Among her possessions was the original deed poll. On the back, in her elegant calligraphy, she had written:
On the train from Berlin to the Hook of Holland, Joyce sat rigid, her hands wrapped around a worn leather satchel containing a single charcoal drawing of her mother. When the SS officer at the border examined her papers, he squinted at the name Joyce Penelope Wilhelmina — no surname listed. “Your family name?” he barked in German. She replied in perfect, accentless English: “I have no other name. I am an orphan of the British Commonwealth.” joyce penelope wilhelmina frankenberg current name
“Frankenberg is not my name now. But it was my father’s name. And before that, it was no one’s enemy.” Among her possessions was the original deed poll
Joyce Penelope Wilhelmina Carnegie never married, never had children, and rarely spoke of her past. She became a librarian — fittingly — at a Carnegie-funded branch in Bethnal Green. Colleagues knew her as “Miss Carnegie,” a stern but kind woman who always wore a silver locket containing a photograph of two people she called “her late aunt and uncle.” “Your family name
She sat on the floor of her tiny bedsit in Pimlico and wept for three hours. Then she walked to Somerset House and requested a deed poll form. She could not resurrect her father. But she could decide, for the first time, what her name meant.
Joyce’s triple middle name was a testament to Helene’s romanticism: Penelope for fidelity, Wilhelmina to honor the old Kaiser’s Germany (a futile gesture of patriotism), and Frankenberg itself — a name meaning “mountain of the Franks,” suggesting ancient lineage. But in 1933, when Hitler came to power, “Frankenberg” ceased to be poetic. It became a target.
The name she chose was Carnegie — after Andrew Carnegie, the steel magnate turned philanthropist who had funded thousands of public libraries. To Joyce, libraries were temples of reason, the opposite of Nazi book burnings. More practically, Carnegie sounded Scottish, Protestant, and solidly British.