Thanksgiving at Oxford… Holy Smokes!

Hello everyone,

Well, as you all know, I went to Oxford this past weekend – and oh what a trip it was! There is no possible way this will all fit in one post, so how about this: I will give you the narrative this week, and next week I’ll fill in some of the gaps, put up some more pictures, and explain a bit about Oxford’s history.

Starting off, my real Thanksgiving on Thursday was in Sheffield. Because England doesn’t recognise Thanksgiving as a holiday, it was just another day at school; rather uninspiring and homesickening. It wasn’t all bad, though. Some good friends from Bible study, Kacie and Dave (Married: Kacie is American and Dave is British), took me out for a fancy Thai dinner for which I am very thankful. We settled on Thai because we both had real Thanksgiving meals coming Saturday and we wanted the first taste to be the real thing. You know how after the first rollercoaster ride of the day, all the rest seem not quite as good? Well, the same thing... just with food. Later that evening, they came over to my flat and we made a heap of stuffing. The result was a delicious smelling kitchen, which only made me more homesick and more excited for dinner on Saturday.

On Friday, I spent a restless half-day at school and then made a break for the train station after assuring my conscience of the quantity and quality of the week’s work. This was my first visit to Oxford, and I had been waiting not-so-patiently for the trip for the past several weeks.

As the train sped me south – a three hour journey – the scenery changed from the peaks of South Yorkshire to the more gentle landscape of Oxfordshire. Even without looking out the windows, you could tell we were getting close by simply glancing around the train. More and more at every intermediate stop, seats freshly emptied of their commuter occupants were filled with book-bearing passengers. Beside me sat Realism and Anti-realism, across the aisle sat An introduction to Kant’s Aesthetics. The way that my fellow adventurers kept getting younger as we approached our ancient destination once again gave me the impression that I was in a time machine; the setting sun only added to the effect. I’m pretty sure that had I let myself fall asleep, the magic would have followed its full course and I would have woken up wearing knickerbockers and a tweed jacket, listening to the sound of a steam-engine’s whistle as we approached the station.

Oh, while I’m thinking about clothing, never, never, never tell a girl in England who is wearing a skirt on a cold day that she should put on some pants. A word from the wise...

I arrived in Oxford about 5:30 and dropped my stuff off at my friend’s house. Grant is Marshal Scholar at New College and is conducting genetics research (I believe in support of the human genome project). He let me spend the night at his house, but he needed to get some more work done Friday night, so I set off to explore the city on foot.

For any description of Oxford to make sense, you need to know a few background points. First of all, Oxford is old... very old. The oldest parts of the University date back to the 1200’s. The second thing to note is that the University of Oxford is made up of 38 Colleges scattered throughout the city, each built around quads. Your college determines your social life: where you eat, what banquets you attend, and what traditions you must observe. For example, two students might be in the same University department during the day – Biology, Mathematics, etc – but go home to separate colleges.

Walking around Oxford Friday night was absolutely surreal. It was a bitterly cold night, and very quite once I got away from the main streets. A thick fog had rolled in, softening the moon’s light. I didn’t really have an itinerary; I was just wandering through a maze of streets and alleys. You can’t go wrong in this city; every turn is a good choice, revealing a 400 year old spire, or a 700 year old gargoyle, or a 1000 year old city wall.

Down one alley, (and I couldn’t make this up!) I heard the Phantom of the Opera being sung; apparently by the two figures that I could barely make out through the wavy glass of the old window. The whole scene was like something from a Van Gogh painting; the echoing emptiness of the alley, the cold stone walls, and the darkness of night contrasted perfectly by the rich voices, the warm burgundy walls, and the glowing yellow light from inside.

On another street, I watched the Hertford College Choir practicing carols. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen sounds all the better in a British accent.

After two hours of wandering, I was freezing so I decided to try out the History of Science Museum. The museum was, much to my delight, three stories of old microscopes, telescopes, wax faces showing every nerve, early electric generators, radios, clocks, scales, barometers, astrolabes, and sextants. It was incredible. They had a blackboard that Einstein used while lecturing at Oxford (equations and all), one of Laurence of Arabia’s cameras, and instruments belonging to Isaac Newton. Although I enjoyed the art galleries last weekend, I must say that I found this museum about 40,000 times more interesting.

Later that evening, I joined up with some more of my Marshal Friends at a pub called The Turf. This pub was built in 1381 in the moat of the old city, attached to the city walls. Over the years, it’s been frequented by some people you may have heard of before: Tony Blair, Margret Thatcher, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Elizabeth Taylor, Kiera Knightly, etc. This is also where Bill Clinton is said to have smoked (well, you know) but not inhaled...

