Every other bloke in Andalucía is called Paco. In our village there’s a whole slew of them: Paco el panadero (Paco the bread van man), Paco del bar (Paco of the bar), Paco mechero (lighter Paco – a cheerful chap in his 50s with a mental age of seven who has a thing about lighters ….), Paco el manco (one-armed Paco), and my personal Paco, el jardinero (Paco the gardener). All are named after Saint Francisco, founder of the Franciscan order. This has led to the grasping-at-straws theory that Paco is, in fact, an acronym of Pater Communitatis, Father of the Community. Far more likely, say the linguists, is that Paco sprang from the mouths of babes. Francisco is a hell of a mouthful for a toddler, so the best he or she can manage is something approximating ‘Panquico’ or ‘Panchico’. Chop off a couple of vowels and there you have it: Paco – or if it’s a girl, the unfortunate-sounding Paqui, from Francesca. Incidentally, Pancho, once a common name in Spain, is the preferred Francisco short form in Latin America.

Other diminutives of Francisco are Fran, Francis, Frasco, Sisco, Francho and – one that seems to be popular in Málaga – Kiko. Not so obvious is Curro. I have a nephew called Curro. No faffing around with a middle man. Directly christened Curro. It’s a great name, down-to-earth, easily cutened to ‘Curri’ and, if you can manage it, with that lovely rolled ‘r’ sound in the middle. The word curro actually comes from the gypsy currar or currelar, and is a colloquial term for work or job. No-one, however, has been able to fathom a Francisco-work connection. Once again we need to look to baby-speak, to parents calling their baby a sort of coo-chee-coo-chee-coo ‘Francuscurro’, which in turn got shortened to Curro.

Tags: Malaga, Spanish language, Spanish life, Spanish names

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