A Time of Gifts – 25. Into the country

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Oxford

There is much more about home in the letters from my postgraduate days, in part because I had renewed contact with the family when I went home after my first degree, and in part because more people were coming over, my mother now being on the World Committee of the Girl Guides, which meant she was over every year. What is missing is accounts of my travels, in April a whirlwind tour of some places in Europe (including Vienna which I had not been to before) before joining my mother in Copenhagen where we stayed with our Danish friends and went also to their country house in Sweden.

 

And that summer I moved to a little village for what I still see as an idyllic time, hard work and convivial evenings with Paul, whom I have seen very rarely since but whom I still count as one of my best Oxford friends on the strength of those two months together. His step-brother was in fact hardly there, and we both enjoyed cooking very simple meals and venturing beforehand to the nearby pubs, including one which had no bar, but just two old ladies who took orders and went into a backroom and came back with foaming mugs of beer. ‘The Speckled Cow’ at Nettleford, I think it was called, but I suppose now that I will never be able to check.

 

25^th February 1976

I trust the excitement of the wedding has subsided by now. It sounded great fun. We had our own excitement here when David Burgess got married last Tuesday to a girl he’s known for years but whom no one thought he’d marry. She turned up on Valentine’s day and he claims what finally decided him was her saying, ‘Come on, be a sport!’ He had to phone Leslie’s cottage, where I was that night, to get a bed for her in College, and as he sounded rushed we decided that he was being an Iris Murdoch character again – but nothing would ever change. You can imagine our and everyone’s astonishment at the news. He came back on Wednesday, after a night at the Ritz, from where he telephoned his parents – the wedding had been very quiet with only 3 friends and grandchildren – and we had lots of champagne and tried to take it in.

Last Thursday was the 1^st Union hack party for six months, given the fears after Vivien’s conviction in Trinity. The recovering of times past was quite wonderful – though inflation has hit students so much that I can’t foresee a non-bring-a-bottle party in the future. Not like the good old days, when one pondered whether to go. I had some people round for dinner and bridge after – my first entertainment this term, having just caught up with what I missed in 1^st week – and did very well. Unfortunately, it was only a penny a point and I only made 67 pence.

A Time of Gifts – 24. My own establishment

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Oxford

By the second term I was well into my stride with regard to work, helped by the fact that I was working this term on Byron, reading whom is one of life’s great pleasures. In these letters I refer more to friends, in part because my parents had by now met some of those I spent much time with, but also because my circle was now much smaller, since I was no longer in College with ready access to and for so many.

 

I did go away more often now in term, two or three times during this period to see Adrian who had been a great friend while an undergraduate, and to Leicester to see John Pike with whom I travelled recently in Cambodia and Laos and Indonesia, and to Winchester where my friend Richard was teaching (before also becoming a Civil Servant, with an A grade like Pat and others who stuck it out, though both of them left early).

 

I have a brief reference here to a social change at this period which was most interesting. For generations it had been thought an achievement to get into the Civil Service, and even the intake of what I term my Freshmen tried this. But in the end most of them ended up in the city, and financially have been much more successful than the more intellectually able of an earlier generation.  

 

31 Rectory Road

15^th December (1975)

I’m not in College to check my mail regularly. It’s an interesting experience staying on when there’s hardly any reason to go into town (10 minutes walk is a long way for the lazy) and I’m very well furnished here – I live on steak or black pudding or whatever and heaps of mushrooms which I doubt not I’ll soon be sick of. I went in yesterday to meet a few people and go to Evensong at the Cathedral (which was lovely – they sang Mozart’s ‘Lachrymosa illa dies’) but between Thursday evening and then I didn’t talk to anyone, except for two people who were in the neighbourhood and dropped in but whom I sent away as I was busy, having talked to them through the window. Very good for concentration, and I’ve got quite a bit to catch up after being away.

I had intended to go to Winchester for a few days last week, but didn’t due to confusion about lifts and ended up in Leicester for a day. The car broke down on the motorway on the way up, but my friend’s father owns a garage and (a bit like Thatha) two mechanics soon drove out and so did father who took us home. We spent the evening drinking a great deal of gin and arguing about capital punishment, the family vs the two visitors – I was thought bloodthirsty enough but the other’s a female Plymouth  Brother who takes the Old Testament very literally, which upset the Pikes who are all liberals no end. They’re very nice though and I was sorry not to be able to accept an invitation to go to Turkey with them this Vac, but I had neither the time nor the money. We got back from Leicester on the Wednesday, and I slept for twenty hours, and failed to be organized in time to get to the opera on the Thursday – it was going to be ‘Salome’, in London.

I don’t know whether I mentioned last week that I served in the Cathedral last Sunday, and the Sacristan keeps introducing me as a Bishop’s nephew – mainly because he feels guilty about having me serve as I’m not a regular member of the congregation and the members of the Anglo-Catholic society are queueing up to serve. Ecclesiastics in the family do help!

A Time of Gifts – 23. Becoming Serious

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bridge, Manoji, Oxford, Pat, Russia, Tbilisi

I was lucky enough to have the chance to do postgraduate work at Oxford, with funding from the university – a personal grant in my first year. I was determined to live up to this, and I think did so, as my results proved. The letters in my first term however suggest that the sybaritic socializing of my undergraduate days continued, and this is not entirely inaccurate. But as also indicated I did work hard and my tutors were generally impressed.

