lincoln college, oxford: bear lane – 50 years on…

I was in Oxford yesterday (having lunch with three special ‘old’ friends) and, as I often do, I made sure I took the opportunity to stroll round this favourite city of my youth… including Christchurch Meadow, the Covered Market, the High and the like.
I also often take the opportunity to wander down Bear Lane – an area particularly close to my heart, because it was here that I was involved in a Graduate Housing scheme for Lincoln College (I was the project architect) while working for The Oxford Architects Partnership. That was back in 1976 – FIFTY years ago!
As you might imagine, access into this courtyard development in the heart of the city is strictly controlled and the last time I’d actually been inside was well over 30 years ago. By a stroke of luck, as I walking past the entrance on Bear Lane, one of the graduate students was entering. When I explained that I’d been the architect for the scheme and that it was 50 years old this year, he was only too pleased to allow me to step inside.
It conjured up lots of memories of when I was designing the scheme (including design meetings with the Bursar and where extravagant cakes were an essential ingredient!) and I had a real sense that the design had stood the test of time – certainly from an exterior perspective. It was also gratifying to see that it had been very well maintained and that the courtyards were clearly well-used.

A very special time.
Photos: some snaps taken on my brief walkabout.
PS: No doubt, 50 years on, today’s design brief would be somewhat different – provision for double beds and en-suite bathrooms would no doubt be high on the list of ‘essentials’! 

christchurch meadow, oxford…

I ‘discovered’ Christchurch Meadow very soon after I moved to Oxford in September 1967 (which, somewhat frighteningly, is nearly 60 years ago now!).
Yesterday, I was meeting up in Oxford for lunch with some very ‘old’ friends (we regularly played golf together) and couldn’t resist getting an earlier train so I could explore some of my old haunts. Christchurch Meadow is one of my very favourite locations in the UK… and, for me, so evocative (arriving as a working-class youth from Handsworth, Birmingham in the glorious city of Oxford to start my architectural studies).
Yesterday was one of those perfect Autumnal days… sunny and bright… and everywhere was looking rather magnificent.
Happy days!

oxford recollections…

Moira and I have just returned from a few days in Oxford, enjoying re-visiting some old haunts from our student days. As you might imagine, the trip brought back lots of memories for both of us…
For me, arriving in the city in September 1967 to begin my studies at Oxford School of Architecture… coming from Handsworth in Birmingham, Oxford was a huge contrast (understatement).
Looking back, I realise just how lucky I was to have been able study away from home and, obviously, in such a beautiful city like Oxford. Exploring new places from scratch, meeting new people, facing new challenges… such as coping financially, dealing with problems, accommodation, food… and, of course, making one’s own mistakes (and sorting them out!).
I feel sorry for those in higher education who don’t have the opportunity to live away from home for a while.
Oxford is clearly a very beautiful, small city – dominated by its University Colleges – but also one in which ‘privilege’ has prevailed (and, perhaps one would say, continues to prevail). Fortunately, I had very little to do with the university… apart from watching cricket in University Parks; attending a May Ball at Exeter College; being present at a number of outdoor theatrical performances in various College grounds; standing along the riverbank watching Eights Week activities; and I vaguely remember attending some disco or other at Queens College.
I got to know my way around Oxford quite quickly – thanks to fellow first year students Steve, Age and JohnTrem (who became lifelong friends). We decided to meet up for a cheap omelette lunch (at an upper floor café on the High Street) every Saturday during the first term before exploring various colleges and their grounds. By our first Christmas in Oxford, we knew the city pretty well.
From the start, I absolutely loved the Cherwell and Thames rivers running through the city… Christchurch Meadow was (and still is) a real favourite place; University Parks; Port Meadow; Shotover Hill; Boars Hill; Osney; Jericho; Botanical Gardens; Magdalen Bridge; Iffley; the ‘Turf’, ‘Trout’ and ‘Perch’ pubs.… so many places.
The punting in the summer (I got to become quite a good punter!)… from Magdalen Bridge or the Cherwell Boathouse up to the Vicky Arms.
You could buy half a pint of mild at the White Hart in Old Headington for 6 pence halfpenny (that’s 6.5d OLD money!) and we regularly used to go drinking at the Turf on a Friday night… and each drink 8 pints @ 2s 6d a pint (spending £ONE POUND in the process!)!
There were few ‘Rag Weeks’ during my time at college… one of which included a 24 hour café and an attempt to ‘Drink the Turf Dry’ (which I endeavoured to do single-handed as I recall… and ending up slumped in a fireplace at the 24 hour café having completely failed to do so).
May Morning was a rather special time… huge crowds gathering below Magdalen Tower at 6am while the choir sang. Crowded streets, Morris Dancers, people jumping off bridges… people queuing for breakfasts (and beer!). Mom and Dad joined Moira and me on one occasion and were absolutely mesmerised by it all (in a good way!).
There was also St Giles Fair… taking over St Giles every Autumn.
Of course, crucially, Oxford was also the place where Moira and I first met (31 October 1969!)… she was studying languages at the Poly.
Sunday afternoon walks with Steve, Bev, Age, Jane, Ted and Val became part of a regular routine… and always finished off with our homemade “Mrs Blenkins’ scones”.
Later, when I worked for The Oxford Architects Partnership (35 Queen Street, 1972-76), the office had a cricket team (of sorts) and we were hugely fortunate to be able to play on various College pitches (after the end of the summer term)… Worcester, New College, University/Corpus Christi.
Moira and I married in 1972 and continued to live Oxford until 1982. We rented places in Oakthorpe Road and Osberton Road, Summertown before buying our first home in Percy Street, off the Iffley Road… and, of course, our three daughters (Ruth, Hannah and Alice) were all born in Oxford.
So, Oxford: a very special place!

student days…

It’s exam time of year again (or was) - one of our granddaughters has just finished her GCSEs – it has reminded me of those uncertain, but exciting, days when pupils were coming to the end of their time at school and looking ahead to going off to university or pursuing career options.
A time of reflection and ‘what might have been?’ if we’d decided to follow other paths.

