John Taylor graduated from Lancaster in 1967 with a degree in English and Philosophy and was a member of Grizedale college.
I went up to Lancaster in the autumn of 1964 as one of the first undergraduate cohort. I come from a working-class Lancashire family but could do both that accent and English public school, which puzzled quite a few folk. Most of the teaching part of the university was housed in the stone-built Victorian former Waring and Gillows factory in St. Leonard Gate. Union facilities were in the ex-Congregational church and lectures took place in the historic Grand Theatre across the road, where I played Cornwall to the Lear of Peter Gale who later acted the role of Osric in Nicholl Williams’s film of Hamlet. I can truthfully tell those of my students who understand theatrical history that I have acted on a stage which was once graced by Sarah Siddons.
The university was anxious to establish an ethos.
One lecturer quipped: “This place is like an American university: It is a tradition of this College that Undergraduates will wear gowns. This tradition will operate from 9.00am Monday next”. The gowns were grey with red yokes. They made useful, dusters and draught excluders and were particularly good for encouraging the air flow in sluggish fireplaces.
On my first day in Lancaster I found myself drinking Mitchells’ bitter in a convivial group in the Blue Anchor. A young man called Michael Caddock hoisted himself up onto a table and toasted “Cheshire County Council, who made all this possible”. Mike, still a dear friend, enjoyed my retelling the story when I had the privilege of proposing the toast “To the University” at the Silver Jubilee dinner of its foundation in 1989. In the summer of 2000 (I think) I visited the Blue Anchor again in the company of my sons and drank a couple of pints from the very last barrel of Mitchell’s sold there after the closure of the brewery.
Other places we frequented included the Shakespeare and the Tramway in St Leonard Gate, the Carpenters’ Arms and the Red Well (way out in Lonsdale). In addition to debating and socialising, I wasted a great deal of time fiddling with various stylish but geriatric cars which included a 1936 Riley Merlin and a 1948 Triumph Roadster (the car used by John Nettles in the Bergerac series). On one occasion I bought a derelict MG TA sports car in Southport and towed it home to Lancaster behind the Riley. My mate Graham Nunn, who had a truly enormous beard, steered the MG. The brakes were almost non-existent and when I stopped suddenly at the traffic lights at the bottom of Fulwood Hill in Preston, I looked in the mirror to see, with horror, the MG overtaking me. It ended up facing me across the junction at the full extent of its tow-rope. I approached with trepidation and peered under the hood: Two enormous eyes glared at me over a mass of beard. Graham’s strangled tenor quavered: “It’s bloody hairy in here, you know!”
The Debating union in those days was called ‘The 64 Society’. Peter Catchpole, a serious chap, was its first President. I was his successor and arrogantly referred to myself as ‘The Emperor’, which went down badly with the seriously democratic folk. My Committee included Chris Skrebowski, a flamboyant Polish aristocrat and second-generation immigrant, who was even more impossibly overbearing than I. I survived a vote of no confidence and got into the national tabloids. Ken Todd (a grad student from Oldham who complemented my dinner jacket by debating in his his best black T-shirt and black cords) and I won the Northern universities’ Debating League. We bombed, though, in a (serious) Observer Mace heat at Durham. We were drawn to speak last of 8 by which time everything had been said. Ken went into his standard (and utterly politically incorrect) emergency speech:
“This whole issue hinges on a pivotal theory of history. There are only two types of women; the complaisant nubile women and the frigid women. During the English Civil war, the Cavaliers were married to the the complaisant nubile women, whereas the Roundheads………..well, has anyone ever heard of a laughing Roundhead?
Thames TV televised one of the 64 Society debates. It was self-conscious and truly awful. I was also part of the first Lancaster University Challenge team.
We met the 16 year old Lulu at Granada studios.
One of my memories of chairing a stormy debate:
ME: Order! Order! Order!
DRUNKEN VOICE FROM THE GALLERY: Pint of bitter!
We moved to the Bailrigg campus in time for my third year. Things were suddenly more formal. We were expected to pay for a car-park permit (I never did). The library was suddenly more punctilious. However, when I made out a cheque to ‘The Bandit in settlement of library fines, I received a printed receipt with ‘The Librarian’ deleted and ‘The Bandit’ inserted.
The following staff remain in the memory:
Dr. David Craig (still around, I think, and teaching creative writing): Scottish socialist and challengingly atheistic. I was (am) Christian but felt respected by him. Good teacher. Good poet. Singer of Scottish ballads. Rather a rebel. I think the University once tried to fire him but failed.
Prof. Bill Murray, Head of English: Very aristocratic and erudite. Mostly incomprehensible, but some good war stories:
“The MTB was ploughing through the water. Except that the water wasn’t water. It was mostly blood”.
Prof Austin Woolrych: Head of History. WW2 infantry colonel. Civil War expert. Lovely speaking voice. Fabulous teacher and a kind man, though he did not suffer slackers at all, let alone gladly. Austin was a stocky chap. One lecture began:
“Napoleon, like many impressive men, was a man of short stature….”
Stan Henig, Politics: Later Labour MP for Lancaster.
Roxbee-Cox (Philosophy). Completely at sea. When he asked: “Why am I here?” it was bemusement, not metaphysics.
Prof. Gordon Manley: The Guardian’s weather man. Charming don of the old school. Taught me for my Environmental Studies course.