Bristol TAG and the Escape from Heathrow

Oh boy. I'm not quite sure what it is, but I am having a terribly difficult time motivating myself to accomplish things this term. I sleep through breakfast, I leave my work until the absolute last second, and in my procrastination I managed to watch every episode of Freaks and Geeks. And yes, the blog has been affected as well. Case in point: I hoped to have this post done over a week ago, and I am only getting to it now. Let me amend that. I intended to have this post done over a month ago. Yikes. But, when it comes to harrowing tales of travel, no time is too late, right? Well, here's the belated post. Hope you enjoy! (WARNING: This is a long one!)

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From Friday to Sunday (December 17 - 19) I attended the Theoretical Archaeology Group (TAG) conference in Bristol. The goal of TAG is to provide an accessible venue for archaeologists, commercial and academic, amateur and professional, to discuss the latest thoughts in archaeological theory.

Bristol seemed much more 'city-like' than Oxford, but still had a medieval feel. The juxtaposition of quaint, residential streets, busy, commercial intersections, and the ornate, sandstone architecture on campus was almost jarring. I stayed in student housing about twenty minutes away from the event, so I had the chance to encounter all of Bristol's unique personalities.

The University of Bristol

The conference itself was incredibly interesting: I heard papers on everything from 'quantum' archaeology to an argument for the European origin of the first North American populations. Certainly, some papers and sessions were better than others. But, overall, I greatly enjoyed the opportunity to listen to these kinds of arguments and discussions. The atmosphere can be pretty invigorating. Conferences like these are always a nice reminder that archaeology is what I love and what I want to do.

Along with the more academic side of things, TAG puts on a few social events for all of the attendees. My favorite, of course, was the Antiquity Quiz held on Saturday evening and sponsored by the UK journal Antiquity. Each round had a theme (e.g. Bristol, British archaeology, Antiquity 2010) and each round had a handful of questions. Considering the vast majority of questions dealt with topics I knew nothing about, I felt pretty useless. Nonetheless, we did pretty well as a team, coming in third place or somewhere thereabouts. That victory won us nothing, but a chosen member from the winning team received a year-long subscription to Antiquity. Curses!

The most popular (or, at least, most infamous) social event is the TAG Party, which was held directly after the Antiquity Quiz. The entire weekend, I kept hearing, "You must go to the TAG Party!" People were really revved up for this thing. I asked another Oxford student at the conference why the party was so infamous, and she guessed that it had something to do with seeing an inebriated Colin Renfrew dancing without abandon. That'll do it. After the quiz, we decided to peek in on the party.

The Infamous TAG Party

That was it--nada! Enough flashing lights to induce an epileptic seizure, but no tipsy archaeologists on the cusp of bad decision-making. To be fair, the party had only just begun, and the bar was in a completely separate room. That surely inhibited the flow of conference participants to the dance floor. Unfortunately, though, this is the only encounter I had with the "infamous" TAG Party, as I was too exhausted to have the patience to wait for it to get going.

As I mentioned, the conference overall was a very enjoyable experience. However, my travels from Bristol once TAG had come to a close proved much less enjoyable. Much, much less enjoyable.

Snowy Bristol

On Saturday morning, the second day of the conference, I woke to this beautiful scene. A light dusting of snow blanketed the whole town. It was the first snow I had seen all year, and the crunch of the fresh powder under my feet felt so wonderful. There's something about fresh snow that makes an otherwise dull winter scene come alive. Little did I know, however, that this "storm" would put my travel plans in jeopardy.

Honestly, my upcoming flight out of Heathrow was the last thing on my mind. The amount of snow seemed pretty unsubstantial, and my flight wasn't until Monday morning. Surely, any minor problems the airport might have on Saturday would be resolved by Monday. Right? Well, as the day went on, I began hearing from other TAG participants that the storm had been significant enough to shut down Heathrow completely. No flights were going in or out, leaving hundreds of passengers stranded in the airport. I became a bit concerned, but hoped that Heathrow would be able to deal with the weather and return to normal service on Sunday.