I was the first person in our family to go to university and, coming from a working-class background, I suppose that was quite significant. My decision to study architecture was based on a rather tentative suggestion from my Maths teacher, Mr Jones. Although I made general enquiries about what such a course would involve I frankly had very little idea of what an architect actually did (apart from ‘designing buildings’… whatever that meant!).
In 1966, I applied to study architecture at Aston and De Montfort universities and Oxford School of Architecture (then still part of the College of Technology, now within Oxford Brookes University); my parents were desperately keen that I continued to live at home (ie. studying at Aston), so were not impressed when I opted for Oxford!
My interview at the Oxford School with its wonderful, charismatic Principal, Reggie Cave, was quite an experience. This was at a time when places weren’t awarded on the basis of gaining three A* A-Levels or whatever… the interview was THE crucial part of the process. I completed some IQ tests before being called into the Principal’s office… and then he and I sat and discussed life, art, design, architecture and a whole realm of topics for well over an hour! At the end of our time together, Mr Cave offered me a place… but not for September 1966, but for 1967 (I had been part of the ‘Remove’ stream at school and had therefore completed my O-Levels in a year less than ‘normal’; Mr Cave felt I needed another 12 months’ maturity… and, of course, he was right!). So, ridiculously (this was before the time of ‘Gap Years’!), I stayed on at school for a third year in the Sixth Form – frankly just happy to play football and cricket!
Looking back, I realise how naïve and selfish I was in assuming that my parents would be happy for me to a) spend another year at school and b) embark on a six-year university course (I can assure you, money was tight!)!

I managed to gain a full grant (£360 a year - £120 per term!) and there were no tuition fees; there should have been a parental contribution on top of this, but I was able to manage without it (although Mom+Dad did pay for the odd train fare when I made my various visits home – although I frequently relied on hitch-hiking).
I think there were 80(?) architectural students in my first year, but numbers were considerably reduced over successive years (I think there were just 30 of us by year 6). I think times and attitudes have changed significantly over the past 50+ years (‘bums on seats’ seems to be the key for university funding, so perhaps now being dropped from courses on a year-by-year basis is relatively rare by comparison?).

The architecture course was something of a revelation. It was a mixture of public school-educated students and ‘ordinary’ people like me (I think there were 8 females). We were set a mixture of design projects each term – including perhaps half a dozen ‘one-day-sketch-schemes’. At the end of each project, critiques (‘crits’) were held in which each student had to present his/her scheme to a ‘jury’ of tutors. This was a hugely important part of the course – being able to ‘sell’ your design proposals; to explain/justify the way you had interpreted the project brief; and to defend your design decisions. I was initially struck by how confident the ex-public school students were by comparison with the rest of us… but we gradually developed more confidence and know-how as the course progressed.There are far too many experiences for me to recall in any great numbers (and an awful lot that I have forgotten!), but here are a few:

