Tag Archives: Oxford

Without Fear There Are No Stories

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Four months ago we were driving up I-15 on our way to the Salt Lake City International Airport. We sold our house, gave away our cat, loaned out our dog, said goodbye to some of the dearest friends I have ever had, and now were heading to England with our five kids and 17 pieces of luggage.

And I felt like I was going to throw up.

To be honest, it wasn’t that we were moving to England that was causing me to be sick. It was the airplane ride across the Atlantic.

I hate flying, and the only way I can get myself on a plane is to remind myself that there are worse ways to die. I remember once flying across the country by myself and forcing myself to read a book so that I wouldn’t think about the plane engine catching fire and spinning out of control and crashing into Kansas. The book was called In the Garden of Beasts by Eric Larson. It is about Berlin, Germany in the years leading up to WWII. Halfway through the book I realized that dying on a plane crash would actually be a relatively pleasant way to go, and to this day I remind myself of that every time I board a plane.

When we arrived in Oxford there were a myriad of new things to worry about. Talking to people I didn’t know, figuring out how to get from point A to point B without getting lost or mugged or run over by double decker buses, and making sure my kids didn’t cross the road without looking both ways.

One thing was for certain: I would not ride a bike. It was far too dangerous. There is so much traffic, and the roads are cramped. So I spent the first couple weeks walking from the grocery store, to church, to the schools, and my feet were killing me. As I walked dozens of bikers would leisurely sail by and I gazed at them the way a man in a rowboat gazes at passing yachts. There would be a father on a tandem bike, his child peddling along behind him, or mothers who had sometimes up to four children chatting away happily in little rickshaw-like contraptions. Grannies passed me, with their big baskets and bells chiming and scarves flying. College students casually peddled down the road with ear buds in their ears and their hands in their pockets. The more I watched these people, the more archaic walking seemed. One day I walked by the train station and saw hundreds upon hundreds of bikes in a bike rack the size of four tennis courts. Surely, I thought, these people are no more intelligent or coordinated than I am. Finally I started to think that if all of those people can do it, so can I.

But what really drove me to get on a bike was laundry day.

The nearest laundromat is 2 miles away, and I had four loads of laundry. There was no way I could do this job on foot. So I loaded up a huge duffle bag and strapped it to my back, said a prayer, and that is how I started biking in Oxford.

And guess what? Biking is my favorite thing to do. I can’t even tell you how much I love riding my bike around Oxford. Many times I can get places faster than my friends who have cars. I create no pollution. I buy no gas. I know the quick routes and the scenic routes. I love biking along the canals where the swans and ducks swim along side the long canal boats. I love braving the roundabouts where I am the only bike and their are four cars. I don’t even mind carrying my bike up steps and bridges, since it makes me feel like an athlete. I have biked to all corners of Oxford, from the LDS church in the south, to JRR Tolkien’s grave in the north, to CS Lewis’ home in the east and of course, the laundromat and craft store in the west. I feel like I am ten years old again with the wind in my face, soaring like a bird.

We mustn’t be afraid. Seriously. We will all die some point anyway, and to not do something that we want to do simply because we are afraid ensures that we don’t even live. If I find that I am not doing something that I want to do simply because I am afraid than I make myself do it. (This is different than doing something I DON’T want to do. For instance, I am afraid to go sky diving, but I also do not want to do it, therefor I see no reason why I should. However, I do want to go to Australia someday, even though I am afraid to (plane ride), so I should just do it.)

This whole England experience has been a series of  stepping from one fear to another. Should I let my kids walk to the store by themselves? Should I let Dan ride his bike to school? Should Scott rent a car and drive on the left side of the road?

And should we ride with him?

If I had listened to that fear we would have missed out on the White Cliffs of Dover, Stonehenge, the Battle of Hastings, hiking in the Cotswolds and Tintern Abby in Wales. Those were some of our best memories. Scott turned out to be an absolutely brilliant driver, just like he is when he drives on the right side of the road. 😉

I remember walking my daughter to school one day and she confided to me how nervous she was to go on the school trip to Wales for a week. I told her I knew how she felt. But if we only did safe things we’d never have stories to tell.

