The Orr family originated near the town of that name in southwestern Scotland. I will address that in greater detail a future post. For now, I am considering surnames in general, though with a focus on our area of interest, southern Scotland. And since surnames there were being adopted while Anglo-Saxon influence was pushing its way northward, we should include northern England in this as well.
It would be easy to assume that inherited family names are as old as families, themselves. In fact, almost all people who have ever lived had just one name – a given name. The earliest surnames in the British Isles were found in 10th Century Ireland. The first documented use of a surname goes to Tigherneach Ua Cleirigh, lord of Aidhne (County Galway), whose death was marked in the Irish Annals for the year 916. Here, we have a given name, followed by Ua (descendant of) Cleirigh (cleric). Over time, Ua Cleirigh became Ó Cleirigh, then O’Clery – thought to be the oldest inherited European surname in existence.
I mention the hereditary nature of true surnames above. Many O’ (descendant of) names in Ireland and Mac/Mc (son of) names in Scotland and Ireland, while adopted very early, were not surnames as we think of them until rather recently. For a generation or two or five, they might honor one respected man – an ancestor or a chief, perhaps – but then that chief might be killed by a rival and some of the men under him would change their names to show their new allegiance. Or, in a different situation, tenants on large estates might append the estate name to their given name. But if fortunes changed and they had to move, they would change their names to match their new address. In both cases, we can see that men were using these proto-surnames to indicate their loyalties. Sentimentality yielded to practicality.
Many credit the influx of Norman culture following the Conquest of 1066 for driving the adoption of hereditary surnames. It was customary for Norman nobles and gentry to add the name of their lordship or estate to their given names. The British natives took note of this and, in a show of solidarity, began to follow suit – first, among the elites, then slowly down to the common man. (Surnames were uncommon prior to the year 1100 and still somewhat rare in 1200. By 1400, most English and Scottish people were using surnames.)
In a parallel development, William I (William the Conqueror) was needing to reassert the authority of the Crown in the territory over which he had gained control. He would do this in the form of a property tax (excepting some tax-exempt jurisdictions and a few others with special arrangements). Well, new management rarely gets good records from the previous one, so assessors were sent out across most of modern-day England and Wales to determine the value of William’s acquired property. They added up the land area within each shire. They counted cattle and pigs. They counted the people – and they needed names.
Completed in 1086, this “Great Survey” of King William’s lands was soon being called Domesday Book, such was its sense of finality. It was a very thorough accounting of all assets in the country and people had no right to challenge the official valuations. (Domesday – meaning, and pronounced, doomsday – was a reference to Judgement Day.) Nearly eight hundred years would pass before anything on such a scope and scale would be attempted again in Britain.
Domesday Book is a trove of information for historians, economists, and genealogists. It lists thousands of places and thousands of people. Here is one Web site where you can see a list of the named landowners. As you skim down through the list, you can see the beginnings of surnames and how they may have come about.
On page one, King William starts things off, showing 0 properties owned before the Conquest and 2360 after. Landowners at this source are listed in order of properties owned after the Conquest, so the first few pages are dominated by nobility and the Church. Second on the list is Count Robert of Mortain, followed by Count Alan (of Brittany), Bishop Odo of Bayeux (of Tapestry fame), and (Earl) Hugh (of Chester). You will notice that these are “of” (or “de”) names, in the Norman tradition. Among the first twenty names, there are a William, Ralph, Robert, and Roger with no further name. But most everyone else is “of” somewhere. There are two who stand out from the rest – Roger Bigot and Robert Malet. These are both Norman surnames – among the oldest still in existence. Then you have Richard (son of Count Gilbert). Does this portend the arrival of the surname Gilbertson?
On page two, in the #24 spot, is Baldwin the sheriff. This is the first we have seen of someone using his occupation as a descriptor, other than noble and clerical titles. The list continues in like vein for several pages. See how many location or occupational surnames you can find. On page seven, you will find Alfred {the butler}. Surely, one of the first! Just below him, though, is William the goat. Interesting. Not to be outdone, near the bottom of page ten is Hugh the ass. For now, I am going to assume that these men were dutifully reporting with the bynames that had dogged them since childhood…and that they weren’t just being silly. They were, after all, two of the wealthiest men in England.
On page seventeen is Aelfric Small. He may have been small in stature. Or, perhaps he was a giant of a man and “small” was an ironic byname. I kept wading through the names, looking a particular type and not finding it when, on page thirty-eight, I came across Beatrix {sister of Ralph of Pomeroy and William the goat}. I imagine two boys growing up, nothing alike. Finally, at the bottom of page thirty-nine I find what I am looking for: Ralph {Banks}.
Surnames can be divided into at least four categories: Patronyms, Occupations, Bynames, and Toponyms. Some will then further divide these into sub-categories, but we will keep it simple.
