An old friend who I hadn’t seen in a long time suggested that I come up to Oxford last night for formal hall, as he is now teaching at Christ Church college. Christ Church is, of course, the location where all of the Harry Potter films are made, the Great Hall of Christ Church standing in for the great hall of Hogwarts. Hence I was quite keen for the opportunity to have dinner there, to experience the Great Hall at a formal dinner.
When I caught the Oxford Tube (a coach bus) up to Oxford, I was confronted by a startling fact: My 12-trip ticket had expired with two trips still remaining. I could hardly believe it, for the ticket is good for an entire year, and I used to visit Oxford so frequently that I would run through the trips in just a few months, whereas now I had failed to visit Oxford six times (each trip is one-way) in the past year. Admittedly, I recall getting some rides in a car here and there, but the shock of realising how little I visited Oxford anymore was quite a surprise. The era of when Oxford was a second home to me has truly passed.
I arrived at my friends’ place at 6 PM, took a tour of their new flat, and sat chit-chatting whilst they got ready for dinner. I was reminded of why I like these friends so much, for when making the standard host offeratory of “would you like a drink?” my simple request for water was replaced with, “How about a whiskey instead?” There’s something wonderful about whiskey, the way it warms you from the inside out and clears your senses for the evening ahead.
We then walked out to Christ Church, wandering under the dreaming spires of Magdalene’s bell tower, and down the cobblestone streets outside of Merton College. I was once again reminded of why cobblestone streets are pretty to look at, but murder to walk on. You understand why in all of those old romance novels, a lady always had to take the gentleman’s arm for support while walking, as those cobblestones are absolutely impossible in heels! Luckily my friend Nikola (ever the gentleman) quickly moved to the cobblestones, leaving myself and his girlfriend, Jen, to navigate the tiny space of the flat sidewalk together, the only place we could walk in our heels!
We got to Christ Church just as a light misting rain was beginning to fall, giving the college an eerie and gothic look, with dim glowing lights providing golden halos in the fog. We walked past the silent library and through multiple ancient quads, making our way past Tom Tower and the Christ Church Cathedral in the main quad.
We stopped by my friend's office, and I was amazed to see that a friend of mine had an office, just like a real professor! (Of course, this is the point where I realise my friend IS a real professor, and throughout the evening I had to stop myself from giggling everytime someone would ask, "So you are a guest of Dr. Casule?" Who on earth is this "doctor" friend of mine? When on earth did we grow up so much that we are entrusted with positions of real responsibility, like being professors at Christ Church?) I had to smile however as I glimpsed our matriculation photograph from Balliol on display, the first photo from those heady days when we were clueless new students at this incredible world of Oxford.
After my friend donned his gown (required of the Fellows at Christ Church), we made our way across the cobblestones and old passageways of the back quads, until we passed through an unremarkable door I wouldn't have even noticed if my friend hadn't stopped there, and into the SCR.
The SCR was a rather large formal sitting room, with a fireplace at one end, and many sofas and settees, all arranged in small clusters to allow cozy conversation. At one end of the room, crystal decanters full of sweet and dry sherry were set out, along with elderflower cordial and many small crystal glasses. I requested a glass of dry sherry from the footman, and we stood about chatting for a bit with the other dinner guests. My host, Dr. Casule, took the opportunity to introduce me to the senior Fellow present that evening, Dr. Richardson, who asked that the ladies sit to his either side. Once again, making the point that all seating is boy-girl-boy-girl, although so subtly, as people really shouldn't need these reminders!
Precisely at 7:20 PM, the majordomo entered the room and loudly banged his gavel to get our attention, and then announcing, "Dr. Richardson, ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served."
Then we all followed him silently up a set of old, worn stone steps, and up a winding spiral staircase, carved completely from stone, with a handrail cut into the stone walls, smooth and polished like marble, from centuries of hands sliding along its surface as they climbed those steps. The long, black gowns of the Fellows floated ahead of me as we climbed the stairs, like the long draped robes these dons must once have worn to keep out the drafts in these ancient stone buildings.
At the top of the stairs, a door swung open, and then I realised that we were entering the Great Hall from behind a portrait (yes, just like in Harry Potter), like I'd seen the fellows do so many times before when I was at Magdalene. It was almost spooky, as I walked out from behind that portrait, to see before me an entire hall filled with about 200 students, all dressed in black-tie, utterly silent, standing in front of their places at the long wooden tables as we quietly filed in to our places. Never, do I think, have so many eyes been on me at the same time.
Another Fellow read aloud the college grace in Latin, although after having always heard the Latin grace at the O&C sounding so similar to the Magdalene grace I know by heart, I was surprised to hear a grace quite different from anything I had heard before. Of course, I didn't understand the Latin, but at least I knew it wasn't the usual "Benedic Domine nobis et donis tuis quae de tua largitate sumus sumpturi, et concede ut illis salubriter nutriti tibi debitum obsequium praestare valeamus, per Jesum Christum Dominum et Servatorem Nostrum" that I am used to.
I found my seat, in-between Nikola and another young-ish fellow, who was unfortunately by himself and seated at the end of the table. Nikola then told me pretty quickly at the start of the meal, "I realise that while you are here to visit me, you will of course need to make conversation with the young man on your left." Because of course, not to do so would be unpardonably rude. So I made sure to make some polite conversation with him, finding out that he was a Fellow from Italy, had taught previously at Balliol, and we had good sport comparing Balliol to Christ Church. Of course, my true loyalties will never be in doubt, no matter how grand Christ Church is.
