Names

When I was a teacher, I prided myself on learning, remembering and using the names of every child I taught. In a normal academic year that would be around one hundred and fifty names. They would always be there on the tip of my tongue.

However, in everyday life, I am not so good with names. I remember faces but when it comes to names my memory can be like a colander. 

On many occasions I have been introduced to people and almost immediately I see their names disappearing from view like feathers upon a breeze. I have just been given the damned name and then it's gone. And I have long recognised this personal deficiency but no matter how hard I try the names blow away.

I was thinking about this last evening when Shirley and I nipped down to the local pub. There was a woman in there who we hadn't seen since 1992. She greeted me like a long lost friend, using my first name with assurance but for the life of me I could not remember what she was called.

When this kind of situation happens, it can be awkward to be truthful. You want to say something like "Who are you?" or "I am sorry. I cannot remember your name". Potentially, it might feel like a slight upon that person - as if to say - you made so little impression upon me that I have forgotten your name.

I am sure that you have known such moments too. You carry on conversing with the anonymous but familiar figure, using various devices to traverse the gaps where a first name would normally be inserted.

Our names matter. Somehow they define us just as the name "leopard" defines a particular member of the cat family. As John Proctor says to his inquisitors in "The Crucible": "How may I live without my name?"

And finally, here's another funny thing about the way one's memory works. Strolling back from the pub after guzzling down four pints of "Black Sheep" bitter, I suddenly remembered the woman's name. It was Mary! Mary! Damn! What a shame I hadn't remembered that earlier.