Saturday, April 26, 2025
Blog Page 951

Scotland: time for take two

Arun Dawson
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Scotland: time for take two

I recently learned something extraordinary: the life expectancy in Scotland is 756 days. At least that period spanned the “once-in-a-lifetime” independence referendum and Sturgeon’s announcement of draft legislation for another. I jest, of course. Although, we do seem trapped in a spiral of tedious perpetuity.

In true demagogue fashion, the self-proclaimed lodestar of the Scottish people has beguiled the masses. The Geiger counter of look-at-me delirium has gone zoink off the scale and downhearted Scots have lapped it up.

The whole premise of her argument is that Brexit is being foisted on the Scottish people, who in the majority voted to remain. But the question was clear: should the United Kingdom remain a member? The home nations’ verdict was irrelevant.

It is also undeniable that Scots knew an inout EU referendum was a possibility two years before the independence poll. Even as Holyrood passed the Scottish referendum legislation, support for Brexit was six points ahead.

Later, during the campaign, it was clarified that a sovereign Scotland would be jettisoned out the EU. However, if independence was rejected, Scotland’s single market access would be conditional on UK membership. It is spurious to now claim this was tantamount to an indefinite EU guarantee.

I believe the Scottish Government has a dual mandate: to remain within the UK and the EU. Seeing as it is impossible to reconcile both, which commitment is stronger? While 1.6 million supported EU membership, over 2 million were against independence.

Logic would have her commit to the latter, but you would be mistaken. Kiboshing any faith in Sturgeon’s fairness of judgement, she has declared her cabal of remoaning Holyrood mandarins will prepare the necessary legislation for a second referendum. After all, while 250,000 jobs in Scotland depend on EU membership, over a million depend on the UK. Revenues from North Sea Oil have collapsed by 97 per cent since 2009 and the Scottish fiscal deficit is now more than double the UK’s as a percentage of GDP.

A nation on the cusp of independence? Utter hogwash. In any case, the decision-making influence of Scotland in a post-Brexit EU would be zilch; utterly subservient to the Franco-German axis. What Sturgeon claims is in Scotland’s best interests is ostensibly the case.

Clearly, the view of Scottish voters must influence negotiations. A Denmark-style arrangement (unlikely as it may be), could necessitate a hard border and tariffs with the UK, the nation to which Scotland exports 64 per cent of its output.

Sturgeon knows only too well now is not the right time for round two. She is successfully agitating the Westminster nomenklatura whilst simultaneously appeasing her activists. She should instead devote her efforts to securing the UK’s best deal, and therefore Scotland’s, as although she may find the Tories uncomfortable, merely 37 per cent of Scots favour a second referendum. Besides which, a third of her own supporters voted for Brexit.

Complacency and the perception of self-interest is what crushed Labour in Scotland. She would be wise to tame her chutzpah and not make that same mistake. Nicola Sturgeon cannot risk calling a referendum and losing again.

May’s government: the first 100 days

Toby Williams
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May’s government: the first 100 days

Brexit Britain is coming—and Theresa May’s showboat will bring it. For her first hundred days, our second female Prime Minister has done nothing but show off. This wasn’t exactly expected from the woman who presented herself as the sensible, practical alternative to Andrea Leadsom and her vision of Britain as a Stepfordesque 1950’s idyll. Before her (un)planned rise, Theresa May was that nasty Home Secretary who kept banging on about immigrants. Now she’s joshing with Boris on stage at the Conservative Party conference as though she too were a ‘celebrity politician’—never mind the banter she’s been having with Jeremy at the dispatch box. She’s even got her own Thug Life parodies now. But why the show? Why has boring old Theresa suddenly become such an extravert?

It’s because she hasn’t actually done very much. The first hundred days of any premiership are vital and whilst it may all be smiles and jokes now, yet to come are the cold political realities that our new Prime Minister must confront. She is still in her honeymoon period, bathing in the glow of Corbyn’s ineptitude and the perception that she is the Conservative’s, and the nation’s, unity candidate. But she has won no general election. She has no manifesto to implement. Her entire basis for government appears to rest on the unspeakably grating tautology that ‘Brexit means Brexit’.

Yet, it’s not that she hasn’t been able to do anything. There simply hasn’t been anything to do. Normally, the first months of a new government are its most dynamic, pushing through its most ambitious legislation. After only a week in power New Labour had already given control of interest rates to the Bank of England, one of the cornerstones of that government’s legacy. Yet, apart from Heathrow—a decision which should really have been taken years ago —not one major policy has been agreed upon.