• On my very first day at college, I got trapped in a lift (together with three other students)!
• After registration on Day 1, one of the other architectural students (RobP – posh and public school-educated) and I decided to walk into Oxford together to do a little ‘exploring’. I was somewhat taken aback that he insisted on walking into town bare-footed (oh, those old hippie days!!).
• One of the other first year students (again public school-educated) introduced himself as ‘Mephistopheles’ and insisted that everyone should refer to him by that name… but I don’t think anyone ever did. He became something of a laughing stock and I don’t think he survived the first year of the course.
• There were no computers, of course! Just ‘Imperial’ and ‘Double-Elephant’ drawing boards, set-squares, T-squares, pens and pencils!
• There was no ‘College Bar’ until perhaps my third year – and, even then, it was only in a small, converted store (current students would no doubt find this unbelievable!). 
• Lots of societies/clubs within the college: FADS (Food+Drink Set) – which for a very modest joining fee ensured that ‘free’ access to food and drink samples at their monthly gatherings; Film Club – excellent, current, weekly films (again for an incredibly modest joining fee).
• We had a 24-hour Blues Festival in March 1969. Excellent artists including: Fairport Convention, The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, Roy Harper, Taste, Pete Brown and his Battered Ornaments, Free, Jo-Ann Kelly, Stefan Grossman, John Peel and others). 
• In my first year, I had ‘digs’ in Headington (Mrs Brown’s B+B for £7/week); 2nd Year: Arlington Drive, Marston (with Steve, Age and JohnT); 3rd Year: Norreys Avenue (with Age, JohnT and JohnTom); 4th Year: ‘Year Out’ at home in Brum; 5th Year: Lodge Hill, Abingdon (with Age+JohnTom?); 6th Year: bedsit in Littlemore until Christmas, then Oakthorpe Road, Summertown (having married Moira).
• Principal Reggie Cave’s infamous ‘Teapot Lecture’ given to first year students; this is a link to one he did in 1990 (we never had to fill in forms in ‘our day’!).
• Second Year students used to be sent on a European Study Trip. In 1968 (as it happens, the time of the Riots!), students went to Paris… but were so badly behaved that they cancelled the ‘European’ bit of the Study Trip the following year (ie. in MY second year!) and, instead, sent us to Pontins at Southport on a holiday accommodation project. The good news (for some, but not us!) was that we were so well behaved that they reinstated the European trip the following year (students went to Athens)! 
• The Architects’ Punt Race: these happened every summer – between King’s Mill and the Vicky Arms pub. Rules were fairly ‘basic’: Le Mons start; punt and six crew had to start and finish the race (as the race became more established boatyards would hide away their punts, poles and paddles the night before – equipment used to mysteriously disappear for race purposes!). The course highlights included negotiating the ‘Rollers’ (punts had to be pushed up ‘rollers’ at a change in water level) and paddling past ‘Parsons’ Pleasure’ (nudist bathing place)! On one occasion, I ended up in the water… I think we were in either first or second place entering the ‘rollers’ and anxious to re-enter the water as speedily as possible. Unfortunately, our heaviest crew member jumped back into the punt right at the bow end and the rest of us jumped in before the punt reached the water… with the predictable result that our punt (and us) disappeared under the water!
• We were required to attend lectures (but there were only perhaps 2-3/week) but, over the course of our time at college, architectural students did most of their work at their respective ‘homes/digs’. Looking back, I feel sure that we worked harder (and longer) than all the rest of the students at the college!! LOTS of all-night sessions, followed by a couple of days of ‘relaxing’ (ie. drinking!) before it all started again.
• One of key things for me (in the first year) was Tom Porter’s art ‘syllabus’. He became a brilliant influence for lots of us (definitely for me)… encouraged us to take risks; experimenting with different presentation techniques; colour; took us on a trip to London and pointed us towards Habitat, Carnaby Street/Biba; the film ‘2001: Space Odyssey’ etc. I won Tom’s poster competition for an exhibition at the Ashmolean in 1968.
• Mrs Barber’s brilliant ‘Art Materials’ shop on the ground floor of the architecture block (she was something of a ‘mother figure’ for lots of us and kept us all smiling!). 
• I won the ‘most improved student’ award (or whatever it was called) at the end of my second year (sponsored by the Oxford Architects Partnership – who subsequently offered me my first job). A huge boost to my self-confidence.

I know I was very fortunate to have ‘survived the course’ (over 60% of my fellow first year students didn’t)… but, hey, I did work very hard! Studying architecture is a long, long process (3 years at college; followed by a year-out in an office; followed by 2 years back at college; followed by a year in an office before being allowed to take ‘professional practice exams’ and become qualified. Because of the system in place in those days (as I’ve explained above), students would be kicked off the course at the end of each year (not because they hadn’t worked hard, just because they hadn’t achieved the required standards in the eyes of the tutors). Two of my closest friends met this fate and, as a result, never qualified.

Today, for those who choose or are able to go to university, the world is very different. There are no (or very few) grants available and, of course, there are also course fees to be paid… student loans are virtually the only way (the consequences of which seem to hang over individuals for the rest of their lives)… unless, of course, you have rich parents! Such matters have seriously curtailed opportunities to study away from home for many (due to lack of money) - a massive shame in my view. Having said all that, I do regret that there now seems to be an assumption/expectation that everyone will end up going to university. I feel quite strongly that this would be the wrong choice for SO many people… apprenticeships and/or specific job-related training would be the better option for huge numbers.

However, looking back on my own experiences, approaching 60 years later(!), I feel incredibly fortunate to have been given a chance to go to university.

It was an amazing, life-changing time for me personally – a time of independence; making decisions (and mistakes!) off my own bat… and seeing them through; meeting new people/making new friendships; adapting to new educational challenges (and growing in confidence in putting over my ideas); growing up(!); and, of course, being fortunate enough to study in a beautiful place like Oxford.

Bon voyage to all those about to leave school and/or continue their studies… dream your dreams!

Photograph: Oxford city from ChristChurch Meadow.

bristol metropolitan orchestra at st george’s (again)

I went along to St George’s, Bristol last night to see/hear the Bristol Metropolitan Orchestra perform a programme of three pieces: Elgar’s ‘Cello Concerto’; Stravinsky’s ‘The Firebird Suite’ and Louise Farrenc’s ‘Overture in E minor, Op 23’.

This was the third time I’d heard the BMO perform (conductor: Michael Cobb). None of the orchestra’s players is a professional musician (they have diverse working backgrounds – including anaesthetists, paediatric nurses, engineers and IT developers), but the quality of their playing is consistently excellent.

Last night’s programme was ideal for my taste: I was very familiar with ‘Firebird’ (or, at least, so I thought… but, during the course of the evening, realised that there were quite large chunks that I’d forgotten!); I knew nothing about the little known (to me) female composer Farrenc – but am always ‘up’ for listening to something new (I wasn’t disappointed); and the Cello Concerto is one of my very favourite pieces of classical music.

The soloist for the Elgar piece was British cellist Ariana Kashefi (I think she’s just 29 years old). I’d never heard of her before last night, but my good friend Ed Kay (himself a member of BMO) had known her for more than 10 years and assured me (with a glint in his eye) that she was ‘very, very good’.
And so it proved… but for ‘very, very good’ read ‘absolutely amazing’!

Kashefi was simply outstanding. Within the first 10 seconds, you just KNEW that you were in for a huge treat! I’m no connoisseur, but she seemed to have ‘everything’ in terms of musical gifts. Her performance was electrifying – commanding (and yet incredibly sensitive); arrogant (and yet completely captivating and self-contained); and all done with wonderful, natural musical technique and skill.

