I have a new niece, as my sister Fionnuala and her husband Adam welcomed Sadhbh (pronounced: Sadhbh) into a grateful world this week. At time of writing, she is three days old, but she seems very sound and her sister Clodagh is delighted by her company. My kids haven’t met her yet, but are wholly infatuated. They insist on watching the few videos we’ve been sent on a loop, and attempt to learn her name as they do so.
My son sees Sadhbh written down as I show him pics from our family WhatsApp group. The pile-up of consonants taxes his English brain a little too hard for intuitive speech. Give it a go, we tell him, baiting an age-old trap beloved of all Anglo-Hibernian relationships. He tries ‘Sadib’ and ‘Sahiddybib’, which draws cruel laughter from his loving parents. ‘It’s sigh-v’ we tell him, ‘like five, but with an S instead of an F.’
This works for the most part, even if me telling you that requires me to break the rule of a lifetime and offer a pronunciation guide beyond the snarky one I usually use for Irish names in this column. I will concede that, for an English speaker, Sadhbh may have a little more working out to do than most standard Irish names, sitting in that upper pantheon of tongue testers that features names like Tadhgh and Caoilfhionn. On a very generous day, I will admit – and even to English people – that I may myself have struggled on first encountering the work of people like Daibhí Ó Coisdealbha or Lasairfhíona Ní Chonaola.
When discussing these things with Londoners, I am not above the odd bit of translating. Despite the similarity of the names, almost everyone is surprised by the fact that Séamas itself is equivalent to James and that both derive from Jacob. I try to steer clear of saying it’s ‘the Irish for’ James, because I was raised to believe that such framing implies a secondary status for the Irish language. At the end of the day, however, it’s often the simplest way to explain what I’m saying to a bemused barista who thinks I’m having a stroke. I don’t know why I do this, to be honest, since the number of times I’ve done this and heard anything other than ‘JAMES!’ shouted across the room once my order is ready, can be rounded up to zero.
Sometimes, however, the translations are truly beautiful. Lasairfhíona, for example, derives from the Irish for ‘flame of wine’, meant to evoke the play of light one gets when swirling wine or whiskey in a glass. One of the most common Irish girls’ names, Aisling, is named for the Irish verse form in which the poetry produced is said to come to you via a dream. Sadhbh itself means sweet, lovely or goodness, depending on the translation – a nicer prospect than my own name, which means either supplanter or heel. I can only offer commiserations to any fellow Jakes and Jims, if they’re just learning this for the first time.
At two and a half, my daughter is a little way off reading, so she simply attempts to repeat what we tell her, without any consonantal complications. ‘Sibe on phone’ she says, while lovingly petting the screen. It’ll do for now, at least.
Follow Séamas on X @shockproofbeats
