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ADVENTURE OF THE MONTH —
DECEMBER, 2006
Home At First
Goes Back to School— |
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— PART I — |
Years ago we first visited Oxford, England, with a guide book in hand. Very
nice. Last year, we returned to Oxford bearing only our
literary guides: “Alice in Wonderland”, “The Lord of the Rings”, “The
Chronicles of Narnia”, and, especially, this poem we first read in college in
Pennsylvania:
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills!
In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same;
Tonight from Oxford up your pathway strays!
Runs it not here, the track by Childsworth Farm,
Past the high wood,
to where the elm tree crowns
The hill behind whose ridge the sunset flames?
The signal elm, that looks on Ilsley Downs,
The Vale, the three lone weirs, the youthful Thames?—
This winter-eve is warm,
Humid the air! Leafless, yet soft as spring,
The tender purple spray on copse and briers!
And that sweet city with her dreaming spires,
She needs not June for beauty’s heightening,
Lovely all times she lies, lovely tonight!
—from Thyrsis by Matthew Arnold
In my own university
days I saw the endless hills of Central Pennsylvania in Arnold’s poem. The
farms, rural pathways, the stands of woodland, and the sunset ridgelines all had
their local corollaries. My river vale was the broad swath of the wide West
Branch of the Susquehanna, and the two Hinkseys were West Lawn and College Park,
their heights overlooking the dreaming spires of Bucknell and Lewisburg. I
shelved these images from English lit for the next thirty years. In recent years
I’ve come to know Oxford on the edge of England’s Cotswolds region. My travels
there have dusted off Arnold’s old Victorian poetic imagery, and returned me to
the richly innocent excesses of the university experience with their unrealistic
priorities, pace, and expectations. These, I’ve concluded, are the metaphorical
associations of Arnold’s dreaming spires of Oxford.
Many, many valid reasons exist to see Oxford
with a guided tour. And, the quality of the professional guides available
ensures the visitor’s education and entertainment. No tour, however, permits the
magic of Oxford to overwhelm you. Tours minimize serendipity in order to
maximize efficiency. And the proper discovery of Oxford requires serendipity.
I’ll let Arnold’s poem be my tour guide.
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With
the most pleasant of company I climbed the muddy fields west of the
Hinkseys into the orange ball and pink clouds of a December sunset. The
pathway bordered the golf course, and crossed the pastures of a large
farm, Chilswell Farm, doubtless the Childsworth Farm of Arnold’s
Thyrsis. At the top of the mucky pasture, we entered Youlbury Wood,
which led to the ridge top. We arrived just as the sun dropped under the
horizon and left us in the dark forest. Turning east we found another
path that soon emerged from the |
OXFORD FROM YOULBURY WOOD
photo courtesy
www.richardpettinger.com |
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woods just beyond
Chilswell Ho Priory and led into another farm field. Ahead rose the
nearly full moon, buttery and veiled in the evening mists. Diffused
moonlight softly defined the Thames Valley ahead of us. Silhouetted
against the moonrise were Arnold’s elm tree and the dozens of spires of
Oxford. Although the temperature of our winter’s eve was quickly
dropping below freezing, the dampness of Arnold’s recollection was in
place, promising a heavy frost this night, to replace the purple
twilight coverlet of the woods (copse) and hedgerows (briers) with a
silvery glint at sunrise. |
The town of Oxford traces its roots back to the Saxon 8th century, at
least 350 years before the founding of the university in the years immediately
following the Norman Conquest of Britain. One of the
tallest spires in town is
that of Christ Church Cathedral, built on the site of where a Saxon abbey once
stood as the center of Oxford. Spread densely through Oxford town are dozens of
other spires—some church steeples, but most ornate appendages of the distinctive
gothic architecture of the university colleges.
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THATCHED COTTAGE, SOUTH HINKSEY |
Our path again
skirted the golf course, emerging at the overpass crossing of the A34
Oxford Ring Road at South Hinksey. Contrary to Arnold’s claim, South
Hinksey looks largely unchanged since at least Victorian times. There
may be a dozen and a half houses in the village—of which at least half
are thatched cottages—plus a squat ancient church and a pub/restaurant,
the General Elliot at the end of Manor Road. Then again, maybe Arnold
was correct—near the pub we noted an oversized flat screen TV flooding a
small cottage living room with |
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electric blue TV light. No matter. The pub was warm—a
fire flamed earnestly in the lounge—and we were hungry after our long
walk. We looked forward to a substantial meal and a short walk back to
our lodging on the outskirts of Oxford, and bed. Tomorrow we continue
tracing Arnold’s poetic guide into town, where we shall seek other
literary references among the dreaming spires of Oxford. |
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In the fine, frosty morning
we departed South Hinksey and passed over the Hinksey Stream and the
footbridge across the railway yards that separate South Hinksey and New
Hinksey. At New Hinksey we turned right on the Abingdon Road and then
left across Abingdon Road onto Weirs Lane, the B4495, at Iffley,
probably the Ilsley Downs of “Thyrsis”. In a few hundred yards we
reached the Donnington Bridge across the River Thames. Not much of a
river yet, this is Arnold’s “youthful Thames” at the weirs. Here the
stream was blocked to help fishermen gather fish or to slow and deepen
the Thames for navigation. Immediately appeared navigation: a crew of
eight pulling hard shot out from under Donnington Bridge.
POST BOX, SOUTH HINKSEY |
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OXFORD ROWERS ON THE THAMES AT DONNINGTON BRIDGE |
We dropped down
the stairs to the southwest bank of the Thames. A towpath traces this
shore of the Thames here in Arnold’s “Ilsley Downs” and leads northwest
to Oxford. This stretch of the Thames is long, straight, and calm, the
ideal water for competitive rowing. This day the river was already busy
with a competition among Oxford women’s club rowing teams. Along with
several joggers and walkers, we had to watch for rowing coaches running
or cycling on the towpath shouting instruction and encouragement to
their teams pulling hard in their boats just a few yards away. Soon we
reached the confluence of the Thames with Oxford’s other river, the
Cherwell, where boathouses and reviewing stands were clustered. Upstream
of here the Thames is called the "Isis" until it exits the north side of
Oxford. We continued our march along the Isis until it reached Folly
Bridge, the southern entrance to central Oxford. If hunger or thirst requires
slaking, the popular Head of the River pub/restaurant
immediately across Folly Bridge is ready to serve. |
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— END OF PART I —
GO TO PART II —
GO TO PART III
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