A university lecturer’s life in ’40s Britain?
I’ve been listening to an interesting BBC radio history series The Idea of a University and just heard about a satirical book (not seemingly still in print) “Redbrick and these Vital Days” by a Liverpool academic, E Allison Peers. It includes this marvellous descriptive passage about a typical day in the life of ‘Professor Deadwood’ (based apparently on the author’s view of Alan Dorward).
He has a leisurely breakfast at half-past-eight, followed by pipe and paper; reaches the University between ten and half-past; reads his letters and perhaps writes one; saunters into the Common Room for a cup of coffee; calls on a colleague, or the Bursar, or the Clerk to the Senate; returns to his room, glances through the latest issue of a learned review, has a few words with a pupil - and lo, it’s lunch-time. After lunch in the refectory, followed by a chat about the day’s news in the Common Room, he gives a lecture at half-past-two, and immediately afterwards hurries home lest he should be late for tea. After tea comes the day’s exercise (unless it happens to be a day when he has no lecture, in which case he plays golf in the afternoon) and after dinner he spends a couple of hours with a new book on his special subject (or a book from the circulating library on something else), after which, the paper again, a nightcap, and bed at eleven after a somewhat tiring but thoroughly well-spent day.
They don’t make jobs like that any more - do they?
P.S. It seems I am not alone in thinking that what I will be doing in part when I teach is what the founder of Keele University, Lord Lindsay, saw as the purpose of university education: “to enable everyone to read the Times intelligently”.
September 5th, 2006 at 1:47 pm
[...] Media @ LSE Group Weblog » Blog Archive » A university lecturers life in 40s Britain?: He has a leisurely breakfast at half-past-eight, followed by pipe and paper; reaches the University between ten and half-past; reads his letters and perhaps writes one; saunters into the Common Room for a cup of coffee; calls on a colleague, or the Bursar, or the Clerk to the Senate; returns to his room, glances through the latest issue of a learned review, has a few words with a pupil - and lo, its lunch-time. After lunch in the refectory, followed by a chat about the days news in the Common Room, he gives a lecture at half-past-two, and immediately afterwards hurries home lest he should be late for tea. After tea comes the days exercise (unless it happens to be a day when he has no lecture, in which case he plays golf in the afternoon) and after dinner he spends a couple of hours with a new book on his special subject (or a book from the circulating library on something else), after which, the paper again, a nightcap, and bed at eleven after a somewhat tiring but thoroughly well-spent day. [...]
September 6th, 2006 at 7:22 am
The thing is, though, I think our jobs still look like that to outsiders, which makes me less than convinced they ever WERE like that - especially not after having talked with my grandfather, who was in fact a professor in the thirties and again, after the war and onwards. Sounds to me as though it really wasn’t all that different. Except that when he finally became chair of his department he actually had access to an extra, hidden office, and a secretary loyal enough to tell people he was out, so he could actually get some research done for a couple of hours a day.
September 6th, 2006 at 9:10 am
An extra hidden office? I love that idea! Pull down my dummy copy of The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere and a hidden staircase appears leading to a turret overlooking the quad… Where do I sign up?