ONCE the word Qashqai struck fear into the heart of a British infantryman; today it is the future of the North-East economy.

In fact, so great is its significance that it resembles the importance of the word lettuce to the Japanese economy in the late 1980s.

Earlier this week, Nissan announced that it would be building its new model, the Qashqai, at Sunderland. This will safeguard 4,000 jobs at the plant and ensure work for about 16,000 elsewhere.

The Qashqai are a nomadic tribe of Iranian goat-herds. They are Turkish-speaking Shia Muslims, whose heyday was in the 19th century when they dominated Persia. So powerful were they that in 1918 they defeated the South Persia Rifles - a British army contingent protecting the refineries of the Anglo-Persian Oil Company (which we now know as BP).

During the 20th century, the Qashqais have become 'sedentarised': Fewer and fewer of them trudge the 300 miles with their sheep and their goats through narrow mountain passes from summer pastures to winter lands on the edge of the Gulf.

By evoking the name of these wanderers, Nissan presumably wants to conjure up the image of permanent reliable movement over difficult terrain.

Voltswagen did the same with its Touareg - the Touareg being a fascinating nomadic Saharan tribe where the men wear veils and the women wander around bare-faced.

There are so many cars that manufacturers struggle with new inventive, evocative names. They've done classy names like Silver Shadow and Ghost; they've done exotic names like Capri and Ibiza; they've done powerful leaders like Consul and Senator; they've done mythological figures like Clio and Orion; they've done strong winds like Scirocco (warm Mediterranean wind that brought the plague to Venice) and Kubang (a Javan wind); and they've done Latin like Astra (star), Viva (alive), Volvo (I cause to roll) and Audi (reputedly from I hear because it is so difficult to hear).

In fact, they've had their fingers burnt with Latin: Cortina, although a trendy Italian ski-resort, actually means cauldron or kettle, and Focus, although redolent of single-minded determination, translates as fireplace.

This indicates a big problem for the manufacturers: what sounds good in one language means something altogether different in another. For instance, Toyota wanted to name a car Vizz but that sounds like the German for joke. So it became the Yaris.

Mazda launched a LaPuta which is Spanish slang for whore; Honda went for Fitta which in Scandinavia is a naughty word for a female's private parts, and Mitsubishi quickly withdrew its Pajero from the Spanish market when it discovered that a pajero is a man who pleasures himself.

Driving around Japan are the Nissan Cedric, the Toyota Cist, the Suzuki Alto Afternoon Tea, the Volugrafo Bimbo and the Honda Life Dump. None of which is as silly as the Mitsubishi Lettuce, a four door (two on the left, one on the right, one at the back) economy car launched in January 1989.

To be safe, manufacturers have started making up words that sound good but mean absolutely nothing: Vectra, Mondeo, Corsa. Safer still are numbers - BMW 7 Series, Rover 75 - or a combination of letters and numbers - XR3, A10. Except the Toyota MR2, which the French say as "MR-deux". And then have to wash their mouths out as "merde" is thoroughly unpleasant.

Perhaps roving Iranian goat-herds really are the safest future.