The Pembroke Bullfrog, Hilary 1963

Bullfrog

THE PEMBROKE BULLFROG

being the periodical of The J.C.R., Pembroke College, Oxford Hilary Term 1963

Editor: Tim Goodrich Sub-Editor: Robert Kelly Societies Editor: Gautam Chakravarty Business Editor: Dennis Lyons

Editorial ‘ .WHILE

you live your life, you are in some way an organic whole with all life. But once you start the mental life you pluck the apple. You've severed the connection between the apple and the tree: the organic connection.

And if you've got nothing in your life but the mental life, then you yourself are a plucked apple . . . you've fallen off the tree." No-one who has experienced the strain of academic life will fail to recognise a grain of truth in this souped-up profundity of D. H. Lawrence's.

We are all more or less plucked apples. We have all sacrificed something on the altar of the cerebral cortex. This is not merely to say that we have become absorbed in intellectual matters. That would make Lawrence's remark an uninteresting truism. Rather, we have lost, more or less, the unreflective zest for life. We have become restricted, self-conscious, unspontaneous. That this should be so is in part in the nature of academic work — for the academic must not allow himself blindly to believe whatever takes his fancy.

He must constantly be on his guard, dispassionate and impartial, sifting, testing, criticising, questioning. If he does anything else he is untrue to his profession. And this putting on of the controls, this attempt to be rational, interrupts the natural outflowing of thought and emotion, and creates an unnatural strain. As a result, the unreflective joy in life tends to disappear.

This is not the only way in which preoccupation with academic matters decreases the zest for life. Some people are the victims of our educational system. They have arrived on the educational escalator, and they are on the next journey upwards, but where it is all going they have no idea. They have discovered that they do not know why they are doing academic work, nor whether there is any further point in going on with it. Adrift and bewildered, they are unable to put their hearts into the academic life.

On top of this there is the instability of human relationships in university life. Academic work is lonely. Of necessity it must be done alone. It would not make sense that a man could achieve his intellectual salvation by communal effort. So in his work he cannot find human companionship. But outside work there is not the necessary community of purpose to bind him to others. Nor is there the unquestioning security and acceptance of family life.

Human relationships are fleeting and evanescent, and the respect and acceptance of others must be earned, not expected as a right Of course there is a way in which even academics can escape loneliness. But it does not seem to be widespread in Oxford. The received pattern of Oxford life consists in plenty of hard work on weekdays and a kind of organised communal rape on Saturday 1

nights. And it could hardly be expected to be otherwise. To shut women out of men's lives in all matters of importance and then to expect their meetings at boozy parties in an atmosphere of Gauloise smoke, cheap wine and oversexed music to be beautiful, serene, and restrained is to have a degree of optimism almost incredible were it not actual.

Below the happy surface of Oxford college life there is therefore a deep restlessness and lack of direction. This is confirmed by two facts that would be expected to follow from it. Many people become depressed. (We ought to have respect for depressives. For they at least feel things deeply, and are not content with the shallow life which does for the rest of us.) And the church and the library are unusually popular. The academic life and the Christian life have been made escapes. The academic, finding the path of human contact treacherous and difficult, withdraws to the security of his study; the Christian, having found himself adrift without the steady support of human affection, surrenders his intellect to the church and receives in return security, certainty and comradeship.

The existence of this anomie explains why so few people are interested in writing. People write when their mind is overflowing with energy. If they do not have energy and zest. if they are not excessively interested in life, then they are not likely 'to write.

College life is not such as to create this energy.

At any rate, it has not created enough energy to make many people write for "Bullfrog". But I am glad that some people, at least, have benefitted from the existence of our magazine. Whether the J. C. R. should subsidise the efforts of this small minority is another question.

Before Christmas I announced a parody competition. The prize for this is the honour of being mentioned in this editorial. I am pleased to award this prize to Francis Roads for his music criticism.

THOUGHT Some people hold the strange belief True virtue's only found in grief.

It follows—which is rather nice— True happiness resides in vice.

Philip Kemp

2

Presidential Prattle A year of material progress may not be glamorous per se, but some administrators (we are now talking at national level) would be glad just to be able to make that claim. Over the past year the Ward-Perkins room has been founded, furnished, decorated and well used, mainly by college societies. The new Music Room should be ready next term. The Beer Cellar has gone surrealist and sub-marine, the snack bar blue and yellow, with a new 23 inch screened television on which the maximum number of Pembrokeans may watch the maximum number of threequarters never laying a hand on the ball. Thanks to the Bursar's kindness we were able to mark the opening of the new Quadrangle with an appropriate a/ fresco sherry before Dinner for members of the college, and JCR Presidents from other colleges.

For the first time in many years we are a college almost without any leavening of national servicemen, and perhaps the time is ripe for reflection. Whilst they were declining in number the disparity in age and outlook between them and others was sometimes obvious and awkward, but it seems possible that we are now missing a certain worldly wisdom and common sense which they brought to our affairs. The wisest colleges will be those who whereever possible encourage their recruits to spend time away in between school and coming up to university. Academically one or two might suffer, but in most cases the gains would seem significant and valuable. This is not a plea for mediocrity, but for a sense of proportion, which is sometimes sadly absent.

David Moody

Molesworth Writes Agane ELL here i am writing for bulfrog agane they must be hard up for copy. But my creeative genius canot be stiled i must write or die (peason sa i had beter die then he is a weed and i will tuough him up afterwards). Litle hav h'apened since i last wrote felow-students. i hav grown a mustashe despite all adverse coment (my english get beter and beter do it not?) and beleive me there hav been no lack of that chiz.

But i see in the papers that they are making a film at my old skool with nancy kwan ect. This news arouse thorts in the grate molesworth brane i.e. why not make a film at pembroke eh? i can see it all.

SCENE: Ye famous new quad of pembroke. Ducks swim in the pool undergradduates bask in the sunshine all is peace. Enter

W

3

nancy kwan as PRUDENCE ENTWISTLE once undermatron at st. custards and now the toste of the university. Time hav not changed her nor custom stale ect.

PRUDENCE: So this is the famous new quad where nigel lives. i wonder if he is in.

Enter NIGEL MOLESWORTH, handsome dashing ect. He do not percieve her being engaged in absstruse philopsofical resoning.

PRUDENCE: (throwing her arms around him) Oh nigel i am pleased to see you.

MOLESWORTH: Coo er gosh i mene to sa wot?

Enter GRIMES the dreded dean. He is too gastly to describe a mixture of boris karloff and the hunchbak of notre dame might do it.

GRIMES: So! Embrasing a woman in the middle of the new quad conduct dettrimental to the good name of the colege. i shall hav to report this and her too.

PRUDENCE begin to blub.

MOLESWORTH: Sire do as you will with me but spare her fare name.

GRIMES: No! MOLESWORTH: (drawing his trusty sword) It shall never be.

GRIMES call for aid and a horde of buldogs procters ect. enter all armed to the teeth. MOLESWORTH engage then singlehanded and vanquish THE LOT cheers cheers cheers. With his last thrust he runs GRIMES through.

MOLESWORTH: TouchĂŠ wot?

Enter FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS: Wot is this? 0 woe a gastly hepe of corpses! Nigel we must not use force hav you not heard of gandi?

MOLESWORTH: Enuff i can stand no more (he cut down FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS).

Enter horde of socialists beattniks beards ect. They sit down. Some are forced into the pond inadvertently to provide comic releif it is a tense moment.

