Bluestockings
Page 9
Medical opposition to women undergraduates eventually petered out, as credible evidence failed to materialize, but a certain amount of academic prejudice persisted, stemming from low intellectual expectation. That was rooted in all sorts of things: universities’ suspicion of women’s motives in coming, fear of change, lack of precedent, cronyism, professional jealousy, a genuine apprehension that degrees would be devalued or the academic integrity and reputation of English universities be compromised, and good old-fashioned institutional chauvinism. A male undergraduate at Durham was succinct in his estimation of any bluestocking’s potential: ‘her proudest achievements, her loftiest thoughts, when compared with the quantity and quality of her brother’s work, are, and always must be, “blinder motions bounded in a shallower brain”.’11 Dean Burgon of Chichester Cathedral was even more brutal, informing the women of Oxford in a sermon in 1884: ‘Inferior to us God made you: and our inferiors to the end of time you will remain. But you are none the worse off for that.’12 His audience, brave souls, dissolved in incredulous laughter.
Such academic prejudice manifested itself – especially at Oxbridge – in universities’ refusal to judge men’s and women’s achievements on equal terms. At its most extreme this meant ignoring women completely, like the (probably terrified) professor mentioned at the beginning of the chapter who walked out on a lecture room of ladies. Different male lecturers had different strategies. The architect and artist John Ruskin mischievously doubted women, or ‘bonnets’, could cope with his classes:
I cannot let the bonnets in, on any conditions this term. The three public lectures will be chiefly on angles, degrees of colour-prisms (without any prunes) and other such things of no use to the female mind, and they would occupy the seats in mere disappointed puzzlement.13
C. S. Lewis grew ill-tempered and muttered petulantly when there were women present; J. R. R. Tolkien was quiet and subdued in the lecture room, his Anglo-Saxon sounding faintly threatening, like ‘gentle swearing’. One tutor at Somerville College serially proposed to all his female students except one (who was mortified); another, supposed to be teaching six women maths, was slapdash and lazy. He gave them dispiritingly difficult problems to solve, without the background knowledge to tackle them; he never gave them individual attention; and if he had corrected a mistake on one girl’s paper, would never correct the same on another’s. They were left, bewildered and panicky, to compare notes, which took time, and none had the confidence or expertise to understand why she had gone wrong. His written comments were entirely indecipherable. His poor students, not surprisingly, were ‘in a terrible commotion about their prospects’.14 All they learned from this tutor was to hate maths.
Inevitably, discrimination posed practical problems. Durham University was desperately short of ladies’ cloakrooms, forcing women students to arrange depots of chamber pots in strategic locations around the chilly city. Even though the huge and overwhelmingly splendid Royal Holloway College for women offered science degrees, they had neglected to build any laboratories; until the 1920s, women studying science at Oxford were bundled into a basement of Balliol College to do their practicals, with noxious results. Rachel Footman was a chemistry student in 1923–6:
Balliol… was rather dangerous as we studied poison gases there under Professor Thompson and we only had tiny windows below pavement level. I remember one day being seized round my middle by the Professor himself who threw my head and shoulders out of this tiny window – apparently I was making C.O. [carbon monoxide] and my gas cylinder was very inadequately sealed. He said ‘another moment of that my girl and you would be dead.’15
Arts students at Oxford, in the early days, met for lectures in a poky little room above a baker’s shop, with yeasty aromas filtering through the dust. At least they had no need of chaperones there.
Even though several of the civic universities were founded for men and women on an equal footing (except for the latter being initially barred from courses such as medicine, theology, or law), their male undergraduates seem to have been among the most chauvinistic in the country. At Birmingham, someone facetiously suggested opening a faculty of Feminology, so that students could have a crack at learning the arcane customs and thought-processes of the genus Bluestocking, also known as ‘modern girl’. Another wag composed a ‘Song for Maidens’ (1915):
Napoleon knew a thing or two, said he, ‘Les femmes tricottent,’
Which by interpretation is ‘Let women till their plot.’