Flights on Sunday didn't fare much better. With only one runway clear, only a handful of departures were able to leave. Heathrow took no arrivals. By Sunday evening, the official statement on Heathrow's website suggested that the situation would be similar for flights on Monday, and asked passengers to check with their airline to determine whether or not their flight had been canceled. By some miracle, my flight was still showing as 'On Time' on the American Airlines website, so I held out hope that my flight would be one of the few departures to get out the next morning. 

The day began at the early hour of 4:30am with a cab ride to the Bristol Temple Meads train station. From there, I took one of the first trains out of Bristol headed toward London Paddington, and from there I grabbed the Heathrow Express to the airport. As I stepped off of the Express, the wave of biting cold air made me realize that it wasn't the snow that had caused the problems, it was the ice. The unrelenting, below-freezing temperatures had persisted for days, making the task of clearing the runways nearly impossible. Snow had been forecast for later in the afternoon, so I hoped that my flight would be able to make it out in time.

Heathrow was an absolute mess. A sea of people filled the terminal, and it was impossible to see anything. It took me forever to distinguish which throng belonged to the American Airlines queue, and once I did it took equally long to follow the snake all the way to the end. At this point I felt hopeless. Looking at the huge numbers of people in front of me, it seemed nearly impossible that I would be able to make it through the line, check my bag, and get through security with enough time to make it to my gate. Luckily, an AA employee came to the end of the line asking if anyone had confirmed seats on the upcoming Chicago flight. I enthusiastically waved my hand, and I was expedited to the front of the line. I cannot imagine how terrible it must have been for everyone else in line, desperately trying to grab an open seat on one of the few departures for the day.

Once I got through security (which was, thankfully, a breeze), I saw my flight was still listed as 'On Time' and I made my way to the gate. I could see our snow-covered airplane at the end of the ramp. "Could I be that lucky?" I thought. "Will I actually get out today?"

As our scheduled departure time approached, an AA employee came over the speakers and said that the plane was ready, and that we were just awaiting for the arrival of the crew. Forty minutes later, he came on again, saying that the crew had just checked in with security. We waited another forty minutes, and the crew had still not arrived. Everyone at the gate was clearly getting frustrated, and the lack of communication between the airport staff and the passengers was not helping. The employee came on the speakers once again to suggest that maybe the crew had gotten lost in the airport... Fortunately, it wasn't too much longer before the crew finally arrived, to great applause.

At this point, we were already two hours behind schedule, and as the clouds grew I became anxious. But, I imagined that it couldn't be much longer before we took off, so I rested my head and went to sleep. About a half-an-hour later I woke up to discover we were still sitting at the gate. The pilot came on over the speakers to inform us that we were waiting for Heathrow's one de-icing machine to spray us down before we could leave. The runway crew de-iced the plane at least another half-an-hour after the pilot's announcement, and we were finally able to leave the gate. Just as we pushed back, I could see that snow was beginning to fall from the sky, so I hoped it wouldn't be too much longer before takeoff.

We had been waiting to depart for a few minutes when the pilot came on and said that the runway needed to be cleared of ice before it was safe to leave, and that it would be another forty minutes or so. I became extremely anxious. What if we had to return to the gate due to the weather? What if, after all of that, my flight ended up getting canceled?

It seemed like ages before the pilot announced that we had been cleared and asked the flight attendants to prepare for takeoff. Once we finally got off the ground, I let out the biggest sigh of relief. As the flight attendants came through the aisles later with our drink orders, I overheard one of them mention to another passenger that Heathrow had closed again only minutes after we had left. I'm sure my jaw dropped after hearing that. I felt so incredibly lucky to have been scheduled on one of the few flights that made it out. Had my flight been canceled, I would have been moved to the back of the line with all of the other stranded passengers, and who knows if I would have even made it home for Christmas? I was very lucky, indeed.

My layover in Chicago was not much of a picnic, either. The line through customs was horrifically long, and navigating the lines to re-check my baggage proved quite difficult. The flight itself was also delayed a couple of hours due to snow, but in comparison to Heathrow the situation seemed much more bearable and much less dire. I was Denver-bound before the night was over.