LEADER OF HORDE: We are protesting against the gross ineficiency of the oxford police in not preventing the death of our great leader.

MOLESWORTH: (striding forward) i will be your leader! Free old age pensions at forty and a higher basic living wage!

With wild cheers they cary him and PRUDENCE off shoulder-high.

Amid defening row the two kiss and THE END appere on the screen.

Well there seeme to be something for everyone there but i can see it will need a little pading. Who kno but wot (grammer) i may yet be a milionare? Already i am planing molesworth rides agane son of molesworth and perhaps some X certs. too. Menewhile can anyone lend me a quid i am broke chiz.

O.T.P.K.D. 4

THE COLLINGWOOD (The Dialogue on Truth) o you remember 0 Philomathes the last time that Socrates was with us?

Indeed I do Glaucon. It was some twenty years ago when I was a student of philosophy myself as you are now.

Pray tell me then Philomathes something about him. I have always been wanting to hear about the greatest of philosophers, and it would be especially pleasant from the lips of one as eloquent as yourself.

It is a long story my dear boy, but sit yourself down under this sycamore tree and I will begin.

I was dining at the great hall where they give the elders and the most wise of the citizens their meals, and on coming out who should I see coming across the courtyard but my dear friend Socrates. I rushed up to him, shook him by the hand, and greeted him, saying: "How good to see you Socrates. Where have you been and why have you robbed us of your presence for so long?"

"Ah my friend" said he. "It is a long story and I have not time to tell it now, as I see from the speed with which you are plying your legs that you have some appointment or secret meeting. On the prompting of a voice from heaven I have been making a tour of the world in search of truth. After much searching I was concluding that the god must have missed the mark and that truth was a delusion, when I remembered that I had heard mention once of some philosophers at Oxford, by reputation very wise, but known only to a very few men. Like the treasurers of the great king they preferred to keep their riches to themselves rather than to squander them on the many and unheeding."

"Well, by all the gods" I exclaimed. "You have indeed come at a timely moment. For this very night in no other dwelling than our own a certain great sophist has arrived to talk about that very subject, truth."

Socrates gave a start and strode forward. "0 Philomathes, you are truly a lover of learning as your name suggests. I am falling in love with you at this very moment."

We crossed two fields and entered into a small room in which a crowd of people were assembled. There were one or two older men who sat by themselves engaging in deep discussion and long periods of silence. In the other corner were several younger men making merry with the wine jar and waiting upon some hetairai who apparently were guests at this entertainment. We had just taken our seats when a hush spread over the room and all present

D

5

rose to their feet, as if to ask the blessing from some god before an evening meal — do you remember this 0 Glaucon?

Yes, certainly (he replied) — but pray continue with your story 0 Philomathes. At the moment you are tormenting me like the hero Tantalus.

Well, one of the company — it appears one of the more serious and younger of the philosophers — announced the arrival of the greatest of sophists to talk about the greatest of subjects — truth.

The sophist took a pipe from his mouth, lit it, let it go out, lit it again — as if making some libation; he reclined back on his couch, closed. his eyes and began.

"We use the word truth in a great variety of contexts. Sometimes we refer to the principles of mathematics, sometimes to whether the words which a person utters correspond with the things which appear before him and before other persons and to the straightness of measuring-rods. We even refer to that supreme principle by which all that is in the heaven and earth is moved — I mean love.

For the poet says: I give to you and you give to me True love, true love, true love, I give to you and you give to me Love for ever true.

Now it seems to me that all philosophers who have spoken on this subject before me have greatly erred in that they have thought the word truth to stand for something definite, independent of the verbal usage of men, some sort of eternal principle or message from a god — or other similar nonsense. Truth is thought of as something great and wonderful to be sought after by all men as the common herd seek after gold. But in fact truth is inseparable from language. If men decide to call some chance combination of phenomena true then they establish a convention of this form. But as for any eternal principle underlying the fluctuating and everchanging sequence of events, I speak to you frankly concealing nothing, I think there is none, and what there are have been the claims of the most utter scoundrels and most shameful of men who wished to enhance their own reputations as being possessed of some divine and private revelation."

I looked at Socrates beside me and I saw his head was bent forward, his chin touching his breast and his forehead creased as if he was in great thought.

"Would it please so great a man as yourself to answer a question of one who is assuredly the most ignorant of men?"

"Very much" said he, "But I hardly see any question that can be put, unless, that is, you are a wiser man than I." "You say that truth is nothing but a word used by certain men according to certain conventions, or is this not so?"

"Indeed I do Socrates, and I think that mine is the wisest of all discoveries."

6

"But let me take an example. You know what I mean by an oarsman?"

"Yes, but really Socrates I thought that you were going to say something sensible."

"— Never mind. What is the purpose of the activity of the oarsman?"

"To row, I suppose."

"And of the logician?"

"To practice logic. Really 0 Socrates. . . ."

"And of the sportsman?"

"To play sport."

"And of the student?"

"To study."

"To study what?"

"The sort of things that will make him a great and good man."

"What sort of things are these?"

"By heaven Socrates, you must be thunderstruck today; you know, oarsmanship and logic and ball games for the feet, and the art of love."

"And you think that our ancestors have things that are right to say about these?"

"How can you doubt it?"

"True things, then — or perhaps you would call them false?"

"True, certainly."

"Now just now you said that truth was a word expressing a convention of the speaker."

"Yes I did. And I know that I was speaking wisely."

"So the truth about the arts of oarsmanship and logic and ball games and love are the conventions which the people who talk about these things use."

"I suppose I said some such thing, though I am not sure if that is what I meant."

"But are you not by your teaching trying to give men new conventions of speaking about these arts? Come, you must make an answer, my dear friend, and not sit there in a corner depriving us of your talents. Well, I suppose I must answer for you. By your own arguments you, in teaching men conventions of speech contrary to their own, while claiming to teach the truth are teaching lies. It is only possible to consider rightly that one is teaching the truth if one realises that it has been sent down by the gods from heaven and is vainly grasped after by us mortals. Alas I have never found it yet but at least I am wise in one thing — knowing that I know nothing."

What a great man Philomathes and a wonderful philosopher.

What happened to him and why is he not with us now?

J. B. Nightingale

7

I breathe the night thick air and swallow all its sparkles dew light tickles my joy tears and illuminates my greyness you gather me in your album of silence kiss my soggy fag-end in your wet crack I caress your concrete flesh hum the tune of your patchy Easter brightness that lonely green joins your stone like a Chinese flute song into moonmist ego feet can only beat their own life out on your cracked web of silver rockness they never ask you directions or why you wear their soles square off I remember the words you hum wideness you lamps are mirror for the sunless for the ones who never watch the moon and catch its orange in the haze and tired smoke you sing like Judith street your curves are archetype your electric lunar glow soft like her nakedness

8

when the world first bared her navel I saw a dead coal sparkle when the world showed me her orange breast I began loosing things when the world dropped silk from her dogwood hips I heard the fog whistle when the world stepped close on lotus feet I felt a cat staring when the world revealed a plum and cherry orchard I sang a mountain song when I kissed her dawn cloud lips a train was steaming while god vomited two birds flew embracing into night.

Nic Shoumatoff

9

BEFORE THE PROCESSION my dear," said the Archduke for at least the fourth ‘‘, BUT time that day, "it is expected of us. Surely by now . . ."

The Archduchess swung round petulantly, the ends of her shawl dislodging a host of minor objects from her dressing table.