Letting kids conquer their own fears and allowing them to be brave and successful is one of the most satisfying things about parenthood, and has been the best part of this trip to England. I could make a huge list of things my children have accomplished these past four months that they didn’t think they could do, but I won’t embarrass them. But I will say I am so proud of all of them, for they have done hard so beautifully, and now they have so many stories to tell!

 

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A Night at Oriel College

Last night we were invited to dine with one of Scott’s colleagues. It was at Oriel College, one of the many colleges here at Oxford.

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The dining hall awaits.

Oriel College is one of the oldest colleges at Oxford, and is very keen on its traditions. For instance, every evening the college serves dinner in its dining hall to the students and faculty, and has done so for 700 years.

Seven hundred years. Just soak that up for a minute.

The dinner is not only multi course, but multi-stage. This is how it went:

First we hung our cloaks in a cloak room and followed our host and his trailing robes to the dining hall. (The Oxford professors and students wear their school robes to dinner. Guests–like Scott and I–could come in a suit or dress.)

Just before we were allowed into the hall we chatted for a bit in a waiting room area. Here there was a long wooden board displayed on an easel. The board represented the High Table, and around the board were cards with names. That was how we knew where we were to sit once we entered the dining hall. I was (purposely?) not seated next to my husband.

We headed into the dining hall. The high, beamed ceiling arched above us and the walls were lined with paintings of past provosts and knights and The Queen. Our places were set with china, glass and silver goblets, and loads of shining silverware, expertly arranged on a long wooden table that was probably older than Columbus’s mother. The students of Oriel College sat at the student tables, and we sat at the High Table.

IMG_7853If you think of Hogwarts Dining Hall you will have the proper mental image.

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That bright portrait is of the Queen, watching to make sure everyone uses their best manners.

The presiding faculty member banged a gavel and a priest gave a prayer in Latin. I understood the word AMEN.

We ate by candlelight. First there was the bread. Then soup. Then a delicate slice of fish. Then the main course. Then an artistic dessert. Each course had its assigned cutlery and I was grateful for all those etiquette dinners I had as a youth, so pay attention kids. You never know, some day you might get to eat dinner at Oxford.

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When everyone was finished the presiding faculty banged the gavel again and we all stood. He said another prayer in Latin. We took our linen napkins with us and headed outside, across the chilly, starlit courtyard to another chamber.

We entered a large pink room with a blazing fire, two giant crystal chandeliers, life-size portraits, more candles, goblets and china (Now think Downton Abbey) and another table that was not quite as old as the first–perhaps as old as George Washington’s mother. We had assigned seats here as well, but we were seated next to new people, so all the conversations were fresh.

On the plate in front of me was a mysterious bowl of water with a lemon in it. I was not sure what I was supposed to do with it. Drink it? Wash my fingers in it? Gargle? So I just did what everyone else did which was move it to the side.

Then came the fruits. Beautiful platters of exotic fruits were passed around the table, some of them I didn’t even recognize nor have any idea how to eat.

Following the fruit there were three crystal decanters of alcohol in lovely shades of pink, rose and burgundy, which I passed on their merry way. A little tin box of snuff came next, which I also passed. Scott told me later there was also a plate of sweets which somehow didn’t reach me. Curses!

When everyone was finished we moved to another room: a drawing room-type place (think Jane Austen) where we were served coffee and tea (and for us Mormons, more water. I drank A LOT of water last night).

During this whole exercise (which took three hours) I was surrounded by brilliant minds. Over the years I have had many opportunities to talk with very intelligent and accomplished people (through Scott’s job). This used to intimidate me a little, but not any more. First of all, I love talking to academics. They are attentive, curious, inquisitive and enjoy explaining things as much as they like asking questions. They are very knowledgeable in their field and in some cases they know more about a certain topic than anyone on the planet. I love to see how animated they become when they have a captive listener who wants to know about their life’s work. But even they will admit that they know a lot about a little and they are always interested in learning something they didn’t know before. After all, is that not the very nature of academics?

