LADY SYBILLA HART: Forget Florence, Amelia, Poppy, Oscar and Theodore. They’re two a penny these days. THESE are the children’s names that mean you are truly posh

There’s no hiding from my first name. Sybilla really marks you out as a posho, which, alas, I am.

My maiden name was Rufus Isaacs and, theoretically, I could use the prefix Lady too, thanks to my dad being the Marquess of Reading.

When I arrived, aged 13, at my Cotswolds boarding school deep in the heart of Jilly Cooper Riders country, everyone believed I was a princess – perhaps of Greek origin – so extravagant was my name.

I’ll never forget their crushing disappointment when they discovered I actually came from just up the road.

I have partied with minor royalty, mind you, and my top toff credentials do mean that I understand the aristocracy’s peculiar quirks when it comes to naming their offspring.

So what makes a name a posh one, and is it wise to pick one for your child? Or will they forever curse the day you gave it to them?

Since my own schooldays, I have (happily) come down in the world and sent all five of my own children to state schools. I gave the girls Dantesque names: Beatrice, Florence and – wait for it – Celestia, which means heavenly, while the boys were called Isaac and Benjamin.

None of these – not even really Celestia – marked them out, however, because nowadays the trend is to give names that sound posh to all children.

Names that used to be rarified, such as Luca and Amelia, are now two-a-penny. If you haven’t got an Oscar, a Theodore, an Arthur, a Poppy, a Freya – or yes, a Florence – in your local state primary school, I will eat my hat.

Once unusual and rather aristo, these names are all very fashionable now, and I am sorry to report, quite common.

The current key to actually being posh is to name your child after an animal. Badger, Bear, Hen, Panda or Mouse are all real names I have recently heard used in toff circles. Not pet names or nicknames but real ones.

There are plenty of nicknames too, of course. You know you are mixing in the upper echelons of society when parents appear to be calling their labrador to heel at a children’s party. Time to go Totty! Or Tuppy, Wizzy or just Wizz.

Cringe-making, and all part of the aristocracy’s mortifying habit of reducing every single name to its ‘cuter’ diminutive. Cordelia becomes Cords, Rupert is Rupe, Nicholas is Nico, and so on. And by the way, Tats or Tatty is infinitely posher than Tatiana, who as we all know runs a Botox clinic in Harlow.

I am a case in point here. I shorten Celestia’s name to Kay, much to my own mother’s chagrin, and occasionally Kestrel, as she’s a bit of a flighty free spirit.

Florence is called Boj – a moniker which started out as Smudge and then became Splodge and has now evolved again.

If you meet someone called Tizz or Tiggs then they are undoubtedly very grand indeed – it’s not some silly joke and you haven’t misheard.

In fact, it’s a general rule that the more ridiculous someone’s name, the posher they are. Twinkle will own half of Marylebone.

Some you can’t shorten easily. Names such as Rory, Iris, Frances and Sholto are smart and snappy and, personally, I think the way forward.

One or two syllables with no fuss works in the modern world – unlike the fancily tongue-tripping Aloysius or Thomasina (I was nearly given the latter name, which I think sounds like something you’d give to a field mouse in a picture book, so I am rather relieved my parents opted instead for Sybilla).

Much more than state school parents, in my experience, sensible aristos also still cling to the classics. Names such as Hugo, Henry, William and Charlotte, Isabel and Georgina will never go out of fashion and can’t be poked fun at. They say little of significance about their bearers at all and are sober enough to appear in any job. Future-proofed names.

Not so a Tarquin or a Lysander or an Araminta (‘Minty, sweetheart!’) which the upper-classes still insist on picking for their children.

Why? Everyone will immediately judge them.

I asked my son the other day if he has met any Tarquins at Exeter University and he replied: ‘Thankfully not.’

Names such as Alex, Jo, Abbi and Clare are a rung down from your Hugos and Henrys, but adopted by a similar style of parent who doesn’t want to put their head – or the heads of their offspring – above the parapet. And who can blame them?

You aren’t going to raise any eyebrows or ruffle any feathers with these bland British names – unlike Persephone or Montague.

There are, of course, names that will never be posh. Chardonnay, Chanel, Venice, Jackson, Riley – you know them as well as I do. Are they a limited company, a bottle of wine or a holiday destination? It quickly becomes confusing.

And names traditionally used as surnames should never be elevated to first name status. Kennedy and Madison belong in California, not Gloucestershire, and Harper is, well, the daughter of the Beckhams.

On that note, I should say that a big part of my husband’s attractiveness lay in his surname. Hart is short, sweet and easy, and goes with anything. Even the exquisite Sybilla.

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