Agnes Elizabeth BREWIN [1084]

  General Notes:

Julius Jottings. January 1901 No 1.
Dear Mr Editor,
University life is a most enjoyable phase of existence, and one often very erroneously pictured by an outsider. One who has not yet learnt to distinguish between Oxford and Cambridge, Girton and Somerville, must beware of trusting to the accounts of those who have small experience of it but large imaginations, and, above all, should be warned against the account given by L T Meads in her last book, The Girls of S. Wode's, which presents a wondrous confusion between a student's life at college and a seminary for young ladies. Passing over the amusingly erroneous conceptions that have been known to be entertained, we will try to give some idea of Oxford life.
The first impression upon coming up is that the students are divided into two classes, the seniors and the "freshers" with the link of the comparatively insignificant "second years" between them. The fresher! What memories of that first term beseige her when, two years later, she has passed into the upper ranks - chaos, the alarms, the new experiences with which the very first day was crammed.
On our arrival, after having an interview with the principle and our respective tutors, we began to unpack, and then, accompanied by a senior, made our first acquaintance with Oxford shops. There are several articles of furniture to be bought for a student's room, which might be termed "necessary business" - things not in themselves indispensable, but eminently desirable. We have each won room, which serves as study and reception room during the day, and as bedroom at night, and much ingenuity may be expended in effecting the trans-formation. The bed, which is very low and narrow, is turned into a sofa by rolling back the blankets, placing the pillows at either end, and covering the whole with coloured chintz or tapestry, while a view cushions greatly add to the effect. Everything pertaining to the toilet is concealed behind a screen or curtain, and one or two ornamental chairs, a key table, bookcase and pictures, ad lib., complete the furnishing.
The next day, Sunday, is sometimes an alarming ordeal for a shy fresher who has not yet learnt her way about the corridors. In the morning some kind-hearted senior escorts her to the Cathedral, which is much frequented by students, especially on the first Sunday of term, when the Dean always preaches.
After lunch she is expected to be "at home" to receive calls from the seniors. They come by ones or twos and even more, until she begins to doubt if there will be chairs enough for all to sit upon. They talk to each other as a rule, while their hostess listens in respectful silence, all racks her brain for some original subject of conversation, till after some 10 minutes they depart, leaving the bewildered occupant of the room with visiting cards indeed in her hand, but a chaos of faces, voices and names before her mind. Among the first callers is the senior student, who is always a scholar and one of the oldest residents of the College; she has multifarious public duties, and informs us that to her, all woes and grievances must be carried for redress. During the ensuing weeks the fresher is feted. After luncheon she goes out to "coffee" a somewhat formal proceeding, when one or two seniors invite three or four freshers to their room. On Sundays teas are the most popular, and of these the great feature is jam, provided by the hostess for the occasion - in fact, it constitutes a Sunday treat, as it takes too long and is too sticky for weekdays. At 9:30 or 10 o'clock after the day's work is done, the cocoas begin, a most welcome break between books and bed. Here the etiquette is to be remembered, as laid down in one of our college poems, is that, however late the senior may be in her preparations, it is the freshers part to apologise, and her duty to keep up a flow of conversation until at the end of the entertainment she is half out of the door, and under no circumstances to attempt to shake hands.
But do not imagine we spend all our time in such festivities. We worked most of the morning from nine o'clock till one, with breaks for lectures given at various colleges in all parts of the town, all for coachings with a tutor. The majority of the students follow the men's degree course, consisting usually of a short course of classics, followed by "finals" in some special subject, which occupies from two to three years.
The most popular subject at present is Modern History; the most envied, Philosophy, both of which are considered one of the best possible trainings for all varieties of profession, especially for those who intend to take up any form of social work. The afternoons are taken up with hockey, tennis, boating (for those fortunate people who can swim the requisite distance), cycling and walking. Often there are concerts or outside calls to be paid, and so the time flies till work hours begin again, followed by seven o'clock dinner. This is the one formal and lengthy meal of the day at which punctuality is expected. After assembling in the Common Room, we descend two and two to the dining hall. The Dons sit at the high table at one end of the room, to which every night different couples are called, and they are expected to put forth their best powers of conversation, for which purpose it is convenient to have studied the papers.
After dinner is the time for meetings of the various societies - sometimes the hockey or boating committees wish to consult their clubs, or there is a debate, a literary meeting, or a working party which unfortunately, is not appreciated as much as it might be. There are also choral and orchestral societies in the town which meet once a week, while on Saturday evenings we have music among ourselves.
The chief object of admiration in college to the freshers are the "seniors" and, as they class, they are distinctly alarming, more from the halo shed around them by their superior position than from any innate haughtiness. They are very kind, and do their best to make new people feel at home without being patronising. In times past they have been known to be one unapproachable, and even crushing, but they have softened during the last few generations, and now the only fault to be found in them is, perhaps, too great a leniency to the precocious freshers. It is said that the present generation are not as retiring in disposition as might be wished, but they are exceptionally hard-working, we are as the custom in the past was for a student to get as much amusement as possible out of her first year, until her playtime became curtailed by public duties and more advanced studies.
As the fresher develops into a second year she loses her lightheartedness with regard to work, and when she enters her third year the dread thought of "schools" looming close at hand spurs her to greater exertions. The school term is a very exciting one for its victim's; everyone takes great care of us, and we undergo a system of fattening up by means of poached eggs for breakfast, and beef tea in the middle of the morning. The Warden pays frequent visits, recommends a tonic, and discourages overwork. No cocoas are indulged in, but we retire to bed instead at 9:30. The week before the examination we are sent away to some bracing place, free from all books and college "shop". Then on the fatal day we are escorted to the schools by a crowd of friends, and up the steps follow a seething mass of pale and anxious looking undergraduates, dressed in the requisite black coats and white ties. Then with the ensuing viva voce one's course at Oxford is run.
From first to last the life is filled with interests of every kind - hard work, energetic play, and friends both outside and in college. There is, of course, little time left for taking part in outside work. Visiting at the infirmary is part of the programme of Sunday afternoons, and then we have our settlement, the Women's University Settlement at Southwark, and a University Mission both in India and South Africa. It is easier, however, to give our interest to these than any very substantial help, but several old students have taken a personal part in the work after leaving Oxford, while some have lately started a new settlement in Birmingham themselves. The fascination of Oxford, with its old college buildings and gardens, its water meadows and spires, can only be realised by those who have lived there, and perhaps even more to us than these is the privilege of being able to hear and come in personal contact with the greatest speakers and thinkers of the day. If the University of authorities did not work with us, and for the most part admit us to equal privileges with the men's colleges, our work might be very different in width and interest; as it is, they not only tolerate our presence, but entertain quite a friendly spirit towards us, which is very pleasant to experience, and one of our many causes for gratitude.
We remain,
Dear Mr Editor
Elsie T. Stevens.
Constance E. Parker.
Agnes E. Brewin.

