14 
LAND ^ WATER 
September 3, 1918 
Life and Letters GjJ.C.Sqijire 
Initials 
WHENEVER a journalist wants to write some- 
thing, and lacks a peg, he invents a corre- 
spondent who (he states) "writes to" ask, 
point out, confirm, contradict, qualify, com- 
plain about, suggest or urge something or 
other. I have done it myself. On this occasion, however, 
the correspondent is a real one. He is real, and I have very 
great respect for him, although I have never seen him. And 
although the question he asks, the fact he points out, the 
practice he complains about, and the change he suggests or 
urges, have in the first instance a purely personal relation 
to myself, I feel justified in mentioning it because it opens 
up larger issues. 
The correspondent says, in his mild and diffident way, 
" Why the hell do you sign your articles with initials ? " 
Initials, he argues, do not "get over the footlights" ; they 
do not suggest a personality ; they are not rememberable. 
"Surely your initials stand for something. They did not 
christen you with initials. What does this 'J' represent ?" 
A part of this contention I will admit frankly and without 
hesitation. The custom of christening people with initials 
— although, I believe, long prevalent in the United States, 
where X, Q, P, and Z commonly do duty for a second name — 
has never caught hold in this country. "J" does stand for 
something. What is it ? 
Well, it may be Jabez. It may be Joseph, James, Jonah, 
Jeremiah, Josiah, Jehu, Jeroboam, Jedediah, Jasper, Joshua, 
Jenkin, Joab, Jehoianim, Jehoahash, Jehosophat, or Jerub- 
babel. If it were Jerubbabel, I cannot dehy that "Jerub- 
babel C. Squire" would "get ever the footlights.'' It would 
be remembered by every man who had seen it, even casually 
on a bookstall, for one second ; it might even hoist me into 
universal fame. On the other hand, if it were Jerubbabel, 
my motives for suppressing it would be obvious, and even 
universal fame and an enormous fortune may be purchased 
too dearly. But before we investigate its actual nature 
further, let us examine more closely this gentleman's general 
contentions. 
That you do get used to a name is certainly true, and the 
familiar name is as much a part of an author's "publicity 
outfit " as is the trade name of a brand of sardines or stove- 
polish. A new play by Geo. B. Shaw would take some time 
fighting its way unless there were elaborate explanations 
(which there certainly would be if the change were made) 
by Mr. Bernard Shaw that this was his new style of address. 
" G. Keith Chesterton" might stand a chance ; the author's 
surname is long and uncommon. But H. George Wells or 
Herbert G. Wells would be asking for neglect, and the name 
of Sir Thos. Caine on a new novel would be greeted by the 
public with stares of apathetic non-comprehension. But let 
it be observed that there is almost every sort of variety in 
the signatures by which these eminent men have already be- 
come known. Mr. Shaw customarily writes both his Christian 
names in full, or begins with an initial and writes the second 
name at length. Sir Hall Caine suppresses his first name 
and displays his second. And the other two confine them- 
selves to initials. Yet I do not think it can fairly be said 
that Mr. Chesterton is obscure behind the "G. K." or that 
Mr. Wells has hid his light under bushels of "H. Gs." 
I think tiie truth of it is that initials stick just as well as 
names, but they take longer to stick. They take longer to 
stick because they have no intrinsic interest. They have no 
flavour. There are exceptions. Mr. Chesterton has turned 
the series "G. K. C." into a kind of word, with a tone of its 
own like any other word ; ajid if an author arose who signed 
his name "G. K. Chatterton" or "G. K. Chipps," we should 
have prepossessions about him, expect certain things from 
him, and retain a memory of him if only with the result of 
confusing him with his initial-sake. Again, there are series 
of initials which have a wholly accidental individuality 
which makes them fix themselves at once. If a man's 
initials are "P. I.G." or "F, O. O, L.," we neither forget it 
nor allow him to forget it ; if the name at the head of this 
article ^ere "A. S. Squire," I think it would get over the 
footlights all right. Its bray would be ringing in the reader's, 
ears long after he had laid down the paper. But leaving 
exceptional cases out of aK;count, initials, becoming pseudo- 
words by familiarity, differ among themselves in value and 
beauty just as words do. A mass of associations cling 
around them, and they have sound-sequences which affect us 
(we unconscious) just as the vowels and consonants in ordinary 
words do. Without knowing it, we probably dislike innocent 
initials which have been borne by people whom we have 
detested ; without knowing it, we are enchanted with certain 
initials because they come trailing clouds of glory from the 
past or because they have a pleasant rippling sound. Here 
we get on to the influence of sounds. It is a difficult matter. 
