Freshers’ Week Reminiscences

So here I am again, on campus, on a Saturday, this time to attend some receptions for new students (“Freshers”) who have just arrived at the University of Sussex to start their courses. I always enjoy meeting the new intake at this time of year; we sometimes call them “The Autumn Collection”, although it’s only mid-September and definitely not autumn yet. In fact it’s very warm and sunny and summery on Falmer campus today. The  downside of these annual events is that the students look much younger every year, so every one makes me feel a lot older than the one before!

Looking through my back catalogue of blog posts I realize that this blog is six years old next week. One of my first blog posts was about  memories of my own first day at University and it seems appropriate to repeat some of it here. I notice actually that virtually all Freshers’ weeks I’ve written about over the past six years have been accompanied by fine weather. I find this kind of weather a bit spooky because it always takes me back to the time when I left home to go to University, as thousands of fledgling students are about to do this year in their turn. I did it 32 years ago, getting on a train at Newcastle Central station with my bags of books and clothes. I said goodbye to my parents there. There was never any question of them taking me in the car all the way to Cambridge. It wasn’t practical and I wouldn’t have wanted them to do it anyway. After changing from the Inter City at Peterborough onto a local train, we trundled through the flatness of East Anglia until it reached Cambridge. The weather, at least in my memory, was exactly like today.

I don’t remember much about the actual journey, but I must have felt a mixture of fear and excitement. Nobody in my family had ever been to University before, let alone to Cambridge. Come to think of it, nobody from my family has done so since either. I was a bit worried about whether the course I would take in Natural Sciences would turn out to be difficult, but I think my main concern was how I would fit in generally.

I had been working between leaving school and starting my undergraduate course, so I had some money in the bank and I was also to receive a full grant. I wasn’t really worried about cash. But I hadn’t come from a posh family and didn’t really know the form. I didn’t have much experience of life outside the North East either. I’d been to London only once before going to Cambridge, and had never been abroad.

I didn’t have any posh clothes, a deficiency I thought would mark me as an outsider. I had always been grateful for having to wear a school uniform (which was bought with vouchers from the Council) because it meant that I dressed the same as the other kids at School, most of whom came from much wealthier families. But this turned out not to matter at all. Regardless of their family background, students were generally a mixture of shabby and fashionable, like they are today. Physics students in particular didn’t even bother with the fashionable bit. Although I didn’t have a proper dinner jacket for the Matriculation Dinner, held for all the new undergraduates, nobody said anything about my dark suit which I was told would be acceptable as long as it was a “lounge suit” (whatever that is).

Taking a taxi from the station, I finally arrived at Magdalene College. I waited outside, a bundle of nerves, for some time before entering the Porter’s Lodge and starting my life as a student. My name was found and ticked off and a key issued for my room in the Lutyens building. It turned out to be a large room, with a kind of screen that could be pulled across to divide the room into two, although I never actually used this contraption. There was a single bed and a kind of cupboard containing a sink and a mirror in the bit that could be hidden by the screen. The rest of the room contained a sofa, a table, a desk, and various chairs, all of them quite old but solidly made. Outside my  room, on the landing, was the gyp room, a kind of small kitchen, where I was to make countless cups of tea over the following months, although I never actually cooked anything there.

I struggled in with my bags and sat on the bed. It wasn’t at all like I had imagined. I realized that no amount of imagining would ever really have prepared me for what was going to happen at University.

I  stared at my luggage. I suddenly felt like I had landed on a strange island where I didn’t know anyone, and couldn’t remember why I had gone there or what I was supposed to be doing. I’ve had that feeling ever since, but after 32 years I think I’m used to it.

4 Responses to “Freshers’ Week Reminiscences”

  1. Sebastian Barton Says:

    Brings it all back! What happened next ? I seem to remember Corpus September 82 held various stilted sherry parties resembling your typical Asperger’s convention.

    Taking the taxi sounds plutocratic although the station is surprisingly far out presumably as a reult of idiosyncratic Victorian town planning. I found that out arriving for my interview on a glorious sunny Autumn day and then walking to college in an itchy Oxfam suit. I think the Senior Tutor must have taken pity on me…

    • That evening was the Matriculation Dinner, which I actually enjoyed quite a lot although I was very nervous beforehand.

      Sometime during the first week I was introduced to the people who would do my supervisions that year, one of whom is a regular commenter on this blog….

      • Anton Garrett Says:

        I couldn’t possibly comment!

        I didn’t know that any undergrad rooms in the Lutyens (no apostrophe please!) building had sinks. They weren’t easily installed in Fellows’ rooms either, but that’s another story…

        I’m glad you had a good time at the Matriculation Dinner – an event which sometimes shows that it is not only Marquis’s sons who are “unused to wine” (to quote from Brideshead Revisited).

        Apparently the railway station at Cambridge was deliberately sited some way from the city centre and colleges because the latter didn’t want the noise and smoke. I was told this long ago and a glance at Wikipedia offers the following (offline) reference backing up the assertion: Journal of the Railway and Canal Historical Society 22: 22–4.

      • I grovel in mortification. I so detest misplaced apostrophe’s….

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