Some are quirky, some are historical or named after popular flowers and faraway places.
There is no end to people's inspiration when it comes to selecting a name for their home, house nameplates maker and author Graham Gould says.
A doctor chose Bedside Manor, a mechanic wanted Sagging Springs and a couple who won a pile on the Melbourne Cup chose the name of the winning horse.
Mr. Gould, who makes nameplates out of beaten copper and brass, says naming a house adds a finishing touch and can lead to a better sale price.
He says real estate agents believe a house with a name is viewed by potential buyers as having character.
"Even on auction day a name can realise a slightly price when someone turns up and begins to wonder about the story behind the name," he says.
"It's a bit of whimsy, but it also makes it easier for the agent to sell a house if they can advertise it by name."
"Aboriginal names have been popular for a long time, particularly words such as Wahroonga, which means our house, and Lumeah, which is here I rest...as is anything with the word rose in it."
Mr Gould recorded the history of house names in his first book, House Names of Australia, published in 1994.
He is working on a second book that records hundreds of stories behind the names people choose.
Mr Gould, who turned to his craft 13 years ago when his house's sign needed repairing, says he has never turned down a name.
"The customer is always right but I have cringed at some suggestions.
Photo Caption: Graham Gould at his business, Authentic Nameplates, in Moonee Ponds

A house without a name is a house without soul, according to Moonee Ponds name plate expert Graham Gould.
More and more Australians, and real estate agents, agree with him, and they are busy putting the soul back into our suburbs.
Universal street numbering systems long ago removed the need to name houses for identification, yet home owners refuse to forsake the colour, wit and self expression that house naming provides.
Apart from Number 10 Downing Street, the world's most famous homes have handles.
Theodore Roosevelt named The White House, which has infinitely more soul
than the alternative - 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
Close to home, billionaire philanthropists Dick and Jeanne Pratt live at the Raheen mansion in Kew, while single mum Cathy Richards has her own Raheen - a semi-detached cottage in the western suburbs.
``When we had some renovations done the builder wanted his photo taken with the sign, so he could say he worked on Raheen,'' Ms Richards said.
Both Raheens take their name from a small village and Parish just north of Kilkenny in Ireland. It was the birthplace of Peter Lalor who led the Eureka Rebellion in 1854.
Sandra Findlay of Frankston's Ray White real estate agency said house names give properties personality _ increasing both their value and appeal.
So sure is she of this, that she often christens previously anonymous houses before putting them on the market.
``Where possible we try to name houses and have name plaques made,'' Ms Findlay said. She believes it is $250 well spent.
``One recent listing was on the corner of Ashley Avenue and Ashley St, Frankston, so we named it Ashley Cottage, Ms Findlay said. ``We think it attracts more people. ``We have been doing it for a long time. ``Buyers don't see it as just a house. It takes on a personality.''
Of course this opens the way for personality clashes.
Last year her agency sold an Elvis fan's Graceland mansion at Patterson Lakes for $655,000 after hoping for $800,000-plus.
The new owners kept the Memphis columns, portico, grand entrance and Juliet balcony, but dropped the name plaque. ``Neither of them were Elvis fans _ they just liked the space,'' Ms Findlay said.
Among her existing offerings are Mennindji (``I've no idea what it means''), Fox Hollow, and a Rose Cottage in Mornington. Eltham agent Ian Reid of Ian Reid Real Estate has sold about seven of his own homes and he always gives them names.
``Homes are individuals. They're personal and important places where we raise our families,'' he said.
``Like ships they deserve a name, not just a number.'' His Yarrandale was near the Yarra, Kameruka was inspired by a cheese near Bega, and as for Merrindi _ ``I made that up,'' Mr Reid said.
His agency also names houses as a marketing tool.
If nothing springs to mind he has a book of Aboriginal names handy. Sometimes he searches a title and names a house after its first owner.
For instance he recently dubbed a rammed earth home at Eltham Attiwell House.
``I don't know whether it adds value, but it definitely adds interest to a house,'' Mr Reid said.
``You're not going to put 10 per cent on a house's value just because you give it a name.
``But the more interest and inquiry you can create, the higher the price will be forced by competition.''
Traditional nameplate maker and house name authority Graham Gould has
written a book on the subject: House Names of Australia
He said old phone directories on microfiche, council conservation studies, family photos, electoral rolls, historical societies and elderly neighbours could help track down a house's authentic name.
If that fails his book is full of suggestions, and the inspiration of others.
Mr Gould said classic names such as Rose Cottage were popular but Australians tend to put a humorous spin on the naming tradition.
Aboriginal words such as Allambee (to remain a while) and Kiarabilli (good fishing spot) are distinctly Australian.
But mock Australian names such as Weona, Linga Longa and Didgabringyagrogalong are even more popular.
Kickatinalong Way, Binalong Way, Upyonda and Krackatini are other witty monikers.
Mr Gould said British immigrants brought the house naming tradition from Europe _ often choosing titles in memory of their villages or districts in England or Scotland. Again Aussies prefer mock versions _ from Dunroamin and Ersanmyne to Thistle Do.
There is a whole ``Doo-Town'' in Tasmania where residents have been ``outdoing'' each other since the 1930s with house names from Doo-Little and Didgeri-Doo to Kakka-Doo and Wattle-I-Doo.
There is a whole class of colonial wit based on the serious English tradition, from Never Inn and Bunganail Inn to Dew Drop Inn and Bedside Manor. The Castle, Bonza Borough and Wombat Wood are attempts to develop an Ocker nomenclature.
Fawlty Towers is popular with television fans and one owner named his small home Tardis after Dr Who's phone-booth time machine.
When asked to produce a nameplate ``Ardgowan'' Mr Gould thought it sounded Scottish, until the home owner explained: ``It's been hard going for so many years saving for this house.''

