Sunday 30th November 2025
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Inside the little-known world of Oxford’s real tennis club

Natalie Tan
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Inside the little-known world of Oxford’s real tennis club

Real tennis? What, as opposed to fake tennis? No, real as in Real Madrid, as in royal. That’s perhaps not the best way to describe it, but it’s somewhere to begin explaining what Oxford’s real tennis club – or rather, tennis club – is all about. On a Thursday afternoon, professionals Craig Greenhalgh and Nick Jamieson are restitching a batch of real tennis balls by hand when I visit: unlike the fuzzy lawn tennis balls you’re probably more used to, real tennis balls are heavier, entirely handmade, and their skins have to be replaced every two to three weeks. I’m supposed to watch their practice session, but I’m early and the group before are still going at it. “There’s a couple of 90 year olds on there right now”, Greenhalgh says.

This sounds quite frankly implausible to me: I don’t think I’ve ever seen a 90-year-old do a sport that isn’t tai chi. Jamieson pauses his work to take me through the clubhouse into the court itself so I can witness it with my own two eyes, but what we enter isn’t anything at all like what I expect. Imagine, if you will, a much smaller and completely enclosed indoor tennis court done up in the new colours of Balliol bar. Imagine that at one end of the court, at Player A’s back, there’s netting instead of a wall, behind which there’s a little seating gallery for spectators. Now imagine that, on that court, there are four men with completely white hair having a genuine go at this game. “Nasty serve, Nigel”, Jamieson calls, and one of them chuckles in acknowledgement. 

Veiled by netting – which I learn is called the dedans – I still flinch when a ball comes arcing toward us; unbothered, Jamieson gets up to prepare for his session. “Tea?” he offers. 

Plenty of sports today – tennis (real or otherwise), fives, handball, squash – owe their origins to jeu de paume. Literally translating to “palm game”, it was a game played in France in monastery cloisters around the twelfth century that involved hitting the ball with –  you guessed it – your palm. Made popular in England by its monarchs, by the 1500s real tennis had evolved into its modern form: rackets, convoluted rulesets, and all. 

Built in 1798, the court in Oxford is the second oldest in the country, behind only the one in Hampton Court Palace, where Henry VIII played. To my surprise, it’s also one of the busiest in the world: “We’re booked out 7.30am to 10.30pm, every day of every week,” Greenhalgh says. 

Historically both elusive and exclusive, real tennis precedes what we think of as tennis by about three hundred years. Mostly the domain of nobility, it started falling out of favour compared to lawn tennis in the 1800s because of its difficulty and inaccessibility: there are now only 45 real tennis courts in the world, as compared to 3,000 lawn tennis courts in London alone. Oxford itself used to be a veritable hub of real tennis: “In the 1450s, colleges used their real tennis courts as a way of attracting people to apply,” Sir Neil Mortensen, fellow of Green Templeton and President of the Club, tells me. According to Greenhalgh and Jamieson, one of Oriel College’s buildings even used to be a real tennis court: “I’ve never been inside, but it’s the windows at the top that give it away.” They are, of course, correct. Oriel’s Harris Building, now used for accommodation, was once home to the Oriel Square tennis court where Charles I played. 

With most courts in the UK located near London, how players across the country get their start is a matter of pure chance. Greenhalgh fell into it 20-odd years ago in Manchester, after a friend of his father’s let him have a go; Jamieson found it after watching videos of the sport online. The club is unlike others at Oxford in that the majority of the members are non-students: 150 senior members, like the nonagenarians I saw, make up most of the club’s activity. One of them helpfully points out his own name –  “P. Hartmann” – under the 1966 runner-up column of the Grant Bates Trophy, a club-wide handicap competition. “I’ve been playing here since the 80s”, he tells me in a hoarse voice. 

For students, access to the sport is often gated by wealth. Rackets, an equally absurd game that precedes squash and fosters a skillset that translates well to real tennis, is ubiquitous at Eton, Harrow, and St Paul’s, among other offenders. “Last year, all of our first team were from the top public schools”, Leon Kashdan-Brown, a third year at Magdalen College and the men’s Blues captain, reflects wryly. “Three Etonians. Wasn’t any better with the second team – it was one person from Eton, and another from Winchester.” We collectively wince in sympathy. 

But the lingering miasma of elitism is slowly fading. The men’s team this year doesn’t have a single player from a public school; Kashdan-Brown himself is the first state-school men’s captain in recent memory. “All except one of my players have never touched real tennis before”, Hannah Wilson-Kemsley, a fourth-year at Exeter College and the women’s Blues captain, tells me. Those who come to the club with a background in different racket sports – most commonly lawn tennis or squash – tend to find making Blues an easier process, but the majority of student members just want to try something new and interesting. There is some truth to the stereotype of real tennis as the realm of posh old boys, Wilson-Kemsley admits, but in this day and age, the playing community is so small that any airs of snobbery have essentially evaporated. “It honestly feels like there’s a genuine desire to get more people involved. The club is happy to have anyone – anyone at all – playing the game.” 

And as for BUCS? “Well, only three unis have real tennis teams, so we don’t do that”, Kashdan-Brown says, laughing. (For those wondering: it’s Oxford, Cambridge, and Middlesex University, a public research university and former polytechnic.) Instead, there’s just Varsity, and the odd weekend trip to Abingdon or Reading for a friendly match, which makes for a much more relaxed and friendly atmosphere overall – or, for Wilson-Kemsley, in comparison to OULTC, which she also captains. The best thing about it, really, is that the professionals are always on hand at the club. 

“Now that I’m here, you’re being nice”, Jamieson says archly, appearing at the door to the viewing gallery. “It’s true”, Kashdan-Brown protests. “Other clubs aren’t going to have external professionals around all the time.” By virtue of the handicap system, there’s also a great deal more chances to play with people far more skilled and willing to dish out advice: when you book court time, you’re just as likely to play a fellow student as you are a senior member or a professor at the University. 

“Have you got those on hand for table tennis?” Jamieson asks. (Kashdan-Brown is also president of the university’s table tennis club, which puts my count of racket sports he’s playing at about four hundred.)