But what about grammar schools, I hear you cry! Whilst grammar schools are indeed a bold policy, they have only been hinted at, with no firm proposals in sight. And I don’t think there ever will be. This is one of the most important facets of our Prime Minister’s newfound showmanship. In creating a national debate of gargantuan proportions May has cleverly distracted the public and the media from the far more pressing and difficult task of Brexit. The Grammar School act of the show will end as suddenly as it started.

Maybe you think I’m being harsh on Theresa. After all these are exceptional circumstances. The PM is simply doing the best she can. And I agree, the circumstances have been exceptional and so too has the Prime Minister’s performance. At the same time as bragging about how quiet, humble and hardworking she is, Theresa May has spun better than Blair, manoeuvred better than Brown, and charmed more than Cameron. In this hyper-normalised, post-truth society, only a politician with such attributes is capable of being Prime Minister. Or at least a politician who can appear to possess them. To judge an administration merely by its policy success would be like choosing a car solely on how efficient its engine was. Important but at first of little concern. In her cabinet appointments, like any good salesman she garnished the car with exciting extras.

Causing controversy when there was no need, again to draw attention away from Brexit. By sharing the stage with Boris and his Band of Brexiteers she not only created another useful distraction but provided the ideal supporting act for The Theresa May Show. May can brag about giving the Brexit audience what it wants and reap the rewards from this group’s capacity to exhilarate some her less-enthusiastic supporters. All the while, this potentially difficult but gaff-prone bunch of MPs could commit an act of political suicide at any moment. By putting them in the cabinet the Prime Minister has given them all the rope they need to do just that.

This gives her the room to appeal to the centre, which she did with aplomb in her speech on the steps of Downing Street, transforming her public perception. Thanks largely to the significant shift in tone the speech represented. “The government I lead will be driven, not by the interest of the privileged few but by yours.” She continually showed off about how she understood the anxieties of normal people unlike other politicians. Yet these boasts, these changes in persona are all part the show. Like the best performers, Mrs. May’s true personality remains hidden from view. We knew what Brown, Blair and Cameron were like. But even after a hundred days under the media spotlight we still know remarkably little about Theresa May.

But sooner or later the tough decisions will have to be made. No amount of jokes, gusto and spin can cover up the difficulties that will follow. It’s true that a Prime Minister should not immediately be judged by what her government does. Yet in the annuls of history this is all anyone will care about. During her first hundred days Theresa May has given a strong performance, enabled by her supreme confidence.

But as with the car, you can only know what it’s really like under the glossy exterior after driving it for a few years. I think the same will be true of the thus far slick and capable Prime Minister. In years to come, we might reflect on May’s first 100 days as an insubstantial period: one barren of policy, and unfocused on the issues that matter.

Profile: Ann Widdecombe

John Maier
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Profile: Ann Widdecombe

I meet Ann Widdecombe in Pembroke College. She is addressing the Theology Society. Her manner is brisk and acerbic; she is, in every gesture and utterance, the Ann Widdecombe who occupies such a curious position in popular culture—precise, idiosyncratic and faintly comical.

The former shadow-home secretary enjoys a unconventional post-political career. She resigned her seat in 2010, “just at the point when I would have been going into the cabinet” she remarks. But then, “that’s political luck”. Since then she’s continued writing detective novels, and won a more unlikely fame on Strictly Come Dancing, followed by a run in pantomime. I ask whether watching Ed Balls’ weekly performances make her regret her brief flurry onto the dance floor. (In particular, I remember one episode involving the use of a hoist of sorts). “No!”, she retorts, “it makes me quite nostalgic for it actually. Obviously I set a trend… I was the first actual politician to do it. Everybody at the time was saying that I shouldn’t be doing it, that it was undignified… Nobody’s saying that about Ed Balls! Everybody now takes it for granted.”

There’s a barely suppressed pride in Widdecombe’s reminiscence, yet simultaneously a characteristic desire to distance herself from the frivolities of celebrity. “I didn’t have any makeover… I didn’t have fake tan, I refused hairpieces, I refused false eyelashes.” “You didn’t give any ground?” I ask – in my best sceptical voice. “Oh, I gave some ground”, Ann concedes, “but I limited the glitter” and preserved ‘the integrity of what I really thought was important.”

Despite Widdecombe’s coolness, one can’t help feel there’s something rather cruel and mocking about the attention focused on figures like John Sergeant, herself and now Ed Balls—something rather degrading, both actually and metaphorically, about the motions they go through. Even before Strictly, Widdecombe was a figure of some bizarre fascination—peculiar, because of her unflinching views, outlandish in her unchanging appearance and antediluvian manner of speech. I can’t help mentioning the Victoria Wood sketch featuring a huge ensemble serenading Wood in a bowl cut, impersonating Ann; Did she watch it? “Of course I did…It was lovely”, Widdecombe only regrets not attending the recording. A sense of humour must be essential, I put it to her, not just on Strictly but in public life. “I couldn’t have lived without it.” she agrees. “I couldn’t have sustained twenty-three years in politics without it… The House of Commons is a pretty tense place. You’re dealing with matters that are massively important.”

