My name is Deegan. Although not an uncommon last name, or if you prefer surname, particularly in Ireland, Deegan is actually my first, or given, name. Until a few years ago I had never heard of another person with Deegan as a given name. Then I noticed in the obituary of an old friend’s father that one of the deceased gentleman’s grandchildren was named Deegan. When I contacted my friend to express my condolences I mentioned the name of his son and he explained that he had always liked my name, so he gave it to his son. With the Internet I have been able to find a couple of other folks with Deegan as a first name. But not many.
Until a few years ago I had never heard of another person with Deegan as a given name
So how do I come to have this uncommon name? A little history is needed here.
In 1857, some 167 years ago, my great-grandfather was born in Dublin, Ireland. His name was Matthew Deegan. His precise date of birth is unknown to me, but I do know he was baptized on Monday, October 26, 1857.
In his early twenties, like many Irish at that time, and indeed for many decades afterward, he migrated to England, but not before meeting his wife-to-be, Mary White. He moved to the Marylebone area of London where he found work and a place for them to live at 18 Bolsover Street.
Matthew returned to Dublin for his wedding which took place on Sunday, November 21,1880, in St. Mary’s Pro-Cathedral. The newlyweds then headed to England.
Once settled in London, and having secured employment – Matthew was a tailor, or more precisely, a “britches” maker – they began growing their family. And grow it they did, having ten children – Ernest, Matthew Jr., Mary, Charles, Frank, Margaret, James, Martina, Arthur, and Joseph – over the next seventeen years!
My grandmother’s sisters either married and assumed their husbands’ name ,… or they became nuns and had no children
My grandmother was their sixth child, Margaret, or Madge, or even Madeline on occasions, depending on which document you check. When she married my grandfather George Blackwell in 1918, having met while he was serving King and Country in the First World War, she took his name, as was the way of things at the time, and became Madge Blackwell.
Over time the Deegan family lines disappeared. My grandmother’s sisters either married and assumed their husbands’ names, as she had, so their children were not Deegans by name, or they became nuns and had no children. For their part Madge’s brothers didn’t seem to have the same prolific streak that their father displayed. So it was looking like the end of the line for this branch of the Deegan name.
But wait.
When I was born on the 22nd of September in 1959, coincidently on Madge’s 68th birthday, my parents, I suspect primarily my mother, thought it would be fitting to call me Deegan. So, although I’m not a “Deegan” by name, but rather a “Stubbs”, the blood that courses through my veins is a quarter Deegan, making me a Leprechroon!
I realized that never finding a coffee cup or key chain with my name on it was a small price to pay for the bragging rights of a unique name
As a young child I would have given anything to be a Fred, or a Bobby, but that wasn’t to be. Over time I got used to having to repeat myself several times on the first day of school as the teacher went down the class list. I’ve had many different mispronunciations of my name over the years. From the understandable Deacon, to Stephen and the odd Duggan or even a few Dragens. Go figure.
Then as I got older, and learned the history attached to my name, I became somewhat protective of it given what I thought was the unique nature of my name. I realized that never finding a coffee cup or key chain with my name printed on it was a small price to pay for the bragging rights of a unique name. But then along came the Internet and, well, all bets were off.
… as a courtesy, I usually throw in my middle name, Charles, to make things clear for correspondents.
I recall once, as a recent university graduate, sending off a resume in response to a job advertisement I found in the local newspaper (remember those days?). The person to whom applications were to be sent had the first name ‘Phil”. I, in my usual polite manner, opened my cover letter with Dear Sir. It was only when I received a reply letter that I learned that Phil was short for Philomena. Not the best way to begin when seeking a job. However, the experience did teach me that my first name was not gender-specific so, as a courtesy, I usually throw in my middle name, Charles, to make things clear for correspondents.
Of course there have been some nicknames along the way. When my niece and nephews were little ones they seemed to prefer Deegy. There’s Deegs, and Dee and even one Digger (this last one was a favourite of my boss, the late Father John Walsh, when I worked on the Papal Visit to Montreal in 1984).
DCMontreal 
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