“You’re looking at one”, Kashdan-Brown says, dry.

The game itself is deeply complicated, mystifyingly opaque, and still, somehow, charming. Among the many archaic rules include one where if one of the players hits the ball directly into a certain gallery, they win the point straightaway – and it’s compulsory for every court to have a bell strung up in that winning gallery, so that the echo of your victory rings through the whole building. 

A sound like cracking stone interrupts the captains’ attempt to explain even more rules. Through the netting, Greenhalgh smashes the ball straight at the wall opposite; its fall is slowed by the sloping penthouse, and by the time it hits the floor it’s lost most of its momentum entirely. Jamieson steps light and fast across the court, digs it out of the corner with a clean, sharp flick – like scooping something out of the air, almost – and sends it back in a high arc, as if no force’s been put on it at all. It’s quite obviously the father of squash and tennis, but really it reminds me more of badminton: the long-necked, slender racket, the speed at which the ball ricochets off the walls, the emphasis on footwork and technique. “I always say it’s like cricket, actually,” Greenhalgh tells me between sets. 

The combination of rules and the small size of the court allow for points to be won in a manner that isn’t determined by athleticism alone, and by extension for a player lifespan that’s unthinkable in most other sports. The average age of a professional real tennis player is 37; Robert Fahey, the ex-World Champion, had a stranglehold on the title for 20 years before he finally lost it at age 50. It’s these older players – often incredibly wealthy – that keep the club afloat: senior members pay £325 for annual membership, most of which goes towards offsetting the £25,000 it takes to subsidise equipment for students, who pay only £80 a year. 

Finances are further pressured by the costs of maintenance. The club’s building is property of Merton College, which demands that they repaint the facade every five years. “Last time, it set us back £20,000”, Mortensen says. It doesn’t help that they receive no funding from the university’s Sport Federation. “I suppose they see real tennis as a niche, non-generalisable thing and therefore not worthy of support.” 

And after? After Oxford, with its cocoon of septuagenarian support and resistance to change? Back home, the nearest court to Wilson-Kemsley is an hour away by car; for Kashdan-Brown, in London, it’s Middlesex or nothing: “I don’t think I’m going to be in a position to play at Hampton Court, Queen’s, or Lord’s.” There’s a gulf of middle-aged players – “I don’t think I’ve ever played a senior member under the age of 40”, Wilson-Kemsley says – and for good reason: once you age out of full-time education, it’s nowhere near as accessible to keep playing real tennis. (At Hampton Court, annual membership for 25-29 year olds costs £352.) 

“There was a bit of an existential moment after COVID, about whether or not real tennis was still something people wanted to play”, Mortensen reflects. “But it’s coming back now, really.” When I ask Kashdan-Brown whether he agrees with that assessment, he tempers his own optimism: “What I’m seeing, on my end, is this flow of students coming in and out.” From the outside, things look grimmer: the court in Middlesex faced closure in 2022, citing “limited impact on students”. 

“It’s not like padel.” On this, at least, Mortensen and Kashdan-Brown agree. Real tennis is never going to be a growing sport; it’s an ancient one kept alive by the efforts of a dedicated, unexpectedly lively community. So, in a Schrödinger-esque dilemma: taking off or dying out? As long as you keep walking down Merton Street—who can say, really?

Local group pushes to preserve historic Corpus Christi barge

Anna Waldram and Aria Tahilramani
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Local group pushes to preserve historic Corpus Christi barge

The Oxford College Barges Preservation Trust are fighting to save the Corpus Christi barge, one of Oxford University’s last remaining barges, from falling into disrepair. 

The preservation trust have launched a fundraising campaign to restore the barge. They spoke of the importance the boat has locally, saying it has “found a place in the hearts of the local community”. 

The Trust is looking to raise £100,000 so that the barge can be restored to its former glory in time for its 100th birthday in 2030. David Thomas of the Trust, a committee chair, trustee, former tenant, and alumnus of Corpus Christi, told the BBC that without sufficient funding, “the condition of the boat will go so far that we won’t be able to save it”. 

Thomas has championed a crowdfunding campaign that has now raised more than £11,000, and this year the barge opened for two days in September and received 483 visitors.

Corpus Christi College’s first barge was built in 1884. After it’s eventual degradation, the replacement and current barge was built by local Oxford business Salters’ Steamers in 1930, costing £3,000. It was in memoriam in honour of an alumnus of the College who died in the Battle of the Somme. Cherwell understands that the boat was the last of its kind to be built. 

The University’s barges used to be moored in Christ Church Meadow and were used as changing rooms and launching points for rowers. The Corpus Christi barge is now one of the last remaining one in operation. Most fell into disuse during the 1960s and 1970s as colleges stopped prioritising their upkeep and replaced them with new boat houses. 

In 1966, the Oxford College Barges Preservation Trust was founded by Sarah Hosking, a 25-year-old art teacher, alongside a group of students Their aim was to preserve the remaining barges. Robert Maccoun, a ship-building engineer, was also asked to be a consultant on the project and contributed to rescuing and maintaining the remaining barges. 

To ensure proper upkeep and avoid vandalism, the Corpus Christi barge is inhabited by members of the Trust’s committee. Currently, Zanna Hoskins, a committee member of the Preservation Trust, lives in the barge with her family, having previously lived there twice in the past. Occupation of the barge changes to a different member of the committee every three years. The Corpus Christi barge is believed to have inspired elements of J R R Tolkien’s The Hobbit. David Thomas said that Tolkien’s early sketches of the novel’s Bag End were “stunningly similar” to the barge, particularly noting its “gorgeous oval windows”.

International student levies won’t level up higher education

Zahara Agarwal
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International student levies won’t level up higher education

Venture capitalist Marc Andreessen once observed that “we are heading into a world where a flat screen TV that covers your entire wall costs $100, and a four year college degree costs $1 million, and nobody has anything even resembling a proposal on how to systemically fix this.” This stark contrast is increasingly relevant in the face of a proposed 6% government levy on international student tuition fees, which currently range from £37,380 to £62,820 annually, to supposedly increase funds for maintenance grants. We need to ask: is this the right mechanism for supporting domestic students? Or is it a more palatable xenophobia under the guise of helping home students? 