“It’s also a place with a lot of cross-party friendships”, she adds, “and there is a lot of humour – a lot of the sardonic, gallows-type humour, as things are really going wrong.”

I ask about the Commons, particularly some of the reactionary anti-abortion positions she advocated there. “I don’t call it reactionary” she retorts immediately. “Some progress is good, some progress is bad, and some things that are called progress aren’t progress at all. And to me slaughtering children in the womb, just because you can’t see them and they cannot protest did not seem to me to be any advance in the right direction.”

I turn to her previously-expressed support for the death penalty—again, Ann’s response is ready and practiced. “What I’ve always said is there is a moral case for having it. I’ve never talked about reinstating it for one very simple reason… it ain’t gonna happen.” Each time the question has faced the commons the numbers in favour of reinstatement decline, yet, reflects Ann, if the question went to the public “it might well” go the other way. But doesn’t she think there’s a possible theoretical tension between her positions on abortion and the death penalty, I push on, finally reaching the end of my point. “No I don’t”, Widdecombe retorts, unfazed, “But if you cut me off every time I start speaking you wont know what I think about anything.”

Put in my place, I move to what might be more uncontroversial ground. Is she pleased that there is a women at Number 10? “I don’t give two-pence whether the Prime Minister of the day is male or female”.

“I thought you were going to say that”, I say, deciding I should give as good as I get.

“You were right” replies Widdecombe, quick as a ballroom-dancer. I now feel that Ann and I have established such rapport that it should really be us going into pantomime together. What does she really think about the new Prime Minister, then? “Theresa’s always been a very cautious mortal”, reflects Widdecombe. “During the Brexit campaign … She did not put her head above the parapets once.” But all that seems to have changed: “she’s being much bolder than I expected.” Does she hope May will drag the party to the right, closer where she herself would have liked it to be? “You’ve built in a presumption to that”, Ann scolds me. Of course she’s glad to see the end of the Cameron era. “I’m sorry for Cameron as a human being”, Widdecombe admits, but his behavior during the referendum was “extremely patronising” and fraught with ‘miscalculation”. “He assumed that it was going to go with him, that everyone who voted Brexit was a swivel-eyed loon of some sort.”

I wonder whether Widdecombeis depressed by the thought that a number of the moral causes she’s advocated seem doomed to inexorable decline. After all, she converted to Catholicism in 1993, following the ordination of women in the Church of England. “I’m never depressed if I’m standing up for what I think is right,” she insists. “I think of Wilberforce. It took years and years and decades to get to the point where slavery was abolished. He never gave up. He didn’t just say ‘I’m on the losing side.'” But surely the point is that it is her values that are those going into recession. “You are making another assumption. You are assuming that all the cause that I have taken are doomed to long term failure.” Well, doesn’t’ she think they are? “Frankly, I have no idea. All I know is one thing: you do what you think is right, not what you think may win.”

On the difference between victory and virtue, what does she make of Trump vs. Hillary? “That election is a disaster… it’s thrown up a choice between someone who’s pretty deceitful and someone who’s three quarters mad. I would vote neither – love to in fact.” We talk about Trump’s recent remarks concerning sexual abuse. “Obviously, I’ve no time at all for a lot of the things that Donald Trump says. All I would say to people is this: if he does get in don’t be alarmed… he’ll be restrained, as all American presidents are. They all find reality marches in.”

ill the same reality march in on the Labour party I wonder, or are they providing an effective opposition, despite what people say? “Well you are joking, aren’t you?”, Widdecombe fixes me with a look. “I talk to friends in the Labour Party and the consensus appears to be that they won’t split… [but] they’re going to ride it out and hope that the election result speaks for itself. I don’t know whether they’re right or wrong to do that.” The fear is, at least for them, that Corbyn will remain, regardless.

We move on to the campus politics of the young, in particular no-platforming. “It’s just unbelievable” – and she does seem truly lost for a rebuke, if only for a moment. She recalls the post-war atmosphere. “Colin Jordan and Oswald Mosley were still allowed to hold their rallies, in the name of freedom… because we believed as a nation that liberty of expression and opinion underpin democracy. We’ve lost that completely. That’s gone.

