By Tess Reidy
In a white and grey windowless courtroom high up in a tower block, a smartly dressed mother represents herself in an application to remove the father’s surname from their five-year-old child. The hearing has been allotted an hour. The father lives abroad and is expected to attend remotely. A Cafcass officer (an expert appointed by the court to represent the rights and interests of the child) sits to one side.
The judge begins by reading the father’s position statement. The mother has not seen it before. He does not consent to the change of surname. “She has carried it since birth,” he writes. “It is part of her identity and it represents her relationship with me and my family.” Changing it, he says, may also cause confusion in the future. Last year he agreed to a double-barrelled name for their daughter, combining both parents’ surnames. The statement is concise and forceful. He wants the shared surname to remain and removing it would, he says, “reflect the end of the last connection with our daughter.”
After the statement is read, there is an attempt to bring the father into the hearing by video link on a large screen to the side of the courtroom. The court sits quietly and waits. Another attempt is made. It fails. The screen never changes. The clerk tells the court the father has “dropped off the line”.
Email and “ask him to drop back on,” the judge says. The court waits some more.
Eventually the judge gives up on the father appearing and the Cafcass officer speaks instead. She says the child is known by both surnames at school, and that this dual name is the suggested outcome for the child.
The mother who had initially appeared confident and relaxed now looks confused. Her daughter is not known by her father’s surname, she says. At school and at the GP surgery she is known by the mother’s surname. It is the father’s surname that causes confusion, she clarifies. When they travel together, immigration officers question them.
This, the mother says, is about stability and identity. The child has not seen her father since 2022, which is more than half her life.
The judge says it is unclear how the school has come to drop the father’s surname. The mother explains that the original school forms include a box for the child’s preferred name, which is what they will be known by. She wrote her own surname there, and it is the name the school has used ever since.
“So,” the judge says, “the mother is not willing to consider both surnames. The father is not willing to consider a change.” The case will therefore be listed for a final hearing. It will take most of a day, which is four hours in court. Witness statements are to be exchanged in three weeks.
The judge points out that the mother’s application does not follow the recommendations of Cafcass, who think both surnames are in; the best interests of the child and maintaining the link with the father.
The mother’s confusion is beginning to turn to frustration. What about the child sexual abuse allegations made against the father, she asks. The room feels quiet at this moment. Those are not relevant to what the child is known as, the judge says.
“Even the evidence of the [alleged] abuse on the child will not be used at the next hearing?” the mother asks, visibly shocked.
Those will not be relevant, the judge replies. She will be given a chance to file and serve on the other person a copy of her witness statement with her reasons for wanting to change the name.
“But what about the harassment,” she asks. He was given a chance in April and instead made indirect contact, sending harassing emails. Again, no.
“Any other questions?” the judge asks.
Yes, the mother says. She says she is just trying to process everything. This is not really a question. The court moves to a close and the judge makes it clear that all evidence put to the court will be read.
Behind the judge hangs a silver crest bearing the words Dieu et mon droit – “God and my right”, which is the motto of the British monarchy and part of the royal coat of arms. Today the mother seems surprised to discover that what she thought was her right is not. She leaves, still navigating the court system alone. When the hearing ends she lingers, reluctant to take the lift down. Like many people in the family court that day, she is looking for answers, but all of the glass windows of the front desk have the blinds down, except for one, and no one is there. The bell is slow to be answered. Doors are shut. Others are waiting too.
She stands by the lift, but the Cafcass officer offers to lead her to a separate room to explain what has happened. She looks shaken and confused. The outcome she hoped for and the rights she thought she had as the mother and sole carer are beginning to slip away.
Published 2 April 2026.