One morning during the summer I found myself on my knees in front of a man with his legs in the air. Desperate for some respite from the heat, I had popped into the cool shade of the chapel of Magdalen College, (free entry for Oxford residents), and there he was. An impish look on his face, and a smile on his lips, peering from between his splayed lower limbs, exposing his bare buttocks in a feat of enviable acrobatics.
In the summer of 1847, Frank Buckland attended a party held by the British Association for the Advancement of Science at Oxford’s Botanic Garden, a stone’s throw from where he…
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.
The date is 30 June 1860. The location is the new University Museum (now the Oxford University Museum of Natural History). Upwards of 500 people have squashed into the first…
The forecast was rain, so I took an umbrella to Green Templeton College for the tour I had booked through Oxford’s Civic Society. It’s not a famous college. For a…
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 for the last…
I was gratified to hear from a reader of last week’s instalment of The Oxford Sausage, ‘The Swift Hotel’, asking if was I aware of the heraldic version of the…