Bravo’s recent ‘Moments’ post got me thinking about those milestone moments we all recall from time to time and today’s DT article about Oxbridge interviews pealed another round in my belfry.
Fifty two years ago, come the week before Xmas, I took the train for a 48-hour stay at the college which had invited me, a callow 17 year old from the grammar school, for their ‘scholarship’ exams. It was perishingly cold, despite an extra sweater under my school suit and mac, and it was almost dark as the porter showed me to a dismal, first-floor room in the far reaches of the college buildings. There was an iron bedstead, desk and chair, table lamp, one leather easy chair and an unlit gas fire. ‘You’ll need shillings for that’. I don’t recall how I acquired some but I obviously did. Dinner ‘in hall’ would be at seven. Bathrooms (not showers) were in the cellar. Meanwhile I had my newspaper and paperback to occupy me – and a schedule from the Classics Tutor with details of my programme for the next two days. Tomorrow would be Latin ‘unseen’ translation and composition before lunch, Greek after; the next day a general essay paper and a French ‘unseen’, followed by an interview.
All the hundred or so all-male entrants duly turned up for dinner in ‘hall’, served by liveried college ‘scouts’ who ‘looked after’ all the college residents and their rooms – with three or four staircases each and one or two ‘dons’. I exchanged pleasantries with a few other victims, ate up and returned to my (now warmer) room for the night.
Next morning, after breakfast again served in hall, it was hard slog all day, punctuated by lunch, rounded off with dinner again. Same procedure next day, except that the afternoon session would end at four and I could take the train home – after the much-discussed/anticipated/dreaded interview.
I duly found the classics don’s rooms where I was met by five or six very ordinary-looking, friendly men, seated in a circle with a spare armchair for me; not a bit forbidding so far. They wanted to talk about my Greek set book, Plato’s Apology (or Defence), all about Socrates’ trial and his claim to know nothing. It seemed to go quite well and they weren’t surprised or offended by my final answer to a difficult question – that I didn’t know.
I emerged feeling unscathed, but in the dark in every sense of the word, for my journey home; to await the inevitable letter of acceptance or rejection – which arrived, happily, before Xmas and I could look forward to returning to the college in the following October. Xmas was special that year.
Boadicea's Chariot 
I think you’ll find that you meant “pealed”. 🙂
It would seem that your experience of Oxford was far different from mine!
I had completed my Ph.D before being given a two year grant to work ‘with’ the said University on the data that I had collected. It was, without doubt, the worst ‘work’ experience I’ve ever had. I had never before, and have never since, come across such gender prejudice in my life. It was an absolute nightmare – and, needless to say, I didn’t accept it very quietly!
I’ve kept away from academia since then and finished what I began there with Bearsy’s support. I can, at least smile about it – the final volume was published in 2005. 🙂
Oops! Sharp as ever!
Boa, I fully understand your viewpoint. The place was fiercely misogynistic – except among the students – and didn’t start mixing genders in men’s colleges until the late ’70s. Bear in mind too that I was very young and relatively uncritical. In fact with older eyes I can confirm that the teaching skills of dons were severely limited as were the college’s attempts at ‘pastoral’ care. The prevailing policy was to let students sink or swim in the brain pool!