But they hold meetings nowadays and talk an awful lot,
And while they blag with politics the race just goes to pot…
When you disdain your strait domain, your scroll of life you blot.
If envy men you must, pray do – but emulation’s rot.
We’ve seen your pictures, read your books, we COULD say quite a lot,
But chivalry forbids, – why, that’s another thing you’ve not!16
One might assume the author of the following little ditty to be some high Victorian misogynist, with Aristotelian sympathies:
You modern girl, you chit of legs and wings,
You walking palette of deceitful things,
You mannequin who, with such subtle aid,
Make every walk you take a dress parade.
Prevaricator, holding flaming youth
For all you say and do, a good excuse.
Between a hat and shoes you fill the gap,
They call you Miss, they’re right in this:
Mishap.17
In fact, it appeared in the Birmingham University magazine, The Mermaid, of 1934.
At Cambridge there were riots in 1897 when the Senate addressed a vote on whether or not women students should be allowed official membership of the university, including the right to a degree. Oxford and Cambridge were by now the only universities in the country not to confer them. Tension was high on the morning of the ballot. Special London to Cambridge trains were laid on by the opposition, to encourage as many choleric graduates as possible to return and cast their votes. University Square filled with overexcited male undergraduates wielding screaming banners and placards – ‘No Women’, ‘Down with Women’– and someone rigged up a caricature bluestocking, immodestly dressed in her underwear, on a bicycle suspended high above the crowds. According to Winifred Pattinson, up at Newnham at the time, things got very nasty very quickly. Effigies of Miss Clough and Miss Jex-Blake, the Girton secretary for the Committee for Nominal Degrees for Women, were set alight in the Square and burned, to whoops of atavistic glee from the men. Students at the two rowdiest colleges in Cambridge, Caius and Jesus, were gated for threatening to fire-hose anyone voting for the women. Newnham girls were not allowed out of college after 11.00 a.m. Several escaped, however, and watched the proceedings unharmed, although oranges, lemons, eggs, bags of flour, and exploding fireworks were being pelted at anyone suspected of bluestocking sympathies.
When the results were declared – 662 for allowing women ‘in’, 1713 against – all hell broke loose. To great cheering and jeering, the cycling mannequin was torn down by crowds of crazed undergraduates and marched to the locked gates of Newnham, where it was ripped to pieces and poked through the railings. They tried to plant their placards all over the college (when one student had the bright idea of propping one up in a tree, the loyal Newnham gardener’s boy kicked away his ladder and left him stranded). More fireworks were lobbed at the girls’ windows, with threats and obscenities, until at 10.00 p.m. men from Selwyn College lit a huge bonfire outside, subsided a little, sang ‘God Save the Queen’, and then went to bed. ‘It was most kind of them,’ noted Winifred, ‘to provide us with so much amusement.’18
What would have happened had the women won? What appalled the Establishment, of course, was Girton’s implicit demand for sexual equality. But it is worth remembering that Miss Clough at Newnham had never sought equality with the status quo. She wanted an improved system of university education everyone could share, according to individual stre
ngths and ambitions. London and the civic universities concurred. The vast majority of women involved in developing higher education, staff and students alike, did not strive to be like men, nor even to be treated in the same way as men, except in terms of opportunity and just reward.
