A Don's Life by Mary Beard - Times Online - WBLG

Graduation: no animals killed

Our students graduated on Saturday. In Cambridge graduation lasts three days, from Thursday till Saturday. They go to pick up their degrees by college, in order of the date of foundation of the college (which means that Newnham in 1871 comes at the beginning of the last day).

I never go to the ceremony itself. In fact I have never been to a graduation ceremony at all, not even my own -- for any of my degrees (I just got the certificate through the post, in absentia as we say). When I was first graduating with my BA, I just couldn't face all the rituals -- the dressing up in the fur-lined hood, the clasping the fingers of the "praelector", the Latin and the hand-clasping with the vice-chancellor (or the vc's deputy -- the top-dog understandably doesn't sit in the senate house for three days presiding over this).

I also couldn't face organising the whole show for a pair of divorced parents (they werent technically divorced, as it turned out -- my Dad had lost interest in the whole proceedings after the decree nisi and had never bothered to apply for the decree absolute, despite reminders from his solicitors. . . . but they were divorced in spirit). I told both of them a real whopper: graduation wasn't any longer what most people did, it was just for the blazer brigade.

It is now one of my biggest regrets. At the cost of a little embarrassment to MB and some deft negotiation of parental squabbling, I could have given them a really proud and memorable day. So now when any student says to me that they don't fancy it, I try my hardest to persuade them to go through with it.

And I always try to go to the party that Newnham lays on for every one after the ceremony itself.

Any Questions in Birmingham

I went to do "Any Questions" in Birmingham this evening, at Lordswood School. This is the third time that I've done this -- and it has all the pleasures and terrors and adrenaline of an exam (which is no doubt why I enjoy it so much): you have to question-spot, revise hard, and then go for it when the hoped for question arrives on your plate. I cant tell you how many hours I had spent this morning going through a) the career of Michael Jackson, and b) the expenses claims of BBC executives (my conclusion being that, plus or minus a couple of rocky judgment calls, these were pretty austere).

This evening was a particularly nice occasion. For a start I was met, when we got to the school, by an excellent girl who was hoping to come to Newnham next year -- and was very keen on the college. But next, the questions and answers raised all kinds of issues.

The other panellists were Max Hastings, Hilary Benn and Theresa May. And the first question was indeed about Michael Jackson.

The plain man's guide to alphabetical marking

The exam season is ending. Our Classics Part II results came out on Monday (of the six Newnham students, two got Firsts and four got  2.1s -- well done, ladies!). The final meeting for Part 1B happened yesterday, and the Part 1A and Prelims examiners meet today to agree their final grades.

The main job at these meetings is to go through all marks scored by each individual candidate and to assign a "class" to their performance: at the top are the "firsts", then the 2.1s, then the 2.2s, then, at the bottom but still passing, the thirds. (Actually in Part 1A, which is taken by most students at the end of their first year, we don't divide the second class into 2.1s and 2.2s -- it's just firsts, seconds and thirds, if you follow me.)

Each examiner gets a mark book, containing all the marks of all the candidates (known by number not by name -- this is all anonymous), ranked in order of achievement, and we go through the candidates one by one, looking carefully not only at the total number of marks they got, but also at their "profile". So for example a candidate might not have quite enough marks in numerical total - notionally 60% -  to get a 2.1; but of their six papers, 4 might be at 2.1 level with the total brought down by a couple of 2.2 marks . . . That would still get a 2.1. It all takes a long time. Yesterday we took all morning to class about 90 candidates.

To the outsider, the mark books would look like incomprehensible gibberish. Not only does each candidate have three marks for each paper -- and independent one from each of two examiners, but also an" agreed mark" assigned after they have met to discuss the different assessments and possibly revisit the paper. But in addition, each independent mark is given in two forms: in numbers and letters (a series of Greek letters from alpha to delta, with a variety of modifiers, pluses, minuses and question marks. For example, "68: b + +/ a - -" or "63: b+?+" or "51: b - - -" or (lets go up) "80: a ?+"

What's the point.