Kashefi’s performance was utterly mesmerising.
This may sound ridiculous (who me?), but the Elgar piece actually brought tears to my eyes. It was so, SO beautiful. It made me recall that the last time I had seen/listened to the ‘Cello Concerto’ played ‘live’ had been when I’d attended a special concert at St Hilda’s College, Oxford (I designed some student apartments for the College in Stockmore Street, Oxford during my time working for The Oxford Architects Partnership). That was some 45 years ago(!) and, strange as it may seem, it made me wonder if I would ever again witness hearing/seeing the piece performed ‘live’ again in my lifetime.
Anyway, the evening was a bit special and the BMO are definitely worth following (their next concert will be Sunday 22 March at St George’s – featuring works by Beethoven and Liszt).
PS: The world-famous cellist Jacqueline Du Pré was an Honorary Fellow at St Hilda’s College. She was forced to stop performing in 1973, due to Multiple Sclerosis, and died in 1987, aged 42. The Jacqueline Du Pré Music Building was subsequently built in Oxford and opened in 1995 (St Hilda’s had been one of the joint fundraisers).
PPS: As an encore, Ariana Kashefi performed a short piece entitled “Song of the Birds” - a traditional Catalan Christmas song and lullaby. The song was made famous outside Catalonia by Pablo Casals' instrumental version on the cello. After his exile in 1939, he would begin each of his concerts by playing this song. Kashefi played it superbly… and I cried again (I know!). This YouTube recording doesn’t quite do it justice (IMHO), but it’ll give you a sense of Kashefi’s musical ability.

bauhaus centenary…

I watched this excellent programme on iPlayer celebrating the 100^th anniversary of the Bauhaus School. Architect Walter Gropius founded the Bauhaus in Weimar in 1919 and determined that it should revolutionise the way art and design were taught. He gathered together teachers and students and established a framework in which all the disciplines would come together to create the buildings and products of the future, and define a new way of living in the modern world.
I started at the Oxford School of Architecture in 1967 and, thanks to art tutor Tom Porter (a hugely influential figure within the school), I was urged to see the Bauhaus Exhibition at the Royal Academy in 1968 – probably at a time when the Bauhaus and its influence had been more or less forgotten. I remember it as a brilliant, inspiring exhibition – and it was the first time I’d seen a Marcel Breuer chair (amongst other iconic pieces)!

I’d actually made a special study of the Bauhaus School as part of my Art A Level course (but, obviously, in a pretty superficial way!)… and I certainly remember sketches I made of two of Gropius’s new school buildings (when the school moved to Dessau).
Through political pressure, the school moved again, to Berlin, before it was finally closed in 1933 after the Nazis took control of Germany – although its influence continued to spread as teachers and students departed to foreign lands.

Gropius was clearly influenced by figures such as John Ruskin and William Morris, but his emphasis was thoroughly modernistic. Although I regard Gropius as something of a design hero, I’m not sure he was a particularly good architect (I’ve certainly read comments about his inability to draw – something I still regard, even with today’s computer technology, as a fundamental requirement!). But Gropius certainly DID excel in other areas: he was a philosopher; he was ‘good with people’; he was a true networker; he involved himself as a member or a leader in the myriad small groups of revolutionary artists of extraordinary talent, such as: Paul Klee, Oskar Schlemmer, Wassily Kandinsky, Josef Albers, and Lázsló Moholy-Nagy.

It wasn’t all wonderful and inspirational stuff though. Gropius was a great theoretic champion of sexual equality within the Bauhaus workshops but, in practice, female students were directed to the weaving class (sounds ridiculous today!). Although the best of Bauhaus weaving is stunning (there’s this other excellent documentary focussing on Anni Albers), there were huge frustrations in a system in which only one exceptionally determined student, Marianne Brandt, entered the product design workshop.

What I did find hugely inspiring about Bauhaus, back in the 1960s, was the drawing together of art, design and technology… and I still think this has massively important relevance today. Sadly, the pitiful focus (don’t get me started!) on ‘core subjects’ (Maths, English and Sciences) in the UK education system – at the expense of the Arts, Humanities and Technology is utterly shameful in my view… and goes against virtually everything the Bauhaus was championing.

Oh for that time of bold and beautiful experiment in bringing creativity alive to be re-born!

marianne and leonard: words of love…

I went along to the Watershed yesterday afternoon to see Nick Broomfield’s “Marianne+Leonard: Words of Love”. It tells the beautiful, yet sad, love story between musician Leonard Cohen and Marianne Ihlen. They first met on the Greek island of Hydra in the early 1960s and became inseparable.
The film takes the form of a documentary, starting with the young struggling Cohen on the island of Hydra, amongst a community of foreign artists, writers and musicians, with dreams of becoming an author. Here, he meets Ihlen (13 years older than him) – alone with her young son, after a failed marriage – who ultimately played a huge role in transforming Cohen from a struggling novelist and poet into the influential singer and songwriter he became (with a little additional help from Judy Collins).
Cohen – in his younger days, at least – was a selfish, self-centred, self-obsessed (almost narcissistic?) man who clearly felt he was something of God’s gift to women (and huge numbers of women seemed to agree!)… but also a complex man who struggled with depression and drugs.
The film contains footage of him talking about his time with Marianne… revealing how, at first, he spent six months of the year in Hydra with Ihlen, and the other six months in Montreal. Then it was four months a year, then two months, then two weeks as his career took off. Marianne Ihlen (unlike “Suzanne”, incidentally) emerges as someone of enormous gentleness and dignity, even coming to one of the huge concerts that Cohen did in his old age when he was enjoying a huge second wave of popularity.