“When homosexuality was unlawful… nobody stopped those who believed that it should be lawful from campaigning for that… I might oppose the campaign, but I would never have said we shouldn’t allows the campaign. But the student attitude appears to be, if we don’t like what that person says we shouldn’t allow them to say it. How does that contribute to a democracy?”

In Widdecombe, one senses a passion for public life balanced by an uncompromising privacy. How does she account for her public notoriety? “No idea” she replies, rather unconvincingly. I suggest that she has a reputation for being quite private; perhaps this excites, rather than quells interest. “People don’t’ seem to mind what they ask these days… They’ll intrude anywhere.” That’s a cultural, as well as journalist trend though. “Like the Jeremy Kyle programme”, Ann chips in, “which just epitomises what’s gone wrong.”

“Are you a regular viewer?”, I inquire.

“Certainly not”, Ann corrects me. In all that we’ve discussed, I sense that faith plays a large role in supporting her characteristic stubbornness. Does she ever experience doubt? “Yes. But I think doubt is a means of growing… Faith is the antidote to doubt, but doubt is all a part of the growth of faith… Doubt can be a maturing force in faith.”

Might she, then, ever lose her faith? “No”, she replied, without a flicker of irony.

OUSU domestic abuse policies praised by national report

George Chantry
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OUSU domestic abuse policies praised by national report

A report released by Universities UK (UUK) last Friday on university abuse and violence praised OUSU’s eff orts to combat domestic abuse. It recommended Oxford’s First Response app to other UK universities, but insists “university responses are not as comprehensive, systematic or joined up as they could be”.

UUK “sought evidence from its members to capture existing activity underway across the sector” and received responses from 60 British universities.

The report follows a culmination of growing alarm about harassment, sexual violence and hate crime on university campuses. Last year a report stated that one in three women in UK universities would be a victim of sexual assault.

Universities UK represents the interests of universities to the UK government and lobbies with advice on higher education policy.

Earlier this month, The Guardian interviewed over 100 women who likened the scale of abuse in universities to the Catholic church and the Saville scandal at the BBC.

An Oxford University spokesperson highlighted the successes of university policy in recent years. They told Cherwell, “Oxford University welcomes the taskforce report and shares its commitment to a zerotolerance culture on sexual violence, harassment and hate crime.

“We are pleased to see the First Response smartphone app for sexual assault survivors, developed by Oxford University Student Union, highlighted as an example of good practice in the report. The app is one of many ways in which Oxford has strengthened its culture of respect in recent years.

“The Student Union has introduced workshops for all new undergraduates to improve understanding of sexual consent. Students also receive practical guidance from the University so they can make complaints in a safe environment and understand every step of Oxford’s robust and professional disciplinary process.

“We now have more than 300 voluntary harassment advisors right across the University, trained to support students in making complaints and guiding them to the range of counselling services Oxford offers.”

The University’s central Counselling Service off ers psychological support both in the immediate aftermath of harassment and on an ongoing basis.

In October last year, Oxford students launched an app designed to support survivors of sexual assault. ‘First Response’ takes victims through the options available to them and is the fi rst of its kind.

‘It Happens Here’, an Oxford based charity “dedicated to raising awareness about sexual violence and working with members of the University of Oxford and the wider community” have expressed disappointment with Oxford University’s current policy.

The group told Cherwell, “Oxford does not currently follow the Zellick guidence, in that there are some procedures in place to deal with breaches of university discipline, which may also be criminal acts.

“However, these procedures lack clarity and are not wellcommunicated, which means that many students feel unsupported and unsafe, and the University is not currently fulfi lling its duty to respond as effectively as possible to disclosures of sexual violence.

“We also need to address the fact that colleges independently decide their own Harassment Policies, which means that procedures and standards of care can vary enormously.”

The UUK report’s emphasis on forming a “comprehensive”, “joinedup” response to sexual harassment reinforces It Happens Here’s concern “that colleges independently decide their own Harassment Policies, which means procedures and standards of care can vary enormously.”

The report has been criticised for ignoring the issue of harassment amongst staff in universities, and had to use data from the NUS, since many, even prominent, universities do not systematically record allegations of rape, sexual assault or sexual harassment.

A spokesperson from Oxford concluded, “Oxford has a strong culture where harassment is recognised as unacceptable, and has policies which underpin its commitment to a safe campus for all. We will continue to work with Universities UK and other universities on the recommendations in the report and look forward to participating in the national conference on sharing best practice.”

Review: The Lesser Bohemians

Benjamin Davies
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Review: The Lesser Bohemians

Eimear McBride’s second novel, The Lesser Bohemians, is devoted to untidiness. Not a romantic untidiness, such as we usually mean by “bohemian”. It’s just what it is. McBride is good at creating that sensation. She approaches her themes with just the right amounts of nuance and candidness, so that the darker aspects of the novel don’t feel gratuitous or put on for shock. As a piece of fiction, however, this book—like its characters—has significant problems with consistency.

