I recently took my two young daughters to our local library. While the children played with their toys and books, I got chatting to a friend we’d bumped into. She turned to talk directly to my eldest and called out ‘Viola’.

Yet Viola, who is five, simply didn’t respond. It’s not that she is badly behaved, or away with the fairies… but rather that, once again, another adult failed to pronounce her name correctly.

My daughter’s name may be written as Viola, like Shakespeare’s heroine from Twelfth Night, but it’s pronounced Vy-la. Not Vi-o-la with an ‘o’, or Violet, or even the ridiculous ‘Villa’ she was once referred to as.

For some reason, the mums at the school gate struggle with this, although the children in Viola’s class have never had a problem taking it on board. Indeed, they often correct their mothers when they get it wrong.

You might think I’m as stubborn as a mule to choose a tricky name, but I adore it.

Viola is named after my late Irish grandmother, who was christened Mary Fiacre (pronounced Feey-a-kra). St Fiacre is the patron saint of gardeners, but Granny's siblings couldn’t pronounce such a tongue-twister so they, inexplicably, started calling her Viola, with the pronunciation Vy-la, instead.

Granny died in 1994, when I was just 11, yet I have incredibly fond memories of her as the heart of our family.

So I loved the idea of honouring her when it came to starting a family of my own.

Eimear Draper with her five-year-old daughter Viola (pronounced Vy-la), named after Eimear's Irish grandmother, who died  in 1994

Still, you’d think I might know better since I, too, have a name that people always get wrong.

Eimear, in case you are wondering, is pronounced Ee-mer, and it’s common for Irish names to have silent vowels.

Growing up in Wexford, Ireland, there were three Eimears in my class.

But when I moved to London aged 21, my name often left friends and colleagues baffled.

At my graduation ceremony at the London College of Fashion, I was speechless when the chancellor at the podium called my name out as ‘Elmer’. It wasn’t until a friend gave me a prod, whispering ‘They mean you!’ that I walked onstage to collect my certificate.

There were upsides to my exoticism, though. When I began online dating, I’d message men I matched with saying, ‘I’ll teach you how to pronounce my name when we meet!’ It worked with my husband Sam, who was intrigued. We started seeing one another in 2016, when I was 33, before marrying in 2020.

Today, I live in London with Sam, now 44, who is an accountant. Given the cultural melting pot of our capital city, we’re used to children with gloriously diverse first names.

So when Sam and I found out we were expecting our first child, we talked early on about what we’d call them.

We agreed that if it was a boy, Sam would pick a name to honour a loved one on his side of the family, and if we had a girl, then the decision would be mine. When Viola arrived during lockdown in 2020, we put out an announcement on our family WhatsApp group, and everyone on my side was blown away by the tribute to Granny. My mum’s emotional response will make any showdowns with Viola in later life totally worth it.

It was easy to explain to Sam’s side of the family, too – his parents’ labrador was called Isla, so we said, ‘It’s pronounced just like that but with a V’.

A friend once referred to Viola (pictured with her mother) as Villa – her husband just guffawed and said, ‘Not like the football club, darling’

Over the past five years, however, there have been misunderstandings. When a friend rather horrifyingly called her Villa, her husband just guffawed and said, ‘Not like the football club, darling’.

Yet I’m proud of how Viola navigates her world. She likes her name, and knows she’s a unique little girl. She can be shy at first, but has bags of confidence. Let’s face it, she’s going to need it!

Still, when we discovered we were having a second child, we did look at Irish names, but Sam vetoed all of them. We settled on Lily to remember an equally special woman from his side of the family. It’s already been shortened to Lil by some, and I can’t say I like this moniker one bit.

You might assume there have been times I’ve had my head in my hands rueing the day I chose Viola, but hand on heart I don’t regret it. And, besides, when people hear my accent most assume it’s one of those complicated, if funny, Irish names.

If I can rise above it, I know my firstborn absolutely can. What’s more, she’ll use it to her advantage, just as I have done.

Yes, Viola is going to have to put up with a lot of confusion in her life – she is probably going to let me have it with both barrels about that at some point – but it will make her memorable.

And if she decides she’s had enough of the endless corrections and explanations? Her middle name is one beautiful, simple syllable: Grace.

As told to Samantha Brick