English higher‐education institutions currently receive over £10 billion a year in international-student fees income, meaning this levy could cost universities in the region of £620 million annually, with Oxford alone owing around £17 million each year. These not insubstantial numbers mean that the University must either choose to absorb the tax or pass it onto students, the latter being frequently criticised as an unsustainable solution. As someone already subject to the whims of international tuition prices, behind the rhetoric of helping home students lies a deeper issue – one that exposes the corruption baked into tuition-based university funding itself.

International students, who already pay triple what their domestic peers do, are being cast as convenient cash cows. The government claims the levy will strengthen the “skills system” and widen access. Yet, as the Higher Education Policy Institute (HEPI) notes, there’s no clear mechanism ensuring that the funds will ever return to universities or benefit students directly. It’s a familiar sleight of hand: siphon from higher education, promise reform, deliver austerity.

The UK is, in effect, inching toward the American model, one that I sought to escape because of how it commodifies learning and rewards compliance over inquiry. Even as an American in Oxford, my tuition costs significantly less than it would have had I attended a comparable private university in the US. There, decades of tuition inflation have created an education market where universities increasingly serve donors and political interests rather than students. When American campuses faced pressure over the Gaza conflict, several capitulated to congressional threats, disciplining students and staff for pro-Palestinian speech to preserve federal funding. The corrosion is moral as well as financial. Once education depends on market logic, intellectual freedom becomes a negotiable asset.

Oxford, for all its prestige, is not immune. The University’s cautious statements around Palestine have surely been at least partly influenced by financial pressures. If this levy passes, it will not be the well-heeled international truly paying the price, however, but those who seek refuge through education and are now being priced out. Not only may the University feel compelled to admit more international students to cope with the levy, but they will be needing to admit a certain kind of international student – one who can comfortably pay their way through these new fees.

There is an even more uncomfortable part of this to grapple with, namely that many of these students hailing from less prosperous countries for the famed Oxford education are doing so because their own universities were stripped of prestige and money as a result of centuries of colonial enterprise. To then continue to profit from their past exploitation in the form of skyrocketing tuition is doubly ironic. 

Not only does the levy assume that international students come from a homogeneously privileged background, it is also not exactly forthcoming about the actual steps being taken to benefit UK students. The White Paper only states that the money from the levy will be “reinvested into the higher education and skills system”, but does not offer specifics as to how or when this will take place.

Across the UK, 19% of university students are international and at Oxford, that figure jumps to around 43%. Instead of siphoning for the very students keeping universities afloat, the government should establish a contribution system where domestic and international graduates alike pay back through earning rather than upfront fees. This approach would protect the international character that defines universities like Oxford.

Instead, the government’s proposed levy sends the opposite message: that global students are little more than cash cows, to be taxed when convenient and thanked when silent. It’s a move that imperils not only financial stability but also moral credibility.

Oxfordshire museum acquires Iron Age hoard after successful fundraiser

Matt Donnelly
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Oxfordshire museum acquires Iron Age hoard after successful fundraiser

Friends of the Oxfordshire Museum have successfully acquired an Iron Age hoard after a crowdfunding campaign which raised £11,725.

The hoard includes an enamelled horse brooch, the handle of a patera (a shallow dish used for drinking), a silver Roman coin, and a lead weight, all of which are believed to be over 2,000 years old. The items were discovered in August 2020 by a metal detectorist in Rotherfield Peppard, near Henley-on-Thames. Found inside a sealed pottery urn, the artefacts were declared as treasure under the Treasure Act for England and Wales.

244 donors contributed to the crowdfunding campaign, which attracted the support of numerous academics, including Dr Rena McGuire, Dr Sophia Adams, Professor Gary Locke, and Dr Wendy Morrison. The expertise of these academics helped explain the significance of the collection of artefacts.

Deputy Leader of Oxfordshire County Council Neil Fawcett said: “This hoard, buried nearly 2,000 years ago, really belongs to the people of Oxfordshire, so it’s fantastic to see the public rally around this campaign. Their support shows how important Oxfordshire’s heritage is to our residents and beyond the county.

“We look forward to seeing this very special hoard on display at the museum once it has been conserved. By acquiring the collection, it is safeguarded for the public forever.”

The council’s museum service is Oxfordshire’s repository for archaeological finds and was given the first opportunity to acquire the collection. A late surge in donations helped exceed the fundraising target.

Edward Dowler, Chairman of Friends of the Oxfordshire Museum, said: “The Friends of the Oxfordshire Museum are pleased to have hosted the museum’s first crowdfunder campaign. We are very grateful to the 244 people who donated. In exceeding the fundraising target, the museum team will be able to deliver enhanced conservation and create an engaging display. We are all looking forward to seeing the end result.”

The collection will eventually be displayed at the council-run Oxfordshire Museum in Woodstock. While the artefacts undergo conservation, visitors of the museum will be able to hold 3D-printed replicas.

Oxfordshire County Council are offering a special private viewing to those who contributed £20 or more to the campaign, which will take place before the collection goes on public display. Those who donated more than £200 will be named as supporters in the council’s archive.

Little Kitchen’s Christ Church concert is exactly what you need this Oxmas

Lilia Goldstein
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Little Kitchen’s Christ Church concert is exactly what you need this Oxmas

It’s getting to that point of term: the sun is setting by 4pm, your work is piling up, and you’re shivering your way through early morning lectures. If you’re feeling in need of some cheering up, then I might have the perfect musical offering for you. 

Little Kitchen, an Oxford-based music collective consisting of vocalists, a jazz trio, and a string octet, will be performing in Christ Church Cathedral on the 20th of November. Last week, I sat in on one of their rehearsals and spoke to some members of the group. As is often the case when trying to arrange rehearsals with a large ensemble, they were quite thin on the ground. But even without drums, bass, or cellos, I was immediately able to get a good idea of their sound: lush string arrangements, jazzy reharmonisations, resonant vocals. While this particular formulation of musicians is unique in Oxford, their sound is undeniably classic. 