 

Sharing a flat with Pat (sitting fifth from the left in the Vile Bodies picture), who later went on to a senior position in the Civil Service (which proved most useful when I was dealing with the Overseas Development Administration while in the British Council), also I think helped, because we had different interests, which meant that I could concentrate on work when I wanted to. And the flat was perfectly situated in that, while it was easy enough to walk into town, it was far enough away for me not to make that effort unless essential – which meant I got through the vast amounts of reading the course demanded. And I hugely enjoyed this, the Victorian literature, including the non-fiction, that I still see as the greatest flowering of prose in any language in any era.

 

En route to England I stayed over in Russia, with the ambassador but cared for by my father’s old peon in the Attorney General’s Department. He was extremely hospitable to many students and of course did wonders for me even though his wife was in hospital, her baby having been two months premature (and being wonderfully looked after by the Soviet medical system). He had booked me a train to Georgia, for I was determined to travel through the Urals, though I had to fly back given time constraints.

 

The saddest event of this term, and perhaps my whole time in England, was the death of Manoji, the daughter of my cousin Clara who had been so kind to me when I first got to England. Manoji, just a year younger than me, was a lovely girl, and was just in her second year at Manchester studying medicine when she suffered an aneurism. Oddly, she had found a boyfriend who had been in charge of the bridge club at Oxford and gone on to Manchester as a postgraduate. Clara was I think heartened that I knew him and liked him, she and Manoji having come to see me at Oxford the previous year in part to talk about it.

A Time of Gifts – 22. Staying On

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bridge, Oxford, Wagner

The record of my last term as an undergraduate seems now bizarre, in the combination of a desperate desire to stay on at Oxford with little effort to prove myself academically. But I have no regrets at all about having had a great time till the end, much theatre and opera in addition to an intense social life. And as it happened Oxford turned up trumps without my having had to get a first.

 

I had been told that, if they thought you were worthwhile, they would keep you on, and this happened. As the record of my tutors’ comments over the years indicates, they did think I was extremely able. Though they despaired of my examination techniques, they worked together to find me a scholarship, since I had indicated that I did not think I could expect my father to fund me if there was no proof that I deserved to go on to postgraduate studies.

 

To my surprise my philosophy tutor’s wife told me that she had heard I had just missed a first class on my philosophy papers. Sadly my worst mark was on Roman history, which was my favourite subject, but after I left the hall I realized I had got something completely wrong on the first question, and that would have deprived me of any benefit of the doubt for the rest of the paper.

 

18^th March 1975

I’m so sorry not to have written for so long – the time passes so quickly that one doesn’t notice, particularly, this last week, when getting to bed before 5 was a miracle.   Despite, this, I won my bet of 4 breakfasts a week, but spent most of the rest of the day in bed, which was useless workwise. Nevertheless my philosophy tutor said my work had improved distinctly while George called it an excellent term’s work. ‘I shall miss him,’ he said. ‘So shall we all,’ said the Master – it was very comic but very sweet.  Made up for not winning an office in the Union at my final attempt, and also for not being accepted by America despite my excellent marks – 97, 98 and 95 – it’s pleasant to know I’m as mathematically able as my sister, by American standards at least. My rejection from America was welcomed here – it’s quite touching the way even people in their present 1^st year feel the place wouldn’t quite be the same without me. I am beginning to succumb, though to do a BPhil would require about a 1000 pounds more if I don’t get a Scholarship, and this just conceivably might be a waste. Meanwhile I have discovered a 1 year MA course in East Anglia which is both intellectually and financially suitable – the only trouble is it’s in East Anglia. Shall keep you informed, nevertheless.

A Time of Gifts – 21. Trying to settle down

Hilary Term 1975 was when I had decided to settle down to study, and I did make an effort. I took a bet with the Senior Tutor that I would get to breakfast four days a week, which I succeeded in doing, but that proved counter-productive for I would then fall asleep in the morning. As can be seen my social life continued apace, and I also had the pleasure of being the principal confidante of the Union President.

 

In reading about the vacation before that, I was struck about the common friends I found during my stay at the Brentons. Renee Wickremesinghe was the wife of a brother of my grandfather, and she had left her husband after the war and gone to England where she married someone, though not I think the naval officer she had hoped to. She was alive when I got to England, but sadly died before I could meet her, though I got close to her children, two of whom were settled there.

 

Tony Brenton, who subsequently became British Ambassador in Moscow, turned out to have known Indrajith and Tara Coomaraswamy – the former being Gajan Pathmanathan’s cousin.

 

The letters have more material than I recall about my attempts to find a place to do postgraduate work, but I suspect this is because my father was very concerned about this. I cannot now understand how I could even have thought of going to East Anglia, let alone the United States.

 

14^th December 1974

Re scholarships – regrettably, the Corpus one isn’t on offer next year; hence greater need for the other one, though I am toying with the idea of taking a year off, possibly working, and waiting to apply next year. Having gone through the American things again, the prospect appears even dimmer; occasionally I feel it would be better to return at once rather than go there. However, I shall persevere, though it might be wise to see about Foundation aid as well such as Ford and Hay. As regards the Cornell application, I’m not quite sure why ‘years of a foreign language’ got the answer Montreal 1958 – if you have any spare application forms, please send them on, else I shall make do with these. If you think the application for aid is too complicated as well, I shall send off the form to Harvard demanding $10,000 over 2 years. The whole prospect is so ghastly, I begin to feel you were right in requiring concentration upon Oxford prospects – however, it’s been an interesting experience. I can’t really see myself being awarded an American Scholarship – the Oxford system simply won’t stand up to their demands for progressive course marks et al – which would solve a great problem, as to what to do if I got an American Scholarship and not an Oxford one.

Having bored you sufficiently about my future – I’m back in Oxford, having had 4 delightful days at the H.C., punctuated by fascinating stories from Colvin about the BLPI (Bolshevik Leninist Party of India) etc.