"I know it is expected of us, for heaven's sake! Franz, I am not a complete fool, whatever your father—or you, for that matter—may think." She flapped at a maid, who was attempting to retrieve the fallen objects, and continued to examine her hair in the mirror.

"Then why, in that case . . . ?"

"I have already explained why." The voice was now remotely, elaborately patient; the Archduke, looking at her, felt, for sudh an unemotional man—his occasional outbursts of fury against servants were largely a matter of convention—something unusually close to hatred. Attempting to match her tone of controlled irritation, he said: "All right. So you have a headache. I am sorry to hear it. But you have had headaches before, have you not, which have never prevented you from carrying out your official duties? What, then, is so special about this particular headache?"

"Duties! That is all 1 ever hear about—duties. Am I a human being, am I your wife, or am I simply a machine for the performance of official duties?" The last word was as near being spat as is possible in the mouth of an Archduchess. "I have less rights, it seems, than a peasant's wife! Why, even a woman of the common people, if she is ill—her husband and children will let her lie in bed, and do her work for her! Official duties! Why on earth did I not stay in Vienna?"

The Archduke, who knew as little about the life of the common people as did his wife, was in no position to refute her. He was, in any case, nervous of provoking his wife's tantrums. He decided to be conciliatory.

"Very well, then, my dear, if you really don't feel well enough, I can do it by myself--" "Oh no! " The archduke, on the point of embracing his wife (the maid had left the room), drew back with a sigh. "Let you go by yourself, and then have you reproaching me for weeks to come with not having been a good wife, never being a support to you?

Have you hinting that you should have married that countess Sophie that you praise so much--she would have been a real wife to you?

0-oh no! Either we do it together, or else neither of us goes." She waited for a protest from her husband, but he merely shrugged, his back to her, and began to pierce a cigar. "Besides, why should this place be so important—a dingy little provincial town that no one 10

has ever heard of, without even a decent hotel? Look at it! " She glanced disparagingly out of the window. "What does it matter if they are offended?"

"My dear wife." The Archduke stroked his whiskers, getting himself well into his part—the firm but kindly husband, the exemplary citizen, the pillar of the community, above all the reasonable man, capable of facing facts as they are. "You really must be sensible. I know this place may not look very impressive, but any town in this area, however small, is important at the moment. You know as well as I do the trouble we have been having from these people—the insurgences, the discontentment, the assassinations"—the Archduchess shuddered slightly—"the political repercussions. All this could have the gravest consequences for the Empire. Our presence here will provide a focus for the loyal.

It's tedious, I know. But our position demands it, and, under the circumstances, we can do nothing else."

He stopped, and looked at the Archduchess. She was playing with an earring, and gave no sign of having heard. The Archduke decided to shift his ground slightly.

"Look, my dear, why have you taken such a dislike to this procession in particular? How many processions have we been through, you and I? Fifty? A hundred? Twelve already, .on this tour alone. So why—I am only trying to understand—why don't you want to go in this procession?"

The Archduchess, who did not really know the reason herself, was on the point of producing another tantrum; at the last moment, however, changing her mind, she decided that reluctant surrender would be her easiest course.

"Well then, Franz," pressing the bell for the maid and reapplying herself to the mirror, "if you insist, I suppose . . ." The Archduke sighed, kissed her hand, and left the room.

Two hours later, as they sat together in the carriage the Archduke reached out and experimentally touched his wife's hand. It was not withdrawn, from which he assumed that she had forgiven him. He squeezed her hand, and she turned and smiled at him, almost tenderly. "I'm sorry I made such a dreadful fuss about all this, my dear," she said. "After all, it can't make much difference whether we take part in this stupid little procession or not, can it?"

"No, of course not, dear," replied her husband reassuringly. He gave a sign with his hand, the coachman flicked his whip, and the procession began to move, slowly at first, then faster, on into Sarajevo.

Philip Kemp

11

Vengeance on a Fly Cutting tracks of shadow on the pane A spot, the remnant of last summer, A single centimetre long A shady poet who has no song But ceaseless humming, thanklessly Drums on the window ever-wanting The other side of light, but unaware Of coldness, icy air.

Imprisoned in the corner, circling Wings uselessly whip up The slightest currents of the air.

On vast, one storm-torn thrust Bearing within all storms of the past year Annihilates last year.

With wintry temper tears Last year.

A blot is all that's left, The fly-world, countless, is bereft Of one lone harbinger, one reminiscence.

S.K.P.

12

Commital I cannot love a shadow.

Slip, slip if you will From my anxious eyed entreaties, Run, run from the hand That would gently push the tousled hair Back from those eager eyes of yours.

I shall not follow if you would not stay.

But if one day you come And I stare, not with the stare Of hopeless adoration, Nor yet with the eternal question Hovering in my look, But with the long cold stare Of seasoned hatred, hatred of myself perhaps As much as of your old evasiveness— If this should be, my love, Do not protest, But then mark how I could not love a shadow.

Martin Le Vay

13

National Revenge

UBERT LUDGERSHALL, Member for Upper, Lower, and Remoter Pollingsgate (after seven recounts: majorities respectively 7, 13, 4, 0, 8, - 1, .3, 7), after three days raised his head. He had been forced to look down before, indeed to look up, to look away, to look beyond, to, in fact, look anywhere but—but this was different. The country had voted, and its mood was revealed as savage: from every constituency had come reports of ballot papers not marked, but lacerated with crosses. It wasn't so much that the writing was on the wall as that the crosses went through the paper.

Wearily he rested his head in his hands again. A shudder passed involuntarily through his sixty-year-old boyish frame, and a moment later went involuntarily back the way it had come. Was there to be no respite! As leader of the party, his, he knew with a brave clarity, were the sixty-year-old boyish shoulders upon which the heavy burden of blame had been cast incessantly for those three days by every political commentator worth his salt in the wound; and in a sudden fit of non-acquiescence he leapt to his feet and removed from the wall a party slogan in all its nauseating complacency (as it seemed to him) with a copy of Hansard which had recorded, under compulsion, two of his utterances. The campaign had been so much waste: money and time spent and lost.

A discreet tap came at the door. Good God! was it Dorothy wanting her knitting cast off at such a time as this? But no, it was not his wife, but Hodgson, the old family retainer recently taken on from IMPEC ("Impeccable Servants for Impeccable Families"), and who, in spite of his youth (he was only nineteen), had the old manner of servants to perfection.

"The, ah, package, sir," he intoned with the Fine Disinterest taught only by IMPEC. "Thank you, Hodgson, thank you," Ludgershall murmured shakingly, receiving the bulky parcel into trembling hands. "Is it—?"

"It is, sir."

"And where . . . where do they say is best?"

"The temple, sir."

Ludgershall, moved to tears by his servant's Disinterested Fineness (exclusive to IMPEC), and overwhelmed by emotion at his own emotion, muttered brokenly, "Hodgson, thank you . . .

Hodgson," whereupon the old family retainer withdrew.

Now was the bitter cup of humiliation at his lips. He and his party had relied upon the support of the country. Hadn't they given pledges enough, made promises faster than the annals of

H

14

manufacture had hitherto known, offered every man his birthright, a share in making the old lion roar? And had it come to this?

Turned against utterly? It had, he knew. To every politician comes his moment of truth.

He looked down at the parcel in his hands, wrapped and sealed with all the solicitude of the gunsmith's counter. Must this be the way? Wasn't it rather the coward's means? But no, party and country would expect it; it was their due. Else why had he been left alone so long? His fingers broke into the package, and he took the pistol into his hand. "Made in Western Germany". Thank heaven's it wasn't France. That would have made it impossible!