The programme has a mix of artists: Bobby McFerrin, Phoebe Bridgers, João Gilberto, Joni Mitchell. I heard their arrangements of Japanese Breakfast’s ‘Here is Someone’, Etta James’ classic ‘At Last’, and Radiohead’s ‘Paranoid Android’. Maybe I’m biased – these are all songs that feature on Spotify playlists of mine – but I thought the selections were timeless and often heartwarming.

Since their launch this time last year, Little Kitchen have typically put on one concert per term (apart from last Trinity, when they were busy recording a project which they’re in the process of finalising). The setlists don’t have ‘themes’ as such: they prefer a more general semantic field to tie the programmes together. This term, they’re performing as part of Christ Church’s Five Centuries of Music festival, so the semantic field is, loosely, “celebratory”. I’m not sure if all of us associate Radiohead and Phoebe Bridgers with celebration, but there was a sense of festivity in the air: the group is nearing the anniversary of their launch, and, after all, Oxmas is coming up. 

Musical directors (MDs) Daniel Munks and Luke Sitaraman lived together in their third year at Oxford, in accommodation with a very small kitchen, hence the name. During this time, they’d constantly share music they loved with each other (alongside furiously revising), and Little Kitchen was sparked by the desire to reproduce their musical chemistry on an ensemble scale. The two MDs write the arrangements and pick much of the music, although this term there are some solo numbers that the respective soloists have chosen. 

Members of the group come from a variety of musical backgrounds – choral and pop singers, classical string players, jazz players. The quality of musicianship here is some of the best that Oxford has to offer, and many of them are planning to pursue music professionally. Sitaraman is a freelance musician full-time; Ben Gilchrist (vocals) is planning to be a classical singer; Josh Albuquerque (viola) is currently studying at conservatoire in Scotland. Munks isn’t currently doing music professionally, but is likely to come back to it in the future, and Little Kitchen is a way to keep that up. The group isn’t strictly tied to Oxford, and is open to the possibility of playing at events or concerts in London, among other places. 

The exact future of Little Kitchen remains to be seen, but they seem to have good foundations, with exceptionally strong levels of musicianship, and a cosy, familial feel between them, despite the ensemble having only been around for a year. At risk of sounding about 50 years old, it seems like the concert is going to be a real treat. 

Tickets are available here.

An offer is only half the story: The challenges facing college outreach

Leo Jones and Fin Dinnen
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An offer is only half the story: The challenges facing college outreach

Microsoft Forms and student satisfaction polls mark our email inboxes each year as the University-wide drive for tour guides, alumni testimonials, and the best college-branded pens and tote bags begins. From TikTok trends to residential programmes, all these bureaucratic efforts play a part in the race to lure in the best selection of prospective students. But state-school intake continues to fall. Can we be sure that Oxford’s colleges’ efforts to achieve diversity and variation in their student body are working? On top of the responsibility of maintaining regional affiliations, in the dynamic, modern Oxford of 2025 which should be prioritised: the historic or the holistic?

Annually receiving over 23,000 applications for the past five years for around 3,500 places, the concept of outreach at a university like Oxford is not about getting more people to apply, but ensuring that those people are a broad cross section of prospective undergraduates. Concentration of applicants and offer-holders, in one school, one region, or one socioeconomic class, risks losing equally capable applicants from other backgrounds. This balance is easier said than done. 

The role of colleges 

One reason for this is the various college cultures. Some of the older colleges have maintained connections with certain private schools, usually through alumni grants. It was reported in 2018 that Wadham College had a specific scholarship for alumni of Manchester Grammar School, an independent private boys’ school, though this has since been discontinued, and Brasenose College maintains a graduate award for alumni of Haberdashers’ Monmouth Schools, although there are additional eligibility criteria, such as teaching at a state school. 

On the other hand, colleges like Mansfield College have made a different kind of outreach their brand. The College takes on double the students from areas of low progression to higher education and double the students on Free School Meals. 

This contributes to the wide differences between college cultures, which may attract more applicants from one socioeconomic background versus another, as such stark social differences ultimately lead people to approach colleges and their members with certain preconceptions. 

Regional outreach

Albeit significant, socioeconomic background is only one category that defines the concept of outreach. Regionally, the Oxford circle is small – the South East and London make up 46% of domestic students, despite holding only 37% of the country AAA+ students. This is where, for outreach, engagement means not only convincing the prospective student that a college is a place they want to be, but also somewhere they can access. 

Scotland and Northern Ireland both are significantly underrepresented. Despite making up a combined 9.1% of the UK’s students scoring AAA+, they together represent just 2.7% of applications and 2.3% of admitted students. Of course, students may prefer not to make the long trip to Oxford and attend other excellent universities closer to home. But contrast this with Wales, which has 3.4% of Oxford-admitted students between 2022-2024, and 4.4% of the UK’s AAA+ students. So, what is being done differently? 

Firstly, historical connections to the region seem to have retained their strength much more effectively, with Jesus College standing head and shoulders above the rest. Lovingly referred to as ‘Coleg Iesu’, almost 1 in 5 of its applications came from Wales, and in the 2022-2024 period it welcomed 41 of the University’s 259 Welsh undergraduate students. The college has strong connections with the Seren scheme run by the Welsh government, running annual summer schools and publishing a Welsh-language version of their prospectus on their website, which is visited almost as frequently as its English counterpart. 

Jesus College also boasts an unusually strong social media presence, reporting 10 million views across social media platforms in the last 12 months. Dr Matt Williams, Access Fellow at the college, is the face of the campaign – making him somewhat of a celebrity. Jesus College’s content goes further than the usual ‘Day in My Life as an Oxford Student’, or moody edits of college buildings set to a trending audio. Williams instead challenges prospective applicants to think critically in preparation for an Oxford interview, with the hope of “nurturing curiosity” and “helping you make informed decisions about your future”.