Some did not even want that. Kathleen Courtney at Lady Margaret Hall in Oxford wrote to her mother on 23 May 1897 that she was glad Cambridge had just voted against giving women degrees, for if the motion had been passed, ‘there would have been a renewal of the discussions here, and we are very well satisfied with our present position’.19 Another LMH student, Eglantyne Jebb, agreed. She thought those clamouring for degrees were being hasty:
I cannot help thinking that the higher education of women is of too recent a growth, for us to be quite sure as yet what we do and what we don’t want. If we bound ourselves down to it, it would probably prevent for ever the possible development of a separate and perhaps better system of our own. We are in such a hurry…20
The Establishment had an answer to that idea, too. ‘If women require a university,’ ran a newspaper article, ‘by all means let them have it. Let one be founded at some suitable spot, say Land’s End or the Scilly Isles, and let it turn out female Bachelors by the hundred. But on Oxford and Cambridge women have no just claim whatever.’21
The critics of unrestricted university access for women were relentless in pursuit of prohibition. Few girls, in the period before the Second World War, were able to study at university without their family’s consent. So, as well as attacking on medical and academic fronts, the opposition attempted to claim the moral high ground by alarming undecided parents with threats of domestic catastrophe and social collapse. Their battle cries invoked duty, reputation, and obedience. If the medics and academics were right, they argued, and university really was a potentially ruinous environment for women, who in their right mind would send a daughter there? Think what might happen! At Oxford she might degenerate into that abhorrent ‘type’ so maliciously recalled by the author Christopher Hobhouse, who was there in the 1930s. His undergraduettes are sheep-witted creatures, content to flock to every lecture and scribble down every word, to read every book they are set, obey every rule, and dutifully to parrot every little gobbet of received wisdom they are fed. They have no sense of style, decking themselves in ‘hairy woollens and shapeless tweeds’.
Instead of claret and port they drink cocoa and Kia-Ora [orange squash]. Instead of lordly breakfasts and lunches which a man can command in his own rooms, they are fed on warm cutlets and gravy off cold plates at a long table decked with daffodils.
In this setting the mind of the Oxford woman grows narrower day by day.22
Elsewhere the ‘Oxford woman’ was characterized in stinging little epigrams: on being told about someone’s new boyfriend, the typical Somervillian would immediately ask, ‘What does he read?’; the student from LMH, ‘Who’s his father?’; from St Hugh’s, ‘What’s his sport?’; and from St Hilda’s, ‘Where is he?’ In another version, LMH was supposed to be for ladies, St Hugh’s for girls, St Hilda’s for wenches, and Somerville for women. St Anne’s did not feature, not being a cohesive college until the 1950s, and therefore deemed (in certain circles) unworthy of notice.
If your daughter went instead to a civic university, people might think her common. Rules there were more lax than at Oxbridge, but only because their students were snobbishly perceived to be somehow less valuable and weaker-willed. A large proportion of them, according to a 1909 report, belonged to a different class, and suffered from the ‘marked contrast’ between what was expected of them at university, and at home.23
Send her to Birmingham, where they taught technical subjects, and she would be corrupted in days:
Miss Georgiana Washington’s life went in whirls,
She caught all the vices of ’Varsity girls,
She smoked in capacity,
Drank with audacity,
Her one saving grace was her utter veracity.
Georgiana’s virtue scarce lasted a week,
Since then horrid rumours have started to leak,
Fate seemed to design her
To find life diviner,
When dancing with dentals or even a miner.24
At Manchester she would quickly curdle into a graceless ‘new woman’. An article in the Owen’s College magazine in 1895 describes this unlovely species: she smokes, rides a bicycle (while not wearing a skirt), demands a vote, a public voice, and total independence. She agitates for political recognition, and bruits her so-called learning like a hyaena. ‘To be short… she is no longer content to exert the sweet influence of her sex, but stakes her hopes upon power. She is therefore odious.’25
At any university, she would be exposed to infectious social diseases, and put in mortal danger of contracting feminism, nymphomania, asceticism, atheism, or eternal spinsterhood. It was patently irresponsible, declared the critics, to condemn one’s daughter to an expensive, unproductive interlude at university, which would probably rob her of charm and eligibility, and spoil her for family life.
