Of course the late Queen was upset about ‘Lilibet’ – if someone pinched my nickname I’d be appalled

Naming a child after somebody isn’t always the compliment we might think it is, writes Anne Atkins – especially when the name is intensely personal

If our offspring gave theirs one of our family fun-names… well, I hope I’d be polite enough to say nothing

Perhaps the most poignant quote attributed to Her late Majesty is: “I don’t own the palaces, I don’t own the paintings, the only thing I own is my name.” No surprises, perhaps, that the Queen is said to have been so upset by Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s decision to call their youngest daughter “Lilibet”, that she proclaimed: “And now they’ve taken that.”

That’s the thing about nicknames, you see: royal or not, public or not – they’re always deeply personal.

And I should know: it was the source of vexed family debate for months, when our eldest was pregnant: what was her baby to call us, the grandparents? Eventually, after much back and forth, we settled on “Annie” and “Hatman”.

Why? Well, our son Ben is a genius when it comes to nicknames. My husband Shaun has been Hatman – or “Man with the Hat” – because our youngest child, Rose, couldn’t say “Fat Man”. And “Fat Man” itself is a dig at me, because I’m always trying to get Shaun to eat more healthily.

(He’s also “The Pizza Man”, since we took my parents to Ben’s school open day and the much-lauded school band, in which he played, dedicated “Son of a Preacher Man” to him, as Shaun is a clergyman. My baffled father turned to me and asked, “Why is Ben the son of a pizza man?”)

If you’re feeling confused, don’t worry. That’s the point of nicknames. They are private. They are personal. They are family “in” jokes.

My daughter Rose, now a medical student, is known at home as “Sprout”. Even when she’s a surgeon, she will still be Sprout to us… nicknames know no boundaries, you see.

Our eldest is “Bina” (long-ago toddler-speak for Serena, but not even her husband calls her this – only her birth family). Our other son, Alex, is “Legs” (because he is long and thin and late for everything). I’ve never heard outsiders calling him anything other than Alex, or occasionally Alexander. That’s the beauty of a family nickname – it stays in the family.

I take names very seriously. I realised this about myself when our second daughter tried to change hers. She says it’s our fault – and I can see her point. She has always been “Bink” (the approximate sound that Serena, not yet two, used before her sister was born), even to the extent of having it on her passport. She’s now sick of explaining it, and isn’t used to any of her baptismal names. Yet her decision distresses me greatly.

My husband and I spent weeks learning our children’s personalities after they were born, so we could choose appropriate names for them. Names are the one gift – apart from life itself – which parents almost universally give their children. Changing it feels like a rejection of familial connection.

This divisive issue is highlighted by some of the most ironic lines ever written: “What’s in a name? that which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet.” Juliet then begs Romeo to abandon his name (meaning his family) – and take her, instead. Ultimately it is their names – their allegiances – which lead to their deaths.

In my view, giving a child the formal, proper name of an elder in the family is a compliment. My father’s Christian names were John Davidson (after the Archbishop, a friend of the family) – but he was universally known as David. Our daughter’s son was given David as one of his names. We were all very touched.

But if my grandson had been baptised “Smiler” (my father’s nickname after the war) or “Broggles” (his nickname as a head master) we – and he – would have been appalled.

And if our offspring gave theirs one of our family fun-names… well, I hope I’d be polite enough to say nothing. But I’d consider it an abuse of the nickname and an insult to the child.

I imagine the late Queen felt much the same.