As for the lack of a set standard for college outreach, “for the most part the collegiate system offers the sort of fizzing laboratory of policy ideas you see in different American states”, Williams told Cherwell. “The obvious downside is to scalability and coherence. But we are able and willing to work across colleges and with UAO [Undergraduate Admissions and Outreach] on bigger projects. Oxford has an unusually ambitious outreach agenda when compared to most UK unis. We are expected to focus on pretty much the entirety of the UK, where many unis have a more local focus. As such, splitting up the UK amongst the colleges does, for the most part, work.” 

Jesus College’s efforts clearly work. Nearly double the proportion of UK applicants to Oxford hailed from Wales in comparison to Scotland from 2022-24, who have no regional college counterpart. In terms of turning outreach into applications, the visibility provided by specialised online resources is paramount. “Social media puts us where young people around the country are”, says Williams.

Central programmes 

In 2019, the University launched its Oxford for UK programme, which aimed to ensure that potential students from all corners would be encouraged to apply and be supported in the process. It marked a reorganisation of college outreach that both leaned on old ties and looked to forge new ones. Outreach in different regions was dedicated to specific colleges in order to extend reach and bolster regional diversity not just at Oxford, but university in general. 

Visit The Queen’s College over the Easter vacation for example, and you would find the North West Science Residential, where year 12 students from Cumbria, Lancashire, Blackburn, and Blackpool have the unique opportunity to taste what a science-related degree at Oxford might be like. Or see St John’s College’s Inspire Programme, which, in addition to partnership with Sussex, Southampton, Ealing, and Harrow, acknowledges the importance of encouraging “all pupils with exceptional promise to aim high, to stretch themselves academically and to be confident in making well-founded applications to a top university like Oxford”.

The role of college outreach is also crucial in bridging what for many looms as the daunting gap between clicking “submit” on UCAS, and the possibility of an offer. Particularly in areas in which higher education is neither common nor considered accessible to most, schemes, such the Catalyst programme run by St Catherine’s College, play a big role in supporting applicants throughout the process. It operates as a sustained contact programme, providing additional friendly communication to students from disadvantaged backgrounds and reaching 1200 school pupils per year on average. This can be measured by POLAR, which classifies areas based on the proportion of young people participating in higher education, with quantiles 1-5 representing lowest-highest rates. As a result of Catalyst, whilst Catz has only slightly above the average proportion of applicants from POLAR quintile 1 areas, it delivers the second-highest number of accepted offers for these students – behind only Worcester College. 

Nor does the importance of such communication diminish even after offers are sent out, as the most recent admissions report reflects. Despite issuing just 15 fewer offers to ACORN 4 and 5 (postcodes with the most socioeconomic disadvantage) students in 2024 than 2021, 85 fewer students were admitted last year, and 95 fewer the year before: a worrying trend potentially reflecting the feeling amongst disadvantaged applicants that Oxford is not somewhere they want to be.

A worrying trend 

The intake from both of the lowest two ACORN and POLAR categories has fallen since 2020. Regional data shows the link between this and the most underrepresented areas at Oxford; those with the lowest rates of acceptance relative to offers extended include Scotland, Northern Ireland, and the North West.

The consistent fall in applications from disadvantaged backgrounds has led to more University-wide efforts. In 2010, the UNIQ programme was born. A free summer access residential for state-school students, UNIQ gives prospective applicants a taste of Oxford life, with academic and application skills sessions providing invaluable support that is otherwise inaccessible for those from areas of lower progression to Oxbridge. 

But was this enough? 2019 saw the announcement of Opportunity Oxford, with the initial aim of “increasing significantly the number of most promising students from groups who are currently under-represented in Oxford”. The fortnight-long, mandatory residential gives underrepresented students the chance to familiarise themselves with Oxford’s libraries, cafes, and pubs before the arrival of the rest of the University, even fitting in time for practice formals at various colleges. 

While some extra weeks to get your head around the concept of Park End may sound appealing, it remains unclear whether this separation of students based on income/background does more harm than good. The programme has been praised by Class Act President, Chloe Pomfret, who told Cherwell it gave her “a sense of belonging, a chance to settle into Oxford, to see that I did deserve my offer” and that it is “one of the best things the university has done to support students from underrepresented backgrounds”. 

However, the mandatory nature of the programme has also been described by  second-year participating students from 2024’s cohort as “patronising”, with two extra, compulsory weeks of an intense Oxford workload feeling like “a punishment” despite “us being assured by programme staff that we were just as if not even more capable than the rest of our year group”. With 2024 also seeing the lowest intake of state-school students since pre-2019, the current efforts of the University are undoubtedly positive, but recent discontent reaffirms the importance of consistent student input to outreach efforts. 

Student-led efforts 

Campaigns like Class Act seek to level the playing field, in the meantime. Without the ulterior affiliation of an individual college, it focuses on integration during as well as before study. Pomfret described the campaign to Cherwell as an attempt “to bring people together so they don’t feel alone, providing a safe space to ask questions and share their experiences with other students from similar backgrounds”. Pomfret emphasises not only the importance of the likes of Opportunity Oxford, but consistent support as you begin your degree. “You don’t know where to buy sub fusc, or you’re struggling with the class divide, or you don’t know how to apply for bursaries when you can’t afford your rent, it feels scary and isolating. Having somewhere you can ask these questions makes a world of difference”. 

Now considered a society, alongside Oxford’s 93% Club, the passionate outreach action of current students during the already chaotic Oxford term suggests it is a hot-button topic. Encompassing three tiers: the University, the colleges, and the students, it clearly takes a village to accurately portray the many faces of such a large-scale, hyper-represented institution. Each branch differs socially, culturally, and financially – as Pomfret adds, “when a prospective applicant asks me for college recommendations, I ask what matters to them. For example, if they’re estranged or care experienced, I recommend colleges I’ve worked with and seen consistently focus on supporting students from this background.” Given this complexity, it would be wrong to suggest outreach should take just one avenue of holistic or historical: a constantly developing relationship, as the city’s blend of old and new, tradition and modernity is ultimately what sets Oxford apart. 

