‘Amsterdam’ or ‘Wherefore art thou Bailey-Charteris?’

This post started life as a story about Amsterdam. About how I got domestic, vowing to perfect a recipe for passion fruit lemon butter (in the vein of De Bakkerswinkel), to install a child seat on my bike one day, and to bake bread. It talked about how Amsterdam was where I felt claustrophobic, where I felt the weight of being married most heavily. And how it provided the setting for my liberation.

It ended up being a record of the naming of a married woman. Probably only of interest to me and mine, but recorded none the less.

Amsterdam is where I find my new name.

Despite our being in the world’s pot capital, I’m not high when I work it out (although some people will think I must have been). I am on a bike (another bike!) in Vondelpark, mid morning on a Tuesday. When we walked the greens the evening before, they were filled with dogs, frisbees, music, singing, the odd group of teenagers and a whiff of something sweet. Now it’s women in pencil skirts and heels, men in suits. The park is a freeway rather than a detour.

It is at the end of the ride that it hits me. Those questions blocking my path - posted at stage gates named ‘identity’ ‘feminism’ ‘family’ ‘individuality’ ‘tradition’ ‘change’ ‘marriage’ - are all answered in the affirmative and spring the barriers open until suddenly  I am there – at-the-end-in-the-open-in-the-light - and I am so free, I yell out to Tony I think I just worked out what my new name will be!

I have always been very proud of my name. (Here’s an aside: should I be ashamed of that? Are people generally proud of their name? Maybe only if you are a growth on the tendrils of a dynasty - one involving sheep, or printing presses, or automobiles. Probably not so de rigueur for those of us non-dynastic. Especially those who have to look up the spelling of de rigueur.)

I have a hyphenated surname: my Dad is Bailey, and my Mum is Charteris. My surname is an exact representation of me – I am equally of these two names, and these two families, just as I am equally of these two people.

At primary school in the 80s, aside from me and my sister, there was only one other child with a hyphenated surname, Alison Kingsford-Smith (strange how some things stay with you) and from memory, she was hyphenated because her Dad was hyphenated. No one else in our little school had the same arrangement as we Bailey-Charterises.

Which perplexed me. I didn’t understand why anyone would just have one name. They had both a Mum and a Dad, didn’t they? Then why didn’t their name say that?

That I questioned this at all says a lot about the child my parents raised. My first word was the awesomely gender neutral ‘person’. The Lego men in our toy box had long hair drawn on them with black texta so that they were gender ambiguous. At my wedding, Mum gave a (brilliant) speech which recalled an anecdote from my childhood: Dad had patiently explained to a small me the details of Jane Austen’s early life, including the fact that her father was a clergyman. I responded to this tidbit with the question, ‘what her mother do?’

What her mother do indeed.

My parents’ choice in naming their children also beautifully reflects the values that permeate our family: it is honest, it is equal, and it is the truth. I can’t count the number of times in my life that I have been asked to explain my surname, and therefore, the number of times these values have been reinforced.

In being asked to explain it though, another reality was being reinforced: the fact that this was not the way that everyone else did it, not exactly the way it was done. That my name, and its story, was defining, unique. So when the time came to (potentially) change it, I didn’t want to do it without due consideration. I wanted to be fully cognizant of the consequences of my actions, of what I might be giving up and of the message I might be sending.

I have probably had a conversation about my married name – real or hypothetical – at least once with everyone I know in real life. At least, it feels like that. And - just so you know - I didn’t usually initiate it.

My choice of married name, it turns out, is something that most women in my acquaintance have an opinion on. Why? Because (I think) for one reason or another, my situation represents an opportunity for discussion. It invites arguments on all sides: there are reasons to keep, to ditch, to combine, and to add.

As a child, my peers would joke that I would marry someone with a D-E hyphenated surname, so that I could extend my alphabetization. The joke survived puberty, only evolving upon engagement when it was reborn by adding Tony’s surname’s initial instead. I smiled good-naturedly each time it came up, but every time I wondered, what was I going to do?

In the lead up to the wedding, the discussion was renewed afresh, this time with an urgent energy. What choice had I made? Had I decided? Later I realised that my answers to their questions reflected my changing attitudes to the wedding itself. Initially (in shock, yes – shock) and having trouble fitting this new reality to my bones, I outright refused to change my name. It was an archaic practice, as ridiculous as becoming Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy. The process would be lengthy, and expensive. And if he didn’t have to, then why should I?

