Having family living in Oxford certainly creates many opportunities for cultural trips. Cultural in the broadest sense of the word. Inevitably, the traditional tourist Oxford is very much a “picture book” town, focusing on the Colleges and the like:
But there are many other modest corners and back-alleys that are every bit as magical:
One of Oxford’s many famous residents was the Oxford Dodo or at least bits of him. Until recently, the most intact remains (but that does not say much) currently on display were at the Oxford University Museum of Natural History. This is a repro. of same:
The last Dodo died in the late 1600s, about a century after the species' discovery. Coincidentally, the remains of the last stuffed bird had been kept in Oxford’s Ashmolean Museum but in the mid-18th century, the specimen had entirely decayed and was ordered to be discarded by the museum's curator around 1755. Bummer.
Another’s of Oxford’s famous sons was Lewis Carroll and the two came together in “Alice”. Evidence now suggests that his relationship with Alice Lidell was not entirely founded in innocent pursuits. Another hero bites the dust.
The 1860 Oxford evolution debate took place at this same University Museum after the publication of Darwin’s “On the Origin of Species”. The debate is best remembered for a heated exchange in which Bishop Samuel Wilberforce supposedly asked Thomas Huxley whether it was through his grandfather or his grandmother that he claimed his descent from a monkey. The debate is usually depicted as a clash between religion and science but the majority opinion has always been that the debate represented a major victory for the Darwinians. Eat your heart out, Sarah Palin.
An earlier creationist was The Very Rev. Dr William Buckland, a famous Oxford palaeontologist who was a proponent of Old Earth Creationism but then he also claimed to have eaten his way through the animal kingdom (new word: zoophagy = feeding on animals or animal matter) including stewed badger, worm fritters, moles, bluebottles and mice fried in batter. The culmination of his bizarre pursuit of knowledge was when he gobbled up the heart of King Louis XIV of France. I always knew that geologists were eccentric but really ...............
And while on the subject of museums, the Ashmolean now has a “treasure room” where all the highlights from the museum are collected together. It rather becomes the equivalent of the “Idiots’ Guide to Ancient Culture” but the contents of the gallery are indeed magnificent. My favourite is the Alfred Jewel, which is a small Anglo-Saxon ornament dating from the late 9th century and first “discovered” in 1693. It was made in the reign of King Alfred the Great and is inscribed "AELFRED MEC HEHT GEWYRCAN” = "Alfred ordered me made". Beautiful.
My lunchtime pint today (Greene King IPA) was at “The Turf” Oxford's oldest pub dating from the 13th century and not that easy to find being tucked away down an narrow, twisting alley.
More importantly, “The Turf” was at on time frequented by one of Sharon’s many heartthrobs, Inspector Morse and, perhaps less auspiciously, by Bill Clinton in his Oxford days.
Perhaps more famous than Morse today is yet another Oxford celebrity, the ubiquitous Harry P.
A pub with a much older heritage, the former New Inn built in 1389 on the Cornmarket, is now ignominiously used as a retail outlet for sushi wraps on one side and cell phones on the other. A sad outcome but better then demolition:
By Oxford standards, the 1300s is not really that old. After all, the tower of St. Michael at Northgate was built around 1040 AD which makes it only about 1000 years old.
The Covered Market is far more touristy than it used to be but still does an Ace Job with its specialty food shops. Maybe meat pies:
Or English cheeses:
Or a custom birthday cake, this one depicting George and the Dragon. No longer Saint George thanks to the peevishness of the Vatican:
Given the 20,000 students at Oxford University, its not surprising to see the hundred’s of bikes all over the city:
But because of a remarkable dearth of bike racks, street railings have to become surrogate racks. In this case, I assume the bikes are being watched over by the ghosts of cyclists long dead:
In spite of the many unfriendly signs around:
But its good to know that the eccentrics of Oxford still give the Literary Giants a run for their money. It’s amazing what people eventually get accustomed to. Locals living in Headington, a quiet suburb on the eastern edge of the town, don’t seem to notice the 25 foot fibreglass shark embedded in the roof of an otherwise undistinguished terraced house. It was lowered into position by crane in 1986, immediately swam into a wave of controversy but has survived countless protests and lawsuits ever since.
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