The album “Songs of Leonard Cohen” (1967) was/is one of my all-time favourites (but, obviously, Joni Mitchell is the singer/songwriter I worship!) – featuring the iconic tracks ‘So Long, Marianne’ and ‘Suzanne’… at the time (and since!), some people couldn’t understand why I absolutely loved songs that were so bleak. Yes, I loved Cohen’s poetry, his voice… and his bleakness.

The relationship between Marianne and Leonard lasted some 8 years (off and on) and their friendship until their deaths (she died in July 2016 and he died just four months later). When he was advised of her impending death, Cohen sent her this poignant message:
“And you know that I’ve always loved you for your beauty and your wisdom, but I don’t need to say anything more about that because you know all about that. But now, I just want to wish you a very good journey. Goodbye old friend. Endless love, see you down the road”.

Clearly, for me, the music is a nostalgic reminder of my student days in Oxford from 1967 onwards… and of songs that I keep returning to, even more than 50 years later.

This isn’t a great film, but it does provide a vivid snapshot of the early 1960s and of a complicated, tender love story.

first day of the 2019 cricket season…

I had originally planned to travel down to Taunton today to watch Somerset play Kent, but the forecast was for light rain all day. I ended getting on the number 75 bus to the Brightside Ground here in Bristol (the forecast looked much more promising) to watch Gloucestershire against Oxford MCCU (a combined team formed from Oxford University and Oxford Brookes University)… with the added bonus that entrance was free! The other attraction was that I could cart all my cricket books across town and donate them to the Club Shop’s secondhand bookstall.

Well, the day didn’t quite go as planned:
1. I set out from the house (suitably dressed for watching cricket - in several layers of clothing, including thermal underwear, fleece, waterproof, scarf and gloves… as you do) and, just as I was about to get on the bus, realised that I’d left my bus pass and bank cards at home. I duly retraced my steps, collected the aforementioned articles and eventually caught my bus.
2. The journey was fine and I arrived 25 minutes before start of play. I went straight to the Club Shop (I tell you, those books were bloomin’ heavy and I couldn’t wait to present them to the grateful shop manager!). Sadly, he told me that they weren’t ‘doing’ secondhand books this season… “Tony’s still going to persevere with the books off his own bat* (* that’s a cricket joke!), but he won’t be around until the Cheltenham Festival games later in the summer”. So I ended up having to lug all the books around with me… despite the temptation to leave individual books in secret places around the ground, just to lighten the load.
3. When I first arrived at the ground, the groundstaff were busy clearing away the cricket covers and huge tarpaulins ready for play to start at 11am… but then it started to rain. So the groundstaff had to reverse what they were doing and reinstate the covers/tarpaulins accordingly.
4. And so the crowd (numbering about six in total at that time?) sat around and waited for the shower to pass… which it did, eventually. In the meantime, there was an announcement that it had been decided that the players would be taking an ‘early lunch’ at 12.20pm, with a view to starting play some time around 1pm.
5. So, the ground staff recommenced their work… a tractor busied itself around the outfield clearing the surface rainwater, the senior groundsman started painting the white lines for the batting creases, the stumps were set up… everything was ready for the first ball of the season to be bowled.
6. Well (and you know what’s coming, don’t you?!), at around 12.40pm, it started to rain again (quite hard, steady sort of rain) and dark clouds surrounded the ground. I waited for a while in case there was an improvement…
7. By this time, I was feeling pretty cold and pretty miserable (yes, me!)… I’d been sitting out under cover reading for most of the time (NOT one of my cricket books!) and had also done a very quick stand-up sketch of one of the sightscreens (I know!). It was time to go to the bar, get myself a pint of beer and maybe a pasty… then I thought, do you know, I think I’ll just get on a bus home, get myself some lunch and settle down with my book in comfort!
In fact, play did start (just before 3pm). Gloucestershire batted and, it seems, made a terrible start (reduced to 17-3 at one stage) but slightly recovered to 51-3 before, you guessed it, it started to rain again! They restarted some time after 5.15pm and managed to play for another 40 minutes.
So, yes, I’ve attended my first game of the new cricket season… BUT I’ve still to see a ball being bowled in anger.
But, hey, it’s not ALL bad news. At least I was RIGHT in deciding not to go to Taunton… there was no play there at all due to rain.
Next time. Next time!
Photo: Being a member of the ground staff on a wet day is no fun!
PS: It’s feels somewhat ironic/nostalgic that Gloucestershire were playing Oxford University as, from the summer of 1968 until the mid-1970s, I used to go down to The Parks regularly to watch the cricket – featuring the likes of Imran Khan and Vic Marks.
PPS: Obviously, if you fancy giving some old cricket books a good home, please do let me know (seriously!)(I could let you have a list of titles).

 

touching turner’s treasures (again)…

You may recall me singing the praises of the Ashmolean Museum’s brilliant Print Room in Oxford at various times in the past… I’ve previously viewed works by Michelangelo, Raphael and Turner there.

