The case of the secret names
George Herbert Cordner was shocked to find officially, he didn’t exist
George Herbert Cordner didn’t technically exist.
The government had no record of him ever being born, attending school, enlisting in the military or getting a driver’s licence.
But he did live. He was my grandfather.
When he was born, 100 years ago this year, it was common for mothers to deliver children at home. In most cases, following the newborn’s arrival, the parents would choose a name and the father would go to the hospital to register the birth.
This was supposed to be the case for George and his six siblings; each one was born to Anne and Edward Cordner in Toronto at their Spadina Rd. home.
The pair were known to disagree often, but Edward dutifully took care of the paperwork regardless.
Time marched on. The family moved to Montrose Ave. near Christie Pits, the siblings went to high school near High Park and eventually found jobs in the city. Having a more relaxed system bureaucracy at the time, they never had to prove their identity.
That was, until George applied for a Canadian passport in 1969. Things took a turn and for the first time, he questioned his existence.
George was recognized by the government in his 50s, but there was nobody to answer the burning question: why the change in names?
He went to the passport office and handed over his driver’s licence for proof of identification, but was met with confusion. George Herbert didn’t appear in their government records. He tried Herbert George for good measure. No luck. He was gobsmacked.
He was more than 50 years old, had served in the military, married, started a family and had an established career at Massey Ferguson, but he officially didn’t exist.
There was one Cordner on record matching his birth date though — Reginald William Cordner.
George had just uncovered his actual name. George Herbert, having lived most of his life thinking he had been named after the famous Welsh poet, was legally Reginald William.
He shared his discovery with his siblings and similar results unfolded: Gladys was Violet. Eileen was Daisy.
The others also uncovered alternative names, but no remaining relatives remember what they are, and the lack of a legitimate paper trail makes family trees a difficult process.
What came next for George was the tricky part. He needed to prove he was who he said he was to get a passport.
It’s not as though he could reach into his wallet and show his proof of identification since it had the wrong name. Same for his school records, military enlistments, and so on.
To validate his identity to the government, he asked his closest friend for a character reference. After a few drafts that dripped with jokes and sarcasm, his friend complied.
George was officially recognized by the government for the first time in his 50s.
At this point, his father, my great-grandfather, had long since died.
There was nobody to answer the burning question: why the change in names?
George and his siblings — now well into adulthood — queried their mom. Did she know anything about this? What were his motives?
But she was as unaware as they were.
It was at a celebration of what would have been George’s 100th birthday that my mom — George’s daughter — recounted “the strange case of the secret names.”
I was surprised I had never heard it until that point.
For a family with no lack of strange stories, this one ranked high on the list.
As I tried to rationalize it, what struck me most was the longevity of the lie and the mystery of the true rationale behind it.
Without any leads, I came up with two theories:
The first is that my greatgrandfather, in a non-customary fashion for the time, didn’t go directly to the hospital, but dropped by the pub.
After a few hours drinking, not wanting to upset my greatgrandmother, he would register the birth names as best as he could remember and head home.
The second — and more likely, since forgetting all seven birth names seems improbable — is out of spite.
Being unlikely to agree, Edward would smile and nod when picking names.
But once left unsupervised, he provided the hospital with the names he preferred, hence the seven strangers in the system.
And so my great-grandfather’s naming mystery simmers down to a somewhat appropriately poetic story: a man named after a poet, who never really knew his name.