Formal Hall

 It's been awhile since I've posted, but I have lots of good excuses, most of them having to do with libraries, late nights, and close deadlines. Fifth week is notoriously difficult at Oxford, but suffice for now to say that I survived, and intend to do a proper blog about the Oxford education system really soon. This past week has been a whirlwind not only because of the academic rigours, but also because of a really amazing experience of last night, which I guess falls more into the social category. It all started on Monday at lunch, when I sat down with a plate of unidentifiable gray vegetables and a hunk of bread (standard fare). I had the good fortune to sit next to one of my few St. Peters acquaintances, Henry. I only ever see him at meals sometimes, but he is a good talker, and has a nice mellowing effect which is a welcome change from my fellow Americans...we tend to bond by spazing out about homework together. Earlier in the term, I inducted Henry into the CMRS cult by a trial of fire, accosting him as a stranger one day and insisting he come to the Harry Potter read aloud at St. Michale's Hall. I was really surprised when he showed up that night with a friend, but we've had good chats at lunches ever since. He is very proper in a way that makes me feel bad about putting my elbows on the table. It is a shame he was too shy to read Harry Potter for us, because he has a lovely speaking voice, which is so soft I usually have difficulty hearing him over the buzz of the dining hall. It is very difficult not to like someone who is soft mannered and soft-spoken, especially when you are being bombarded with new things, hard work, and a constant mild case of homesickness, a lunch with Henry is often the best cure. Anyway, although I do enjoy the odd lunch with him, I hardly know him at all,  so I was very surprised when he invited me to Formal Hall for his birthday. I guess I should explain Formal Hall: every Thursday, St. Peters offers a fancy dinner for students after the normal gross dinner hour. You sign up for it early, and pay a little extra, but all in all it is a fantastic deal. The dining hall gets transformed into a beautiful dinner venue, with big white tablecloths, and nice china, and silver candelabras casting candlelight over the otherwise dark scene. It sounds like it would be really dark, especially with the wood paneling, but really the light shines off the white tablecloth, and sparkles off the silverware, and the overall effect is warmth and light. The big scary portraits of be-wigged founders hide up in the shadows of the upper walls, and don't bother us with their accusing stares.  Dinner is a three course meal, and students are encouraged to bring their own wine. Unfortunately, CMRS students are not allowed to go unless as a guest of a St. Peter's student, so I really felt VIP getting an invite. I met Henry and his friends at the St. Peter's bar at 7:00 (all the colleges have their own pubs, it is totally bizarre coming from St. Olaf). They were all wearing their black robes. Yes, students here really do have robes to wear at special occasions, although for undergrads, they are only short, billowing little vests with rather pathetic arm flaps. At some of the oldest and most traditional colleges, like Merton (where Tolkien taught) you have to wear your robes to every meal, but St. Peter's is rather new, so they get off easy.  Henry had on a full length robe over his Oxford button down. His friend James whispered to me that he got full robes because he's a Scholar with a capital "S," but I wasn't supposed to talk about it because he gets modest and apparently it is painful to watch him deny his brilliance, and we shouldn't make him endure the ordeal on his birthday. "Modest little swot" he added fondly. We had a drink, and then stopped at the laundry on our way to dinner, in a failed attempt to smuggle out a robe for me so I wouldn't stick out so much. The laundry lady was too smart for us, and wouldn't hear of our "borrowing" a robe, so I had to go without, but I thought the gesture was awfully nice of them.