Well, I made another trip there yesterday to see some more of Turner’s watercolours. The museum is fortunate to have been bequeathed large quantities of artwork from John Ruskin in 1861. I was originally going to look at the handful of watercolour sketches Turner did of Oxford but, having chatted to the wonderfully enthusiastic and efficient Katherine (I’d met her on my previous visits in 2011 and 2012), I decided, instead, to look at some of the watercolours he did in France in 1830 – on the Loire, in Orleans, Tours, Blois and the like – a total of 22 watercolours in total.

I spent very nearly an hour poring over these amazing pieces of work. Each of them quite small – none bigger than say 15x20cm – apparently undertaken quite quickly and yet containing amazing amounts of detail (Turner’s ability to ‘imply’ detail through his technical mastery is simply breath-taking at times). I’ve merely dabbled in watercolours in the past (enjoyably, but pretty unsuccessfully!), but taking time to study these works by Turner left me completely in awe.

A huge privilege and another truly magical, memorable experience.

Photo: Just two of the watercolours I actually handled yesterday: Amboise (left) and ‘The Bridge and Chateau at Amboise’ (right).

PS: The Print Room at the Ashmolean is open to “members of the public, students and visiting scholars alike for the study and enjoyment of drawings and prints from the collection” (quote from the print room brochure)… and it’s free.
PPS: Turner’s output makes my ‘One Day Like This’ project (posting a daily drawing/photograph on my blog) positively puny in comparison (not that I could possibly compare myself to HIM!). Over the past 5 years or so, I’ve posted some 950 sketches. Turner left over 19,000 sketches and watercolours in the “Turner Bequest”, hundreds of finished watercolours and well over 500 oil paintings. How on earth did he find the time (he virtually produced a ‘sketch’ EVERY day of his adult life – and this doesn’t allow for his “finished” paintings!)? Blimey.

half century…

Fifty years ago this week (well, maybe not quite this week… but pretty close), I started at Oxford School of Architecture. A handful of my close friends from that time (plus hangers-on!) will be duly getting together in Oxford to celebrate this momentous occasion.
It might get messy!
Fifty years ago, I was young. I was naïve. I was innocent(!?). I really didn’t know much about life or the world (when I compare myself to 18 year-olds of today).
Thanks to a random conversation with my Maths teacher, Gwyn Jones, I’d set my goals on becoming an architect (as opposed to a ‘draughtsman’, whatever that meant).
I’d passed my 11-plus and, much to my parents’ surprise (and staunch resistance), had gone through the ‘Remove-stream’ at Handsworth Grammar School and taken my O Level exams a year early.
Like many of my generation, no one in our family had previously gone to university. For both me and my family, it was an utterly different world. As far as my parents were concerned, I would be studying in Birmingham. I applied for a place on the architecture course at Aston, Leicester and Oxford. Much to my relief, Aston didn’t want me but Oxford offered me an interview (I can’t remember anything about Leicester apart from submitting an application).
As a very young 17 year-old, I duly went down to Oxford by train and was interviewed by the Principal – the wonderful, charismatic, unique Reginald Cave. My memory is that the interview lasted more than an hour… Reggie looked at my sketchbooks (yes, this was still a time when you needed to be able to draw if you wanted to be an architect!), asked me all sorts of mystifying questions and chatted about life and about my A Level subjects (Maths, Further Maths and Art). At the end, he offered me a place on the course… BUT, due to my young age, insisted that this be deferred for a year.
Being offered an unconditional place was absolute music to my ears and I readily accepted it - I’m pretty sure that my parents were a) similarly proud and b) at a complete loss as to how they were going to afford to make it all happen (we were very much a working class family)! 
You can imagine an equivalent situation/opportunity for a student today… So, what did I decide to do? Gap year? World travel? Somewhat ridiculously (when I now look back on things), I decided that I’d stay on for another year in the sixth form – that way, I could have another year playing for the school’s first eleven football and cricket teams. How utterly, utterly embarrassing, looking back… but despite the illogicality of the decision, my parents agreed.

A year on and I was preparing to make my way to Oxford. I needed to purchase, amongst other things, a drawing board, set square and T-square… plus drawing pens and pencils. I remember my uncle Len (who worked for the Water Board and knew about such things) telling which pens to buy (in the event, he was wrong and it took me another year or so to compile appropriate replacements!).

I distinctly remember being driven down to Oxford in our Ford Anglia (I had digs with a Mrs Brown in Headington), accompanied by my mother and our ‘auntie’ Ella. In the car’s small boot were my entire life’s possessions (or so it seemed): a medium-sized case, a portfolio and bag containing various pieces of equipment and books. Contrast this, for example, with when we took our daughter Hannah to Bath Spa University thirty years later… Moira and I had to drive her down in TWO cars, because she insisted that she NEEDED to have ALL her shoes with her (and, believe me, there were dozens!). Incidentally, I should point out that, amongst my small ‘array’ of clothes was a ‘sports jacket’… an item that my mother insisted I would need in order to attend the ‘Saturday dances’.
I kid you not.
My memories of enrolment day are relatively hazy. I remember getting my grant cheque and paying it into the bank (I was on a ‘full’ grant - £360 per year – and, amazingly, this really did suffice, just)(and without parental contributions). Of course, there were also no course fees! I think I remember getting stuck in a lift that first morning(?) and shaking hands with Steve Bowles (who was later to become my best man – he clearly thought that shaking hands was a very strange thing for students to do and has spent the past 50 years reminding me of this sad occasion).
But, hey man, this was the 1960s… flower power, drugs, Woodstock and much, much more.
On that first morning, I decided to walk into Oxford with one of my fellow architectural students, Rob Parkinson… he was public school-educated, had a posh accent and AMAZINGLY was walking around in his BARE feet (I know)! Boy, did I feel incredibly ‘un-cool’ (or whatever the word was in those days). The rest is history (obviously)…
You could buy a pint of mild in Old Headington for 1s 3d, but us hard-drinkers got into a routine of spending a whole £1 at the Turf pub on a Friday night (that’s 8 pints @ 2s 6d a pint).
Oh, yes, we knew how to live the high life!
Student life was very enjoyable, but tough… architecture students worked bloomin’ hard (even if it seemed to us that the rest of the student community spent most of their time in the common room – somewhat incredibly, we didn’t have a student bar in those early days!). Long hours and unremitting days… culminating in gruelling ‘crits’ when we had to explain and justify our schemes to our tutors (and, sometimes, to fellow students)… and then followed by two or three days of ‘rest and relaxation’ (drinking). Very competitive and great fun… but, crucially for me, it was all part of the process of ‘growing up’… and having the freedom to do this away from the confines of home was incredibly important. Those first three years on the course – and especially the first year – were gloriously life-transforming.