The liberating gunshot reverberated throughout the house. The reporters, liberated from their three-day vigil, leapt for the telephone as one man and landed on it as fifty, such being their vocational tenacity that not one but got a piece of it. The B.B.C. man spoke volumes to London but couldn't be heard for the hubbub.

Somewhat later, Ludgershall himself came to mind. And as might be expected, and with a little assistance from the old family retainer, it was a brave sight that met the eyes of the onlookers.

He sprawled on the carpet with an air of decided finality which those who would pay tribute to him were to praise unanimously as his finest moment. Hubert Ludgershall, the Liberal leader, he who had chosen his party with the integrity of his whole being because "he would be neither one thing nor the other", was dead by his own act. In his right hand was the means; it his left the reason, the sheet of paper that announced that a vengeful nation had discarded Labour and Conservative, and maliciously set the Liberals in power.

Brian Birch

There was a young curate of Clyde, Who was swept out to sea by the tide, A man-eating shark, Was heard to remark, "I knew the good Lord would provide."

Anon.

15

ADMASS UNIT Rises, alarm-roused, dresses, descends to find Synthetic cereal sunshine-kissed on table And prop behind the dish his printed babel Of screams of artificial hate combined With what a shame and why our dog went blind And the earl behind the bed: gilt salesmen fable Of canned religions, cultures with jazzy labels, Build hollow castles in air of the subject's mind.

The children tinkle of jingles as they pass On X's beer and Y's tinned flavoured fruit: The grass grows greener than green, greener than grass, And Artemis herself turns prostitute: He feels a shapeless atom in the mass, Confused but captured; mutilated, mute.

SUNDAY MORNING AT NELSON Light-washed, live with anomalous sunshine, A carefree brightness of whites and blues Skips to the drab stone Sunday school, Rings like fountains through frosty air, Unchoked by the grey ostinato 'of weekday business.

And the colour-blind rectangles of streets, Drawn curtains slapping day's grinning face, Curse at the alien chattering, pattering dazzle, And drag the blankets up higher.

Duncan Tweedale

16

`magazine section "BULLFROG" proudly presents its first TEAR-OUT SUPPLEMENT. Do not try to pull-out as this will cause your "BULLFROG" to fall to pieces. This supplement may be used for sandwich paper, bridge scores, confetti, fire-lighting, and a thousand other domestic purposes. AND "BULLFROG" BRINGS IT TO YOU ABSOLUTELY ON BATTELS. What is more you have the best of EVERY magazine supplement. A team of "BULLFROG" experts bring you piquant extracts from the other magazines.

HALF-WAY-UP PEOPLE READ "BULLFROG".

Oxford is decadent. Those prime days have passed when venison's subtle aroma drifted across Magdalen park. Typically, what hunting there is now consists in running around in galoshes looking for rabbits. We are being submerged (altera Atlantic) under the effluence of Northern grammar schools and comprehensive co-sexuality. But these are not undergraduates, they are students, for whom Oxford means nothing more than a change of church and diarrhoea for the first few days of term. Even their vices are sordid; primed on Brown Ale and VP their fumbling lechery turns parties into little more than Rugby Club brawls. For the rest of the week they pack out the libraries copying out textbooks in blueblack ink and furtively reading their "Cherwells". "Working for a degree" is no longer an insult. For Mr. Butler's little boys it seems to be their main concern. At times one can hardly distinguish Oxford from Cowley. May the good Lord preserve us from a students' union. With women in it.

(From "Oxford Sickness") 17

Tear here.

SUBTLE FUSION OF EARLY ROMANTIC AND MODERN Originality and Effectiveness It is not often that a composer achieves world-wide fame and recognition after publishing a single major work. However, the talented young British composer Joseph Meek has met with this success, and it is a recording of this work that forms the subject of the whole of this review.

Mr. Meek does not regard himself as avant garde, and in this piece he attempts a subtle fusion of the freedom of harmonic and rhythmic expression that was characteristic of the early-romantic period, with modern trends in form and instrumentation. The work is programmatic in nature, and is said to be inspired by the wonders of modern science. It is unconventionally scored for tape, plus a chamber quintet of electrical guitar, double bass, and percussion. However, as we shall see, Meek achieves a rare degree of originality and effectiveness of instrumentation throughout.

The form of the work is what I shall call a "double-decker sandwich", i.e. ternary form with a second repeat of both second and first subjects. This form has, of course, a long and distinguished history. The scherzi of Beethoven's 4th and 7th symphonies spring instantly to mind; and many subsequent composers followed the Master's lead. But however much this work may owe to the Beethoven symphonies, Meek has shown that the form is by no means dead, as some contemporary musical Jeremiahs are saying.

In its new setting it can be given a new, dynamic and vital dimension.

In keeping with its modernistic topic the work opens with a few bars of introductory material on the tape, against which a rising chromatic scale on the electrical guitar is counterpointed. Then the electronic organ exposes the memorable first subject, a sweet tune of B-flat major tonality, relieved only by a transient modulation to G-minor in the eleventh bar, a theme which grips the listener with its strange austere beauty. The double bass, which incidentally is played pizzicato throughout, provides a solid rhythmic foundation for the harmony, while the other three instruments provide a quasiimprovisatory background tapestry of contrapuntal accompaniment. The first subject is given the conventional repeat on this recording, and then the second subject immediately makes its appearance on the electrical guitar. Contrasted in mood and style, with its characteristic syncopations and triplet figures, this theme is a worthy foil to the first subject, and it is interesting to note that the composer achieves a sufficient degree of contrast within the framework of the same tempo and tonality as the first theme. This 18

theme is again sixteen bars long, and it creates a static tension which is relieved so effectively and inevitably by the return of the first subject, which is repeated without alteration. The second layer of our sandwich is in the shape of the second subject again. In order to maintain formal balance, Meek curtails this reprise at the half-close. We feel that we are nearing the climax. Nor are we disappointed, for with a sudden cunning harmonic side-step, we are led into the remote, desolate regions of F-major for the final statement of the main theme. With daring disregard of classical canons, the composer cadences in the new key, and a short coda derived from the introductory material closes the work.

The work is given a sympathetic performance on this record by the newly formed Tornado ensemble. (I understand that it is not available in stereo.)

Francis Roads

FILMS (Moulin Sale) LA NOTTE VITA Graham Good writes: This is a real film about real people.

What, I ask, could be more nauseating than the treatment of this brutally beautiful piece as a series of cheap sniggers and erotic thrills, an attitude encouraged by the dirty banality of the English title, "Strippers of Pisa". What the film in fact tries to do is to translate into cinematic terms an effort to escape from the sophisticated corruption of a capitalist-based society through the strong, coarse and savage revelations of a surging neo-Lawrentian sexuality. Bunioni continually stresses the naturalness of naked flesh, and this continual exposure of female bodies provides a challenging stimulus to the audience's spiritual virility. The uncompromising defiance of convention, "decency" and stuffy bourgeois morality shown by these women in their touching, childlike physical openness finds its emotional counterpoise in the decadent materialism, the sophisticated but impotent depravity of the rich and ugly capitalists. The crumbling of their rotten little world is effectively symbolised by Bunioni's cinematic obsession with the subtly subsiding phallicism of the Pisan skyline.