Demolishing part of the Darwin legacy

Cambridge colleges are not always the best custodians of their heritage. Despite being filled with a load of individual aesthetes, conservationists, environmentalists and historians, as institutions they can make pretty dreadful decisions. Not that they break the law or anything like that (or simply flout the local planning department -- though I'm sure that that was what happened 50 years ago). It's more that -- rather like MPs -- you have come to expect better standards from these guys than from the rest of the world.

Sadly, they dont live up to that expectation. King's College was outed a few years ago for flogging off a couple of large Gilbert Scott candlesticks from their chapel at Willingham Auctions -- a not infrequent destination, as any Willingham Auction goer will know, for surplus to requirements college Victoriana.

Anyway now Murray Edwards College ("New Hall" to most of the world) is about to get rid of a little lodge, around a hundred years old, that went with The Grove -- now part of Fitzwilliam, but once the house that Emma Darwin lived in after husband Charles died.

The new Acropolis Museum -- a glimpse at the opening party (and of the opening speeches)

Well, to be more accurate, a glimpse from ONE of the opening parties. The big one, for heads of state and celebrities, is on 20 June. I was extremely pleased to be invited to tonight's party, on 18 June -- which gathered together a motley crew of academics, 'restitution campaigners' and other Hellenists, of all persuasions.

I had had a preview of the new Museum a year ago. And the finished product I saw this evening was as good as it promised to be.The outside is the worst feature: it looks rather like an up-market multi-storey car park, dominating an otherwise fairly low level area of Athens (the picture is the view of it from my hotel roof). Inside it is stunning. Not only the fantastic views up to the Acropolis itself, but also down to the 'ground beneath our feet'. The whole museum is built over excavations of classical Greek and Roman settlement -- and you can see these through the glass floors from the very top floor of the building. (Not great for those with vertigo.)

The collection is of course stunning too. Never mind the Parthenon, there are the most wonderful statues of the archaic, pre-classical period. Anthony Snodgrass (who was also there) pointed out to me a marvellous twisting, turning late sixth-century sculpture -- much more striking than the better known, sultry Kritios Boy. And I was very taken by the series of sculptures of scribes, a nice symbol of the literacy of early Greece. And at the other end of the chronological spectrum, you are greeted as you come into the museum by two wonderful Roman terra cotta sculptures of "victories" (Nikai).

But what of the politics? And of the inaugural speech of the minister of culture, Antonis Samaras?

How do examiners mark exams?

I wouldn't want to claim that exams are as bad for the markers as they are for the sitters. But the Cambridge Tripos is still a big investment of time and hard work for the dons. It's not just that you have to read each paper carefully (and I have spent more or less the whole of the last week on this, more than 12 hours a day). You have also to decide what principle of marking to adopt.

Put simply, if you are dealing with standard "essay" papers, you can either go question by question (that is mark all the answers to question one, then all the answers to question two and so on) -- or you can go candidate by candidate (that is, mark all the answers from candidate a, then move on to candidate b and so on).

The advantage of the former is that you can compare the answers more directly and see more easily which candidates have got new or more interesting material.

About 20 years ago I was marking a set of ancient history scripts in which the first candidate I marked referred to an anecdote about the fruit trees of the Athenian fifth-century politician, Cimon. I was impressed. But when I discovered that at least 20 of the first 30 candidates had the same anecdote, I realised that it must have been banged on about in lectures.

The advantage of the candidate by candidate approach is that you can see the profile of an individual student's answer much more easily.

Over the years, I've developed a (time-consuming) compromise between the two. A rod for my own back, but fair to the students I think.

Exam nightmares

 I have a new exam nightmare. For the last thirty-five years I've woken up every few weeks with the same old nightmare: I've just gone into the exam room and it's the wrong paper on the desk, or I've revised for the wrong paper, or the whole thing is written in some language I don't understand.