I readily accept that university is not for everyone (although it seems that’s what most young people are pushed into these days… wrongly, in my opinion), but just having time-off from family/home life gives young people the freedom to take their own decisions and make their own mistakes (which they will) and to learn about life, money, responsibility and relationships… still, hopefully, with the parental bail-out contingency if everything goes terribly wrong (in theory)!

As I say, for me, university WAS life-transforming and I’m just so grateful that I was given a chance to take advantage of the opportunity.
No doubt, the next few days will involve recalling various embarrassing stories and situations that we’ve spent the last 50 years trying to erase from our memories. Fortunately, there’ll also be LOTS of very fond memories too.
Photo: From a similar get together 5 years ago (very sadly, Christiane is no longer with us x).

 

golfing at studley wood again…

Pete, Ken, Steve and I used to play golf at Studley Wood EVERY Friday afternoon… and we kept this up for about three years.
Those Fridays hold very special memories for all of us.
Sometimes (in the winter, for instance), we only managed to squeeze in four holes before it got dark – ridiculous really, but we’d made a commitment to each other that, despite our incredibly busy working lives, long hours and hectic schedules, we’d try to keep our “golf dates” sacrosanct.
Well, today, for the first time in ages, our golfing fourball rode the fairways once again!!
As I mentioned on facebook this morning, it was going to be the first time I’d have swung a club since playing in France at the start of June… and I predicted that “it could be messy”.
Well, it was rather…
Actually, I should qualify that… yes, it was very messy for me (not my finest round of golf), but the other three played really well. Unfortunately, Pete drew the short straw and played with me and we ended up losing on the 17^th green.
But, hey, the score didn’t really matter (oh no?)!!
Actually, we had a BRILLIANT time – enjoying each other’s company, being on a golf course together again… and beautiful weather.
Very special people. Very happy times.
Photo: the inevitable selfie on the 18^th green (Steve, Pete, Ken and me).

golfing again…

I last played golf on 1 November 2012 (that’s 19 months ago). It proved to be a painful experience… some hip pain, but much worse was that I experienced sharp shooting pains down my right leg virtually every time I hit a shot.

So, ten weeks after my hip replacement, I tried again… and played golf with my great golfing mates Pete, Steve and Ken at my former golf club in Oxford (Studley Wood)… in glorious sunshine (and, somewhat amazingly, on a virtually empty golf course - was it a case of “Mad dogs and Englishmen”?... ok, not quite, Ken is a joint UK/USA citizen these days!)
As far as I was concerned, the quality of the golf was entirely unimportant – the crucial thing was that I was actually PLAYING golf again (or at least trying to) with my old, regular golfing buddies (in the “old days”, we used to play EVERY Friday afternoon, 12 months a year).
For the record, we “tossed” for partners and Ken+I took on Pete+Steve…
Ridiculously, I started by scoring a par (ie. the score you SHOULD get if you were a “scratch” or zero handicap golfer) on the first hole… followed by another par on the third!!
In the end (my fellow golfers had generously allowed me to play off a handicap of 22 at the start – when I used to play regularly, 12 years ago, my handicap was 15 – but soon slashed this to 18), Ken+I won the game easily… and I finished with five “proper” pars for the round (and, when I’d checked the scorecard afterwards, found that I’d actually played the round to a 18 handicap). As you might imagine, my so-called friends gave me a fair amount of “stick”… accusations of faking my injury to gain sympathy and achieve a higher handicap and accusations of hours of practice on the golf range (if only!) etc etc.
In the event, I was so relieved and thankful that I’d been able to play an entire round of golf (and walk the whole way round) completely pain free… and it really was lovely to meet up with my great mates again.
It feels quite miraculous and I’m very grateful to the NHS!
Photo: golfing-selfie (Steve, Pete, Ken+me)!
PS: I don’t expect to maintain such reasonable golf scoring… I should point out (to the golfers among you) that I holed a fair number of putts yesterday (and this only happens once in a blue moon).
PPS: I finished the round by hitting my ball into the lake (twice!) on the 18^th!

 

oxford get-together

Moira+I have just had a lovely couple of days in Oxfordshire with Alan+Lesley.