For the first stage of dinner I sat across from a man named Mark who was a lecturer on The Classics. Now, to me “the classics” means Charlottes Web, To Kill A Mockingbird and Where the Wild Things Are. I knew enough to know I had no idea how to progress in a conversation with this man. So I said, “What would be an intelligent question to ask someone who lectures on The Classics?” He gave a broad smile and then we were off like a couple of race horses, having a fantastic discussion of Greek papyri and ancient Greek songs which I think we both found quite satisfying.

In the second stage of dinner I was seated next to another Classics professor with brown eyes. Thanks to my new friend Mark at the previous table, now I actually had some background in the subject and could ask intelligent questions on my own. Mr. Brown Eyes and I had a truly fascinating conversation about Greek love poetry while eating passion fruit with tiny forks. It is a good thing I’ve never been attracted to brown-eyed men.

These academics were just as generous with questions about my life. When I told them that my magnum opus is raising five children they were dutifully impressed and wanted to know more about my kids and how they were “getting on” in Oxford. We talked about many other things last night including Mormon handcart companies, British Parliament, the vastness of the state of Wyoming, 2nd Amendment rights of Americans, genealogy, the proper way to heat tea (NOT in a microwave), what my mother is doing with her life at 75, cougar hunting, and why so many Brits are wearing a poppy on their lapel this week (Armistice day/Veterans day).

It was a wonderful evening of food, conversation and tradition. To sum it all up: everyone is interesting. Everyone has a story to tell or knowledge to share and no matter how much you know there is always something to learn. How I love living in a world filled with so many wonderful and different people. Thank you Oriel College and especially Mike Devereux  for a lovely and unforgettable evening!

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U.K. Schools: Uniforms, Hymns, and Fish & Chips

With all of my kids in school now I can finally sit down and write about it.

They are LOVING it (not really) and I am so pleased with the way they are getting used to their new environment. At the very least they are getting their exercise! I walk Naomi and Levi about .5 miles to school every day, while Scott bikes with Dan to his school (2 miles away).

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Sophia and Syrena win the prize for distance–they walk 2.5 miles to school AND back. That is five miles a day for them . . . and if you include our Sunday trek Sophia and Syrena walk 30 miles a week.

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The main reason we wanted our kids to go to school here is so they could experience school life outside the United States and gain a broader perspective of the world. We came to the right place . . .  I went to a parents meeting on Friday and the parents were from Poland, Italy, France, Hungary, India, Japan, Brazil and Africa. The true Brits were actually in the minority, and I was the only North American. This is the nature of Oxford.  People come from all over the world to attend or work at this world renown university. (In fact, I just found out that Malala Yousafzai just started at Oxford this month! We will be on the lookout for her.)

My kids have noticed a lot of differences between their British schools verses their American schools, and we have complied a list. But first an important disclaimer: This is not a list to compare the quality of the education between US schools and UK schools. There are good schools and not-so-good schools here, just like their are good schools and not-so-good schools in America, so it would be impossible for me to compare the merits of the education as a whole (plus we are not here long enough to do that). This is simply a list of the minor cultural differences in every day school life.