This is not an easy film to appreciate intellectually. Its emotional fabric is pregnant with deeply meaningful ambiguities, arising at times to a semi-hysterical schizophrenia (Notice the recurrent symbols of physicalized cleavage — narrow streets, goats' hooves, breasts and buttocks). The central poetic theme reaches a triumphant climax when the steely dawn discovers the film's "enfant terrible" making love to a prostitute among the debris of materialism (tin cans, vegetable peelings, broken bottles) — symbolizing the power of sex rising above personal inadequacy and environmental nihilism. This is a real, raw, brutal, jarring, agonizing, hateful, depressing, above all true work of art.

19

Aunt Aggie's Column

Aggie says, "Many people in the past who have found themselves with a Problem of the Heart have written to me for advice. When they have taken it, striking solutions have been found for their problems".

FAITHLESS GUEST Dear Aggie, I am a widow, and no longer as young as I used to be. Recently I have become attached to a handsome young refugee who has been staying with me, and I must confess I have acted unwisely with him. Now he says he wants to go abroad, but I feel the blow of separation would be too much for me. What can I do to make him stay?

Dido, Carthage.

Dear Dido, You were, of course, very silly to commit yourself as you did to a complete stranger. You must realize that men do not take such things as seriously as we do. You must try to attract him with guile, but also dignity. Offer to kill yourself if he leaves; this should have startling results.

Aggie.

DIFFICULT CHOICE Dear Aggie, I have been going steady with a young man for three years, but now my father has made me go to live with him in the army, so that I'm not able to see my friend. On top of this a soldier is showing interest in me; he says my home town is in danger and that I'm not likely to see my friend again. I don't want to let my friend down, as I am quite attached to him, but the soldier is very persuasive. What should I do?

Cressida, Nr. Troy.

Dear Cressida, True love is indeed a many splendoured thing, but if your home town is in danger, we must be realistic about the situation.

You must make your own decision, but remember that if you do decide to give up your friend, the wound will heal with time, and you may regain your self-respect by being faithful to the soldier.

I wish you every blessing.

Aggie.

20

DISTURBING DISCOVERY Dear Agatha, If a mere male may be permitted to enter your columns, I'd like to ask your advice on a knotty problem. I have been happily married for some years now, and have several grown-up children, but recently I discovered a disturbing fact about my wife.

Apparently my sons are also my brothers! As I am a man in a position of authority, this fact could cause untold disturbance if it got about. What is your advice?

Oedipus, Thebes.

Dear Oedipus, If this fact was unknown to you when you were married, you have nothing to reproach yourself for. Just close your eyes to the whole business and take one of your charming children (a sister, perhaps) on holiday with you until the fuss dies down. All, I feel sure, will turn out for the best.

Aggie.

TRAGIC ROMANCE Dear Aggie, I'm fabulously sent by a swoony kid on our block, but he's got himself into trouble with the police, so I can't see him. Now my old dad wants to get me married to a guy who's loaded, and says he's madly in love with me. He's rather sweet, but not so exciting as my real boy-friend. What would you do?

Juliet,

Verona.

Dear Juliet, I think it best you marry with the county. If not, try seeking the advice of some trusted Minister of Religion.

Aggie.

ADAPT YOURSELF Dear Aggie, I'm very keen on a big beefy boy who's just moved into our town, but he doesn't seem at all interested in me. He seems so very different from me in some way, and I am very shy. What can I do to attract his attention?

Pasiphae, Crete.

Dear Pasiphae, Obviously there are barriers to overcome here, but you must determine to take the bull by the horns. It would help if you tried to adapt yourself to his taste, especially in your appearance. I wish you every success, but do not be surprised if the results of your venture are somewhat mixed, and if it produces a maze of circumstance which it may prove difficult to thread.

Aggie.

21

MARGERETTE, CELL 10.

I am sending you a booklet issued by the Council for the Welfare of the Unmarried Infanticide. You are doing the right thing in making so noble a sacrifice. If the unscrupulous man and his diabolical friend try to entice you away, have nothing to do with them.

Aggie.

DANAE, GREECE. I'm not surprised your father does not believe such a story.

Unless you tell him the truth, you will find yourself all at sea.

Aggie.

ORPHEUS, HADES. This is no time for looking back. If, as you say, you are "going through hell", you must trust your wife to be behind you the whole time.

Aggie.

If you want a solution to your most intimate problems, don't be afraid to write and tell Aunt Aggie all about it. You won't live to regret it.

David Kirkwood

END of Magazine Section.

22

GREEN FIELDS F you stood on top of the water tower and looked eastwards, you saw the road running down from the north bordered on either side by rows of trees; just rows of trees traversing the vast green fields. Later on they would become white, but at this time of the year the cotton had not yet blossomed. Beyond the road the ground rose, so that even from the top of the tower all you could see were the mountain tops in the far distance; grey mountain tops, which divided the blue sky from the green fields like a line drawn by a blunt pencil. Towards the north there was a patch of asphalt in the tree line where our track joined onto the road. Before reaching the road it branched off to the left and circuited a hill.

On the other side of the hill lay the nearest settlement. The fields belonged to the settlement, as did the banana plantation to the south of the water tower. Beyond it lay the desert, still waiting for man to water it. Clustered around the tower were our tents. Small and inconspicuous, their green almost drowned in that of the fields.

In the west, between us and the blue sea, lay the enemy territory.

The rainy season was over, so that the air was constantly filled with the purr of our water sprayers, punctuated by the boom of the pumps watering the orange grove on the other side. From the top of the water tower the country was like any other rural scene.

Man alone had created the divisions. Man alone decreed that we should daily take our exercise running between the rows of banana trees: that daily we should march beyond them to the firing range: that we should learn how to charge with a bayonette: how to crawl silently, so full of hate as to kill a man in utter silence. They on the other side also oiled their rifles every evening and slept with them.

They too cleaned their rifles every morning and practised.

Each night some of our men would not oil their rifles, but would go to lie in wait, in case the enemy came over to blow up a water pipe — or more often to steal it. Newcomers would occasionally be woken by the sound of shots, but after a few days they too would get used to it. The explosions in the orange grove where the enemy had its headquarteres were fewer now; just occasionally, in the still air, the purr of the water sprayers and the boom of the pumps would be overcome by the noise of an explosion. The next day their papers would announce the death of yet one more fighter for the fatherland.

It was already three years since the war had ended. Fighting had ceased but peace had not come. In the great southern desert the water pipelines were lifelines. The enemy was bent on destroying them and we on guarding them. Our lives were pledged to keeping the fields green.

I

23

One night, an hour before midnight, everybody was woken up.

From the far side of the row of tents a number of feminine voices could be heard. Like amazons, all that could identify their sex was the sound of their voices. On the other side along the track that led to the encampment were a few lorries and a command car.

Barking orders were arranging the erection of a stage. The southern command troop had come to perform.

Tired infantrymen are inconsiderate to the talents of the country's leading poet's daughter. They may be commanded to attend but their ears are deaf. Some may fall asleep; others, more timid, will try to remain awake by smoking heavily. Cigarettes glowed in the dark of the desert night, each little glow containing a hidden danger. The country's leading poet's daughter was rendering "It's a long way to Tipperary" when the fire broke out. Small red flames.

A slight gust of wind. They spread. Water quick. But already the flames are licking the first banana tree. Seconds pass and the dry row is on fire. Why are the sprayers not spraying more water?

Where is the tap? Where is somebody from the settlement? Quick, run. But the fire is quicker. The flames grow. They spread death.

The soldiers work hard; they are wide awake now — it is their lives they have now to save. The fire knew no man-made border. It spread to the orange grove as well.

