A spicy mix of Oxford stories from a house once belonging to a city sausage maker.
Anne Elliott has just begun her busiest time of year. Indeed over the next month everyone and their uncle will be wanting what she has to offer. Now aged 78…
I have long been intrigued by the pretty gabled house that stands in a quiet cul de sac near Oxford’s High Street. For it is a miracle as to how the place stays upright. The walls sag, the windows are wonky and the drainpipes don’t quite run in straight lines. I often wonder whether the Corpus Christi students who now live here negotiate the lopsided landings and how they keep their books and belongs from sliding from the sloping shelves.
The photograph above shows the latest cohort of undergraduates coming to study at Hertford College, Oxford. It is taken on the west side of the Old Buildings Quadrangle – you can just glimpse the corner of the famous stone spiral staircase that leads up to the dining hall on the left. But this is 1919, one year after the end of the Great War. Some of the men smile but the general air is one of pensive seriousness. Look closely and one man wears a black armband. And there’s a vacant seat in the middle.
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.
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.
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…
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.
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.
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.
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.