After twenty-six hours of consecutive travel, from the moment I left the student housing in Bristol to the moment I tearfully reunited with my family, I was finally home. And it never felt sweeter.

That's that. I hope everyone is doing well back in the States!

Much love,

Alyce

Hilary Term, Here I Come

Hello, friends! Long time no write! In my last post, it seems I was still suffering from the delusion that I would have oodles of free time during my final weeks at Oxford to travel through England and update my blog with beautiful pictures of the countryside. As is most apparent now, that was not the case. My applications to grad school quickly sucked up a good chunk of that time, and before I knew it I was off to Bristol for the UK's annual Theoretical Archaeology Group (TAG) conference. From the conference, I went straight to Heathrow and returned home for the holidays. I did try to muster up the strength to write a post about TAG and my harrowing trip out of London, but with the holidays came a pretty severe bout of laziness. Hopefully, I'll be able to finish that post in the next couple of days.

My time at home was wonderfully relaxing. I got to enjoy all of my favorite things: the Denver Zoo, Mommy's homemade pumpkin and apple pies, and--yes--staying in my pajamas all day long. There's nothing better than that! Those couple of weeks passed by all too quickly--I felt like I had only just arrived when the time came to pack up and leave. But, before returning to the UK, I had the opportunity to visit Dumbarton Oaks for a few days and continue with the project I had been working on over the summer. My mentors and advisers Bill and Barbara Fash (i.e. two of my favorite people) were also in town for the Copan Workshop, so I had the chance to reconnect with them as well. It was truly a pleasure to be able to see everyone again and reunite with my fellow Pre-Columbianists. If there's one thing I have missed since my summer at D.O., it's the fascinating and thought-provoking conversations you can have when seated at a table with the experts in your field. Looking back on it now, I realize how incredibly lucky I was to have such an opportunity in the first place!

Speaking of being incredibly lucky, I am now back at Oxford, ready to embark on Hilary Term. My course for the term is on body and adornment in late medieval Britain (AD 1000 - 1500). The Ashmolean has extensive collections relevant to this subject, so I'm looking forward to having the opportunity to work with some of them. I'll also be sitting in on lectures concerning Anglo Saxon society and economy, the archaeology of modern human origins, and maybe something related to classical Greece. Maybe. And did I mention I will be going on a day trip to Stonehenge in early February? This will definitely be an interesting term, and I am very much looking forward to it.

Well, as I said, I will try to finish that pre-holiday post in the next couple of days. Until then, I hope all is well back in the States.
Alyce

So Long, Michaelmas Term

It seems impossible, but the eight official weeks of Michaelmas have come and gone. My first term at Oxford is done! Already, the little town's dynamic has completely changed. The undergraduates have all packed up and vacated their rooms for the winter vacation, and the graduates' numbers are dwindling by the day. I will be attending the TAG conference in Bristol in about a week and a half, so I still have some time here in wintry England before I return home for the holidays. But, in honor of being one-third of the way through my master's program, I thought I'd take a look at all the new things I've learned in the past eight weeks. Staying as far away from academics as possible, of course.

The alternative title to this post: "A Smattering of Interesting Factoids Too Long for a Tweet, but Too Short for a Blog Post." Enjoy.