  • There are no school buses here. Kids walk, bike, bus or are driven to school by their parents. I was told that British kids think our yellow American school buses are “cute” . . . probably the way we think red London phone booths are cute.
  • There is no such thing as paper lunch bags. We have looked everywhere for them. They don’t exist. Or perhaps they reserve them in the back of the grocery stores and only sell them to kids who go to the private schools. I have no idea.
  • Children are taught to do all of their school work in pen–no pencils allowed–even for math (or “maths” as they say here). Apparently British children do not make mistakes.
  • Many (but not all) public schools in Oxford wear uniforms . . . and some uniforms are more appealing than others. For the most part uniforms are not that expensive, unless you are buying for four children. I probably would have spent the same amount of money on school clothes shopping in the US as I did on uniforms. I’m sure some of the private schools here have more expensive uniforms. Also, not everything is “compulsory.” For instance, at the secondary school (high school) that Sophia and Syrena attend, the jacket with the crest on it is compulsory, but you don’t have to buy the sweater to go with it unless you want to. IMG_6656
  • In North Carolina the schools would sometimes have a fundraiser called “Hat Day” and if you paid a dollar you could wear a hat. Here, instead of Hat Day they have No Uniform Day and you can pay one pound to wear your normal street clothes and leave your uniform at home! Woo-hoo!
  • Recess is called “break” and my kids get a lot more “break time” here than their public schools in NC.
  • Naomi, Dan and Levi all attend church schools. Naomi and Levi go to a Catholic school and Danny goes to a Church of England school. During school they have prayers and sing hymns. At Naomi’s school they even light candles at the school, and every week “Father Daniels” comes and prays with them and gives them a little sermon. Even though Naomi’s school accepts Christians as well as Muslims, the children get little awards for memorizing things like the Seven Deadly Sins and the Seven Lively Virtues and the Apostle’s Creed. Naomi received her first award last week, proving she is on her way to becoming a good Catholic.IMG_6944
  • Kids seem to go on a lot more field trips here. Every other week the kids are going somewhere. Sometimes the school doesn’t even tell me. (The other day Levi *said* that he went on a field trip to an island and they handed out swimming suits to everyone . . . but I don’t believe everything Levi tells me about school.) Right now Naomi is in Wales on a school trip. She’s been there for a whole week! We will all be so happy to see her when she gets back.
  • Children start to specialize sooner here. If Sophia and Syrena were going to be here for the entire year they would have a chance to have work experience in a field that they intend on pursuing and all of their classes would start to focus on this field.
  • Danny goes swimming as part of school. On Wednesdays he spends the entire morning swimming laps. He doesn’t think it is great, but I think it is AWESOME.
  • They start kids a year earlier than we do in the US. That is why Levi gets to go to school.IMG_6947
  • They feed all the younger kids *free* school lunch. A friend of mine who lives here says that that is how the government gets the kids hooked on eating hot lunch. Some of the menu items: Yorkshire pudding (kind of like a German pancake or popover, but you eat it with meat and gravy instead of powdered sugar and syrup) and Dan’s favorite: fish and chips.

Those are few of the most noticeable differences. Since wearing a uniform is probably the biggest change for my kids, I will do a future post on the pros and cons of uniforms after my kids have been in school for a while. But for now I love love love love being here. I love walking my kids to and from school every day, I love that they are out of their comfort zones, and I love watching how they adjust to these new experiences and make new friendships.

 

 

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Walking to Church in Oxford

For four Sundays we have walked the 2.5 miles to church. At first we walked through the center of Oxford, but recently we found a less busy route. Let me take you with us.

First we walk through the streets of Jericho where we live, past the ales and fine food.IMG_6363

We cross a bridge and walk alongside the canal. (Oxford is called Oxford because it was a place where they would cross oxen through the Thames River. Swineford is another city where they would cross the pigs. I’m glad I live in Oxford.)

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We cross another bridge and walk under the train tracks. Often there is a train rumbling above us. IMG_6373Then over a rainbow bridge.IMG_6379

We keep following the canal. IMG_6381

We will soon cross that bridge up ahead and get onto Botley Road.IMG_6384Crossing Botley Road.IMG_6385Usually this road is very busy with traffic, but on Sunday mornings it isn’t so bad.IMG_6387.JPGAnother bridge.IMG_6388Another row of houses.IMG_6390

We pass by a loch where they raise and lower the water level to let boats from one canal onto another.IMG_6392.JPGYet another bridge.IMG_6393Then through a small grove and a meadow. Danny also uses this route to ride his bike to school. Danny’s school is just after this meadow. IMG_6397Another row of houses.IMG_6398