Jer Ni Zend could be Dutch, or perhaps Swahili, but it is not.
Australians have also developed a strange penchant for spelling house names
backwards for exotic and cryptic effect. Emoh Ruo is among the most popular in this genre.
Others include Detinulla, Llamedos, Lanigiro, Erehwon and Ne VAH.

An Italian influence is evident in Costa Lota and the poetic Ipoteca Collina, which translates as mortgage hill.
To be sure some Aussies live at Tara, Camelot, Green Gables and Shangri-la.
But you can bet their neighbors come home to Dambresi, Passing Wind, Sycamowin or the scenic Glen Ridge.

In a quiet street in Moonee Ponds a FOR SALE sign out front a timber house describes it as a Stunning Perfect Period Home, which is nonsense. It isn't perfect at all. The house doesn't have a name. No Rosewood or Woongarra or even Benvenuto has pride of place near the front door. This is a dreadful oversight.

Real estate agents love house names. A name gives them a marketing tool. With the addition of one brass plate a house is transformed from an uninspiring 235 Station Street, say, to a mellifluous Bimbimbie (Aboriginal for "place of many birds"). Suddenly the agent is selling a warm fuzzy feeling instead of four walls and a roof. The sign-writing is easier, too. Stunning Perfect Period Home can become an enticing Inglewood.

There is no excuse for an anonymous property in Moonee Ponds. For this is where Graham Gould lives in a 1926 house called Innellan. The beaten-copper sign is out the front; around the back, in garage transformed into a workshop, is the headquarters of Authentic Nameplates, a solo business in more ways than one. As far as Gould knows, he is the only person in Australia making and researching house names.

For Gould, who is 48, a business began with Innellan. This was the name of the two-story South Yarra terrace house that once belonged to his great-grandparents; a name commemorating a Scottish village that had entranced them during a holiday. In the late 1980s, long after they had died, Gould ended up with the nameplate, which had almost been worn away by a century of polishing.

When he tried to have the nameplate repaired or perhaps replaced, he discovered there was nobody doing this kind of work although "It seemed like everyone said they'd done that sort of thing at school". So, with some advice from sheet-metal workers and coppersmiths but no books to help him, he set out to do it himself. It was tedious and time-consuming and often meant more error than trial. But, finally he had an Innellan that looked about right.

By then he says, "It had dawned on me that you could easily buy lots of things for old houses, from terracotta tiles to brassware, there were no name". When he felt he had some respectable samples he took them to local restoration shops. A few said they'd try selling them. When they did, orders followed. Before long, Graham Gould has a waiting list and a nascent business.

In 1989 he gave up his job at the Government Aircraft Factory in Fishermans Bend and launched himself full-time into house names. This meant learning to be critical of his own work. He made the round of stores, confiscating early nameplates he considered sub-standard. A magazine writer contacting him for an article on Aboriginal house names. Gould told him what he knew but was taken aback when, he was flooded with inquiries from people who regarded him as an expert in the field.

Rather than ducking his newfound responsibility, he upped his research and became an expert - not just in Aboriginal names but also Irish and Italian and even Swahili names. In 1994 he published House Names of Australia, which reveals that the prime ministerial Kirrabilli, meaning good fishing spot and that the enticing Ipoteca Collina is Italian for mortgage hill. He talks with enthusiasm of his most challenging job making a missing sign for a set of three cottages in Sydney, one of which had lost its identity. This combined craftsmanship with historic detective work.

While he can advise clients on names appropriate to the age and style of their houses, he is also well aware that some people want a name, any name ready to go. This is where real-estate agents come in. While Gould politely tries to steer them away from unsuitable names - pointing out, perhaps, that Boolaroo means "many flies" - he is enough of a businessman not to knock back the sale of a plate, which range from around$100 to $300 for names ready-to-go.

After 11 years, Gould, who is married with two young children, suspects that his small business is a goer. To some, he would seem to have an ideal life; he toils to his own hours, accompanied by his favorite music in his workshop, where screws and bits are kept in old jam jars. "The biggest gremlin," he says, "is one shared by all self-employed people at home - finding the get-up-and-go when it doesn't exist.

Deadlines always provide a sense of urgency: he sells the most names in the months before Christmas. Also when the sun shines. Seems that some people get out front and decide that the one thing missing is light bouncing off a nice new Bayit Shel Zahav. Which Gould can tell you, is Hebrew for "house of gold'.

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