Hazy Broad Street

• How do you like your beans in the morning? In England, baked beans are a breakfast item. Yes, baked beans. The dish Americans reserve for barbecues Brits enjoy with their eggs, sausage, and toast in the morning. I admit that I felt a bit disturbed when I first noticed them in the breakfast buffet line, but I have since grown to enjoy this odd custom. They're cheap and filling, so I can't complain.
• Five go-old rings. On Saturday, the New College hall hosted a Christmas dinner for members of the MCR. The meal, which was absolutely amazing, was served family-style per every ten guests. It began with three starters: a potato leek soup, an English take on bruschetta, and some sort of salmon thing (which I ignored). The main course consisted of a whole chicken, sliced turkey, roasted potatoes, Brussels sprouts (which are a traditional Christmas dish, evidently), red cabbage, stuffing, and gravy. Before dessert, the dining staff served a palate-cleansing sorbet and a sort of mint biscotti. If you still had room in your stomach at this point, a round of desserts--including mince pies, Christmas pudding, fruit, and cheese--finished the meal. Why do I bring this all up? Well, I learned the next titillating bit of information while I ate my refreshing cup of sorbet. In the festivity of the evening, one table erupted into a splendid rendition of "The Twelve Days of Christmas." Much to my surprise, when the fifth day came, my true love gave to me five gold rings, rather than five golden rings. I had never heard it sung that way before, and stretching the word 'gold' to fit two syllables sounded absolutely ridiculous to me. But, according to Wikipedia, the 'gold' version is the original and is therefore 'correct.' It still sounds ridiculous, though, which is probably why it was changed in the first place.
• How grotesque. In October, I posted a few pictures of the charismatic creatures lining the tops of New College's buildings, and I mistakenly referred to them as 'gargoyles.' The vast majority of them are not gargoyles, they are grotesques. What's the difference? Gargoyles have water spouts, grotesques do not.

Peek-a-boo!

• The term 'omnivore' should not be taken literally. William Buckland, a fellow at the college of Corpus Christi in the 19th century, 'discovered' dinosaurs. He had come across the fossilized remains of a giant reptile, and he published his finds in 1824 in a report called Notice on the Megalosaurus or Great Fossil Lizard of Stonesfield. The term 'dinosaur' had not yet been coined, but it was the first published description of what eventually became the dinosaur. With this alone, Buckland could have left a lasting impression on history. But, instead, he has become well-known for his eccentricity: namely, his practice of zoophagy. Buckland was committed to eating every animal he could get his hands on. He ate crocodile, tiger, and even mole (which he found particularly distasteful). When he got wind of a rare animal's death, he would write to the zoo in which it had been kept and ask for a piece of the carcass to be sent to him. But the most disturbing example of Buckland's idiosyncratic behavior comes to us from contemporary Augustus Hare, who wrote:

“Talk of strange relics led to mention of the heart of a French King preserved at Nuneham in a silver casket. Dr. Buckland, whilst looking at it, exclaimed, ‘I have eaten many strange things, but have never eaten the heart of a king before,’ and, before anyone could hinder him, he had gobbled it up, and the precious relic was lost for ever.”

         That heart belonged to Louis XIV.

• THE STRATIGRAPHY IS A LIE! Archaeologists use stratigraphy as a method to provide relative dates for the material they excavate. Sites are formed in layers of deposition: new layers are deposited on top of older layers. So as the archaeologists digs into deeper and deeper layers, she encounters older and older material. The stratigraphy, or order of these layers, can give the archaeologist a basic idea of the order of events in history. Within stratigraphy, there are some methods for assigning more precise dates to a certain layer. One of these is called terminus post quem (TPQ), or 'limit after which.' This gives the earliest possible date for a layer. For example, if an archaeologist were to uncover a 1981 penny, she would know that the layer in question could not have been deposited earlier than 1981. You can't deposit a coin before it's made, right? Well, my friends, I have discovered this assumption to be utterly and completely false, because I have in my possession a 2011 coin! Archaeology is doomed. On a side note, the coin (a 50p piece) is part of a series commemorating the 2012 London Olympics. Mine has a shuttlecock on the back. Because when I think of the Olympics, I think 'badminton.' Behold:

TPQ = SOL. QED.

• Oh, get that, would you, Deirdre? This is less of an interesting fact, and more of an observation, but England--or, at least, Oxford--has the highest proportion of womanly-voiced men I have ever encountered! Think of Terry Jones' Catholic Mum in Monty Python's Meaning of Life. This is exactly what it sounds like. 
• Capitalism. During the English Civil War, Oxford briefly served as the Royalist capital of England when it housed the court of King Charles I after he was expelled from London in 1642. Its position up the River Thames made it a strategic place to relocate his administration. Yet, English monarchs were not the only ones to recognize Oxford's potential as a capital. It has been rumored that Hitler planned to make this medieval city the capital of his new kingdom. For that reason, Oxford was spared in Germany's attacks on Britain during WWII.