Some nodded yes, of course (my cousins, an aunty over Erskineville Indian and a dry white, my girlfriends on a wintery night at a lake house). Others, not so much (a phonecall with another girlfriend on a sweaty December homecoming, my sister-in-law-to-be over an Avoca roast and red - or two). It was a dinner party, workplace water cooler, family lunch topic of conversation. There were concerns about bureaucracy, and the child’s sense of identity, if I didn’t share a surname with my children or my husband. Concerns about etiquette. About telephone bills. Concerns, generally. Double barrel? No, if you’re changing it at all you have to go the whole hog. Besides, which bit would you keep? You have to change it. But I feel like I’m losing my identity. That’s ridiculous; your identity has nothing to do with your name. How will people know that you’re married? And that your kids belong to you? You might have trouble at the school. And at the airport.

In sharing their opinions, I can hear them justifying their own decisions, or giving their own intentions a pre-airing shake out. I can hear the voices of their parents, their peers, their church, their schooling. Some never even asked, and only assumed. I don’t blame anyone for sharing their opinion – and I always heard them willingly. Perhaps they were picking up on the fact that (when I didn’t say it outright) I simply. wasn’t. quite. sure. yet.

As time progressed, and reality sunk in, I became more accepting and excited. I lapped up stories about possibilities - of triple barreled names! - of other cultures! – of places where the woman’s name is kept and passed along to children! - of Tony’s colleague and her husband who had BOTH changed their names upon marriage, and to a completely different name! That they had chosen out of thin air! We toyed with combining our surnames into a completely new word that both of us would take. Baicharall. Walley. Charleyall. My facebook status provided a forum. I was envious of my girlfriend’s mum, who was able to use her maiden name professionally and her married name at other times. I considered the examples set by my peers, my work mates, my married girlfriends, some of my cousins. But always I came back to my Mum. I have always admired her choice not to change hers, perhaps at a time when it wasn’t the done thing. And I wanted one day to have been maybe a little bit inspirational too. To be the subject of a possibility.

The best and worst part of this is that Tony never expressed any preference for what my married name would be. The best? Because it was completely my own decision. The worst? If he had held a strong opinion about it then maybe the decision would have been made easier, it would have been out of my hands. But then, if that were the case, we wouldn’t have been getting married at all.

Soon the wedding was a month away. Had I decided? Yes, I thought, I think I’ll be a Wall. I am ready to join my life with his. Yes, I think I’ll be a Wall.

I took it for a test drive, sent out some feelers. My few offhand pre-wedding comments took on a life of their own. I tried it on by writing my place card as Alexandra Wall, and allowing us to be presented at our reception as Mr and Mrs Wall. My girlfriends referenced my new name in their wedding speech.  No time to explain to the Carrington Hotel the subtle nuances of a name: ‘Actually it’s Ms’ or ‘I haven’t fully decided yet if I’ll…’ or ‘I’m thinking maybe of hyphenating…’ or ‘Um?’

Suddenly, I faced the possibility of sharing my name with someone. I experimentally Googled ‘Alex Wall’– the pages came flooding up. I would never ever be found amongst all this. I felt like I was losing something important.

Up came the gates: ‘identity’ ‘feminism’ ‘family’ ‘in-laws’ ‘individuality’ ‘tradition’ ‘change’ ‘marriage’ ‘husband’. How to balance it all? And I was left with indecision again.

In the end, travel was the liberator. Being cut loose from the running commentary and dipping my toes in the global perspective meant that I had the freedom to decide that I could make my name whatever I wanted. Truly. Whatever I wanted.

Does it really matter? Some people will wonder why I toiled over this. It’s all trends and roundabouts anyway, right? Is there resurgence in women changing their names? Is it hip to be married again? A more dedicated writer than me would pull out some facts and figures and give this a genuinely global perspective, but this is my record.

I don’t mean to imply that my decision has been any harder or tougher than anyone else’s. Just because other women have made certain choices, doesn’t mean that they didn’t struggle with these same questions of identity, loyalty, tradition and change. I also had a choice, and ‘I cho(o)se my choice’ (Thanks Charlotte). It involves a reshuffle, something a little less than traditional, and a bit of invention. It respects my husband, my Bailey-Charteris family and my Wall family. It distinguishes me from ‘us’ but recognizes the change we have committed to. And yes, I will be changing it on facebook, just as soon as the paperwork is done. For now, it’s enough to say that I was the 30 letter girl before, and soon I will be 34.

Yes, I know it’s just a name. But it’s my name.

Now…what to call the kids?

Photos