Julius Jottings No 5 Jun 1901.
Miss Agnes E. Brewin and four fellow students have formed a Reading Party, and during that occasion are going to North Wales with the Hon Miss Bruce, Vice President of Somerville College.

Julius Jottings. No 6 January 1902.
OXFORD LETTER.
To write some account of the everyday life of an Oxford student is not an easy matter; so much has been written about the City, the Colleges, and the University course, that little of fresh interest can be said on the subject; and the career of a sudent of Somerville College gives no scope for originality, for it does not differ widely from that of the average undergraduate.
Oxford is a beautiful city at all times, but in the summer it looks its best, and of all terms the summer term is by far the most beautiful. This April we came back after the vacation to a burst of midsummer weather that brought out the flowers in profusion, and ever since we have been revelling in cowslips, primroses, and fritillaries, which we make long expeditions into the country to get.
At the beginning of this term a very quaint and interesting ceremony takes place. On Mayday the choir of Magdalen College ascend the chapel tower at 5 a.m. and sing an ode to the rising sun. The College is on the bank of the River Cherwell (pronounced Charwell and commonly known as the Cher), and the inhabitants of Oxford turn out in hundreds on the bridge to listen. From 3.30 to 4 a.m., at Somerville, one is startled by alarms going off in various parts of the College, and if you are energetic you arise, have a hasty breakfast, and bicycle off to Magdalen.
It is very cold just before dawn so early in the spring, and the sky is grey and misty, and one half regrets the warm bed and a peaceful slumbers left behind at such an early hour; but just before the haze breaks and a pale primrose tinge overspreads the horizon. One can just catch a glimpse of the choristers' white surplices high up on the tower, and of the select few- who can be crowded into its limited space. Below, the numbers increase; multitudes of small boys with horns and the bells of motor cars and bicycles combine to make morning hideous.
Suddenly the chimes of the hour sound, and an absolute silence falls on the hitherto noisy throng, with most striking effect. As the last note dies away there is a second's breathless pause, and then the choir upraise their voices in solemn invocation of the Creator of the Spring. The music is faintly heard beneath, but there is an indescribable charm in the sweet far-away melody. As they chant their Latin hymn, facing the east, the grey of the sky deepens into blue, in which float pink fleecy clouds, while the first beams of the first May sun appear. Hardly have the voices ceased, when all the bells are rung, and the horns blown, for reasons best known to the youth who indulge in this pastime, but pleasing to none. Now the crowd disperses, some to get wild flowers, some to the river or to the country on their bicycles, and some go back to bed!
The great attraction of this term is the rivet. Every afternoon the waters of the Cher are crowded with canoes and punts, and the enthusiastic lady- students take out boats and scull with much energy for two hours at a time, to the admiration (though not the envy) of the other river "loafers." We have just invested in a punt, which is a never-ending joy to us, and an unmitigated nuisance to every other voyager, for we are not exactly experts as yet, and generally prefer lying broadside-on across the stream to any other position, at least so it would seem to the casual observer.
One of the great excitements of this term is Eights week. Visitors (especially ladies) swarm everywhere. It is quite alarming going to lectures, you meet so many strangers, all of whom look on us as one of the sights of Oxford. Last summer, on my way to Balliol, I saw a group of ladies being escorted round the city by some undergraduates. As I passed, one of the ladies said to their guides: "Have you shewn us everything worth seeing in Oxford" "Yes." "Well, then, now show us a lady-student!" needless to say, I fled, hiding my tell-tale note-book as completely as possible.