At dawn the sun rose over a scorched tract of land. The blackened, dead stumps of the banana trees stood like tombstones erect in a cemetery. To the west lay the remains of an orange grove, leafless, black, broken branches, their agonised shapes smouldering in the bright sunlight.

The green fields were dead. As we sat down in the ashes our uniforms too blackened.

Ronald Cholodny

24

HIGH SOCIETY

Beaumont Society The final meeting of Hilary Term 1962 saw the election of Mr. Sheard as President, and the reading of a lucid and elegant paper on "Disenchantment in the Modern Novel" by Mr. John Mummery. Since the traditional puntparty in the Trinity Term, the society has broken new ground. The titles of the last three papers, "Poets and their Mystery" (by Charles Clarke), "Modern Arabic Literature and the West" (by Mr. Michael Gilsenan), and "Don Zuanismo in Spanish and European Literature" (by Charles Cardiff) sufficiently suggest this, although it is fair to add that if the subjects were exotic, the treatment was sober.

Mr. Stephen Dabydeen was President in the Michaelmas Term and will continue into the Hilary Term.

Charles Clarke

Blackstone Society President: R. W. Larard Secretary: R. J. Birtwistle Treasurer: D. 0. Silber As usual the society hibernated for the Summer Term. In Michaelmas Term the first meeting was a moot held in conjunction with the Williams Society of Lincoln College. This was the first moot to be held for some time. Mr. R. F. V. Heuston was on the Bench, but in spite of this the arguments from Lincoln prevailed; the meeting must also be unique in the records of the society in that it was a dry meeting and there was no revolt by the members. The other meeting was a talk by Mr. R. Gresham-Cook, M.P., on "The M.P. and Law Reform". On March 1st the annual dinner of the society will be held, with Mr. R. E. Megarry, Q.C., and Mr. A. G. Guest as guest speakers. It is hoped to hold more moots in the future.

R. J. Birtwistle

Camden Society President: B. F. Burns Secretary: A. V. Antonovics Treasurer: J. J. Baker The society's meetings over the past year have been as varied in content as in previous years. Miss Kemp spoke on "The British Constitution before and after 1832". Mr. C. S. L. Davies stimulated thought and discussion with a paper on "War and the Nobility in the 16th Century". Mr. P. R. L. Brown combined wit and subtlety in a talk on "Daring to be stupid in History", while Mr. C. H. Stuart spoke with clarity and erudition on "The Power of the Crown in the 1850's". At the annual dinner the society was pleased to welcome as its chief guest Dr. C. A. Macartney, Fellow and sometime Sub-Warden of All Souls College.

A. V. Antonovics 25

Sir Thomas Browne Society President: C. P. Cardiff Secretary: W. A. Vincent The society has gained immensely in stature over the last year. Following his novel production of "Adam" for Radio Cuppers, Derek Oakley produced "X=0" by John Drinkwater for O.U.D.S. Cuppers. Unfortunately, due to lack of time for rehearsals and in spite of a talented cast, including Mike Freeman, Mike Hwang, Ross Treliving and John Munro, the play failed to win. In February, however, the society staged a very ambitious production of Jean Anouilh's "Euridice", directed by Huw Davies, with sets

by Alan Clash. The cast was headed by Iris Woodford from St. Hugh's College in the title-role, with Les Megahey as Orpheus. Miles Donald took two parts as Vincent and the father. Other home talents included Bill Vincent, Vincent Guy, Tony Salkin, Dennis Lyons, Hugh Wolfson and Charles Cardiff. Guest artists were Meg Digby, Chris Grey and Jane Forest.

The only regret is that so admirable a production did not receive better support, especially from within the college. The society has, of course, continued its weekly readings throughout each term and the year has seen some very well-spent evenings over a good play, fine drinks and in the company of some of Oxford's most charming ladies.

Collingwood Society Committee: M. Baker E. Bowie C. Clarke T. Goodrich J. Nightingale Anyone who has found a raincoat with the name "Sir W. D. Ross" in the collar, please return it to the owner at once.

Since John Glikker raised the society from the dead in 1961 it has continuously increased in liveliness. This year a large number of freshmen expressed a desire to join (possibly mistaking the society representative at the first J.C.R. meeting for a recruitment officer of the Boat Club advertising machine). Some of these men have stayed with the society and have already acquired the arts of Oxford philosophical discussion. The aim of the society, however, has been to foster discussion designed to increase the understanding of philosophical problems. Whether or not we have succeeded in this, we have at least had a series of brilliant papers from outside speakers and members of the college. In Michaelmas Term we were honoured by visits from Mr. Macnabb, Sir David Ross, Professor Hampshire, and Professor Ryle, who talked respectively on "Collingwood's Theory of Art", "Aristotle's Ethics", "Spinoza", and "Reason". For discussions we had Ewen Bowie, ex-member of the college and a sad loss to philosophy, on "What right has one person to influence others?", Francis Roads on "The Ethics of War" and Charles Clarke on, among other things, "Modern Catholic Philosophy".

Hilary Term promises an equally delicious prospect, with guest speakeis including Mr. Richard Robinson, Mr. R. M. Hare and Mrs. G. J. Warnock.

But it is in Trinity Term that we are to have our real piece de resistance.

Professor Ayer will be coming to address the first Collingwood Society Annual Dinner. This will be subsidised from society funds and should be worth coming to even for those whose digestion will be upset by the thought of impending doom.

The committee thanks Mr. Macnabb and Mr. Rogers who have unobtrusively helped the society since its renaissance.

Tim Goodrich

26

Art Committee Members: D. N. Beavor R. G. M. Johnston C. P. Cardiff R. T. Aplin In accordance with its policy of supporting promising new artists, the committee, in conjunction with the Maison Francaise, arranged an exhibition of some of the works of the French photographer, Lucien Clergue.

After the exhibition, Clergue presented us with one of his works, "Maas" (Maize). Whatever one's views on photography as an art, it is impossible not to recognise that an artist is at work behind Clergue's camera. His nudes, glistening spray-covered mounds of firm flesh, and his new abstract series of feather-like maize plants are especially impressive. This is not the only time this year that we have been presented to the "outside world", for a number of our paintings played a leading part in an exhibition at Leicester Art Gallery last vacation. The exhibition's works were borrowed from the collections of Oxford Colleges, Pembroke providing eight of the pictures. It is hoped that the whole exhibition will be re-hung in Oxford some time later in the year.

We have, of course, also been buying pictures; during the year the collection has been increased by six new works (including the Clergue).

Firstly we acquired a "Portrait of a Young Man" by Craxton. Although not nearly so geometrically complete as many of his works, it is certainly an immediately attractive work. "Red and Black Watercolour" by Terry Frost is probably the most controversial of the six, opinion being more or less evenly divided between those who see it as a juvenile attempt at Freudian symbolism, and those who find it both initially arresting and, on longer acquaintance, of deceptive simplicity. Hitchcock's prove amongst the most popular of the Collection's paintings, and "The Saint", though of a more coherent nature than our earlier examples of his work, certainly has all the enigmatic qualities which have helped to add interest to so many drab College rooms. Bartolomen Dos Santos is a 32-year-old Portuguese now teaching etching at the Slade. His print, "River Thames", is a satisfying work, although certainly a Romantic's view of a rather dismal bit of river. Finally, in support of a young group of artists, "Group 13", who gave an exhibition in Congress House during Michaelmas vacation, we bought an oil by N. Parfitt called "Still Life with a Green Table", which is intended to fill a gap in the still life section of the collection.