Anyway, I now have a new real life nightmare. I don't get to the exam room to start the exam.

The Cambridge system is that one examiner from every "board" turns up at every room in which one of their papers is to be sat -- in case a student has a question, or has spotted a mistake, or whatever.  Anyway I was down to turn up at the Corn Exchange on Monday morning, nine o'clock, to be there for the first thirty minutes of the Part Ib Ancient History paper.

The truth is that I completely forgot.

"Pompeii" wins the Wolfson History Prize

Almost three months ago I got a letter saying that my Pompeii had won one of the Wolfson History Prizes for 2008 (and very handsome in financial terms it is too). And, so the letter went on, I was to keep this absolutely quiet till 9 June. This has been one of the most difficult secrets I have kept in my life. You cant imagine how I've wanted to spill the beans. But, terrified at the idea of the prize being removed for bad behaviour, I have kept absolutely quiet.

This hasn't made life easy. I gave a short list of those that I would like to invite to the ceremony, but I didn't dare tell them why. So in the event not many could go. All the same, lots of friends were -- as it happens -- there at the prize giving at Claridges this evening.

Simon Cowell for Minister of Culture?

I'm beginning to miss Jacqui Smith already. She was a terribly narrow-minded, not to say repressive, Home Secretary and didn't come over as wholly honorable in the expenses row.

That said, I wasn't at all clear that we had got to the bottom of the adult movie row. Ever since someone sowed this shadow of doubt in my mind (sorry I cant remember who it was . . .), I have wondered if it really was Mr Jacqui Smith who watched them. Could it not have been the Smith children? I accept that there is not a jot of direct evidence for this -- but if it HAD been the kids who had ordered the smut, what would the Smiths have done? Obviously, they would have got Dad to take the blame, rather than have the media decide to take pot shots at the adolescents. Maybe Mr Smith is a self-sacrificing hero, not a late night porn watcher.

But whatever the rights and wrongs, Jacqui Smith was at least an elected member of parliament.

Spirit of Play: will the TLS band get to number one?

It must be more than two decades since I have been to a gig. In fact, even in my mis-spent youth I wasn't much of a gig-goer, being more of a library girl. But last night I was at the Dublin Castle in Camden Town enjoying the bands, along with an audience that included rather more literary types and professors than you usually find at such occasions.

What had brought us there?

One of the inaugural gigs of the TLS band, "Spirit of Play".

Did Julius Caesar trip up?

Last week the husband and I motored to Stratford, to see the new RSC production of Julius Caesar directed by Lucy Bailey. I had written an essay for the programme, and asked for two tickets as part of the fee (it actually makes you go!).

Was it any good. Well, I guess I'm a bit biased -- but yes it was (some wonderful visuals and a brilliant Mark Antony in the shape of Darrell D'Silva, and some murders that really had me on the edge of my seat); with just a few 'buts'.

The trouble with any production of Julius Caesar is that you can't ever quite tell whether the problems with it are the fault of the play or of the production. I suspect that I'm being very unsophisticated here, but I've never found the last two acts of the play, where we see the assassins of Caesar themselves get slaughtered (by their own hands), at all gripping. After Cinna the poet has been killed, I find I couldn't care very much about how the noblest Roman of them all actually dies. Basically I know what happens at the battle of Philippi, but don't feel too curious about exactly how Shakespeare presents it.

But then last week there was the question of whether this Julius Caesar (Greg Hicks) had intentionally, or unintentionally, tripped on his toga just before his assassination.

A classicist watches Britain's Got Talent

Yes, I confess. The husband is away and I am catching up on stuff -- and I couldn't resist watching the final of BGT. I hadn't seen any of the previous parts, but I had heard of the Susan Boyle phenomenon, and just today I had caught up with Hollie Steel, aged 10, crying on stage in the semi-finals.