However, data-backed, regional inconsistencies show us that there is certainly more to be done to level the playing field amongst UK admitted students, especially those from Scotland and Northern Ireland. Yes, the individuality of college outreach allows for close, applied work. However, the system relies on all colleges pulling their respective weight at all times and in all departments: unfortunately, a hopeful ideal, as continuous data disparities suggest. Sometimes a tote bag and biro are just not going to cut it…

Community recording studio opens new youth centre in Oxford

Joshua McGillivray
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Community recording studio opens new youth centre in Oxford

In-spire Sounds, a local recording studio and community group, has opened a new purpose-built youth centre in Oxford.

The creative base, located at 9 Park End Street, is around 15 times larger than In-spire’s other studio on Aristotle Lane in Jericho. It includes classrooms, recording and rehearsal studios, and mentoring spaces, designed to accommodate aspiring young musicians.

In-spire Sounds was established in 2018 by Kingsley Pratt-Boyden, a musician, producer, and

youth project director. The organisation provides facilities for professional recording and mixing, and promotes music group sessions and workshops for young people.

The studio is largely funded by the Youth Music (a delegated distributor of National Lottery funds) and Arts Council England,the national agency for developing culture, as well as local grants. It particularly aims to support young people from marginalised communities and those “facing a range of adversities from mental ill-health, isolation and anxiety, to risk of criminal, drug and sexual exploitation”.

Samuel Mansell, who works for In-Spire, said: “My brother struggled with school,

criminality, and substance abuse – if he’d had an earlier intervention, things could have been

very different.

“We met one young person who couldn’t speak because of trauma, now they’re one of the

most fluent performers I’ve ever seen”.

The new centre was partly built by members of In-spire, as well as by volunteers and friends of the organisation. Pratt-Boyden said: “We didn’t have a lot of money, but if you can build success out of adversity, you build something with strong foundations”.

Pratt-Boyden also outlined his goals for the centre: “We wanted to make it feel like a

home, not a classroom.” He said that promoting “preventative creative projects keeps people

off the street and out of crisis. We should be investing in our future, and our future is young people. What we do here is show young people that they just need a different kind of support.”

Tim Parkhouse, a youth worker who has also worked with In-spire, said: “In-spire offers a unique package for young people who have an interest in music at any level, whether technical or artistic.”

He also called In-spire an “invaluable resource for which there never seems to be a shortage

of demand amongst young people at risk of social exclusion”.

‘Controversial but compelling’: ‘Women Beware Women’ reviewed

Abigail Lakeland
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‘Controversial but compelling’: ‘Women Beware Women’ reviewed

CW: Sexual assault

The Michael Pilch Studio might just have been the perfect venue for Women Beware Women. Intimate and beguiling, the audience were made to feel almost as naked as many characters onstage wanted to be.

I attended the final Friday-night performance of the three-night run. Inside the black-box, pillars were wrapped in ribbon. The stage was styled like a chess board, with red and yellow tiles. Remix Artist Ice Dob’s dubstep intensified an already claustrophobic and charged atmosphere. The space channeled Alice’s Wonderland, inspired by what director Jem Hunter calls the “psychological alterations brought about by opiates”. 

The plot of Middleton’s Women Beware Women (1657) is just as trippy. We meet the beautiful Bianca (Fiona Bestrova) right after she’s eloped with Leantio (Hugh Linklater). When Leantio’s mother (Kate Burke) visits the scheming Livia (Caeli Colgan), Livia forces the mother to bring Bianca over for dinner. Bianca, excited to be free from the house arrest her possessive husband has imposed on her, goes for what she thinks is a tour of the house. Bestrova endearingly conveys Bianca’s childish glee at this prospect. However, while on this tour, Bianca is accosted by the Duke (Sonny Fox). When his attempts to seduce Bianca fail, she is taken by force. 

In Middleton’s text, Bianca’s rape occurs offstage. In Hunter’s production, the assault occurred onstage, thinly concealed by strobe lights and an awkward choice of choir music. I was seated in a position of relative safety: I could only see the actors from a distance, and had no view of their faces. Unlucky audience members had to grapple with far closer proximity to the actors. “I think at that point, I just had to close my eyes”, says an audience member who found themselves with a close-up view of Bianca’s face during the scene.

Immediately following this scene came the welcome refuge of the intermission. When the second half commenced, there were many empty seats. I spoke to various audience members who cited the graphic depiction of sexual violence and the absence of a content warning as contributing to their decision to leave the performance. Whilst there was a content warning for “sexual assault and coercion” in the play’s description on TicketSource, this was absolutely insufficient communication. It would have taken less than thirty seconds to reiterate a content warning at the start of the play, or to make a sign for the door. In fact, there was already a warning sign on the theatre door for strobe lights, which could easily have accommodated a content warning.

The play did showcase some excellent performances. Bestrova beautifully conveyed Bianca’s shift from enamoured ingénue to social-climbing cynic. Linklater embodied Leantio’s controlling nature, delivering dialogue compellingly. Colgan, donning Livia’s widow’s attire, had an almost intoxicating command of the stage. It’s no easy feat to convey the emotional complexity of a villain, especially a villain as nefarious as Livia. Colgan, however, accomplished this magnificently without even breaking a sweat.

Interwoven with the story of Bianca and Leantio is the story of Isabella (Céline Denis). Isabella is unhappily engaged to the Ward (Juliet Taub). In Middleton’s text, the Ward is a foolish, intolerable heir. Hunter, in a genius twist, envisions the Ward instead as a literal fool. Taub dons clown makeup, a crocheted jester’s hat, and jingles a mini-me teddy bear in the faces of audience members. She infused the play with charisma and energy.

Whilst Isabella wrestles with her unhappy engagement to a fool, she simultaneously has an affair with her uncle, Hippolito (Kit Parsons). Not to worry: Livia says that they’re not actually related. Alas, would you believe it, Livia –ever untrustworthy –was lying. Hunter told Cherwell that he wanted the theatre “to feel like a boudoir, and the audience the participants of something very debauched”. Hippolito’s grotesque monologue, in which he confesses his desire for his niece, certainly achieved this. Parsons’ delivery was appropriately conflicted and tormented. Rather than portraying Hippolito as a cut-and-dry pervert, he was conveyed as a lonely and tormented individual.