On Saturday morning I had some more time to tour around. Thanks to some insider friends, I was able to walk past the “No Visitors” signs and explore the secrets within the college walls. The details will have to wait for next week.

I was thrilled to find, and to take a stroll down Addison’s Walk, in Magdalen College. Addison’s Walk is a serene, old trail that winds around the deer park behind the college. C.S. Lewis used to go there to pray, and Phil Keaggy named one of his songs after the walk as well. At one point, all the deer in the park were classified as vegetables to prevent them from being eaten during meat shortages during the civil war. I wonder if any vegetarians have ever eaten one of these critters…

I found this poem written on a plaque, hanging on a stone wall by the trail:

I heard in Addison’s Walk a bird sing clear:

This year the summer will come true. This year. This year.

Winds will not strip the blossoms from the apple trees

This year, not want of rain destroy the peas.

This year, time’s nature will no more defeat you,

Nor all the promised moments in their passing cheat you.

This time they will not lead you round and back,

To Autumn one year older by the well worn track.

This year, as these flowers foretell,

We shall escape the circle and undue the spell.

Often deceived, yet open once again your heart,

Quick, quick, quick, quick, the gates are drawn apart.

- C.S. Lewis.

I found my way to the River Thames, where a boat race was underway. Crew isn’t normally the best spectator sport, but Saturday was different. A girl’s team was rowing along just fine when an unlucky swan failed to look both ways before crossing the river. An oar whacked its neck, which wrapped around the paddle. The poor girl rowing had no clue. She felt the extra resistance and simply resolved to row all the harder. This sent the sad (and now dead) swan flying into the air. The girl must now write a personal letter of apology to the Queen for killing a swan, because the Queen by default owns every swan in England.

After lunch I headed over to the all-important annual Marshal Scholars verses Rhodes Scholars American Football Game. We laid it all on the line: this ‘game’ was to decide conclusively who was smarter, better looking, and more athletic. There was so much more than just bragging rights at stake. The Rhodies talked a lot of smack and put up a good first half, but we Marshals held together – motivated by our impressive cheerleaders – and we came back in the end, winning it all. The mud, blood, sweat, and sweet victory was shared by all: from particle physicist to systems engineer to classical violinist.

I’m glorying in the victory while I still can. The Rhodies just picked up a football star from Florida and a rugby player from VMI (VMI’s eleventh Rhodes Scholarship just went to Greg Lippiat, an exceptional fellow from the class of 2009, who will be studying the Byzantine Empire. We share an interest in the medieval age and books by C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton, so I can’t wait until he gets here. Rah Virginia Mil!).

A quick shower and short nap was all I needed to get ready for the feast that awaited us. And feast is the only word that could even begin to describe the culinary goodness of that meal! We dined at the Oxford Club (read Country Club), had seven turkeys (bought from a local army base), and enough stuffing, sweet potatoes, green beans, and pies to feed the whole town. Everyone brought a dish, which made it all the better because it was honest home-cooking. Most recipes were labelled as “mama’s...” or “Grandma’s famous...” This was the very best traditions of the new world mixed with the very best traditions of the old world.

I made a sausage, apple, and cranberry stuffing that was quite amazing, if I may say so myself. There were six separate dishes of stuffing and plenty left over, but mine was licked clean.

On Sunday I attended the Advent service at Christ Church Cathedral. The high-liturgy was beautiful, the boys choir was incredible, and the architecture was stunning (unfortunately, the sermon was also stunning, but in a bad way). Those dark-ages medieval folks certainly knew how to worship! ...and they also built pretty good architecture... and also they founded pretty good universities... and they also wrote pretty good books – why on earth do we call it the dark-ages!?

Well, I toured a bit more on Sunday, and then headed home.

On my next visit to Oxford, I would like to see the Pitts River Museum (I’ve been told that if Indiana Jones set up a museum, this would be it: shrunken heads and all!). I also need to take a taxi out past the city limits to see Lewis’s home, The Kilns, and the church where he worshiped and is buried, Holy Trinity. At least I have a good excuse to go back.

Alright, next week I’ll put up some more pictures and will delve into the mystery that is Oxford’s history.

Ciao,

Will

P.S. Let me just say that this has been the most frustrating post to write thus far because I was in severe sensory overload all weekend, I’ve had to leave so much out, and I keep running out of adjectives...