I had a pretty clear view of the whole process, Not so very different from the display of 'cripples', 'freaks' or 'exotic foreigners' in nineteenth-century spectacles (or from gladiatorial shows, for that matter), this was another version of mass-market exploitation of the disadvantaged. How could people -- or a parent -- subject a 10 year old child to that?

So it was with the intention of enjoying some righteous indignation that I switched on.

Professors of poetry -- and how universities really make appointments

This is NOT a post about Ruth Padel and the Oxford Professorship of Poetry. But it's about what this whole sad story might (or might not) reveal about how universities appoint people to jobs.

I was rung up at 7.30 yesterday morning by the Today programme, who wanted me to talk -- this is my gloss -- about how "the academy" conducted itself. Was the Oxford scandal typical of how people get jobs in universities? What role did gossip and back-stabbing play? I was to be talking with Lisa Jardine.

Big mistake, Beard? Lisa was as usual wonderful and persuasive. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the Oxford case, universities -- she argued -- should clean up their act. There was too big a role in the academic job market for gossip and back-biting. Indeed it was still an area, she said, where people asked for references BEFORE they decided who to short list.

I am, of course, in trouble again -- last week I was spilling the beans about Newnham grace, this week I ended up saying my colleagues were all pretty boring. More to the point, as I ought to have said (sorry guys!), they are far to busy doing their jobs to spend hours gossiping.

If only we had time to gossip and plot the downfall of our (academic) enemies.

Is there a Euro election going on?

It has just struck us (that's the husband and me) that there is a big Euro election taking place on 4 June, but so far we have had nothing through the door telling us who the candidates might be, or urging us to vote in any particular direction.

We have had some stuff about the local county council elections, just from the BNP and the Lib Dems (for whom I shall be voting). Though I'd rather move further to the left, the LD's have been good in Cambridge, and the sitting MP is not only a friend, but has very modest expenses. Maybe our LD poster has put off the other parties from knocking on the door (but it can hardly have put them off sending their literature through the mail -- so much for local democracy).

But on the Euro front, we have had NOTHING from anyone.

Living with Jane Harrison

I'm posting this from Oxford, where I have been lecturing, first to the Oxford University History Society, then at Wolfson College in a lecture series on "Lives and Works" (and I'm just about to motor to Bristol to talk about Pompeii at the Bristol Festival of Ideas . . . a little tour of one night stands, you might say).

The idea at Wolfson was to go back to the life of Jane Harrison -- the famous, charismatic and utterly infuriating Newnham don at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries -- about whom I'd written a book almost a decade ago now. To start with, I wasn't hugely looking forward to the prospect of this return to my own vomit. But it actually turned out to be rather interesting to reflect back on the whole process of "writing a life" (which I hadn't done before and don't honestly imagine that I will do again).

What struck me most, even at this distance, was the uncomfortable nature of the kind of archival research that underlies any such biography. A prurient, prying business -- which involves a good deal of reading someone else's private letters, certainly not meant for your eyes.

Great lecturing disasters

Students (and ex-students) dream about exam disasters. I still occasionally wake up with the horror that I've just arrived in an exam room to find that it's the wrong paper (I've revised for Latin Literature, but it's Greek philosophy on the table).

The lecturers' nightmare is about something going terribly wrong when they are trying to perform in front of a hundred or so restless students. Most of these nightmares can come true.

A decade or so ago, I really did turn up to give a big-gish lecture in my Faculty with my sheaf of notes. I should have checked them carefully before, but my kids were playing up or something. Everything went fine until I got to page five of the notes, then --  when I tried to turn over -- there just weren't any more. Maybe it would have been fine if I had been expecting to improvise, but I wasn't. I cant quite remember how I managed (or where those other pages had gone; I never found them).

Then there's the being drunk problem.