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When we pass the duck pond . . . we are almost there . . . IMG_6405But first we have to pass a steaming, inviting swimming pool. Come on, Danny!IMG_6406 And sometimes we see old men sailing little boats on the Thames.IMG_6408

Then down the straight and narrow path . . .IMG_6409And we reach our destination. We take off our walking shoes and put on our church shoes. Then after church we do it all again! IMG_6410

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Our First Week in Oxford

When you only have a little bit of time and you have to decide whether you are going to write a blog post or write to your mother, always write to your mother.
But I will let you eavesdrop.
Hi Mom–
Please excuse the spelling and grammar of my letter. I wanted to send you some photos of our trip so far and tell you what we’ve been up do but I don’t have much time (Scott is down stairs streaming Indiana Jones with the kids). But now that we’ve been here for almost a week I wanted to write and let you know we are alive and things are going better than I expected.
We have a great house. It is super old (200 years?) but sturdy. The stairs slant and the floorboards have cracks and creak REALLY LOUDLY (good thing, too, because there is no lock on the master bedroom door). I also think a ghost lives in my closet because no matter how often I close the door it opens when I am not looking . . . but it is perfect for us because there are enough dents in the floors and walls that the ones we add will not be so noticeable. It is furnished, so we have everything we need, pots and pans and spoons and a washer-dryer contraption that I’m not sure I understand yet. We have enough beds for everyone, and most of the rooms are light and airy. I love the skylights! The rooms that are in the basement are not light and airy but at least they are cozy. There is a big sticker down stairs that says “IF YOU SMELL GAS CALL THIS NUMBER.”
That sticker keeps me up at night.
We live in a great part of the city–everything is walkable–the post office, the health center, all of the grocery stores, lots of restaurants, it is wonderful! Scott and I had a very romantic date at a nearby pub that claimed they made “proper hamburgers” which were absolutely delicious. I think we have walked about 15 miles this week. I am glad because this means I can eat more proper hamburgers.
. . . and Cadbury chocolate. YUM!
Church is a little out there–2.5 miles–but we did it anyway. I’m not sure that is sustainable, though. We might have to figure out another way to get to church. Or go to another church . . .the Scientology church is much closer. And the Quakers.
But going to church really was wonderful. I told the kids before church how you always told me that every time you go to church in a different country you feel like you are coming home. It felt like that here, too, only this church has an ELEVATOR. Danny was excited about that. Too excited.
It is so funny how small the world is. I met someone at church whom I knew in the BYU married ward when I was RS pres. That was a great surprise!
I am trying and praying really hard for the kids to get in school. Sophie and Syrena will be fine if they don’t get into school because they can do BYU Independent Study. But I MUST GET DANNY IN SCHOOL. Not for my sake, but for his. He needs a break from his nagging mom. But I am not trying to be naggy…I am only trying to save his life. (That is the only stressful thing about walking everywhere, is that 7 year old boys think they can walk across streets and not look both ways and that cars will just magically halt. Kind of the same way Dad thought, only Danny doesn’t old up his hand and grin at people. PLEEEEZZZ pray for Danny EVERY NIGHT.)
It has been so fun to have Scott around. Usually he is at work or doing church stuff, but he has been with us 24/7 and we’ve done so much–punting on the river, walking around parks and ran a community scavenger hunt (“orienteering course”) and it has been so great to have him around. He really is an amazing man. He is positive and optimistic no matter what. I know that this trip has gone so smoothly because of him. That will end tomorrow, though, when he goes to Oxford to work and I am on my own.
*trying to hold in the sobs*
I wish I could write more, but I have to get my home schooling stuff organized just in case I have to teach my kids. I can’t remember how to do fractions. Or division. Or spelling.
Did I mention you need to pray for Danny?
Love,
Chelsea
PS Mom, every time I see lace in the windows I remember how much you loved that. I wish you were here. It would be fun to go on a walk with you. Adelaide street is where we live. The street sign is much prettier than our front door. 🙂
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