While back in the UK, of course, I attended my MA ceremony, becoming a full-fledged member of the University of Oxford with full rights to vote in all matters of consequence and (I think) dining rights at Wadham, should I take leave of my senses for long enough to want to eat their food voluntarily. I've already explained elsewhere about the slightly bogus nature of this qualification, but the main point, really, was to allow my Mum to attend a graduation ceremony for the elder of her two sons, since she was not able to come to Columbia this May for my actual MA (the one I actually, you know, earned) and I took my BA in absentia while in Japan. Naturally, she took the opportunity to dress up to the nines. I can't remember when was the last time I was the centre of such undivided family attention.
I hadn't been back at Wadham in close to five years, so far as I can recall, and this September it will be ten years since I first went up to begin my studies. Which probably goes a long way towards explaining why, on wandering around the old college again, all the memories I have of the place seem like they happened a lifetime ago. So much has happened, so much changed since I was last there, that it's almost hard to believe that everything I can recall did even really happen to me. I took a stroll through the bar for old times' sake; funnily enough, almost all of the sporting trophies and photos hanging on the wall dated from my time, though obviously none of them featured me personally, given my (at times) spectacular ineptitude at most sports. All people I know - including you, Pocket, naturally. I did take a couple of shots of the bar, but I have temporarily mislaid the cable to connect my laptop to my camera...
The ceremony itself is vastly different to that at Columbia, so much so that I don't think you can even really compare the two. The robes are different, too - none of the tacky polyester crap that so devalues the Columbia MA. As you can see with Mum helping me on the left, I began wearing the BA gown and good - the white faux fur trim (oddly appropriate, for a fake degree) with a long gown, mortarboard, and everything. Under the gown one must wear a dark suit, white bow tie and dark shoes - no exceptions. Nobody was wearing shorts and t-shirt under their robes as some of the Columbia crew had been - a rather sniffy note in the bumf they send out beforehand stresses this, saying that it would be "embarrassing if candidates should be denied admission on account of their dress".
It's tradition, I think, for the college to provide lunch for everyone who's graduating, and so we dined in Hall. If you've never been to Wadham hall, think Harry Potter - it's not far off, though with considerably less magic and certainly fewer ghosts. For most people, anyway. And in true Wadham style, the food was dire. Really, really bad; certainly not worth the ￡13 or so per head they had the effrontery to charge, though I suspect that much of the budget went on the copious quantities of wine served with the meal. Anyway, let me tell you about the ceremony itself in the Sheldonian Theatre.
Graduands are presented in groups to the Vice-Chancellor according to our college by the Dean of Degrees for each institution. The ceremony, as befits that of an 800-year-old institution, is conducted mostly in Latin, and, as the Vice-Chancellor noted in his opening remarks (which I think most of the audience struggled to hear, since the acoustics in the Sheldonian are lousy, and there was no PA system to relay his voice), considerably more sombre than that of many other institutions. Dead right, though the problem was that all the pomp and circumstance, regimentation and deadly seriousness ended up coming perilously close to having the opposite effect; I think more than a few of the audience had some trouble suppressing giggles. Especially as the recipient of the degree is supposed to bow and give his or her oath in response to certain of the Vice-Chancellor's words, as well as walk the right way at the right time. This, obviously, has the potential to go somewhat awry, as the University sees no real need to tell anyone what they need to do more than an hour or two in advance. As you can see, the Sheldonian doesn't come close in size or scale to the Columbia campus as a venue, but it's very attractive in its own way.
So here's me being presented to the Vice-Chancellor, who's in the process of doffing his cap in recognition of my (ahem) achievements. I'm the one without the beard, incidentally, and yes, the Dean of Degrees is holding my hand. That's how we roll in England, my friend. I'm the only one there because, sadly enough, I was the only one there being awarded the MA that weekend. John and Debbie Huddlestone, good friends of mine seven years ago but with whom I have since lost touch, were taking their degrees in absentia, I learned from the program; but since they therefore weren't actually there, I didn't know anyone at Wadham apart from the porters, they who seem to exist in perpetuity in the Lodge.
Next, in groups of four, candidates are re-presented to kneel before the Vice-Chancellor and give their oath (by saying the Latin words do fidem) that they will comport themselves properly, not bring disgrace on the University, and act with propriety in matters concerning the election of University officials. The deal is sealed, as it were, by the VC touching each participant on the head with a New Testament as he or she kneels and invoking the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost (in Latin, as always). As this suggests, the ceremony is avowedly religious in nature; arrangements can, in these enlightened times, now be made for those of all faiths and none, or those to whom the invocation of the Man Upstairs, his kid and his insubstantial friend the Holy Ghost is somehow distasteful.
That concludes the first part of the ceremony, at least. You then go and change from the BA robe to the MA one - the idea, you see, is that you go from the vestments of the degree you have to the ones of the degree you are being awarded. Which means that, say, undergrads taking their BA wear the basic outfit - a short gown - until they are awarded their degree.
Once changed, we then are led in again, returning to the applause of the audience and assembled members of the University. Appearing once again before the VC, we then walk off to the left, and thus are inducted into the degree of Master of Arts (or Magister Artibus, as I think it's Latinised. MBA, a relatively recent innovation, is still Latinised as something like Magister Administratio Negotii or similar. One wonders quite how ridiculous the whole thing has to get before it's changed).
And then it's all over; you're outside the Sheldonian, looking for your family and standing on your own, looking vaguely ridiculous and holding a mortar board and souvenir brochure. Standing there reflecting on how much things have changed since your college days, how young all the undergraduates looked, and how you really can never go back.
We drove straight back to Cambridge afterwards, pausing on the way for fish and chips, which we ate in the car because it was raining. Between that and the graduation ceremony, it's hard to think of a day more quintessentially - nay, eccentrically - British.Back now, though, and I won't be doing any more Pond-Hopping at least til Christmas, I would hope. I do have to get in a plane again very soon though, as I'm off to Atlanta next weekend for the JETAA national conference. Kate and I took the opportunity to get out of the city on Saturday to go to Long Beach (on Long Island, not in California), along with something like 10,000 other people. A beautiful hazy day on the Long Island coast to remind me I'm back again, I suppose.
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