The plot is simple: in the 1990s Eily, the narrator, has moved from Ireland to London to attend drama school. She meets and has lots of sex with Stephen, a middle-aged quasi-famous actor. More time seems to be spent in bed than out of it. Gradually, more of their respective backgrounds emerge, containing histories of disturbing sexual and substance abuse. The subsequent traumas cause their relationship to swing from the verge of marriage to fuming fits of infidelity on what seems like a weekly basis.

Narrated in stream-of-consciousness—that most slippery of terms and practises—one of the strengths of The Lesser Bohemians is how close things can seem. Some places, characters and moments are made vivid by a kind of layering. Eily adds thought to thought, impression to impression, until things feel quite real. This works very well in tactile—mostly sex—scenes, where her voice backgrounds the boring fact that things are touching, and pays attention to the feelings that blossom in response. These feelings become layered, too, and the maturing of Eily and David’s relationship, as well as the personalities of some other characters, gives the book real emotional depth.

There is, however, a big caveat to all this. Stylistically, this novel feels like a first draft. The basic idea of the style remains stream-of-consciousness, but McBride toys around with it in a way that seems more uncertain than confidently experimental. There are a few paragraphs wholly in italics, and small clauses which appear to be background thoughts are in a reduced text size. All-caps words make occasional appearances, and, most noticeably, sentences are split up by great blank gaps, as if McBride accidentally leans on the space-bar while writing.

These things happen with little regularity or much of a detectable pattern. Furthermore, the texture of the narrative changes quite frequently. The opening pages were exciting: they felt like the deep end of the stream. The thoughts were wandering and interruptive, and Eily seemed more sensitive to her environment—noticing the names of pubs and things on signs. This disappears quite quickly, however, and Eily’s voice becomes relatively banal. Perhaps this reflects her becoming used to London. But in the context of this change of voice, the formatting quirks start to feel like a gimmicky attempt to remind the reader that YOU are READING stream-of-consciousness, and not just a conventional narrative with jolty syntax.

Halfway through, Stephen is given 60-or-so pages to narrate his horrific upbringing— this part really divides critics. The story is beautifully told, and McBride really manages the voice well. By itself, I felt Stephen’s monologue was very successful, and a touching piece of storytelling. As a part of the whole, however, it sadly just throws the style off balance—returning to Eily’s voice felt more like a toilsome task than a pleasure.

This was a strong story, and McBride deserves some credit for sticking with a technique that still isn’t that common—her massively hyped A Girl is a Half-formed Thing also used stream-of-consciousness. But McBride’s adept handling of theme, and skillful characterisation, promises great things, and The Lesser Bohemians isn’t one of them.

Through the Looking Glass: Gerard Manley Hopkin’s Oratory

Daniel Curtis
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Through the Looking Glass: Gerard Manley Hopkin’s Oratory

Should you dare to venture outside of central Oxford and head towards Anne’s and Hugh’s, the chances are you’ll pass The Oxford Oratory, or the Catholic church of St. Aloysius Gonzaga. Aside from its pleasing architecture, set back ever so slightly off St. Giles’, it looks fairly inauspicious as far as Oxford buildings go – until you realise that this is the church where famed Victorian Gerard Manley Hopkins was curate between December 1878 and June 1879. It was here that Hopkins cemented the religious fervour which fuelled his later work, but he was actually an established poet before he held any posts at all.

During his days as a student of Classics at Balliol, Hopkins was actually a socialite and poet. However, upon resolving to, in his words, “become a religious”, he burnt his early poetry, losing them forever. This clash between his artistic leanings and his religious devotion was to shape Hopkins’ career as poet. His life was often that of a Jesuit, unadorned and austere, a far cry from the yearning poetry he would write over the course of his later life. Although much of his poetry was rejected – primarily by Jesuit press – until his many works would be published and enjoyed after his death, his poetry was mostly rejected by Hopkins himself. Self-critical and largely ambivalent towards even his greatest works, Hopkins instead poured himself into his studies, but whereas he graduated from Oxford with a first, he failed his final theology exam, rendering him incapable of progressing higher up the clergy.

It was at St. Aloysius’, then, where he would have been cutting his teeth in the Church as well as coalescing his ideas on religious poetry to the point which would mark his final poems, often dedicated to God, or aspects of Catholicism. Soon, however, he was to leave the Church to return to academia at University College Dublin. He would soon fall into a crippling depression due to feeling like an outsider, writing his “terrible sonnets” of loss and darkness. Perhaps it was at Oxford, then, that he felt more comfortable and content in the city, and in the Church, that he loved.

