The Pubs of Oxford

As the prospect of a sunny weekend in June looms over Oxford city, many students, residents and visitors alike will be turning their thoughts to the Great British institution that is the pub.
Oxford is of course, a city synonymous with academics and academics are of course synonymous with drinking, so much so that Cambridge professor of history Gillian Evans terms drinking as 'the civilized accompaniment to the business of academia'.
Indeed prompted by the presence of the university Oxford has developed a famous pub scene and many of the city's most iconic residents and visitors over the ages have marked the pages of pub lore - The Inklings writers group which boasted J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis amongst it's ranks regularly convened in the Eagle and Child public house and it was in the beer garden of the labyrinthine Turf Tavern that former-U.S. President Bill Clinton infamously 'did not inhale'.

Whether or not one is partial to a pint, no visit to Oxford would be complete without soaking up the atmosphere in one of it's historic ale houses. Each Tuesday our students are offered the opportunity to spend an enjoyable evening on the OISE Oxford pub crawl, and after a day of intensive study, who could possibly begrudge them some mid-week relief?

Out of Africa (cont.)

Many of you will no doubt recall my piece about my voyage from Liverpool to West Africa during my 'gap' year. I think I reached the point of arrival at our first African port, Bathurst in Gambia. Would you like to hear more about those malaria infested shores? Don't all answer at once.....

While you're pondering this, i.e. wondering how you can politely point out that you've heard quite enough of the Dark Continent, I thought I'd tell you about a small incident that occurred when we finally returned to Liverpool, some seven weeks after departure.

Well, as we sailed up the Mersey on that sunny day, we all lined up at the Purser's office to get paid off and I came away, as I recall, with some £22/10/3, after deductions for bar-bills, laundry, etc. I carefully stowed this untold wealth into my wallet, grabbed my sea-bag and, as soon as we'd docked, headed for the gangway, waving a fond farewell to my shipmates. I planned to walk to Lime Street and get the first train home to Oxford.

Almost immediately I reached the dockside, I fell in with this young(ish) man, who seemed to be heading my way. "Just signed off this ship, have you?" he said, eyeing my sun-tan and sea-bag. "Me too" he went on ungrammatically, "Third Engineer from SS Carterton here, just in from Recife" (or somewhere, I don't rightly recall now). I'm just heading for the station - my bag's already there". I glanced back and sure enough there was the "Carterton", berthed astern of my vessel. The bloke seemed genuine enough: it was a lovely day and I was euphoric at the prospect of getting home at last.

The upshot was that, naturally enough, we set off together; in fact, since my new friend had nothing, he even carried my bag for a bit. We were great pals by the time we reached Lime Street.  It seemed that the Oxford train was going from platform 1, and we headed there first.  Jim - I think that was his name - seemed a little vague about exactly where he was headed. "I just need to clear my bag from Left Luggage", he said. "Trouble is all my money's in it. Could you lend me ten bob? The bag's just over there" (pointing vaguely). "I'll be back in a jiffy".

Of course I handed over a ten shilling note from my hard earned wages. It was a long platform, and he was soon a dot in the distance. Leave happy and content to be alive and well on that sunny morning as I was, I still didn't realise I'd been 'had'; it was only when my friend reached the end of the platform, and glanced back, did it dawn on me that he was never coming back. I kicked myself. Ten shillings was a lot of money in those days, or so it seemed. All the way back to Oxford I wondered how I'd been so easily taken in, and what I'd tell my father. Jim probably wasn't from the 'Carterton' at all, and he would have guessed I would have money as I came ashore from a cargo vessel which had obviously come in from foreign parts.

An expensive lesson, but at least I wasn't mugged (not that that word existed in those days), and I had the bulk of my earnings still. Also I ran into a bit of luck in Oxford, almost immediately landing a job adding up A level marks in the Examination Schools, but that's another story....

"The Perfect Host Family"

The house was quite a long way out of town, and served by a very infrequent bus service. There was a bed, and a loo. Apart from that there was a wash basin, but very little else. Certainly nothing by way of a shower or a bath. Nothing was ever said about meals.

What student would put up with this? Well, I did, in Lyon ('Lions' we called it, in true British fashion). I had to offer a language to enter the Diplomatic Service, and French seemed the only possibility. I'd done it at school for around 8 years, and one - not surprisingly - wasn't allowed to offer dead languages like Latin and Greek in the exam. The idea apparently was that one was supposed to demonstrate 'potential'  - i.e. an ability to learn a foreign language. So, having decided that I'd meet too many other English speakers in Paris, I enrolled at the University of Lyon for an English course. Unluckily at school I had always been bottom of the class in French, being spectacularly feeble in the spoken language.

On arrival in Lyon I had managed (with some difficulty) to locate the accommodation officer at the university. Not being used to the French queuing system I stood back modestly and was amongst the last to be seen. Perhaps that was one reason I ended up in such a dump. Perhaps another reason was that the woman (the officer) gabbled away in her own tongue and I caught hardly a word. She gave me the address and mumbled something about Bus route 4, but luckily another British student was going in the same direction and dropped me off, otherwise I'd still be wandering around Lyon to this day.

The meals situation soon resolved itself in not perhaps the most satisfactory fashion. It seemed the family was going to provide nothing: not only that, I was told  - even I caught the word "Non" - that I couldn't eat in the house, and that a crumb left on the floor would result in the direst of penalties. Lunch and dinner were available in a sort of enormous student canteen. I particularly recall the French non-queuing system: I along with 1,000 others would arrive about an hour early and all try to push to the front. It was quite amiable; the French clearly regarded this non-queuing as part of the fun of being a student. I saw the same people - the hungriest ones presumably - day after day, and we got quite pally despite my severe linguistic limitations. When we finally rushed in we got served with a metal tray, nearly always with 'steak', which I presume was horsemeat.

Luckily for me I got one decent meal a week. I was asked to teach  English conversation to an 18 year old French boy 1 hour a week. Not having done my TEFL course at this point I'm sure I was a dreadful teacher. But the lessons were in his home, and the boy's mother produced an excellent dinner, although rather richer than I was used to, and certainly a lot richer than the student fare.

In England I was used to eating breakfast, and I wondered how to resolve this serious lack in France. Not having the money to find a restaurant every morning all I could manage was to purchase a baguette each morning at the local boulangerie and munch it during my interminable wait for a bus.

The family, who seemed very keen not to get to know their strange English guest in any way at all, permitted me one bath a week. I would like to have gone on the odd jog, but the lack of a shower made this out of the question. So I investigated sports as offered by the university. There were only 2. Fencing wasn't for me and that left rugby, but the bureaucracy defeated me: 6 photos, a doctor's certificate, buying boots, etc. - it was all too much, and anyway there were only about 2 games per term.

I remained amongst the great unwashed...to cap a dismal episode I also learnt no French and never got into the Diplomatic Corps!

Luckily for our students, OISE Oxford prides itself on the high quality of our host family accommodation. Quite unlike the hosts from my episode, our families are keen to engage with students and embrace the opportunity for cross cultural learning, and they provide breakfast and dinner!