Every afternoon during Eights week there are races, and Oxford in its most gorgeous apparel flocks down to the river to watch. All the Colleges have their barges moored alongside the bank. A College barge is not the vessel usually known by that name, but is like a houseboat, and the roof is crowded with spectators. They are all decorated with the flag and arms of the College, and even Somerville boasts one, though it is conspicuous by its lack of decoration and preponderance of ladies. The object of the race is for each boat to try and "bump" the boat in front of it, and escape bumping from the boat behind, and the leading boat at the end of the week is said to be at the head of the river, which proud position is at present occupied by Magdalen.
On the towing path, opposite the barges, alongside the boats, run a crowd of the friends and well-wishers of the crews, shouting, exhorting, encouraging, and even threatening. When one boat is bumped, its partisans grow verv sad and subdued, and try to efface themselves. If the boat bumps, they stand in a compact bodyguard and shout their admiration, assisted by blasts of trumpets, pistolshots; and watchmen's rattles, in a most awe inspiring manner. When the races are over, everyone rushes home and changes into evening dress in preparation for the concerts and various festivities of the evening, and the victorious crews go back to "bump-suppers," bonfires, speeches, and other delights.
But do not imagine that we always live in an atmosphere of such frivolities. Eights come but once a year, and only last a week, and a fortnight later comes the most serious and important event of the student's career. In this summer term, over the heads of those whose college life is at its last gasp, there looms "the Great Shadow," the Final Examination, for which they have been prepar for at least two years.
Seven weary days does the examinee toil down to the Schools, to wrestle with the history of Greeks and Romans, or of Britons, ancient and modern; or to unravel mathematical problems, or be tortured with questions of science, law, or even Oriental languages. Then follows the "viva voce," in which your weak points are revealed and the depths of your ignorance probed by ruthless and unsympathetic examiners.
During this term a much-dreaded disease shews itself in the Colleges, known as "Schools Fever." The unhappy victims are seized with a violent desire to drown themselves before the Examination, or to give up all work in despair; then the mood passes and they are overcome with frenzy, and work day and night till overwork necessarily produces reaction and they fall again into dull and unreasoning hoplessness. The illness may be compared to ague or an intermittent fever; it is exceedingly unpleasant, and happy is he who escapes from its clutches.
The three years' course at Oxford seems all too short, crowded as it is with pleasures and interests, and though perhaps the life of the lady student is not so full and free as that of the more fortunate undergraduate, yet we certainly derive as much benefit and happiness as any of her sons from the Alma Mater.
AGNES E. BREWIN.

1939 Register.
49 Popes Grove , Twickenham M.B., Middlesex, England
Agnes E Brewin29 Jul 1880FemaleSecondary School TeacherSingle

James Holme in 2018 remembers his Gt Aunt Agnes.
I remember Ella's sister, Agnes, well. A very charming lady, We, that is my parents, my brother and I, would often visit her in her old peoples home and take her out for lunch and a walk by the sea. I remember once in the 1950s, when she was already quite an old lady, we took her to Heathrow for a final visit to Canada - flying with a super constellation via Iceland.

  Other Records

1. Census: England, 3 Apr 1881, 78 Church Rd Richmond SRY. Agnes is recorded as a daughter aged 8 mths born Richmond

2. Census: England, 5 Apr 1891, 19 Strawberry Hill Rd Twickenham MDX. Agnes is recorded as a daughter aged 10 born Richmond SRY

3. Census: England, 31 Mar 1901, 19 Strawberry Hill Rd Twickenham MDX. Agnes Elizabeth is recorded as a daughter single aged 20 born Richmond SRY

4. Census: England, 2 Apr 1911, 53 Popes Grove Twickenham LND. Agnes Elizabeth is recorded as a daughter unmarried aged 30 a secondary school mistress born Richmond SRY