Is a husband who takes his wife’s surname a HERO or a WIMP?

Just one of the conundrums now being thrown up by divorce and sexual politics — as these leading authors, with radically different approaches, entertainingly reveal

I DIVORCED MY HUSBAND — NOT MY CHILDREN

AS A young, rather naive woman I had an idealistic view of marriage. When I married, aged 22, I thought I was in our union until death us do part and taking this man as my lawfully wedded husband meant also taking his name. Besides, I had no particular affection for my maiden name — Ryan — and had, long before we were engaged, been fancifully trying out my new signature as ‘Jane Gordon’.

I had not yet established any career that might have necessitated holding on to my old name and I thought, blissfully old-fashioned as I was, that marriage was in itself my primary career.

In many ways my adult identity was forged in my marriage, which would endure for 25 years and produce three much-loved children: Bryony, Naomi and Rufus. Along the way I built up a career as a journalist with a byline that came to feel much more ‘me’ than my long forgotten maiden name.

Our divorce will always be a source of sadness and regret for me. But the idea of renouncing the surname I shared with my children was unthinkable; I divorced my husband, not my children.

For practical as well as emotional reasons it was important to maintain the name that would for ever link me to my ex-husband. It was essential that I remained, like them, a Gordon.

Moving on, and eventually moving in, with my partner of ten years (we never married) did not and could not wipe out the heritage I shared with my children. Had we married, or indeed should I ever marry again, I would still keep that name to honour the family we still — despite the divorce — remain.

Times have changed since I walked down the aisle. The tradition of taking the man’s name seems oddly archaic and antifeminist now. But the trend for adopting a hybrid marital name that creates more and more double — sometimes triple — barrelled surnames seems an unnecessary faff as well. So what to do? My daughters are much more aware of the dominance of ‘the patriarchy’ than I ever was. The elder one enjoys a professional and private ‘double life’, working under her maiden name but privately using her husband’s name. The younger, engaged for five years, favours the altogether more modern idea of a civil partnership, which would allow her to keep her own name.

Meanwhile my son, now 30 and single, is very much pro-feminist and could well end up taking the name of his future wife instead.

MY SECOND HUSBAND TOOK MY MAIDEN NAME By Adele Parks

I HAVE been married for 18 years, yet I never took my husband’s surname. This raises eyebrows. Then, when I reveal that on our third wedding anniversary my husband Jim presented me with a deed poll document that said he had changed his surname to mine, people often react with apoplectic shock and horror.

It’s a daily occurrence that women change their names, but a man relinquishing his family name to take his wife’s is still considered peculiar. I thought Jim’s decision was an impressive and powerful move, but we find even now we regularly have to explain why.

He didn’t have a weird surname that I was avoiding. When I met him, he was Jim Pride, which I thought was truly awesome. My surname, Parks, isn’t especially emotive, but it is easy to spell and crucially it’s mine.

I met Jim when my son had just turned one and I was divorcing. I never took my first husband’s name — we had briefly played with double-barrelling, but it hadn’t stuck and the moment we separated I reverted to Adele Parks.

A couple of years later, Jim and I eloped to Vegas. Immediately afterwards people started to refer to us as Mr and Mrs Pride. But it felt strange to me.

Adele Pride sounded lovely but not absolutely real, perhaps a little remote. I was 35 when I married Jim, maybe a little old for reinvention. Importantly, I realised that if I changed my name, my son Conrad would have to change his, too.

So we remained Jim Pride, Adele Parks and Conrad Parks for a few years. I can’t pretend I was 100 per cent comfortable with that. I felt we lacked something ethereal and indefinable as a family unit.

I felt the appeal of having a team name. We considered doublebarrelling. But both Pride-Parks or Parks-Pride sounded a little try-too-hard.

Then Jim suggested changing his name; as two of the three of us were already Parks, it was the democratic thing to do.

Strangely, I felt some level of regret. I fell in love with the heroic Jim Pride; I didn’t want to lose any aspect of him. Would Mr Parks for ever remind me of my dad and granddad? I associate my dad with childhood, rules and dependence; Jim is all about maturity, freedom and independence.

I wondered whether others would judge us — I didn’t want Jim to get unnecessary flak. However, Jim doesn’t care what others think, so he went ahead and changed it.

I’ve noticed that when I tell other women our story, they are often impressed. They look at Jim with admiration, whereas many men look horrified. I see them mentally cross their legs, convinced I’m the sort of woman that secretly dreams of castration.

I’m really not; I am the sort of woman who not- so- secretly dreams of equality.