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For the first 12 years of my life, we had two sets of neighbours where the wife's name was Gladys. They were both working-class immigrants from the UK (Yorkshire and Scotland); one had married an Afrikaans man and was always called Gladys, and the other had emigrated with her Yorkshire husband (Leslie), who sometimes called her Glad-Eyes. Her eyes were pretty all right - green and brown speckles - but I didn't like the pun. Then, my daughter had a school friend, French-speaking and an immigrant from the DR Congo, whose name is Gladys. I can't imagine how that happened; to my knowledge there isn't a St Gladys, for instance. Anyway, this Gladys was extremely good at Art and has become an architect.