On his deathbed, Hopkins’ last words were “I am so happy. I am so happy. I loved my life”. For six months, a small church off St. Giles’ played its part in that, while with his years here as student and theologian, the city of Oxford as a whole is marked by his presence.

“I’m scared Charlie please come”

Benedict George
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“I’m scared Charlie please come”

“Hey, you OK?”
“Fine, why?”
“You sounded weird on the phone.’”
Lo couldn’t recall speaking to Marty on the phone. It had been a rough Friday. She’d been tired that morning. Now she was finished, she thought. Homeward bound. On the bus, he asked her, “Going tomorrow?”
“To Charlie’s party? Of course.”
“Lo. Get over him.”
“Marty. I’m over him.” She wasn’t. They laughed. On her phone, she found Facebook. She’d seen Charlie leaving school with those other girls. He was not online.

“You text too much.”
“Actually, I don’t. I Facebook.”
“You text me.” She could have argued, but the bus had reached her stop. She said she’d see Marty at the party. When she got into her house, she sat in kitchen. Her sister came in and said, “You’re veggie, aren’t you?”

“What?”
“I can get quorn. For the Bolognese.” “Bolognese?”
“You said you wanted Bolognese.”
“When?”
“You texted me. I’m making Bolognese for dinner.”
“Oh. OK.” She wasn’t against Bolognese, but she hadn’t asked for it. She hadn’t texted her sister. At least, she didn’t remember it. As a rule, she didn’t text, she Facebooked. Marty had said she texted too. Was she texting without realising? Her phone buzzed. It was Charlie.

‘Call me.’

She couldn’t believe it. She and Charlie weren’t close. They didn’t demanded calls. Maybe he wasn’t with those girls, maybe he’d gone home. And sat in his room wishing Lo would call him… She ran upstairs. She sat on her bed and called him.

“Hey. What’s up?” This was good. She was controlling her excitement.
“Hi, Lottie. Not much.”
“What did you want to talk about?”
“What do you mean?”
“You told me to call you.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
“No I didn’t. Maybe it was someone else?”

“Oh. Maybe. Sorry.” She hung up, too abruptly. Embarrassing. She looked at her texts. There was a text from Charlie, saying Call me. What was his problem? Was it a joke? Were the other girls with him, laughing at Lo? She called Marty.

“I think Charlie just pranked me. It wasn’t funny, it was mean, and embarrassing. I don’t know whether to be annoyed. Maybe he expected…” Marty interrupted.

“Right, so that’s why you’re not coming tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Why you won’t come to Charlie’s party.”

“I am coming.”

“You just texted that you weren’t. It was another example of you texting.”

“I don’t text. I didn’t text. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So are you asking Charlie to come round tonight?” She half laughed.

“Absolutely not. What are you on about?”

“You said in the text. I said it was a mistake. Don’t you remember this?”

“Let’s talk later, Marty.” She hung up abruptly again. She was worried, losing memories alarmingly fast. She’d considered inviting Charlie over. She regretted it, despite not remembering it. She shouted for her mum. No reply. Nor when she tried her dad. They were out. Sister? She must have gone out for quorn. Her phone flashed.

‘WHAT??! on my way stay put don’t move.’

It was from Charlie. She opened her phone and found texts. She had texted him.

‘Charlie please come, there’s someone here in my room.’

‘Im rly uncomfortable.’
‘Im scared charlie please come.’

She looked up at her room. There was no one but her. Of course. What was she doing? Inventing danger to get Charlie round? Forgetting she’d done it? She typed out, ‘hey charlie, sorry to worry you, im fine!! my sister was just messing around with my phone. see you tomorrow! :D’ She read it over. Her best damage control. She pressed send. She looked around her emp- ty room again. Her eyes fell back on her phone. In place of her explanatory message, she saw, I think shes gonna hurt me charlie HURRY UP. Fingers faltering, she called Marty again. He started speaking straightaway.
“No, Lo. I don’t want to talk to you. Don’t call me. I’ll see you Monday.” He shut the line. Her knees failed. She felt as though her stomach had shrunk. She ran through her contacts, trying her mum, then her dad, but their voicemail recordings pre-empted ringing. She sat absolutely still, staring at her phone with a new mistrust, still listening intently to the soundlessness of her room. Her phone flashed.

‘Lottie help me im at the back of the sports centre car park please come.’

‘I think shes coming.’
‘Shes here.’