Well, if that isn't a random smattering of accumulated information, I don't know what is. In the next couple of weeks, I hope to take some trips around the country with my (limited) free time. When I do, I'll be sure to bring my camera and keep you all updated on my travels.

Jowett Walk

Until then, good night!
Alyce

'Tis the Season

Even though the Brits don't celebrate the marvelous holiday that is Thanksgiving, Black Friday still marks the beginning of the Christmas season here in Oxford. Yesterday evening, the whole of Broad Street was blocked off for Christmas Light Night. The street became a mini-fair, with tents selling trinkets and food, a concert stage, and small carnival rides for children. As part of the event, theatres and museums around town opened their doors after hours and hosted special events. The main attraction, as the name of the event would suggest, is the official lighting of the Oxford Christmas tree, which sits right on Broad Street (suspiciously close to where the three martyrs were burned, might I add).

I, of course, missed all of these festivities as I was too busy working on my applications for graduate school (and, to be honest, procrastinating on that very task). But in my nightly quest for food, I did manage to get out tonight and take a photo of the tree in all its glory.

The Oxford Christmas Tree

So, believe it or not, Christmas is upon us. It always surprises me how quickly these things seem to creep up on me. Before I know it, I'll be sitting around our tree early on Christmas morning, munching on orange danishes and unwrapping gifts. But before then, I need to make it through the last (!) week of Michaelmas Term, and survive four applications to grad school. I think I can, I think I can.

Speaking of, I should probably return to my scholarly duties. I hope everyone is doing well back home. Stay warm!

Alyce

The Alternative Tuck Shop, a Sonnet

With the season of graduate school applications upon me, I'm afraid I haven't had much time to dedicate to blogging. Nonetheless, I do not want to leave any of my dedicated followers hanging! So, for your pleasure, I have written a Shakespearean sonnet in honor of one of my favorite eateries: the Alternative Tuck Shop. Enjoy!

When hungry there’s no place I’d rather eat,

No other shop my cash I’d rather give,

Than that which proudly sits on Hol’well Street,

Not any Tuck Shop, it’s Alternative.

Falafel is the sandwich choice du jour,

Perhaps on ciabatta or baguette,

With hummus and tomato (to be sure),

My stomach’s needs will certainly be met!

I'll add a fizzy drink and a dessert,

(The baklava has always been my vice),

And friendly service (yes, they like to flirt).

All that for such a reasonable price!

I thank them, smile, and then I’m on my way,

This meal, undoubtedly, will make my day.

Remember, Remember the Fifth of November

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,

The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,

I know of no reason

Why the Gunpowder Treason

Should ever be forgot.

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent

To blow up the King and Parli'ment.

Three-score barrels of powder below

To prove old England's overthrow;

By God's providence he was catch'd

With a dark lantern and burning match.

Hulloa boys, Hulloa boys, let the bells ring.

Hulloa boys, hulloa boys, God save the King!

On the Fifth of November, in the year 1605, Sir Thomas Knyvet made his way to the cellars underneath Parliament where he was about to make a fateful discovery. Only days earlier, a Lord had received an anonymous letter warning him to stay away, that Parliament would receive a 'terrible blow.' When King James I got wind of this letter, he sent Knyvet to investigate. There, he found Guy Fawkes guarding 36 barrels of gunpowder. Clearly, he meant business.

Fawkes had been one of a small group of English Catholics who had plotted to blow up Parliament and assassinate the Protestant King James I, in hopes of installing his nine-year-old daughter Elizabeth as a Catholic monarch. The plot failed, and Fawkes paid for high treason with his life: he was hanged, drawn, and quartered. But most importantly, the King's life was saved by the divine providence of God. Ever since, England has been celebrating.

Every year on November 5th, towns across England celebrate Guy Fawkes Night with displays of fireworks and giant bonfires. One such celebration occurred here at Oxford's South Park, complete with a carnival (including rides, food stands, and karaoke).

Guy Fawkes Night Carnival

Guy Fawkes Night Carnival

Guy Fawkes Night Carnival

WEE!

