrs Jones does not realise how lucky she is that she is Taking The Register here in England and not on my Island back in Spain. If she were to call out Maria there, at least half of the girls in the class would all shout out in unison, 'Presente Señorita!', Here, Miss!' and it would cause utter pandemonium. How could she then tell which Maria is which? This is why we all sensibly have two names that are one! The following day at register when Mrs Jones gets to my name, she calls out Mary. 'I am not Mary!' I think with indignation. Mrs Jones clearly still does not understand that I have two names that are one. If she won’t call me by my two names, then at least she can call by the first part of it and I reply Mari. Once again, Mrs Jones carries onto the next name on The Register.
Back home I tell Mama about Mrs Jones and the names she has tried to give me that I don't like. Mama says that she originally planned to call me Gladys but the village priest would not allow it as it was not a Catholic name so her and Papa had no option but to think of another name and fast. They hurriedly settled on Maria del Carmen as it was Mama's second name and not dissimilar to the name of my other Grandma, Abuela Maria Dolores. She is Papa's Mama and lives on the Spanish mainland in a place we call La Peninsula. La Peninsula is a strange and unknown place for me and so far away from my Island that it may as well be in another world. I call it The Other Planet. Mama tells me the story of how I got my name with a hint of irritation in her voice. She wanted to call me Gladys but the priest got his Catholic way and here I am as Maria del Carmen. Most of the first-born daughters in the village are called Maria-something-or-other, Mama tells me. 'That priest has a lot to answer for', she mutters under her breath.
We have a new school day, and when Mrs Jones gets to my name on The Register she calls me Marie. Now I like this! It’s closer to my Spanish name than anything else Mrs Jones has used, and I love the way it rolls effortlessly off my Spanish tongue, Mari-ee! I am bursting with happiness, now I have a new English name to join Jane, Sarah, Helen and Amanda, and as soon as I get back home to the caravan I will tell Mama and Sis all about it. Then they too will want their own English names. But all this excitement is forgotten after the playtime break that soon follows.
Note: All written content is the intellectual property of this Author. Image material is drawn largely from Pixabay with some small additions from private family archives.
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