Lo threw herself through her empty house, forced her shoes on and burst out into the street. It was one of those savage January nights, when winter’s chill had lost the charm of Christmas and settled down to spoiling the New Year. She flew through barely perceptible rainfall to the sports centre three streets away. She stopped in the empty car park. She looked around wildly. Hedges surrounded. She called for Charlie. Nothing. She almost dropped her phone when it rang.

“Charlie? Where are you? I’m here.”

“I’m at yours, Lottie. Your mum let me in. What’s going on?” Lo couldn’t think. She had scraped her fingers picking up her phone and they stung where she touched it.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be in two minutes.”
“Are you OK? What’s happening?”
“I’ll see you in a minute. I’ll be OK, thanks.” For the third time, she hung up without waiting for goodbye. She dropped her phone. She stamped her foot on it, until the pieces couldn’t be recognised. She picked them up and flung them, one by one, into the hedges. That phone had gone wrong, malfunctioned. She’d say she lost it. She had enough money saved for a new one. Back at her house, she gave Charlie the story about her sister messing around. She apologised and thanked him. She couldn’t help noticing how quickly he had responded to the call for help. She told him she was excited about his party. He said, “So am I.” He smiled and left. She started on the stairs. She went to bed at once, more exhausted than ever. As her mind wandered into the curious hallucinations of half-sleep, she thought she heard her mum come into her room and a tiny knock on her bedside table. She even caught words.

“Darling, I found your phone.”

Balliol joins protest against Yarl’s Wood

Lizzie Diggins
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Balliol joins protest against Yarl’s Wood

Balliol JCR passed a motion on Sunday pledging £100 of financial support to the upcoming protest at Yarl’s Wood Immigrant Removal Centre in Bedfordshire. The protest, which will take place on December 3rd, is being coordinated by a number of activist groups including ‘Movement for Justice’, which is running the fundraising initiative for the protest.

The Facebook page for the event criticises “the brutal, racist attitude of the guards” at Yarl’s Wood as revealed by undercover footage from Channel 4, as well as government inquiries. The protest’s aim is to shut down Yarl’s Wood and other immigrant Removal Centres.

A spokesperson for Serco, the security organisation that runs Yarl’s Wood, said, “We understand and appreciate the vulnerability of the people in our care and the legitimate concerns that many people and organisations have about them.

“We will continue to work to ensure that the residents are well looked after at this difficult time in their lives. Any instance of sexually inappropriate behaviour is completely unacceptable and any allegations are reported to the police. The last incident of this nature was in December 2012.

“Her Majesty’s Chief Inspector of Prison[s] were clear in their latest report that no residents at Yarl’s Wood said they were aware of staff involved in any illegal activity or sexual abuse of detainees.”

The motion was proposed by Balliol’s charities officers, Rivka Shaw and Sophie Conquest.

Shaw said, “The main thrust of our motion was actually to publicise the protest in question. Having attended one in the same vein in March, we feel that these protests are particularly important because of the tangible effect they have; the women inside the centre are able to communicate with the protesters, even putting messages out of the window that we could read.”

The Balliol General Meeting passed the motion with no opposition. On the ‘Movement for Justice’ funding page, they state, “As the demonstrations grow, so do the costs. Your money will fund coaches, train tickets, public transport costs and food/drink for the day.’

A spokesperson for Movement for Justice commented, “Racist and xenophobic attacks on immigrants post Brexit are becoming ever more menacing with the border encroaching into our schools, hospitals, housing and sweeping attacks on international students we need students to step up, to take up this struggle as their struggle.

“We’ve won so much in the past few years, detention is at the lowest point it’s been for over a decade with detention centres closing that’s no accident, it’s because of the movement now it’s time to build that movement in our schools, colleges and universities.”

Teddy Hall rugby team in“topless brawl”

Tony Diver
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Teddy Hall rugby team in“topless brawl”

Members of the St Edmund Hall rugby team were involved in a “topless brawl” on St Anne’s quad, and inflicted damage on the college bar area, Cherwell has learnt.

The bar, which was also being used to host the Anne’s versus Teddy Hall darts match, had its disabled toilet “smashed up” and its pool balls stolen, before the “brawl” began.

A source, who wished to remain anonymous, said that the damage was caused by Teddy Hall’s rugby team, who were hosting drinks in the bar that night. They had come to support the darts team in the match against Anne’s, Cherwell was told, and significant damage was inflicted on the bar area after their 10-2 loss.

One St Anne’s second-year student said, “I was in the pool room of the bar and it sounded quite rowdy. Then some guy rushed in and shouted ‘quad wrestle’ so everyone went to see what was going on. These two guys were on the patch of grass between Wolfson and stacs and one of them was barely able to stand. Other people made them strip off their shirts and take off their shoes, then they started wrestling on the grass.