We arrived at the dining hall at 7:30 with a mass of other people. It was all lit up and warm, just as I described before. I sat down next to Henry's friend James, who turned out to be a hoot. Before we could talk too much, however, someone hit a gavel at the high table, and all the students stopped talking immediately, and stood up stick straight. Americans would never have been able to manage it. I had no idea what was going on. As I stood there, looking wide eyed at Henry across the table for instructions, a line of tutors began to process in behind me, with the headmaster taking up the rear. They were all decked out in full robed splendour, very silent and austere. When they reached the table, I bent my knees to sit, but James elbowed me not to. In a moment, someone at the high table began to say a very loud and forceful prayer in Latin (I was later told that he had a strong Scottish accent on top of the Latin, but I would never have been able to pick it out) We said "Amen" and sat down, and then things got much more casual. They brought us out some delicious minted pea soup with bread and butter, and then some sort of white fish on top of lentils, and finally dessert and coffee. Everyone looked so pretty in the candlelight, and the gentle hum of voices reverberated around the room, sort of lulling me into a good mood. The wine was passed around freely, and I tried some really excellent white stuff from Tuscany. The main entertainment for my meal, at least, was James, my neighbor.  He reminded me of a combination of my Ole boys, only British: he is a maths major (Bjorn), and also an avid bird watcher (Ben). He was telling me how excited he was to spend he weekend in Jericho, the next town over, because there was some sort of rare pigeon there, that was supposed to have migrated to Japan, but flew West instead of East, and ended up in England. Apparently it has bird watchers all excited, he is going on a pilgrimage there tomorrow to see the rare pigeon in residence, I thought that was pretty remarkable. I told him he should come to our Harry Potter readings sometime, and he said he would love to, except that it clashed with his Bible study group (Pat). Despite all his dorkiness, he managed to be funny and unassuming (Hoiland).

James and the others also proved to be a very good sport when I made a horrible vocabulary slip-up half way through dinner. I was remarking on how fancy the whole affair seemed, and how I was glad I hadn't worn pants (I wore a dress). As soon as I said this, everyone in earshot burst out laughing, and when he had recovered a bit, Henry reminded me that in British, "pants"= underwear, "trousers"= pants. So basically, I had just said that I was relieved I hadn't worn underwear to such a fancy event. I guess my Ole friends in France aren't the only ones dealing with language barriers. My mortification was short-lived, as we quickly moved on to other such vocabulary differences. My other favorite was "pudding." This was the advertised third course, and I was so excited at the prospect of chocolate custard-y stuff we think of as pudding. Alas, in British, pudding is a blanket term for any dessert item at all, not necessarily custard. It turned out good anyway, a sort of pink raspberry creme thing... trust me, it was delicious. And then there was coffee, and the little cubes of sugar I love so much. The tutors processed out again before anyone else was allowed to leave, and then everyone filed out, full of good food (for once) and good conversation. It was really nice to hang out with real British people. I don't usually get a lot of exposure, since all the 25 students at CMRS are American, and we have a tendency to go out in large numbers, for safety. Henry and his friends were really easy to talk to, and there was something in their way of interacting with each other that was so laid back, and non-frantic, it was a nice change of pace. I guess they've been used to writing tutorial papers all the time and being stressed out all term, so they just kind of go with the flow, and take time to enjoy formal dinners when they come along.

If I can wrangle another invitation, I will definitely go back to Formal Hall. I can't believe that happens every week and most of us don't even know about it. I've been told that some of the bigger colleges offer Formal Hall every day. When the tutors and big deal scholars processed in, and everyone was wearing their robes, I felt like I had been transported to another planet. It is just another example of the overwhelming sense of tradition that comes with Oxford. I mean, Olaf is old, and has its own traditions, but Oxford has been around since the 13th century. There were real live knights in shining armour riding around at that time! True, it wasn't exactly their heyday, but still! These are more than just traditions, they are practically religions! The real scholars of Oxford are foreign to me not just as British people, but as a different type of creature altogether. The ennobling aspect of academia is palpable here, and sometimes I really get hit over the head with it, like at Formal Hall. Going to Formal Hall and holding my own with Oxford students, even without a robe, made me realize, with a thrill of... horror?... excitement...? ..... that I am in. I am one of them, in a sense. Now that I have been initiated into the tradition, I guess it is up to me to decide how I truly feel about that, about Oxford academia in general. But more on that later. For now, I'm off to bed to read a Aelred's treatise 'On Spiritual Friendship.'