R. G. M. Johnston

27

MANLY SPORTS

Boat Club Captain: J. D. Jones Secretary: J. O. Kerr Hangers on: J. A. O'Brian T. C. Goodrich M. E. Blogg The club's record in the past year has been one of almost unprecedented success. The traditional optimism of the last "Bullfrog" report has been fully justified. The 1962 Torpid more than lived up to expectations by covering more water in the races than any other crew on the river. To row "sandwich boat" on all four nights and stolidly refuse to hit the boat in front is a feat requiring great imagination and determination. The Second Torpid—though lacking the finesse of the First—displayed a charm all their own in their greathearted efforts never to row past the Gut. The crews behind entered into the spirit of the thing admirably.

The First VIII surpassed themselves in the summer by producing an even better gimmick. After seven weeks' hard training they were bumped three times—a feat not achieved since 1949. To mark the occasion colours were awarded to Messrs. Banks, Jones, Hopkins, Campbell and Kerr.

The Second VIII maintained their record and kept out of sight below Donnington Bridge. Rumour has it that they cunningly took to the bank in one race and so avoided rowing at all. The School's VIII were inspired by their crippled captain John O'Brian to drop one place, but the Fourth VIII elected not to participate in Eights Week at all_ No crews were entered for regattas after Eights as it was thought unlikely that the year's proud record could be maintained. Nevertheless the long vacation provided ample scope for further ingenuity. Richard Maybury was elected to succeed John O'Brian as captain—but at once left for central Africa. J. 0. Kerr then took over and during his time of office the college comfortably maintained its position on the river. In October he handed over to dignified grey-bearded Derek Jones and thus the situation remains.

One cannot look forward to a repetition of last year's triumphs this summer. There are too many distressingly athletic freshmen. The barge has been overcome by their bulk and numbers. Keith Maybury rowed all Michaelmas Term in an O.U.B.C. trial VIII and must have been very close to a place in "Isis". Moved by fears of this new professional attitude in the club, the committee arranged for the Robinson IV's Races to be rowed in a blinding snowstorm—but the stratagem failed and keenness remained undiscouraged. Training in the Alfred Street Gym has been observed with horror. Scattered throughout Oxford there are at present seven near-suicidal old First VIII men who have been rejected for the crew and so have had to work for schools. The VIII is powerful and contains two 14-stone men, one of whom has muscles. The second crew is hardworking and keen.

Prospects look good. We could even get a "blue" next year.

One bright patch remains amid this tale of woe. Thanks to hours of committee intercession with the Almighty, the Torpid was able to hold its place without rowing a stroke, the river freezing solid. This is more like the real Pembroke. But we must predict bumps in Eights Week. 0 tempora, 0 mores!

John 0. Kerr 28

Rugby Club Captain: A. V. Antonovics Secretary: B. R. P. Hopkins After a disappointing end to last season, the committee composed its perennial appeal to Freshmen with a new sense of urgency. The impending loss of many old stalwarts was going to place an even greater importance on the new intake of Freshmen than is normally the case. Our feeling of desperation was however tempered by distant rumblings across the Channel which announced the return of that great all-rounder, Stuart Price.

As in the past, we came up before the start of Michaelmas Term to start training, and to our infinite amazement we were besieged by rugby-playing Freshmen. All this was highly embarrassing, as the quality of the new recruits was such that the Committee found themselves in danger of losing their places in the 1st XV. Half a dozen Freshmen were selected for Freshmen's Trials, and Phelps, at centre, went on to play for the Freshmen Greyhounds.

The majority of the new talent turned out to be backs, and this left us weak in the front two rows of the scrum. This later showed in our inability to gain enough possession to give our backs the necessary opportunities. In the League we started badly with a defeat from Wadham, but in the end we lost only one other match, against University, where we were faced with a very strong and well-drilled side. Apart from the League, one of the highlights of the term was undoubtedly our visit to Pembroke, Cambridge.

We took a greatly under-strength team (in every sense) but we probably gained immortality in the annals of the college by having 52 points scored against us. We were, however, able to score 6 points ourselves late in the game, indicating that given more time we might yet have won. Unfortunately doubts have arisen as to the possibility of preserving the record, it being suggested that if and when we play St. Edmund's Hall in Cuppers the score might exceed 52.

In January we made a short tour to Jersey organised by the treasurer, Digby Murphy, to whom we are all grateful, the tour being an unqualified success. On arrival we found the weather as cold as on the mainland, and we thought for several blissful hours that we would not have to play any rugby. This unfortunately combined with our discovery of the licensing laws and the prices of drinks. However, we did play both matches arranged and it is a credit to the stamina of the team, apart from anything else, that we won the first. Since then we have not played again due to the weather, but at present the snow is clearing fast and we live in suspense awaiting news of Cuppers.

B. R. P. Hopkins

Association Football Club Captain: P. Herriot Secretary: E. Le Seuer The soccer club had a somewhat disappointing season in 1962-3, although there was a distinct improvement on the standard of football played in the preceding season. The 1st XI narrowly failed to gain promotion to the first division, from which it had been relegated the previous year. In the last league game Christ Church scored the winning goal in the final minute to destroy all Pembroke's hopes. This match illustrated the major weakness of the team : constructive football and good scoring ability were mafred by hesitation and mistakes in defence. Indeed, the defence was never sufficiently organised and, against Magdalen, one goal was conceded whilst the centrehalf, "Craggy" Thompson, and the captain, Peter Herriot, held a discussion in the middle of the field. The 2nd XI, under N. W. Henderson, ably assisted by J. Horton, had a much more successful season; in the league 29

only one game was lost and the team finished second to St. Edmund's Hall in the first division of the reserve section.

The college was fortunate in having several talented freshmen, Dave Roe from the U.S.A., Barry Romeril and Dave Gray played regularly for the 1st XI, and R. Roberts and W. Rees proved adequate reserves. Pembroke, it must be admitted, depended to a great extent on John Ing, a Cambridge graduate and brother of a former captain of the college soccer team, who scored eighteen goals in league and friendly matches and who consistently produced outstanding performances. Neil Cohen was unfortunately injured for most of the season, but he refereed several games with distinction if with excessive discipline. No one complained when he gave two penalties against Pembroke in a vital league match but it was suggested in some quarters that his language did not always become his dignified position.

No match has been played so far in Hilary Term 1963 due to the severe weather conditions, but it is hoped that the remainder of the season will bring in much enjoyment and more success than Michaelmas Term. A tribute must be paid to the captaincy of Peter Herriot; may he play as well for Queen's, Cambridge, next year as he did for Pembroke.

Cricket Club Captain: J. Ellis Secretary: K. F. R. Lofthouse Last season was not entirely a successful one as regards match results.

Only three matches were won and five drawn of the thirteen played. The lack of competent freshmen made it extremely difficult to field a side strong enough to match that of our opposition. John Grosser, who has left us, was the only freshman who played regularly with any success.

The batting tended to be rather temperamental with no strength below number five. In all, five of the team had scores of more than fifty in an innings; notably the secretary's 115 not out against the South Oxford Amateurs, and Peter Herriot's 93 against Pembroke College, Cambridge.

John Ellis had several high innings and batted well throughout the season.