All we can say is that other things being equal some words are 
more beautiful than others : all writers know this. But it 
is equally true that sound will not go all the way : that good 
associations may make ugly syllables seem beautiful and bad 
ones may make beautiful, open vowels sound ugly. It is 
hard to detach the word from the object. We have only to 
look at the word " Keats" to realise how horrible we should 
think it had Keats been a vulgar writer ; and even the word 
"moon" would seem ugly if it connoted something red and 
writhing in the entrails of a fish. You may test the truth of 
this by experimenting with a word which can be used in 
two very different senses. Such a word is "lights." To my 
ear it is not a pleasant-sounding word, merely as a word. 
But it can seem one thing and the other. Think of it in 
connection with all the beautiful lights in the world — the 
stars, candles in a great old chamber, the lights of a city 
seen from a great distance, the lights of cottages in a forest, or 
of dawn over the sea — and it seems a beautiful, soft, lingering 
word fit to be rhymed (as it always is) with "nights." Think 
of it as the name of those vague atrocities which are hawked 
in mean streets as "catsmeat,"-and it becomes a vile splut- 
tering word fit only for that base use. But I wander. 
So let us return whence we started. There was one name 
that I omitted from that engaging list of designations begin- 
ning "J." There are no doubt others; but I haven't my 
Old Testament with me. The name I refer to is John. It 
has been borne by many illustrious men and an innumerable 
multitude of the obscure. It was made glorious by John 
Milton, John Keats, John Donne, John Ford ; and at various 
times it has renewed its lustre in John Ketch, King John, 
twenty-two Pope Johns, John Galsworthy, John Masefield, 
John Peel, John Corlett, John Smith, John Jones, John 
Robinson, and John Barleycorn. There was also Friar John, 
Brother John of the Funnels, doughtiest, thirstiest, and, very 
likely, most learned of all. There is no name like it. Fashions 
in other names come and go. Thomas and William slump 
and boom. Geralds, Lucians, Marmadukes, Susans, Peggy s, 
Margarets, Marjories, are the rage of a generation, and then 
become sickening to the palate. A countess digs up the name 
Gladys for her daughter ; in ten years it covers the country ; 
in another fifty it sinks into disrepute ; and then it goes on 
flourishing in dark byways until some new explorer produces 
it once more as a fresh and radiant thing. But John goes 
on. From the ages when it was spelt Jehan to the present 
day the proportion of Johns 'to the total population has 
probably never fluctuated beyond one or two per cent. It is 
as fixed' as the English landscape and the procession of the 
seasons. And, like sun, moon, and stars, roses and oaks, the 
yearly renewing miracle of the woods and the cornfields, it 
never becomes wearisome or tarnished. Time does not make 
stale its infinite sameness ; the most fickle slaves in Fashion's 
retinue cannot contract a positive distaste for it ; in its 
dignity, solidity, greenness and grave mystery, it defies the 
weakness of those who tire of all things. Nothing affects it ; 
nothing can bring it into contempt ; it stands like a rock 
amid the turbulent waves of human history, as fine and noble 
a thing now as it was when it first took shape on human lips. 
It is a name to live up to ; but if one who bears it sinks into 
disrepute it falls not with him, but rather stays in the firma- 
ment above him shining down upon him like a reproachful 
star. 
****** 
But I'm shut if 1 see why I should say what m\ own name 
is if I don't want to. 
/ 