Christianity banned -- and some better news

It was perhaps (as has been pointed out to me) a little beyond propriety to blog about Newnham's internal discussions on its college grace. But I just couldn't resist ("It is easier for a wise man to stifle a flame within his burning mouth than to keep bona dicta to himself", as the Roman poet Ennius said). Besides, I thought college came rather well out of it, over all -- students taking multi-culturalism, multi-faith, and the traditions of their institutions seriously, dons taking students' comments and suggestions seriously, the discussion going at the problem from every angle. Amusing from the outside it might have been, but it was feisty stuff -- showcasing argumentative young women at a flourishing single sex institution, not a load of Laura Ashley clad wimps.

I feared the worst when the Cambridge Evening News rang up to get some more information, but was assured (!) that the story would be carefully and accurately handled, when it appeared in the Thursday edition. Well the story was. But the headline (on the front page) ran GRACE BANNED (which it certainly hadn't been).

It was only a matter of time before it was picked up by the Mail, Express Telegraph, Jeremy Vine etc etc

How naive could I have been?

Does college need a new grace?

Here is another everyday story of academic folk.

Our students at College (or some of them, at least) are worried that the grace we use in Formal Hall is too Christian. Here we are, a college proud not to have a chapel (the only mainstream, undergraduate college in Cambridge for which that is true) -- and yet before formal dinners we are always thanking "Jesum Christum dominum nostrum" (not to mention "deum omnipotentem") , "pro largitate tua . . ." etc etc. A fair point, in a way.

So they brought to last week's college meeting an alternative grace for our consideration: "Pro cibo inter esurientes, pro comitate inter desolatos, pro pace inter bellantes, gratias agimus" ("For food in a hungry world, for companionship in a world of loneliness, for peace in an age of violence, we give thanks").

Now a lot of work had gone into this, and there were no obvious grammatical howlers in the Latin. But, irreligious as I am, I just couldn't stomach it.

David Miliband and his (modest) garden expenses

I'm not hugely engaged by the MPs' expenses controversy. No I dont think they should be on the fiddle, but we ought to realise that there may be all kinds of pressing reasons behind all this expenditure that the bare receipts conceal. (Though as the husband pointed out it was a bit rich to hear Harriet Harman defending them all by appeal to "rules" when she wanted to reduce Fred Goodwin's pension whether he had played by the 'rules' or not.)

Anyway aren't there more important things going on in the world that we OUGHT to be getting worked up about. (Like -- at the risk of a blatant plug for the daughter's enterprises -- the possibilities of elections in Sudan!)

All the same my eye was drawn this morning to the claim in The Independent that David Miliband "spent sums of up to £180 every three months on his garden prompting his gardener to question whether the work was necessary".

Apart from thinking that UP TO  £180 was not an unreasonable amount to spend on a garden every three months (have these reporters looked at the prices in a garden centre recently?), I still did feel a bit shocked that the nation was depending on Miliband's gardener to protect 'tax-payers' money'.

Mary Beard and Marina Warner have fun, talk myth (and do some ironing) in Brighton

Yesterday afternoon I went to Brighton. First stop was Brighton, Hove and Sussex Sixth Form College, to talk to a group of students about their AS and A2 Classical Civilization topics -- that is, Cicero and Augustus. There were about 40 of them in all, and they were good value. I banged on a bit about how impossible it was to write a biography (in our terms) of anyone in the ancient world, except fictionally. In which case, asked one of the audience after the formal session had ended, how should they study Cicero, when the whole AS topic was in a sense "biographical". A fair cop really. And I'm not sure that my answer -- which came down to reading the biographies "critically" and looking out for all those points where the author says "Cicero must have" (ie we dont know) -- really hit the spot.

Then it was on to the Pavilion Theatre where I was due to do a discussion with Marina Warner (chaired and hosted by Peter Guttridge) on the role of the classical world today. The event was sold out ( that was because Marina, not me, I emphasise realistically), which meant 200+ people -- and beyond a ten minute phone conversation earlier in the week we hadn't planned anything, nor had we arranged anything with Peter.

I was slightly anxious.