Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Along the cloisters, quads and archways, students scurried around as they prepared for the ivy ale celebration, a custom involving secret passageways and free beer that took place each Ascension Day.
It had been a tradition between Brasenose College and Lincoln College since Clara had been a student at Oxford, many moons ago.
Originating from a tale steeped in revenge, and where ivy was put into the beer to deter people from drinking too much and outstaying their welcome, Clara thought how times had changed.
Where once she loved the idea of drinking ivy ale on that special day, the only interest she had in the evergreen vine nowadays was at the walled gardens of National Trust properties.
Still, everyone enjoyed the traditions of the different houses at Oxford University, and as Lincoln choir sang from the rooftops and students threw pennies to children to teach them about greed, everyone’s spirits around the city were high.
While some of the students celebrated the ivy ale festivities, elsewhere around Oxford the congregations of various churches were about to pursue their own annual tradition.
The beating of the bounds was an event where participants marked the boundary stones of the city by beating them with willow sticks.
It was an annual tradition that dated back as far as Saxon times when the ritual had taught youngsters where the parochial jurisdiction ended and, in effect, marked their territory.
Although it was still an event that local churches took part in, the boundary walls had long been built over and, unlike those Saxon times, now Marks and Spencer and Zara stores stood over those borders.
Nowadays, as the local parishioners descended upon the shops with their willow rods, shoppers calmly searched alongside them for a new cardigan or socks.
This year, as usual, following Clara’s Ascension Day service, she headed out with her congregation and their willow rods as they went through town seeking out the stones.
The group were gathered together, chanting, ‘Mark, Mark, Mark!’ before proceeding to beat the stones with their rods.
For any bystanders unfamiliar with the tradition, it seemed a rather incongruous sight in the middle of a high street.
However, Clara was at ease; perhaps because she considered herself as quirky as some of the time-honoured rituals around the city.
She was thankful for another lovely day and, as the sun shone, she smiled to herself and thought about the wonderful place she was from.
Although she could sometimes take things for granted, and feel as though her life had stagnated, days like this were worth it.
These traditions, not to mention that this was all she knew, were the reason that she had stayed in Oxford all her life.
Sometimes she dreamed of a promotion, or a new start, having never ventured far from her home, but she also had a sense of belonging.
Clara went through the year in a haze of Michaelmas, Hilary and Trinity terms. As the official college chaplain, she had seen students excel and she had seen one or two face the dreaded consequences of rustication, when they were expelled.
This year for the beating of the bounds, there were a mix of students and older parishioners who walked with her through an alleyway, and then into a restaurant kitchen where they beat a stone on a wall.
The chefs smiled knowingly as diners looked on confused, but it was all part of the peculiarity of the custom.
By the time Clara finished all twenty-nine parish lines, her feet were beginning to ache and she was glad of the buffet lunch that she had waiting for her back at the university.
She felt herself fortunate that, unlike in a staff canteen, Clara got to dine in a historic hall where portraits hung of English writers, intellectuals, philosophers and artists.
Hannington Hall, with its resplendent dining room, was packed full of students when Clara arrived.
Many of them she knew by name, and she loved how she was able to join them for lunch when she could.
She noticed that there was a space on one of the wooden benches next to three students she knew quite well.
Arabella, Ffion and Jade had all grown close over the past two years that she had known them.
Clara had watched the trio arrive at Oxford University nervously, not knowing anyone, to becoming the best of friends for life.
This was one of the things about her job that satisfied her the most. She loved to watch students grow and succeed.
‘Room for a small one?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely,’ said Ffion, shuffling up closer to Arabella.
‘So, how are we, ladies? All well?’
‘Busy studying,’ said Jade.
‘Ah, yes. How did collections come around so fast?’
Oxford University practically had a language of its own, one that Clara understood.
‘Yup, first exam on Monday. Absolutely dreading it,’ said Arabella, grimacing.
‘Oh dear. You’ll do well though. This isn’t your first rodeo.’
‘I know, but it never gets any easier. In fact, it gets harder each year,’ complained Jade.
‘No, it doesn’t get easier, but you’re all amazing. Don’t forget that. I believe in you and you know where I am if you want to vent, or need any support.’
‘You’re brilliant, Clara,’ said Jade. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s what I’m here for.’
As Clara tucked into her roast chicken and chips, she felt a sense of pride.
She had always helped people with their worries or problems, and sometimes thought that if she hadn’t joined the church, she would have liked to have been an agony aunt.
Even as a teenager reading My Guy and Jackie, the problem pages were always the first thing she read, and Clara had often thought about how she would advise people if it were her.
Helping and nurturing people were some of the reasons she chose this path in life.
Another strength of Clara’s was diplomacy so, as the young ladies turned to chat about a student that Arabella was quite smitten with, she averted her attention and waved over to Charlie, one of the lodge porters who had finished lunch.
Clara never necessarily admitted that she had her favourites, but since she and Charlie had started around the same time as each other, they had forged an unbreakable friendship.
His grandad was a porter before him and she was old enough to remember when Charlie’s dad was a porter working alongside him too.
Despite what some might think, their relationship was purely platonic and they were two people who had the same sense of humour and had always hit it off.
‘Hello, you. Did you have a good morning?’ he said.
‘Fantastic. Shame you couldn’t have come out for the beating of the bounds with us.’
‘I know. Next year I’ll have to take the morning off. It’s been a busy one. We’ve got a new scout who started.’
Clara remembered the first time she heard that a scout wanted to empty her bins.
She imagined a young lad in a green uniform with a neckerchief and woggle.
Instead, she found a cleaner stood there with a bin bag who was waiting to vacuum her student room.
It was all part of the language she was soon familiarised with at Oxford.
‘Ah, right. I’ll have to look out for them,’ said Clara, who considered the team around St Peter’s to be one big happy family. She would make it a point to introduce herself whenever she had the chance.
When Charlie bid goodbye, one of the Oxford dons entered the hall, and nodded at Clara.
As with most of her colleagues, she enjoyed a good working relationship with him.
Everyone knew that Clara was a hard worker and nobody ever had any reason to complain about her.
In fact, she was perhaps one of the most well-loved employees at St Peter’s, where everyone adored her.
Needing to return to the office to finish off some emails, Clara polished off her lunch and wished the students well before making her exit.
‘Nice seeing the three of you. Don’t forget to come and see me, or drop me an email if you need anything.’
‘We will. Thanks, Clara,’ said Ffion.
‘You’re so welcome. Whatever you need, just shout. I can’t help you with the answers to your exams though, obviously.’ Clara laughed. ‘Seriously though, good luck for Monday. You’ll all smash it.’
Clara left Hannington Hall and made her way back to the chapel, walking past students revising on the lawns and others carrying stacks of books.
She could sense the exam nerves around her.
She empathised as she remembered how anxious she had been when she desperately aimed for a first in her BA Hons in Theology.
There was always tension around examination time, but this year Clara was starting to become jittery herself.
It might be a critical time for the undergraduates, but it was also an important one for Clara.
After all, her first date with Tom was looming and the thought of it made her a bag of nerves.
She even wondered if sitting a law exam might be less nerve-wracking.