Locked In

Following up on my last blog, in which I lamented the "closed door" nature of scholarship here at Oxford, I would now like to consider the drawbacks of the opposite extreme- being locked inside one of these fortified ivory towers. Last night found me in the history section of the St. Peter's Library (which is new, and not as pretty as the other colleges, but has just as many books). I had never been on St. Peter's campus so late at night, and when I emerged from the stacks at around 11:00 PM, I went to the gatehouse to make my exit. The gatehouse is one of the two portals in the St. Peter's complex. All of the buildings- the dinning hall, library, dorms, student center, and chapel, are centered around a little quad, forming a ring of stone buildings that you haven't a hope of getting into unless its by the gatehouse. Here you nod to the gatekeeper as though you are supposed to be there, and he lets you in. Just as the chapel bell was chimming 11:00, I was dismayed to find the gatehouse dark and the big wooden doors pulled shut. When a normal plywood door is pulled shut, there's always a good chance that it might be unlocked, or that you could at least break it down, but these Oxford doors are built to repel invading Scandinavians. When they are shut, the hope of them being unlocked is utterly futile, as were my attempts to push them open.

The only other entrance to the courtyard is a wrought iron gate around the chapel. The gate is about 15 feet high, and spans the wide alley between the chapel and dinning hall. There is a small, person-sized door to one side, with a modern monstrosity attached to allow you to swipe your exclusive St. Peter's ID card to open the gate. As I dug in my pocket for my card, I realized with dismay that a big black chain had been wrapped around the gate. I rattled it, but to no effect. I turned and leaned against the cold iron, and then quickly stopped leaning on it because it was wet with rain. I remember being in a tutu in a grocery store when I was little, staring at the cookie shelves- shelves and shelves of beautiful cookies! In brightly colored boxes, I could almost smell them through the packaging. All this joy dashed on the cold linolium floor as soon as I looked up and realized that Mum was nowhere to be seen, and I was lost. It is rather the same thing when there you are, a scholar in a scholar's paradise, looking at the rows and rows of beautiful old books. Then you think you'll make your way home to dream sweetly on 10th century ploughs and how the crusades effected the economic revolution in Western Europe but suddenly realize that your haven has become your prison. A bubbling panic replaced the joy, and I might as well have been wearing a tutu for how stupid and out of place I suddenly felt.

The gatehouse doors were pulled to. The iron gate was deliberately chained. And the stone walls were high. And it was raining (in fact, it is always raining, its just at crucial moments like these that you note the weather for dramatic effect). What else was a girl to do but walk back and forth like a ghost until someone came along? That was what I did, thinking gloomy thoughts as my hair began to stick to my face in the drizzle. A few days ago I was practically hanging on the gates, waiting to be let in. I was pursing my lips in frustration when I was denied access to some of the more elite college's libraries. And now my wish had been granted in too much earnest, and I was as good as lost in the grocery store. As I paced the courtyard, I thought how useless these fortresses are without the outside world. How meaningless it all is when it must be taken in solitude. The clock chimed quarter past (it really does get annoying, every fifteen minutes) and still no St. Peter's student had appeared to deliver me. I began thinking of how bad it would be to spend the night in the library (which is open 24/7). The idea was so gloomy that I strode up to the front doors again and pushed against them with all my might (which, admittedly, is not very much). I admit that I began to cry. It was so stupid, there MUST be a way out. I referred to the Harry Potter instruction mannual that I keep stored in my head for times such as these. I found that the best thing to do would be to summon happy thoughts for a patronus effect. I thought of all the things on the outside that I could not find on the inside, in the library: Guilaine, Joe, Pol, Kate, Sammy, Mom. Carmen, Julie, Bjorn, Taylor, Dan, Pat. I hope you're all reading this and having a good laugh at me, because that is what I imagined you all doing, and it did make me feel so much better. It made me realize that I can love the books as much as I want- that is what I am here to do, after all, but they will not love me back, and they will never be part of my patronus, at least not for their own sake. If I had been locked in with the Oles we might have had a grand adventure and stayed in the library all night, but it is quite different to be alone, and the adventure takes on a more solemn character, one that I didn't like at all.

Finally, at 11:35, a group of St. Peter's students came in through the front gate with their cards, and I managed to slip past them without looking too pathetic or lost. I must remember to ask (in as offhand a manner as possible) how to get OUT of Saint Peter's after hours. The patronous was used to great effect, but I get the feeling it is most useful when conjured sparingly, and only in times of great need.