Last week, we went to Oxford - The City
of Dreaming Spires - for the first time. Sam was doing some work
experience at the research labs there, where my sister works, so
rather than do a four hour round trip every day, we decided to take
the girls for a day out – and so very glad we did.
We had heard rumours that there is a
certain, perhaps rather second rate, university there, which
apparently has been running for almost as long as that great centre
of learning - Cambridge. (Just in case you were wondering, Rupert and
my father are both Cambridge men, and no, of course there is no
competition between the Universities at all! Especially not around
Boat Race time!)
Turns out the the rumours are true. One
is not encouraged to park in Oxford itself, unless one wants to pay
lots of money for the privilege, so we parked outside and got a bus
in from the outskirts. It was a double decker, so we had a beautiful
view and were able to watch the city transform from a snarl of
roadworks and grumpy, morning traffic, hooting its way past Subways
and Sainsbury's and charity shops, to the tranquillity of ancient
city streets and parks, lined with such buildings as:
Balliol College, which dates back to
1263 and educated some of my favourite authors – Graham Greene,
Nevil Shute, Hillaire Belloc – as well as some other great names –
Richard Dawkins, Peter Snow etc
Then there is Brasenose College –
William Golding and Michael Palin (though, interestingly enough, the
latter does not appear on their list of “famous alumni”)
And: Oriel College, Trinity College,
Jesus College, Blackfriars, Nuffield College, Wycliffe Hall – yes,
even the names are redolent with history and mystery, calling to mind
the shuffling feet of cowled monks, Knights in tarnished and bloody
armour, rich Merchants and Noblemen in kid shoes, trailing cloaks
encrusted with pearls and gold embroidery, young scholars in top
hats, getting up to High Jinks, climbing over walls or up the
guttering to their rooms in the middle of the night.
Each college seems to have its own
style, Regency, Medieval, Baroque, Georgian, Modern but what I loved
most about the buildings was the ornamentation – you see a pattern
of heraldic shields, carved from stone, lining the walls, but then,
looking closer, you see that some are held by men – each with a
different face. Were these old professors? Old students? Old sponsors
of the colleges? Some are so worn and crumbling the features are hard
to discern, whereas, on some, the features are so clearly defined you
feel you would recognise the person if you met them on the street. On
one of the colleges, there are a series of large heads sculpted in
Grecian style – Gods and nymphs and then, an undeniably African
face. Who was this person, who, in a time, when black people were few
and far between and not necessarily well respected in England, was
important enough to have their face carved onto a college wall?
Walk down a tiny side street and you
could easily miss the fawns, curled 'neath a door frame, pointy
beards and hoofs, devilish faces screwed up in mischief – and then
you remember that of course, this was where Cs. Lewis lived and
taught. Were these what inspired Mr Tumnus? Of course you can
probably find all the answers to these questions if you paid for a
guided tour, but for one thing, we are on a very strict “food and
heating” only budget at the moment and, for another, it was lovely
just to wander – down winding alleyways between high stone walls,
leading to more spires, past gated gardens and graveyards, past blue
plaques to show which famous scientists and writers had lived behind
these walls.
And then there is the Pitt Rivers
museum – which one reaches by walking through the Natural History
museum – a wonder in itself but am running out of time. The Pitt
Rivers is basically a great basement, into which all the Victorian
explorers emptied their trunks, so that there are cases of
instruments from the Andes, Africa, China and India; wooden masks
from Somalia, feathered headdresses from Papua New Guinea, furred
boots and embroidered coats from Greenland; papyrus rolls from Egypt,
canoes from the Amazon, skins from Native American tribes. If it
hadn't been for the fact that Rupert had a bad back, Lydia and I were
sick and Juliette was exhausted, we could have spent the whole day in
there – and hopefully will, one day.
Oxford, it turns out, in spite of not
being a patch on Cambridge, of course, is a beautiful city and we saw
it in all its Spring Splendour, pink and white apple and hawthorn
blossom tumbling over ancient stone walls, clumps of golden daffodils
littering the parks, gardens bursting with hyacinth and tulips, the ghost
flames of the magnolias, all against a clear blue sky. We ended the day, by
walking through the park by Corpus Christi College, past Christ
Church Meadow – a huge flood plain of tussocky grass by the River
Thames, where geese and swans glide, where lovers lie and children
fight and squeal. (At least in the Easter holidays.)
Can't wait to go back, but there is so
much more to see as well...
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