The bowling in general suffered rather more than the batting—only two bowlers taking ten or more wickets in the thirteen matches. The best individual performance was Brian Keen's 7-36 against Henley in a low-scoring match. Peter Herriot featured fairly well behind the stumps, taking nine catches. On two occasions he bowled leg breaks against an exasperating batsman. The rest of the fielding was of as high a standard as one would have expected seeing the college outfield. To improve our cricket we must hope for stronger players to come up and also for players to guarantee to play a certain number of matches per season.

K. F. R. Lofthouse

Table-Tennis Club Captain: V. Kumar College table-tennis continues to be extremely popular. We are fortunate to have two tables, and several visiting teams have been impressed by the playing conditions at the squash courts.

Competition for places in the three college teams has been keen. All the teams have almost completed their league fixtures, and we offer special congratulations to Dave Silber and his Merrie Men for lifting the second team from Division Four to Division Two in the space of two years. The first team started rather uncertainly among the elite of Division One, but is now comfortably placed in the middle of the table. The only freshman member of the team, Gautam Chakravarty, has played consistently well, and should be an asset to the team next year.

V. Kumar 30

Hockey Club Captain: D. B. Moody Secretary: D. R. D. Johnson Michaelmas Term turned out to be a very barren one for the college Hockey Club. Out of the eighteen matches arranged, only nine of them were played, four of which were won, three lost and two drawn.

We began the season without John Ellis, Stephen Badger and Peter Ivens.

But with David Moody as Captain, we had an average yield of freshmen, producing two rugger-playing half-backs, a talented full-back and a hastily improvised Canadian goalkeeper. Our forward line was intact from last year, so on paper, with Richard Lemon raring to go, we promised an enterprising season. However, this dream was soon shattered by Corpus, who ran into double figures on our first game. But later on we had the ultimate satisfaction when S.E.H. were ignominiously steamrollered into their sloping pitch by a rampant Pembroke.

In our "star fixture" we were incredibly beaten by a team of miniscule Gaullists in a muddy "bugare". They were afterwards entertained until their Gallic appetites were fully satisfied. The pitch never recovered after this, and except for an interesting game against S.P.H. in dense fog, which we won, it was rarely used.

The Dynamos played two, won one, lost one. The prospects for this term are grim : four arranged matches have been so far cancelled.

D. R. D. Johnson

Squash Club Captain: 0. R. Stansfield Secretary: R. D. A. Pick Judging by results, both V's had a most successful term, the 1st V coming equal first in Division 3, with the likelihood of promotion; and the 2nd V, in one guise or another, winning four out of their five matches.

Our only Squirrel, Oliver Stansfield, was once again the mainstay of the side, winning all his matches with welcome monotony. Ex-secretary Chris Fitzhugh returned from exile in France to play a valuable No. 2, while the present secretary kept his head above water. In Graham Millar and Clive Mogford we had two talented freshmen who improved considerably during the term and will be very valuable again next year.

An exceptional interest in squash was shown by the freshmen, among whom were a number of beginners, and as a result we were fortunate in having a large selection of players of an equally high standard who comprised the second team in rotation.

A heater has been fixed in one of the courts to prevent condensation on the walls, and the future looks promising provided that the door of the squash building is not left open.

R. D. A. Pick

Athletic Club Captain: V. Kumar Secretary: R. W. Keeling There has been little track and field athletics this term, due to the weather, though cross-country running has remained largely unaffected.

Two Pembroke Freshmen, Bill Rees and Martin Monk, won races in the O.U.A.C. track trials. Both ran in the Freshmen's match against Cambridge, with Monk providing the only Oxford victory—in the 880 yards. College 31

efforts have been confined to the inter-college relays, in which we were unlucky not to have gained promotion.

With the cross-country league competition virtually over, we seem unlikely to repeat last year's performance in gaining the third position, but should finish well in the top half of the league. Our greatest success has been in winning the newly-introduced cross-country k.o. competition held in Michaelmas Term, while we have achieved satisfactory results in road relay races here and at Cambridge.

Throughout the year our greatest handicap has been the shortage of runners, and it is to be hoped that this situation will be remedied in the future.

Roger Keeling

The Amalgamated Clubs Committee The Amalgamated Clubs Committee consists of the captains and secretaries of the different sports clubs in the college. It meets twice a term to discuss any matters concerned with the college sports and in particular the spending of the money assigned to it. The committee disposes of a certain amount of money set aside for college sports and Dr. Wilkes, the Senior Treasurer, of the rest.

The main concern of the committee, until recently, had been the general apathy and lack of talent of the college as a whole. We realised that entry to the college could not be made to depend on sporting ability, and that therefore it was a matter of luck which freshmen would turn out to be sportsmen. This year we have been more fortunate. Furthermore the committee records its thanks to the Master and the S.C.R. for their increased interest in college sports and their attendance at several matches.

Contact with the S.C.R. has been further increased by the presence of one member of the Amalgamated Clubs Committee at the meetings between the S.C.R. and the J.C.R. Committee.

Ordinary business is mundane—the cost of entertaining visiting teams, the buying of a new eight for the Rowing Club (boat, not oarsmen), the purchase of a proper first-aid kit for the pavilion, and the extent to which the college should finance membership in the university clubs. And finally a new era has begun—minutes are being kept in a minute book.

The treasurer of the committee, who does all the work, is Oliver Stansfield.

Oliver Stansfield

-uhtop -apisdn Aiaa-Rua polupd uoaq vet{ „9011,4-nna„ Imp ivaA law oti) si 32

TOWN & GOWN Restaurant and Snack Bar 135 HIGH STREET, OXFORD for a variety of good and delicious dishes visit our Restaurant. Open 12-2 p.m. and 5-11 p.m.

* Quick and Friendly Service

Snack Bar open for Breakfast 8 a.m.-12 noon. Lunch and Tea 12-7 p.m.

Proprietor: M. G. Pistiateli •-•

IN PEMMY . . almost everybody wears . . .

CASTELL'S CLUB COLOURS TIES - SQUARES . SCARVES BADGES - ETC. - ETC.

CASTELL of OXFORD Tel. Oxford 44000

13 THE BROAD 33

Established 1787

G. T. JONES & CO. LTD. SHIPPERS OF FINE WINES SHERRY NATURO—A

Dry Natural Fino, but not too dry

FINO OLD AMONTILLADO—Medium

21 High Street, Oxford (Opposite King Edward Street) TELEPHONE 41481 Suppliers to the College

* BRANCHES IN THE CITY

DELICATESSEN & FRUIT ONLY THE BEST

ti

•

The Market OXFORD TELEPHONE :

34

OXFORD 47500

...... • • • • • •-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-• • -411.-•-•--0-0- •-•-•-•--0- • • ......

THE FINEST FOOD...

THE CHEAPEST...

If y our yo ung lad y has sudd enly star ted putt ing on weight. Do not accuse her o f the worst but c ompliment her o n the best eating at La Roma. IT I S NOT ALL BULL. Th e Finest Food. The cheapest IS La Roma La Roma La Roma La Roma La R oma La Roma La Roma L a Roma La Rom a La Roma La R oma La R oma

IS

La Roma!

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-••-•--•-•-•--•-•-•-•-•-•-•-• • • • • • •-.-.-. • • • • • • V. • -• • -• • •

35

• -•-•

•-• 41.-••

meet at

Che Pew Inn .. .

A wide selection of Salads, Hot and Cold Snacks available

36

A

COMMEM. TICKET Costs 7 gns. £1 will provide food for a starving child for 3 months

Donations may be sent to

OXFAM QUEEN STREET OXFORD

• -•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-

• • -•-•-•-•

-•

-• •

THE ABBEY PRESS, ABINGDON.