I used to go on this ride with my sister all the time when I was a kid. EVERY TIME I would be the one to get squished. This time was no different.

After exploring some of the rides, we headed over to the food area where we could get a better view of the fireworks. The show was supposed to begin at 6:45 PM, but didn't get started until 7:10 or so. The wait was completely worth it, as it turned out to be one of the best firework shows I've ever seen. My camera has a setting for fireworks, so I tried to capture some of these moments.

Guy Fawkes Night Fireworks

Guy Fawkes Night Fireworks

Guy Fawkes Night Fireworks

Guy Fawkes Night Fireworks

The fireworks ended with a BANG (unlike Parliament), and the whole park erupted with applause. The show was truly spectacular; however, the most exciting event of the evening was yet to come.

The Wicker Man: Before

This giant wicker effigy stood over 10 meters tall, and was just dying to get torched! This photo is number 666 on my camera, by the way. Coincidence? I think not!

The Wicker Man: The Flame Begins

 The flame began at the effigy's shoulder and quickly consumed the whole body.

The Wicker Man: Fully Alight

The Wicker Man: A Demon

The Wicker Man and Bonfire

As you can see, as the flames enveloped the effigy, the wicker charred and it took on a wholly demonic appearance. It was both beautiful and terrifying. What a show!

Unfortunately, I had to leave soon after the bonfire was lit in order to get back to my work, but I had a marvelous time. Considering how fun the night was, I would highly recommend that the United States develop a few holidays to celebrate the failed assassinations of our nation's leaders. Richard Lawrence Night, anyone?

Good night.
Alyce

Happy Hallowe'en!

I guess I should say, "Happy November!" Can you believe November is already upon us? Not only that, but I am currently in Week 4 (out of 8!) of Michaelmas Term. Halfway through! Time flies, as they say.

But back to Hallowe'en. With grad school applications, finalizing my schedule for Christmas Vacation, and my weekly essay on archaeological theory, I had plenty to do this weekend. Even so, I wasn't about to let an Oxford Hallowe'en pass me by without at least a little celebration.

The Oxford Information Centre organizes many themed tours throughout the year, including Alice in Wonderland (Lewis Carroll was a student and teacher at the college of Christ Church), C.S. Lewis & J.R.R. Tolkien (close friends and teachers at Oxford), and, of course, Harry Potter (they filmed more than just the Ferret Tree here, you know). The tour du jour on Hallowe'en? "Magic, Murder, and Mayhem." Absolutely, yes.

It was a drizzly day, but not unbearable, so my friend Petra and I decided that this tour was a must. Our excellent guide was a man named Rob Walters, the author of Haunted Oxford, as well as a few other books of local interest. He is incredibly knowledgeable on all things Oxford--people, buildings, and ghosts alike--so we got a good dose of Lewis Carroll and Harry Potter trivia along with the expected murder and mayhem. Although I really enjoyed hearing all the stories he had to tell, for the purposes of this post I will stick to the ghost stories. And as I have other work I need to tend to, I'll limit myself to retelling one story from each of the three M's: magic, murder, and mayhem.

MAGIC
One cold, dark December night, in the year 1832, the Vice-President of Brasenose College, Reverend T.T. Churton, was walking down the alleyway behind the college when he spotted a dark, cloaked figure standing at one of the windows. It seemed as if the figure was trying to pull a student through the window. Churton knew this to be an impossible task, as iron bars and wire mesh covered all windows to prevent students from leaving the college through the alleyway.

Rob Walters at the Ghostly Window

But as he approached closer, he could hear the screams and see the gushing blood of the student as the figure pulled him through the wire mesh. Churton ran to the figure to put an end to the horror, but he could not touch him. A mysterious force kept him away. Unable to help the student, the Vice-President ran around to the front entrance of Brasenose and alerted the Porter to the situation. The two immediately ran to the student's room, and as they opened the door a throng of screaming, fearful students fled to the quad. Edward Trafford lay on the floor, his head marked by severe cuts from the wire mesh. He was dead.

