Corn-ish at Oxford: A reflection on identity

“A Cornish childhood ends with the lights of Oxford.” I first read these words when I was lounging on a chair at Christ Church, surrounded by the dark wood-panelled walls of the room I had called home for the past year. It had been written by a proud Cornishman called A.L. Rowse, long before I had been born. The book was given to me by my wholeheartedly and unapologetically Cornish grandparents over a year ago, and had been silently waiting on my shelf to be read ever since. The afternoon on which I put the book at ease was a rare one: I had no impending essays, no readings to slog through, and no translations to hand in. I could count on only one hand the number of times I’ve found myself in such a situation at university, so I decided to seize this golden opportunity and read A Cornishman at Oxford.

A Cornishman at Oxford is an autobiographical memoir written by A.L. Rowse that details the dramatic change in the life of a working-class Cornishman when he begins his studies at Oxford in 1921. Cornish folk are few and far between at Oxford. As a Cornishman myself (albeit half Cornish), I can vouch for how little people know of our nation – aside from a vague awareness of St Ives or some other holiday town. Few people are familiar with St Piran (Cornwall’s patron saint), our folklore-rich stargazy pie, and traditional Cornish carols. Many are also quick to dismiss Cornish identity as trivial, without understanding that Cornwall was independent from England for centuries and had its own Celtic language (Kernewek), spoken as late as the 19th century. The fact that I grew up being told I was half Cornish and half English should tell you how seriously some consider the cultural divide to be, even to this day. This made reading the experiences of a fellow Cornishman during the 1920s all the more captivating.

Some may question why such a book would be important enough for me to feel obliged to write an article about it – after all, Cornwall is just another part of the UK. But this book is more than a commentary on Cornishness and studying at Oxford: it’s about fitting in, standing out, and overcoming the challenges therein. Rowse stuck out like a sore thumb amongst his peers, not only for his brazen Cornishness, but also on account of his working-class, state-educated background, and his homosexuality. Because of this, he dealt with a lot of insecurity surrounding his own intelligence compared with that of his fellow students, as well as a deep dissatisfaction regarding the conservatism that was rife in Oxford. It is for these reasons that I find his story not only comforting, but also hugely inspiring. Rowse was among the very first to prove that those from disadvantaged backgrounds belong at Oxford. He even became the first person from a working-class background to be awarded a fellowship at All Souls College. As a result, his achievements simultaneously marked a turning point in academia and acted as testimony to the fact that Oxford is open to all, no matter their background.

There is no doubt that Rowse and I share a host of similar experiences. From the Cornish clotted cream and scones sent from the homeland (jam first, obviously), to a similar disdain for the theatrics of the Oxford Union, much is the same. It seems that even our predecessors enjoyed a ‘Trinifree’ lifestyle in the summer, with Rowse at one point commenting: “Oh, dear: work and the summer term at Oxford are rather incompatible.” Coincidentally, Rowse, just like myself, attended Christ Church. His descriptions of Mercury Fountain, Tom Quad, and the Meadows are seemingly evergreen. It’s apparent that, despite obvious changes over the past 100 years, the enchanting charm of Oxford has remained much the same. Rowse’s writing transports me back to the wonderment of my first year, and the amazement that he felt upon first discovering the city truly resonates with me. Our part of the world is more rugged, less ornate, and far quieter, making the shift to the Oxford lifestyle a significant one.

Among the pleasing similarities between our lives, reminders of our differences are peppered throughout. Though it seems odd to say, given the luxuries we all experience as students here, Oxonians of the past enjoyed comforts that we do not. Larger rooms, constant tea parties, and regular drinks with dons were frequent occurrences for students in the 1920s. However, the contrast in our lives surrounding technology really struck a chord with me. The common doomscroll-induced guilt of the modern student simply wasn’t a feature of Rowse’s life, and the more I read about his personal pursuits, the more I began to envy the lifestyle he described. The Oxford Rowse presented seemed more close-knit, more passionate, and more creative. I realised that many of the same hours our predecessors whiled away with poetry, politics, and personal development, I now spend vacantly looking at my phone. Many of us are passively aware of the addictiveness of this element of modern life, but reflecting on this comparison is what really urged me to contemplate how I spend my own time. Though I’m far from perfect, after reading Rowse’s work I’m now more likely to favour a book over my phone – I’ve even started to learn bits of Cornish in an attempt to reconnect with my roots.

Rowse, like me, came from a state school, and I find the way in which he navigated relationships with those from other backgrounds both familiar and reassuring. When reading about Rowse’s return to Cornwall during the vacations and talks of his visits to local landmarks that I know all too well, I was left with a strong sense of nostalgia. Whilst I’ve come to feel at home at Oxford, it’s impossible to keep homesickness at bay forever. Though I’m sure others experience it more intensely, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t felt like a fish out of water more than a few times at Oxford, both on account of my state comprehensive background and my ‘country-bumpkin’ mentality. Due to this, it can be all too easy to push reminders of home to the back of my mind: views of old Cornish engine houses that my ancestors worked in, trips to the beach with my family, and the stories of miners and other Cornish folk that make up the history of our nation. But after reading this book, I was reminded of what I leave behind when I come here. Thanks to Rowse and his century-old writing, Cornwall no longer seems so far away from Oxford, and I feel a little bit more in the right place.