“All the Teddy Hall people had formed a semicircle around them and were shouting things like ‘I wanna see blood’”.

Arthur Norman, a second year biochemist, said, “They had generally been unpleasant throughout the night. One of their second years had apologised for their ‘rowdy freshers’. They all poured out of the bar onto a patch of grass that definitely wasn’t our quad. About 3 pairs of people arranged themselves opposite opposite each other, most were topless. The rest were standing around cheering them on.”

Another student at St Anne’s said, “I’m so glad I wasn’t there. It’s so frustrating. It’s also annoying in that the people that did it might get validation from the mess they’ve caused. I hope they get punished for it because our college has had to clear up the mess.”

Tom Dyer, the St Edmund Hall JCR President, told Cherwell, “The actions at St Anne’s bar are in no way acceptable and are not something which we want any student or society of Teddy Hall to be associated with. I cannot comment on the nature of the events as I was not there and the college investigation into the incident is ongoing. The events occurred whilst a darts fixture was going on in the adjacent room to the bar, however I understand it was not a member of the darts club responsible.

The Teddy Hall dean will be working to ensure that appropriate action is taken against those responsible. I would like to take the opportunity to apologise on behalf of those there to the bar staff, dean and students of St Anne’s. As I have said, this is absolutely not acceptable and not something we wish to be associated with Teddy Hall.”

St Anne’s College and JCR President declined to comment.

Fanny Price: Unsung heroine

Thomas Peet
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Fanny Price: Unsung heroine

Poor Fanny Price. The virtuous, earnest and shy protagonist of Mansfield Park is undoubtedly Jane Austen’s least popular heroine. She possesses neither the wit nor vivaciousness of Elizabeth Bennet, neither the glamour nor fortune of Emma Woodhouse. Equally she does not undergo any major transformation like that of Marianne Dashwood that allows her to become adored by the reader over time. No, instead Fanny spends most of the novel wandering about the edges of the titular estate, lamenting the hardship of her position as an outsider, frowning upon the immoral behaviour of her spoilt relations, and bottling up her long-held love for Edmund, the one cousin who treats her kindly. One can easily deduce, therefore, why critics like Clara Calvo find Fanny “priggish, passive, naive and hard to like”. Indeed, Austen’s own mother famously thought Fanny was “insipid”, a view that has often been perpetuated by current audiences.

Mansfield Park was Austen’s third novel to be published, and is certainly one of her most profound works; however for too long it has been neglected by readers and scholars alike on the grounds that it is less ironic, less comical and perhaps less typical than the rest of the author’s output. Clearly, the main character herself is not often liked.

Nevertheless, I believe there are more subtle conclusions to be drawn about the character of Fanny Price. Many of her defenders invoke a kind of paragon of Christian virtue, summarised by Claire Tomalin’s view that “it is in rejecting obedience in favour of the higher dictate of remaining true to her own conscience that Fanny rises to her moment of heroism.” Essentially she is suggesting we realise our affection for Fanny by the end of the novel because she has endured a difficult upbringing away from her parents and because she refuses to compromise her integrity for the sake of fashionable tastes. Such a view carries significant weight amongst modern readers. Although it does not include certain aspects of the Mansfield Park narrative.

Fanny’s story is also about class, in an era when social justice discourse was still infantile. She is not upright or frigid out of personal choice, but because the role of representing the dutiful purpose of a less-privileged background is forced upon her. It may well be Fanny would enjoy an indulgent, care-free existence, much like the frivolous lifestyle of Mary Crawford, but her circumstances do not allow it. Her personal difficulties in a more troublesome environment at Mansfield presents her with stronger insight, and in this way, she offers a much more realistic portrait of women’s life in Regency England. Fanny is, after all, a poor relation offloaded by her overburdened parents who is sent away at a young age to be raised in the opulent surroundings of her cousins’ estate. Her mean-spirited aunt, Mrs Norris, continually reminds her of her social inferiority in this context, despite displaying warmth at the start.

And yet Fanny is resilient, unperturbed and uncorrupted by the more luxurious situation landed upon her. To me this displays a strength of character which we should not only sympathise with, but admire and appreciate as one of Austen’s greatest portrayals, especially since her authorial genius in this novel is so remarkable, for she does not just set about making you fall immediately in love with the book’s heroine from the first chapter. She does not glorify her with flattering gentlemen, skills of flirtation or noble actions. Instead, she patiently sketches out the humility, respectability and overall good nature of an underloved and under-appreciated young woman, which is why Fanny Price’s happy ending is perhaps the most deserved out of all Jane Austen novels.

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