Trevor graduated in 1967.
I was at Lancaster from when it opened – 1964-7 – and therefore didn’t experience the period in the early 70s when the greatest level of political activity took place (I did however, later by coincidence, work with Maggie Gallagher who was president of the students union at the time.
When I applied for postgraduate study in the 70s at least one institution would not consider students – including me – from Lancaster or Essex on the basis that they must be troublemakers.
My memories of Lancaster are personal rather than institutional, and are filtered through my present experience of working in a University – I find myself remarking on differences and these tend to be in the forefront of my mind. Many of these are not necessarily peculiar to Lancaster – nobody was obsessed with league tables and the like, and the majority of students were much less instrumental in their approach to study. One item that may be of interest was the generosity of the university – that’s how it seemed at the time, while now it just seems unbelievable. To promote the development of student social life it paid for the equipment for a student rock band, and when we moved to the new buildings myself and a couple of others (including one member of teaching staff) were given money to buy some paintings and decorate the common room: I’ve never wandered round a gallery since saying ‘lets have that one’.
Lancaster was the one institution which offered me a place where I had not been for an interview, so the town was a bit of a surprise to me when I arrived from the south. It was rather ‘behind the times’ in lots of ways. A first experience of living in digs (in Lancaster) was interesting – our landlady was German and provided German size meals, which was good; she also more than once suggested I might like to take her daughter out, which was probably not part of the deal with the accommodation office. Induction week was good, as everyone pushed the boat out to celebrate the university’s opening – a whole week of free food, drink and social events. With only 300 students it was easy to get to know most everyone and to spend too much time doing things other than working. Some things were decidedly odd – especially wearing gowns to lectures, but that didn’t last long. I found a lot of the institution building activities a bit bewildering – or maybe I mean boring, especially when it came to interminable meetings to discuss the JCR constitution. Some was sort of interesting, such as the student operated disciplinary processes, when I found myself defending a fellow student for being drunk in the library in front of other members of the student body (do you still do this sort of thing?).But, it was very friendly and informal – even down to when I got my results: the economics professor told me while I was in the gents and then went and stood on a table in the bar and told anyone else – but he was leaving for a well paid job with the UN in Geneva.
I did find much of the teaching excellent – perhaps a particular example being economics lecturer Tony Cramp who had just come from the Bank of England and managed to get a full turn out at 9am on a Monday morning. He could tell us what the books said and then tell us how it really worked in practice. But, the quirky bits stand out. I found the politics people the most quirky. Philip Reynolds (later VC?) gave great lectures in the style of a Welsh orator; Gerry Fowler (later a government minister) managed to draw parallels between the Peloponesian war and the (then) current situation in Rhodesia; and Russell Price, who I once found had stayed at his desk all night to track down the source of unacknowledged quotes in a students essay. Also – a sign of the times – a statistics lecturer (Dr Airth?) who would always put calculating machines (heavy in pre-electronic times) on the desks of female students but let the males get their own: such gallantry is probably no longer evident, and would probably be frowned upon.
There was some political activity, but I am not too familiar with what went on the main party political group – preferring the more racy events organised by the Marxist Discussion Group (led by a Nigerian guy I was in digs with who had been expelled from more countries than I had thought of visiting – or so it seemed). There were some interesting meetings which got a bit heated – a visit by the Indonesian ambassador who got a hard time over human rights issues, and Peter Griffiths who had just won an election in Smethwick on the back of an overtly racist campaign (deserved all the verbal abuse that was thrown at him). We also had visits from the party leaders – Alec Douglas Home and Harold Wilson – who were received fairly respectfully. The new premises were only occupied during my last year and I preferred being in the Waring and Gillow building in the town (I don’t like campus living). It was also very handy for the pub. You can’t underestimate the part played in early Lancaster life by the Shakespeare in St Leonardgate. It was between bits of the university and was a rather run-down place when Lancaster opened (now it’s a B&B?). By the time I left the landlord had sent his children to public school and sort of retired. George the landlord was very helpful – letting me help myself if he was busy, lending me money for a bus fare and getting his wife to make me a sandwich when I was short of cash. I seem to remember the French department once holding a tutorial in there (though I’m sure David Steel will deny it, if he is still around). Having lectures in the Grand Theatre (Dukes?) was rather wacky.
Other memories for me concern the first Rag, where I was responsible for the procession: it went OK, but I had not thought ahead to what was to be done with the floats when it was all over – my first lesson in crisis management. We also had a student who managed to walk on to a live BBC TV show (though I can’t remember which – a Parkinson equivalent?). There were also a few – for me – notable individuals, but reminiscing about them will lead me into boring territory for you. You can possibly find a picture of one – Paul Bucci, first Bowland JCR President – on the web site following a state visit we made last summer. I suppose the only name that might mean something is Matthew Fort, current food editor of the Guardian. He always seemed rather exotic – a Brazilian girl friend who smoked a pipe, a new car, invites to breakfast eaten off large Italian crockery, and the only person in history to have been to both Eton and Rodean (his mother was headmistress there and he worked doing odd jobs and studying in his spare time after he flunked his A-levels at Eton I think).