The students in the room that night were part of a so-called Hellfire Club, and Trafford, the club's president, had been attempting to summon the Devil when, as the students recounted, blood suddenly burst from his head and he collapsed to the floor.

Churton was the only witness to the scene in the alleyway, but he believed until theend that he had seen the Devil. And if you look through today's records, you will see that Edward Trafford of Brasenose College did indeed die on that very night.

MURDER
This story is less ghostly, but does capture some the horrors that have taken place here at Oxford in years past.

After Mary I acceded the throne in 1553, she quickly restored Catholicism as the religion of England and left a bloody trail in the wake of her reforms. This bloody trail led straight to Oxford in 1555 with the execution of the Oxford Martyrs: Hugh Latimer, Anglican chaplain to King Edward VI; Nicholas Ridley, Bishop of Rochester; and Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury. These three men were powerful in the Anglican  Church, and thus in direct opposition to Catholicism and the Queen. All three were tried for heresy, and on October 16, 1555, Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley were burned at the stake. Cranmer was made to watch his fellow Anglicans die from a tower on the city wall. After seeing the horror of their demise, he issued a recantation of his Anglican beliefs, accepting the Pope as supreme and infallible. This recantation was deemed insufficient, so he wrote another. And another. And another. In all, he wrote five recantations before one was finally accepted. He was to give this recantation as a public address in the University Church.

On that fateful day, he took to the pulpit and began with a prayer. But instead of reciting his prepared remarks, he renounced all of his previous recantations, called the Pope "Christ's enemy," and declared that his sinful hand, which wrote and signed the recantation, would be punished by burning first. He cried, "Let me burn as Latimer and Ridley did!" The townsfolk responded, "So you will!" He was pulled from the church and brought to the very spot where the two before him were executed nearly six months earlier, and he was burned to his death.

Rob Walters where the Oxford Martyrs perished.

Today, the spot where the Oxford Martyrs were executed is marked by a cobblestone cross in the middle of Broad Street. Supposedly, some have seen phantom flames emerging from the stone marker. Ghostly or not, this spot continues to be a place of remembrance, and some will lay flowers on it to this day.

MAYHEM
Just as with the above story, the following tale may not be ghostly, but it is terrifying nonetheless. Historically, at Oxford (and other medieval institutions) there has been an intense rivalry between what is called the 'town,' or non-academic town residents, and the 'gown,' or academic members of the university (because we wear funny gowns, get it?). This rivalry would lead to heated altercations, usually beginning in the town pubs and from there spreading onto the streets. Perhaps 'altercation' isn't the appropriate word... As the saying goes, "There are historic battlefields on which less blood has been spilt than in the streets of Oxford."

On one such occasion in 1355, a riot between the town and the gown erupted at the Swyndlestock Tavern and quickly grew into a battle involving thousands of townspeople and students. Each side came equipped with various weapons, and at the end of the several-day conflict 63 students had perished. Oxford promptly banned students from visiting the town pubs.

Was a student murdered here? MAYBE!

The scariest part of that story is the glee with which our tour guide, a proud member of the 'town,' told it. I probably don't have anything to worry about, right?

Anyway, those are just a few examples of the stories I heard. Others involved a ghost driven by the guilt to the grave of his lover's husband (whom he murdered, of course), the spirit of William Archibald Spooner haunting the New College chapel by night, and the murder of the last wild boar in Oxford by means of Aristotle. Perhaps I will tell them one day, but I haven't the time now.

Now, I don't believe in ghosts, so I remain quite skeptical about some of these stories. However, as we stood along the so-called Dead Man's Walk, mere meters away from where a Royalist colonel had been (wrongfully) executed for treason, our guide mentioned a very interesting fact. He said that 10% of the British population believe they have had a "ghostly experience."

"Where have most of those experiences occurred?" He grinned. "Oxford."

The rain began to pick up and a chill settled over the air. As we continued on our tour, I thought to myself: If there is any place in the world that can convince me ghosts do exist, this is it.

An Autumn Shot along Rose Lane

Hope everyone had a spook-tacular weekend!
Alyce