A bit of McDonagh family lore: I wasn’t meant to be called Laura. I was supposed to be called Éilis. I’ve often imagined what happened after my mother announced her intentions in the delivery suite at Sunderland General Hospital: a “that’s nice” from the midwife followed by frowns at the mention of fadas. Elsewhere, the reaction was similarly lukewarm. It generally went something like “oh, lovely”, followed by queries about how the name is actually pronounced. “Ay-lish,” Mam would say, keeping the opening vowel light and open.
Except the long “a” sound in northeast England is flat and deep, foghorn-like and the spelling made it doubly confusing. Over the next three weeks, my poor mam endured every possible interpretation of the name she’d chosen for me, including “Ellis”, “Ee-i-lis”, “Eye-lis” and “Ee-lish”.
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