In an experimental twist on Middleton’s masque, strobe lighting spotlighted raving characters dotted around the chessboard stage. As each doomed character met their end, a red light flared, the same red light that had flared throughout the play whenever lust was consummated with a kiss. Hunter calls lighting designer Michelle Ng “a true professional” and “a visionary”, citing Ng’s work on Yasmin Nachif’s ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore (2024). The circularity of Ng’s visual storytelling was pleasing and cohesive.

Controversial but compelling, Women Beware Women showcased some incredible talent. When asked why he chose to stage Middleton’s play, Hunter says that “on some level, strangely, the characters inspire me? The line between taboo desire and queer desire has always felt thin to me.” Right or wrong, it was undoubtedly a performance to remember.

Dominic Sandbrook: “I want to understand the past through the past’s own eyes”

Sophie Price
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Dominic Sandbrook: “I want to understand the past through the past’s own eyes”

Few historians can claim household-name status. Fewer still can boast of podcast audiences rivalling chart-topping musicians. However, typing “The rest is…” into Spotify now summons a miniature empire of spin-offs, politics, money, and film, all descendants of the original The Rest Is History, which Dominic Sandbrook co-presents with Tom Holland. 

However, before diving into the podcast itself, we began with the question at the heart of the show’s success: what does it mean, in the twenty-first century, to study history?

“I’m of a generation,” he says, “where most people did humanities subjects at A Level and then went on to do humanities degrees. They were the high-status subjects, highly prestigious and very desirable. I think part of that was because, in the pre-internet world, university was your gateway to these things.”

He remembers his undergraduate years at Balliol vividly: “If you were interested in English or history, by going to university to do it, especially at a university like Oxford, you would feel that the sort of great doors were opening, and you were being ushered into this exciting new world where you could read up on things that interested you. It would be hard to access that world if you weren’t at university.”

Now, he admits, those gates have widened. “I think one of the things that’s happened now that contributes to the decline of humanities subjects is that people question, rightly or wrongly, whether they need to go to university if they’re still interested in those things. You can listen to podcasts, you can watch YouTube videos, you can do all these things without necessarily having to commit yourself to formal study.” Despite dismay at the decline of humanities study in recent decades, Sandbrook has identified a way to turn this cultural shift into an opportunity. He admits, “The weird thing is, in some ways, that’s probably good for me, because it means people can listen to our podcast.” 

The numbers tell the story of a public that can fall in love with learning, as The Rest Is History now yields over 11 million monthly downloads since its launch in 2020. Yet Sandbrooke is cautious not to oversell what the medium can do. “I’m not so vain as to think it’s equivalent to studying it properly,” he continues. “I just think in a world that’s very digital and much more visual than it used to be, the old humanities subjects are struggling for airtime.” Still, he sees the enthusiasm from younger listeners as proof that curiosity about the past is far from fading. “I hope,” Sandbrook says, “that we’ve restored some of that appeal. We were astonished by how many of our listeners are under 35, teens, twenties, and early thirties. It’s heartening, because it shows there’s still a massive appetite for history, and that people are invested in the study of the past, of what it means to be human.”

Part of that connection comes from the comedic narrative style of the show, which Sandbrook describes using the same plain enthusiasm that has made the podcast so accessible for regular listeners. “We tell history as a story, as a narrative. We’re always thinking, how do we bring people in? Our producers are great at saying, ‘Think about the ordinary listener who’s listening for the first time.’” 

“We actually think it’s fun,” he insists. “I’m not always convinced that every academic specialist thinks of it that way. They sometimes think of it as worthy, which we tend not to do.”

Putting the humour into history is something Sandbrook shares with his younger audience as well in his bestselling Adventures in Time. “Children,” he says, “have an inexhaustible appetite for good stories.” His recent titles transform great historical moments, from Alfred and the Vikings to Dunkirk, into vivid, fast-paced adventures. When I ask how writing for young readers compares to his adult audience, Sandbrook stands up for his child readers and refuses the assumption that writing for children means diluting the material. “You don’t have to dumb it down, necessarily, but basically, treating the stories of history as being good as the greatest stories of literature or pop culture. So I thought, why not write a history book for children? There’s a straight narrative.”

He recalls a striking comment from an editor: “I’ve edited many books in the Second World War, but I’ve never, ever seen one before where I knew that the reader wouldn’t know who’s going to win.” Sandbrook explains how the joy of writing for children is refreshingly pure, from seeing children’s historically themed Halloween costumes on social media to the passion for historical books at World Book Day. “Writing for children is much more satisfying because an adult generally writes to you when they spot a mistake or they want to take issue with something, whereas the child will write to you and just tell you which bit they loved.”

While the show thrives on entertainment and humour, underneath the wit lies a principled commitment to the past as it was lived, not as modern readers might want it to be. “For me, history always comes first, and I don’t believe in using history. I mean, there are two ways that people use history when they write, I think: either as a window looking out at something else, or as a mirror, to look back at yourself and your own society, and using it as a mirror has always struck me as a very boring thing to do.”

He elaborates carefully, conscious of how charged this terrain can be in academia, “I don’t want to hear about a writer’s prejudices or the concerns of his own time, particularly. I know those are inescapable to some degree, but as much as possible, I want to understand the past through the past’s own eyes, and that’s definitely what I try to do.”

“If somebody said, ‘Oh, you’re a politically biased writer,’ I would be gutted, because I definitely don’t see myself that way.” For Sandbrook, history may be about the fun and the facts, but the pull of the story itself is what matters most, not the spectacles that the present day might try to slip onto it. 

One detail that frequently catches listeners off guard is the depth to which Sandbrook and Holland immerse themselves in the material, undertaking all their own research to craft narratives that unfold across multiple episodes. His weekly research routine, he jokes, would be familiar to any Oxford undergraduate, laughing about “fifty-two essay crises a year”, finding the podcast not so different to the research he did as a history student. “I loved doing my degree, I loved the fact that having written my essay, the tutor would say |next week we’re doing X, here’s the reading list, off you go.” And I genuinely like going to the library to get the books out, because I’d be like, ‘I can’t wait to find out about this. I’m looking forward to it.’”