We did have a bit of interesting conversation when we got to talking about whether or not the students at the tables below us had any idea of what sort of bubble they lived in. I doubt it is ever possible to appreciate at Oxford, no matter how self-aware you are, quite what a bubble you live in, as it's extraordinary how quickly things such as black-tie dinners every Friday become commonplace. I laughed and told him that in some ways I feel like students from Oxford graduate and then spend their lives trying to recreate what they once had at college. After all, that is undoubtedly what I do now, with the O&C to serve as my MCR of sorts, a cleaning woman to come in every week just like my scout once did, and seeking out the company of friends who will provide the intellectual stimulation that I once had in these grand old halls. Yet, I think that the only opportunity to once again dine in a place of such history and tradition is quite simply to come back to college, and I'm grateful that I have the chance to do so.
The dinner was lovely, a menu prepared by an outstanding chef, who had apparently recently been lured away from Trinity, much to their displeasure. Yet, I think you can see why Christ Church was pleased with its acquisition:
Seared Pavé of Salmon
on a Rocket Salad with a Spicy Pomegranate Salsa
Chargrilled Beef Tournedos
with Red Wine and Caramelised Shallot Sauce; Dauphinoise Potatoes and French Beans
Pear Frangipane Tart
with Crème Anglaise
The food was outstanding, although I did feel like a bit of a dweeb at times, as after the dishes were served, one of the footmen would come around with a bowl of gravy or cream, leaving you to ladle out as much as you preferred, but I always seemed to drip some every time I served myself! Oh well, I suppose that's why they have a plate under the bowl!
After dinner, I was warned to hold onto my napkin, and so at a sign from the Senior Fellow, we all stood and filed out of hall. We walked back through the door behind the portrait, back down the stone spiral staircase (I wonder how many an intoxicated Fellow has taken a tumble down those narrow stone stairs over the years?) and then instead of going back to the SCR, we went into another room, where a table was laid with a second dessert.
Here there were mounds of grapes, raspberries, strawberries, chocolates, satsumas, apples, pears, and kiwis artfully carved and arranged on standing cake platters. It was funny as we passed around the giant platters of fruit, using our delicate little silver forks to mound some of the fruits on our plates.
As well, giant crystal decanters of port and madeira started making the rounds, carefully labelled with silver tags around the decanters so that you might know which was which. As well a bottle of red and a bottle of very nice white were going around (I love how they will just drag a '99 bottle of something out of the cellars here like it's nothing), so we were certainly set for libations. Yet, faced with a choice of a large clear wine glass, a small clear wine glass, and a small crystal glass, I must say I was a bit perplexed wondering, "Which is for which?"
I was pretty sure that the crystal glasses would be for the port and madeira, the wine glasses for the wine, with the largest wine glass for the water, but I still wasn't completely positive. Hence I was secretly glad when the chap seated to my right (and hence getting the port decanter being passed to the left, first) asked out loud, "Which glass is for which?" and the footman stepped forward and told him in a low voice, "Crystal glass for the port, sir."
Hence I just got to chuckle and look superior as I knowingly poured my port into my crystal glass. I ended up seated in-between two professors who held dual roles at Southampton University, and got into a discussion about the decision to leave academia for "the real world", which for me had been a somewhat difficult decision, but the temptations of working in industry had won out. Yet the academics seated to either side of me claimed to have never even considered leaving academia for industry, which I suppose I could have taken as a slight offence, but then again we all need to defend our own decisions in life, don't we?
Next around came a silver snuff box, and quite a few people took a pinch. I find snuff to be interesting, because it so instantly clears your head, but I find it hard to do it right, without leaving little brown tracks on your upper lip. Still, I gave it a go, trying to create the natural cavity in the crook of the back of your hand for the snuff, and then snorting some up each nostril. After an evening of drinking, it's amazing how suddenly you feel clear-headed and sharp as a tack, after just one little snot up your nose.
We then ended up with my friend Nikola expounding upon life in ancient Rome, which was actually fascinating. It's easy for me to see why he likes his research, as it definitely makes for good dinner party chatter, talking about how our modern construct of democracy is actually an imperfect model compared to the ancient Senate, and even how hereditary monarchy was somewhat of a modern concept.
Finally we retired from our second desert back to the SCR, where we sat around the crackling fire, drinking more port and whiskey. We got into a discussion of the history of the London Underground, where I was reminded once again of why I like my friends in Oxford so much. When I engage in sufficiently nerdy conversations like that, talking about the obscure topics in books I've recently read, too many of my friends in London seem to have no idea what to say, other than that I'm incredibly geeky. Yet at Oxford, my friends just join right in!
At last we decided to head home, walking out across the cobblestones of the silent and still college. It had just started to rain, so at one point we stopped to stand in an archway, seeing perhaps if we waited, whether the rain might abate. We stood there, watching the rain come down on each side of our little tunnel, the slate walkways glittering with the reflected yellow light of the lamps and sconces mounted along the old stone college walls, giving a golden sheen of the puddles below. It was the warm rain of an Indian summer, leaving a gentle fog of mist across the entire main quad, with the lights of Tom Tower created fuzzy beacons up into the heavy air of the night. Once the rain had softened into a gentle patter, we wandered through the back quads, past the students retiring to their rooms, the last lights still burning as they scurried in from the damp, and out the college gates onto the glistening wet cobblestones of the back alleyway, the dim golden lights of the old street lamps lighting our way home.
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