To counter that negativity (somewhat feebly), articles were published in the pictorial press suggesting the possibility of regarding scholarship as just one more asset in an accomplished young lady’s repertoire. It need not compromise her essential womanliness. A Newnham student wrote an article to prove it:
Never have I heard it more consistently and reverently asserted that a woman’s true sphere is the home. Most of the ladies [at Cambridge] rather pride themselves in their domestic accomplishments. Among my own contemporaries were some whose nimble fingers could wield the needle as well as the pen, and produce with equal ease a copy of Latin verses or a fashionable bonnet. Others could send up a dinner not to be despised by the most fastidious of College Fellows.26
Parents and students alike obviously required a measure of strong-mindedness – itself an unattractive quality – to brave certain quarters of public opinion. Perhaps the cleverest students were those who could disguise their intelligence and appear normal, like the Girtonian encountered at a dinner party in the 1880s: ‘My dear, she was such a nice girl, with rosy cheeks and nice manners and nicely dressed and you wouldn’t have thought she knew anything.’27
The steady increase of women undergraduates from the 1880s onwards proves that more and more parents, fortunately, were confident enough in their support of higher education, and sure enough of their girls’ integrity, to withstand the gainsayers and satirists. They were at worst not particularly bothered, and at best honoured by the idea of an undergraduate daughter, even if her chosen course were non-vocational. What were the alternatives for an intelligent, unmarried young woman? Florence Nightingale and Elizabeth Garrett Anderson warned of the corrosive effects of sitting at home doing nothing. The Girl’s Own Paper suggested some late nineteenth-century pastimes to fill what it deliciously called that ‘mauvais quart d’heure’ in a girl’s life between school and marriage (in an article ‘by the author of How to be Happy Though Married’). ‘There is such a thing as adult education,’ asserts the writer, but it need not involve university. ‘[W]e may learn from everybody and everything until the day of our death, so that nothing is more ridiculous than to speak of a girl’s education being “finished” when she leaves school.’28
She should try an essay club, a reading or study club, an ‘Early Rising Society’ (activities unspecified), a ‘Question Society’, a lecture or discussion group. The poor are always with us, so there is plenty of charity work to be done, and ‘there is no household work such that a girl should deem it beneath her position to know how to do’ – if only to set the servants a good example. If she keeps herself thus occupied, ‘she will be able to wait in dignified tranquillity until the right man comes to claim her’.29 Oh, good.
Vocational courses became available at teacher-training colleges, schools of nursing, art colleges, or academies of music during the second half of the nineteenth century. But only at university could a girl re
ally explore learning for its own sake, or as one student put it, distinguish what she knew from what she did not, ‘which is the beginning of wisdom’. Sympathetic parents recognized this. Even unsympathetic ones might be persuaded, given a little diplomacy and determination on the part of the ambitious schoolgirl. She had only to draw attention away from the negative arguments (which sound either quaint or chillingly familiar to modern women students), and concentrate instead on the many positives.
It was usually the father, if still alive, who made the final decision about whether or not his daughter went to university. If he had no particularly strong opinions on the matter, he might be swayed (as Constance Maynard’s was) with skill, and made to think he was humouring a mildly wayward daughter. As we saw in Chapter 2, Constance was offered a pony in the 1870s to distract her from applying to Cambridge. Lucy Addey, sixty years later, was tempted with £1,000 by her father to give up the idea of Oxford.30 Both girls preferred the adventure of university, showed their steadfastness by refusing to be bribed, and eventually made their bemused parents proud.
Hannah Cohen longed to go to university in the 1930s to escape the shadow cast by her sister’s terminal illness at home in Sunderland. The possibility had never occurred to her Jewish parents (whose sons were sent for their higher education to the local Talmudical College). Hannah got a place at nearby Armstrong College in Newcastle, allied to Durham University, and persuaded her parents by promising to live at home and take extra classes in Hebrew. So she caught the train from Sunderland to Newcastle at 7.15 every morning; from Newcastle to Durham (a journey of about half an hour) for Hebrew later on, then back to Newcastle, dashing up the tower-block stairs to be in time for the last classes of the day. All this meant she did not get home to Sunderland until the dangerous hour of 11.15 p.m., and as the stress was beginning to give her nosebleeds, she was allowed to give up the Hebrew. Her parents chose not to attend her graduation ceremony in 1938, but that hardly worried Hannah. She loved every minute of a frenetic, fulfilling university life, and vowed to pass the opportunity on to her own children – as long as they stayed close to home, as she had.31