“I’m telling the story in my way, and getting somebody else to do that for me would never work. The result is that I think the show feels fresher and more authentic because we’ve genuinely done our own reading.”

Curious about whether the podcast’s trademark camaraderie ever masks classic academic dispute, I ask about the trickiest kinds of historical mysteries: the ones that can only end with “we’ll never know.” He shakes his head. “Not so much the controversial ones where nobody knows what happened, but sometimes we definitely disagree about bad characters, because we generally try to follow the most recent scholarship on something, and we generally tend to agree.”

Narrative confidence, however, does not shield him from the unpredictability of the present. Of The Rest is History – Rest is politics 2024 US election crossover, where he alone guessed the outcome correctly, he remains matter-of-fact. “It was 50-50 in the polls. So it wasn’t exactly like it was going to take great insight to pull that one off. I think some of the people on that panel were thinking with their hearts rather than their heads. And I just thought, I didn’t want him to win, I was gutted that he won, but I didn’t think Kamala Harris would, you know, inspire as much enthusiasm as my fellow panellists did.”

Discussing recent events in politics can be a reminder of how challenging it is to write about the recent past. Sandbrook’s speciality as an academic historian lies in the late 20th century, with books such as Never Had It So Good on British history in the 1950s-1960s and more recently White Heat, which takes readers through the 1970s. As the decades inch closer to recent memory, he describes how “It’s much harder to stand back and be reflective about it. You don’t quite know how the story will play out in the end. You’re very invested in it, personally, in a sort of partisan way, often. I think it’s hard sometimes to see the wood for the trees. The closer you get to the periods where you were kind of politically mature, where you could vote, for example, it becomes very hard to divorce.” He reflects on this quietly for a moment before adding, “I don’t think historians can ever be objective, but I think any claim to neutrality would be… well, it becomes much harder.”

Before we part, Sandbrook returns to a note of reflection that takes us back to the beginning of our conversation about why we study the past. “It’s very easy in an academic context, especially at a very high-powered university like Oxford, for the study of one of the humanities to become a bit desiccated and to become very dry, and sort of the scholarliness of it to almost drive out enthusiasm. Remembering why you first fell in love with the subject, usually when you were a schoolchild, is really, really important. Keeping that sort of innocent enthusiasm for it.” For someone who has spent decades convincing the public that history is neither dry nor distant, it is a fitting final note. 

The rest, as they say, is history.

Oxford junior doctors take part in nationwide strike

Archie Johnston
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Oxford junior doctors take part in nationwide strike

Resident doctors working at Oxford University Hospitals (OUH), including the John Radcliffe Hospital, have joined the British Medical Association’s (BMA) national strike. The walk out concludes today, after lasting for five days.

The BMA, a professional organisation and trade union representing doctors, called for a strike ballot earlier this month over  concerns about pay and a lack of training posts. The organisation states that pay for first-year residents is down 20.9% since 2008, when inflation is taken into account. This is based upon calculations using the Retail Prices Index (RPI). According to emails obtained by Cherwell, the organisation is asking the government to increase pay for first-year doctors from £18.63 to £22.69 per hour. 

The government disputes that first-year resident doctors’ pay has fallen this much, arguing that resident doctors have received the largest pay rise of any public sector employee over the last three years. Unlike the BMA, the government uses an alternative measurement to calculate inflation, the Consumer Prices Index (CPI), which is used more widely than RPI and viewed as a more reliable measure. According to calculations using CPI, the government finds that doctors’ pay is fair. However, the Nuffield Trust think tank suggested that even when measured by CPI, resident doctor pay has fallen by 5% since 2008.

Apart from pay, the BMA also aims to draw attention to the lack of training posts available to new medical school graduates. They note that 20,000 doctors have been left without a training post this year. 

A fourth-year medical student at Oxford University told Cherwell that some specialty training posts have 50 applicants per place, making it difficult for doctors to enter the specialty they are interested in. They said that doctors are dissatisfied with studying for six years, only to be “badly paid for a job you don’t want to do”. They objected to the points-based system used for applications, which leads to medical students feeling pressure to try and get research published, or to find extracurricular opportunities while still in medical school.

Earlier this month, Wes Streeting, the Secretary of State for Health and Social Care, pledged to make 1,000 more spaces available for this academic year’s application window. He also stated that the Health Ministry would start paying mandatory examination and membership fees.

The BMA stated: “What has been offered so far still leaves thousands of resident doctors without a role this year, and the Government seems determined to cut pay even further next year.”

In a letter sent directly to resident doctors on 5th November, Streeting stated: “The enormous financial pressures facing the country mean I am not able to go further on pay.” He claimed that the government “wants to work constructively” with the BMA. 

However, speaking at the NHS Providers conference, an assembly of NHS managers, Streeting accused the BMA of “cartel-like behaviour” and repeated a claim he made in the letter that “there isn’t a more pro-doctor, pro-NHS health secretary or government waiting in the wings”. The BBC called it “arguably his strongest attack on the BMA to date”.

A resident doctor told Cherwell: “Left without a commitment to a multi year deal to achieve full pay restoration, with a return to real terms pay cut for 2026-27, and without a proper plan to ending the specialty jobs crisis, there has not been enough from Streeting or the government to convince me that our concerns are being adequately addressed and I am therefore on strike.”

The NHS estimates that the five-day strike will cost the taxpayer £240 million, as consultant doctors who cover strikes are paid higher rates. Felicity Taylor-Drewe, Chief Operating Officer at OUH, said: “As always, our top priority during this planned industrial action is ensuring patient safety while maintaining the highest standard of care. We are committed to keeping disruption to a minimum, and we have measures in place to ensure the safety and welfare of our patients and our staff.

“However, with industrial action reducing the number of resident doctors we have working in our hospitals, there will inevitably be a knock-on effect and patients may experience longer waiting times, particularly in our two Emergency Departments at the John Radcliffe and Horton General Hospitals.”

The Oxford Medical Students’ Society did not respond to a request for comment.

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