A spicy mix of Oxford stories from a house once belonging to a city sausage maker.
Autumn in Oxford
Autumn has arrived in Oxford. And it is glorious. For the city and its parks are awash with fiery reds, buttery yellows and orange oches.
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Of dustcarts, pigs’ swill and white linen towels
Albert Ernest Smith was born in 1903 and started work aged 13 for what was then known by the Orwellian title of The Cleansing Department, part of Oxford Corporation (now Oxford City Council). His first job was as a dustman, later driving a small van from which he serviced the central Oxford public lavatories.
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A ramble back in time to the Bartlemas leper hospital
Imagine yourself back in the year 1126. Arising early to make the long journey from Oxford to London, you leave through the east gate of the city and follow the…
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To Worcester College chapel for a lesson in creationism
My local chapel is at Worcester College, close by to where Beaumont Palace once stood and where two Kings of England were born. It doesn’t look much from the outside. But once through the doors, you cannot fail to be moved by the magnificence of it all, every nook and cranny dripping with elaborate decoration. At once you are hit by a riot of colour, blues, greens, reds, purples, and gold. Lots of gold.
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To Islip on the trail of Buckland’s bear
Not long after, the college head, Dean Gaisford had had enough. Buckland was told either he or the Bear must go. So Tig was sent to Islip, a pretty village seven miles north of Oxford, where the River Cherwell meets the River Ray.
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A new public statue for Oxford
I’d tagged along with photographer John Milnes, who has been following the local sculptor, Alex Wenham in the two year process it has taken to create from commission to completion. Who will it represent? Why was it ordered? And how was the finished piece achieved? Here in a series of pictures and John’s photographs, we tell the story.
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Graham Andrews, Salter’s Skipper
I’d come to Folly Bridge to meet Graham Andrews. For today he is skippering the Salter’s passenger service that meanders along the river Thames from here to Iffley Lock. The third generation of Andrews to work on the boats, (it’s four if you count his daughter who does a bit of part-time work on the bar) he has promised to let me join him while he fills me in with something of his family history. And at the age of 82, I reckon he has a few stories to tell.
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Aboard the Corpus Christi Barge
I’ve often spotted it on my walk along the towpath from Folly Bridge to Iffley. Across on the east bank of the Isis, nestled into the Kidney Stream, an old cut leading to the Cherwell from the Thames just before you reach Donnington Bridge. A fanciful floating pavilion rising from the water, its curved prow reminiscent of classical longboats, flagpole erect, pilasters framing the door to a whimsical white wooden cabin with hobbit like oval windows. There’s an external staircase leading to a raised rooftop garden overhung with willow, a tall chimney in the middle from which on colder days white plumes of smoke announce that there are occupants below. It all looks very romantic.
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A Jar of Jam from King James 1
I had scrawled the word mulberries across the pages of my calendar for the first week of August. It was to remind me that this was the short window of time that these delicious knobbly clusters more muscular than a blackberry, sweeter than a raspberry, fully ripen and fall from the tree. For I wanted to make jam. Not any old jam mind. This jam was going to be special. A conserve created from the darkened crop of an ancient black mulberry tree.
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Chris Raworth, fairground model maker
I was delighted to be invited to meet Chris Raworth at his workshop in Middle Barton, catching him just after he had assembled his set of gallopers. A tall man with a shock of white hair he can barely contain his excitement as he opens the door into a long garage lined with benches overflowing with mechanical parts and crammed with boxes painted with brightly coloured signwriting instantly recognisable as that of the fairground.