Rather than trying to cram in too many things into a single day, we decided on an overnight stay at The Bat+Ball pub in Cuddesdon. So, we met up on Friday morning and spent the day in Oxford - relaxing over morning coffee at Quod, then beer+lunch at The Turf, followed by afternoon tea+cake at Patisserie Valerie (as you do)… and, in between, going to see the impressive Master Drawings exhibition at The Ashmolian and an amble round Christ Church Meadow in the sunshine. This, naturally(!), was followed by yet more eating+drinking back in Cuddesdon during the course of Friday evening.
As if we hadn’t already eaten ourselves silly (and, of course, we HAD to have breakfast too!), our cousin David and wife Sally came out to join us for lunch yesterday at the pub!
VERY good to take the time to catch up… and lovely to be able to spend time in Oxford again.
Life is good!
Photo: me, Moira, Lesley+Alan at The Bat+Ball, Cuddesdon.

four go lunching in oxford…

I got together with three of my very good golfing mates (Steve, Bob and Pete) for lunch in Oxford yesterday. Usually, the four of us would be meeting up on a golf course but, with my hip issues ruling this out (hopefully just in the short-/medium-term), it made a lovely change to relax around a lunch table at The Red Lion, Gloucester Green to enjoy putting the world to rights over the odd glass (we’d all travelled by public transport!).

Everyone was in very good form and we did laugh an awful lot!
It was such a beautiful, sunny day that I also managed to fit in a stroll (well, more accurately, a hobble!) around Christchurch Meadow beforehand. Beautiful.
A VERY good day with some brilliant friends.
Photo: Steve, me, Pete and Bob (I really like this photograph because it looks as though I’m just drinking bottled water... which, of course, I was!).

moira

Forty years ago today, I married Moira Ann Irvine.

We’d met at what is now Oxford Brookes University. She was a linguist. In fact, at the time of our wedding, I was still in my final year of architectural studies and Moira was working for the Open University (I think I’ve got that right?) – so, yes, I was a “kept man”!
We started our married life in a rented bedsit in Summertown, Oxford and had an understanding that, once I’d qualified (ie. following a year in “profession practice” and taking the required final examination), we would go and live in France (almost certainly in Paris)…
This never happened and it’s one of my abiding regrets (just the one?) that Moira never had the opportunity to utilise her language skills. Instead, we ended up staying in Oxford so that I could pursue my architectural career. It still makes me feel guilty. Who knows how our life would have developed if we’d stuck to “plan A”? On the positive side(!), our three wonderful daughters were all born in Oxford and our family continues to be the most important aspect of our lives and provides us with enormous pleasure.
As you might imagine, over the recent days, I’ve been reflecting on our married life a fair amount. We were young, “in love” (what does that REALLY mean?) and somewhat naive in terms of worldly wisdom. In the event, we’ve been incredibly fortunate to have enjoyed (and to continue to enjoy!) a rich and varied married life. I think we only fully realised how special and important our marriage and our family life was to us after Moira’s mother and my father died in 1992. It was probably a sense of realisation that we’d both been very fortunate to have come from homes where family values were both fostered and cherished.
Moira is the person who makes our family work. She’s our rock and we’ve all come to depend on her at crucial times for her wise counsel (perhaps an over-dependence at times – her “safe-pair-of-hands” characteristics are more dependable than my rather more “emotional” reactions!?).
We’ve never really argued during our married life (although I do have a vague memory of her once throwing a knife at me a couple of years into our marriage… she missed!!?). I can take no plaudits for this lack of quarrelling because, rather than argue, I have been known to sulk for the odd day(s)(yes, I know, difficult to imagine!). Actually, I think I’ve improved quite a bit over the years – which, again, is probably down to Moira’s influence.
I love that she enjoys new challenges and is prepared to learn new skills (unlike me!).
I’ve always thought of Moira as being quite strikingly beautiful (although she would never accept that she was). She’s intelligent (one of those slightly depressing people to sit next to during University Challenge), articulate, sensible, funny (in a serious kind of way), thoughtful, stylish, mindful of others (unlike me), creative and someone who has an instinctive “feel” for what is right.
A lovely, wonderful wife and a truly amazing mother (and grandmother).
Darling, darling Moira.
I feel incredibly blessed.
Photo: these beautiful M+S prints (“Moira+Steve” – not to be confused with the shop!), by Ruth, were a Christmas gift from Ruth+Stu.

me and michelangelo...

You might recall(?) that I spent a little time in the Ashmolean Museum last November looking though some of Turner’s Venetian watercolours…

Well, after that wonderful encounter, I returned to Oxford yesterday to check out some 500 year-old drawings by Michelangelo (1475-1564)! Thanks to the brilliantly helpful Katherine in the Western Print Room, I spent just over an hour pouring over nine of Michelangelo’s drawings – a simply amazing experience. Isn’t it just fantastic that we can do this in the UK?… and it’s all free!
The above images show just four of the drawings I was given privileged access to!
And to crown it all, this was followed by a lovely lunch with my great mate Ken (at The Red Lion, Gloucester Green).
A REALLY magical day.
Photo: four of the drawings: Nude Male Torso+another study; Ideal Head (1508-12?); Descent from the Cross (1521?); and Study of Man’s Head (1509?).
PS: a lovely bonus to the day (for me) was being able to get into the courtyard(s) of a graduate housing scheme I designed for Lincoln College in 1976 on an incredibly tight city centre site… just as I was passing the main entrance in Bear Lane (which is kept locked and only accessible to residents), I noticed a workman unlocking the gates. I quickly explained that I’d be the architect for the scheme and he kindly allowed me to have a very quick look round. It was completed 36 years ago and I reckon it had weathered well and still looked pretty good to my eyes! Here are some images from my whistle-stop tour.