As we have seen, patronyms – surnames based on a male ancestor or other benefactor – got an early start, as in the case of Tigherneach Ua Cleirigh. The name has evolved over time to O’Clery, but it has been used continuously for over 1100 years. Patronyms were (and are) common in Scotland, Ireland, and throughout Scandinavia. For example, noted Viking and explorer, Erik (the Red) had a son, Leif (the Lucky) Erikson, and a daughter, Freydís Eiriksdóttir. But you wouldn’t call their line the Eriksons, since Erik’s proper name was Erik Thorvaldson, son of Thorvald Asvaldsson, and so on. Likewise, in Scotland you might have Duncan MacDonald, son of Donald MacGregor. Or, in the English “-son” equivalent, John Robertson, son of Robert Davidson.
Eventually, people began viewing these patronyms as inherited surnames and the names stuck. By 1500, patronyms were a thing of the past in the Lowlands of Scotland, though the tradition continued into the 18th century in the Highlands.
The 24th person listed in the Domesday Book link above was Baldwin the sheriff. This is a surname that exists today. It may seem odd for us that a sheriff was among the wealthiest people in England in 1086, but this was a position of royal appointment back then, one of great importance and responsibility within the shire (from which the word sheriff derives). Small wonder, then, that Baldwin’s descendants might want to commemorate his high position by using it as a surname.
Occupations tended to run in families then. So, if you were from a line of men who roofed houses, it’s easy to see how Robert the thatcher became Robert Thatcher. Every village of any size had a blacksmith, so it comes as no surprise that there are a lot of Smiths today. (It is the most common surname in England and Scotland.) Other obvious occupation surnames include Taylor, Miller, Hunter, and Wright (worker/builder). In other cases, occupations have faded into history but have left their mark on surnames. Today, for example, few people support themselves by producing charcoal (Collier), making pilgrimages to the Holy Land (Palmer), raising birds of prey (Faulkner), or by cleaning and thickening raw wool by beating and tramping on it, often in a smelly water-based solution (Fuller).
Physical features, personality traits, unfortunate events from the past – all can lead to personal bynames. Above, I mention Aelfric Small, of the Domesday list. Doing some more digging, I see the root for Small as a surname is the Old English smal, meaning thin or slight of stature. Here is a physical trait, immortalized as a surname. Other bynames include Brown, Whitehead, Long, and Short.
If Erik the Red is a byname, then how about William the goat? As it turns out, Goat is a surname that started in Gotham, Nottinghamshire, south of Nottingham. Derived from the Old English for goat (gat) and farm/homestead/enclosure (ham), Gotham is perhaps best known for its Wise Men of Gotham story (q.v.). William the goat may simply have been a resident of Gotham – though that is quite some distance from his brother in Pomeroy. But if it’s on the Internet, it must be true. Right? Yeah, I’m not sure I’m buying it, either. The same goes for that other guy – Hugh whatshisname.
[Note: Some confusion (or, at least, lack of agreement) centers on the words “nickname” and “byname.” While some sources make no distinction between the two, others contend that nicknames are used in place of given names and bynames are used in place of surnames. It’s a fine point, but for this article I will hew to the latter. So, Erik the Red was a byname. If friends had called him Rusty Thorvaldson, instead, that would have been a nickname.]
Many surnames are based, in some way, on location. These are the toponyms. They can refer to some sort of geographical or topographical feature. Above, Ralph {Banks} was the first I found in Domesday Book. Other examples include Wood, Forrest, Hill, Lake, Grove, and Brooks. That guy living in the last cottage at the far end of town? Endicott. As with occupational surnames, some toponymic surnames are derived from terms we no longer recognize. For example, in Old English a copse or thicket was a sceaga. By Middle English, this was schage or schawe, from which we get Shaw – a person living in or near a thicket. The suffix -ton is common in Scotland and England and is from the Old English tun, an enclosure – though this could indicate a farmstead or town. So, from someone living on the south (Old English suð) farm or in the south town, we get Sutton.
As Orrs, we have a special interest in a different kind of toponym. After the Conquest, Norman influence spread throughout England then, more slowly, into Scotland. As mentioned above, one Norman custom was to take as a surname one’s place of origin or the name of a property under one’s control. Near the modern town of Urr, in southwestern Scotland, stand the remains of a 12th century Norman-style motte-and-bailey castle. It was built shortly after 1165 by outsider, Walter de Berkeley – literally, Walter of Berkeley. (He was from a village in Somerset, called Berchelei in Domesday Book.) His grant of the lordship of Urr, loyalty to William I, King of Scots, and now this imposing castle stirred much resentment among the local people. The castle was destroyed in the 1174 Galloway rebellion, rebuilt by Walter de Berkeley (later, Barclay), passed on to other families and, by the early 14th century, abandoned. Today, all that remains of the castle is the motte (earthen mound foundation), which is referred to as the Motte of Urr.
Within a century, in this region, the surname de Urre (or de Orre) begins to enter the record. And, as with de Berkeley, eventually the “de” was dropped, becoming, simply, Orr.