“So the first thing we should ask is…do you know what you’re letting yourself in for?”
That was the first question I was asked when I turned up for my interview at Hertford College, three years ago now. I can’t remember what I said, but the honest answer would have been “no”.
Now I’m here, a third-year physics and philosophy student, who really ought to be revising for the collections I have coming up, and wondering if I’d known, would have made me think twice about coming to Oxford?
I’d struggle to give you an account of the last three years, but I think I can give a few of the ups-and-downs. I’d like to think it might be helpful for anyone thinking of applying, but also I’d like to see how it compares to the experiences of the other 11,000 undergrads currently going through their studies. Oxford is far too big for anyone to say they’ve really experienced it.
The first thing I remember noticing about Oxford was that, for all the educating that goes on here, it was as close to being classless as you could hope for. I’d heard the rumours; the playground teasing that I’d be going to toff-city, and though I was fairly sure that they’d be wide of the mark, I had a few niggling doubts. They were dispelled within hours of my arrival. If anything, I’ve seen quite a few people from working-class backgrounds, actually disappointed that they wouldn’t get to play the hero and defend their class from the elitist pigs. I’ve also met the occasional unremarkable chap down the bar, had a pleasant conversation, and later been slightly surprised to hear that I’d be talking to the 3rd Viscount of someplace. I’d never have guessed…but then, I’m not sure how I could tell.
So the myth about elitism is completely false. If anything, I think the University is resisting the pressure from the media and the Government to start being biased in favour of the working class, because it’s politically correct to do so. No one here gives a damn where you come from, and they’ll only sneer at you if you start getting hung up on it. You get here on academic performance alone.
Which brings me on the second thing: work. My first lectures were revision lectures on mathematics, to bring everyone up to the same level. We shot through all of A-level Maths and Further Maths in just two weeks - that’s four hours of lectures. It included quite a few things I’d forgotten, and a handful of things I’d never been taught. And that pace hasn’t let up since then.
Back at school, I could quite comfortably spend two hours on a weekly homework and be sure of getting at least 70%. More like 90% if I could be bothered to make the effort. I got a bit of a shock when I looked at my first problem sheet. I’d left it with only a day to spare, thinking that it would be plenty of time to shoot through some classical mechanics. I was still working up to the deadline, and horrified, but not remotely surprised, when it was handed back with “42%” scrawled in red ink on the top corner. I was also rather puzzled by the smile my tutor gave me, and the murmur of “good effort”. When I saw the marks of my fellow physics students though, I felt that guilty relief when you see your comrades fail: it makes you look good by comparison.
These days, I can get an 80% maybe once a term. If I’ve really worked at it, had a good run-up, no distractions, and above all, enjoyed the topic. I generally feel pleased with anything above 65%. But boy, do we work!
My first essay was also a disaster. It came after the problem sheet, so I’d made a start on it with plenty of time. But I still made two huge errors: I hadn’t done the reading, and I had no idea what to write.
My essays at school were in history, where everything was simple. You had all the material handed to you on a plate by the teacher, and then you wrote a two-line introduction, and then four paragraphs on each of the significant factors of whatever event you were talking about, and then a conclusion that was balanced but perhaps came down slightly on one side more than the other.
So it took a while to realise that the lectures simply wouldn’t give me enough material to write an essay with, and that I’d really have to get the books. And that I’d have to get them AS SOON AS I WAS SET THE ESSAY, or my fellow philosophers would beat me to the college library and pinch them first, and I’d have to trapse all over Oxford to get them.
Then I’d actually have to write the essay itself. Sticking to the old history format just wasn’t going to work, and I couldn’t find one that did. In the end I waffled until I reached as close to 2000 words as I could, about whatever came into my head. Eventually I realised that I’d really have to plan my essays (some I only did in desperation at school), and that there was no general format - I’d have to work it out individually for each essay I did, with an introduction that covered not only the relevant parts of the topic, but also the argument I was setting out in the essay. Which meant I couldn’t made it up as I went along. I’d have to actually work I what I was going to write before I wrote it!
Maybe it’s true that the PPEists get to slack off in their second year, or that geography’s a duff subject. I don’t know. But I can tell you that mine is anything but. I remember asking in the interview: “So, it’s evenly balanced, right? Fifty-percent physics, fifty philosophy?”
“More like seventy-seventy” the answer came back.
So what’s everyone else’s experience? Did you know what you were letting yourself in for?
