An Irishwoman's Diary

'OH, THAT'S a nice name," people invariably say when I introduce myself. Or, "Wow – that'san unusual one. There can't be many of youaround." Or – especially if they're English, and have already burned their fingers on an Aoife or a Siobhán – "Is that a Gaelic name, then?"

Based on my experiences in primary school, when a series of despairing Irish teachers attempted to translate me, and failed, I’m pretty sure “Arminta” isn’t of Gaelic origin. But when it comes to explaining myself – or at least my name – I have to admit I’m stumped.

I used to skate bravely out on to the thin ice of a vague family rumour that began with, “My maternal grandparents emigrated to Canada for a while”, only to flounder and skid on the follow-up questions. Lately I’ve realised that, since I don’t have any useful (or even accurate) information on the subject, it’s better simply to smile and steer the conversation in a safer direction. The weather, the economy, the football; anything, as long as it’s not the Arminta Problem.

The truth is that until very recently I had never encountered another member of the Armintan species – apart from an aunt who died before I was born, and whose portrait hung in an oval walnut frame in my grandmother's sitting-room but has now vanished, having fallen victim to water damage while being temporarily stored in a garden shed. Imagine my excitement, therefore, when I happened upon the advance publicity for a book, Orphans of El Dorado, by the Brazilian novelist Milton Hatoum. This retelling of the story about the mythical city in South America will be published by Canongate next month, and its central character goes by the name of Arminto.

Further perusal of the blurb, sadly, reveals that Arminto is a man. This is a familiar disappointment.

I once followed my name-trail into the murky depths of Greek mythology, only to discover good news and bad news about the soubriquet “Amyntas”. The good news was that it belonged to a series of fearless Macedonian sovereigns. The bad news was that these, too, were all men.

Not that gender-bending is anything new in the Arminta stakes. Upon arriving at boarding school as a particularly bewildered nine-year-old, I was christened "Minty" before I gathered my wits enough to protest – which, as I recall, took several years. I never met another Minty either, until that large, dishevelled, soft-hearted chap from the garage turned up on EastEnders. I promptly adopted him as my namesake.

The search for an explanation, however, continued. A couple of years ago I arrived at the Italian embassy in Budapest to do an interview, to be greeted in a gratifyingly OTT manner by a porter who assured me that my name was, without doubt or question, " assolutamente italiano".

“Ar-MEEN-ta,” he declared several times, with a resolute rolling of the R, beaming at me like a long-lost cousin all the while. It was gratifying; but it was, alas, another false trail. He was mixing me up with Armida, a character created in 1580 by the poet Tasso. A beautiful enchantress who bewitched the crusader knight Rinaldo, her story has been made into an opera by – among others – Handel, Gluck, Haydn, Rossini and Dvorak. A more suitable soul-mate than Minty from EastEnders? Maybe. Still, that missing N nagged away like a toothache. It smacked of cheating, somehow.

I don’t know why it never occurred to me to consult Google about this, until one day – while trying to do something else altogether – I typed my name into the search engine by mistake. Instantly, up popped a treasure-trove of information. Arminta, it transpires, was a hugely popular name in the US in the second half of the 19th century, peaking at number 424 in the top 1,000 names of 1880, the earliest for which there are social security records.

Better yet, it transpires that I'm not alone at all. There are some impressive Armintas out there in the world, including a singer whose CD is called Forged in the Fire, and who got into Celtic New Age music after she was injured while auditioning for American Gladiators.

There’s a personal fitness trainer in Washington DC who is cool, streamlined and gorgeous. There’s Arminta Saladjiene in Lithuania, who has just won something called the Swedbank Baltic Sea award 2009 for her stalwart work to promote good corporate governance in the Baltic States.

And there is – or was – Arminta Ross. Born into slavery in Maryland in 1820, she escaped to Philadelphia in 1849, married, changed her name to Harriet Tubman, and became one of the most successful conductors on the Underground Railroad, a loosely organised network that helped fugitive slaves escape to Canada. Harriet is credited with freeing 368 slaves in this way, and although she was a wanted woman with a price of $40,000 on her head, she was never caught. In 1913, at the age of 74, she died of pneumonia in Auburn, New York.

It’s not an explanation – but it’s an Arminta to be proud of, that’s for sure. And there’s a connection with Canada, so maybe that old family rumour has some truth to it after all. Meanwhile, I’m giving the last word to a friend who pointed out that my name is an anagram of “Martian”. Now that, I can’t help feeling, just about says it all.