 | The Cavalier daily Thursday, February 8, 1973 |  |
Along Swann's Way In Lethargic Edinburgh
By RAYMOND J. CORMIER
To those wishing to visit
Great Britain before it changes
profoundly, I suggest you
hurry over. Some ninety days
before her entry into the
Common Market. I came to
Edinburgh for a sabbatical
leave from the University of
Virginia. My research project
was twofold: to undertake a
book on the medieval Irish saga
hero and to do postdoctoral
work in Old Irish.
I now would like to seize
the opportunity to sketch out
a few American reactions to
"pre-EEC" life in Scotland's
capital.
The President of The
University of Edinburgh is Sir
Michael Swann, one of the
youngest in the University's
history. A former Cambridge
professor of Natural History
and Science, Swann is
conservative on student
participation in decision
making, granting
representation on
non-academic matters but only
consultation in academic
affairs. Three years ago with
great reluctance the admitted a
student representative to
faculty meetings, and last year
unwillingly yielded to the sale,
by the University's investment
committee, of South African
shares. In his view education
should be geared to the needs
of the British industry.
Edinburgh and Oxbridge–
"super-universities"– should
excel in science and
technology.
Not In Touch
The don reports to the
Faculty on student affairs but
admits he is no longer in
touch with "middle of the road
students." First-year students
regularly receive his strong
warning: "Beware of glib
theorists, know-it-all
politicians, and sophisticated
smoothies." He blames student
militancy on people whose
attitudes to authority are
immature. "This stems," he
observes, "from their
relationships with their
parents."
Sir Michael's University,
now with over 10,000
students, is young (founded
1583) compared to Oxbridge,
and is the most prestigious in
Scotland. But higher education
differs markedly from the U.S.
brand.
Here the student has
virtually no "requirements" in
the American sense. Ranging
from classes of ten to much
larger ones of 300, lectures in
the Arts faculty are held every
day of the week but there is no
particular obligation to attend.
Intimate tutorials (followed by
stiff essays) form the core of
the British system; the close,
face-to-face relations provide
one key to its success. In spite
of an inferior library, amenities
at the University, though few,
are civilized: the Staff Club is a
plush, warm, comfortable
refuge, with squash court,
cocktail lounge, liquor store,
billiards, ping-pong, formal
dining room and cafeteria–
clearly one of the most popular
erogenous zones in the
University.
But, given their endurance
of the cold weather, in homes
without central heating, the
Scots and the students here are
a Spartan lot. In fact, there
seems to be a sort of analogy
between the University as
guided by Sir Michael and the
city itself.
Observing the city itself has
become one of my pastimes. I
make the trek between my
"flat" and the Celtic dept.
while trying to understand the
people and assimilate the way
of life in this "modern
Athens," whose topography is
a sort of icy blend between
Boston's classic order, San
Francisco's hills, and Chicago's
howling winds.
In many ways, it is a naive,
conservative city, full of
contradictions, a curious
melange of British and Scottish
mores. You still see
horse-drawn milk wagons in
town– next to the latest model
Lotus. Indeed, austere is the
word that comes to mind: my
continuous efforts to locate a
pornography shops have been
unsuccessful.
On Sunday, it is Edinbore,
with pubs closed, no football,
and few restaurants. By
mid-September, the famed
Festival has ended, leaving a
cultural vacuum in its wake.
After that colorful excitement,
John Knox's old truant returns
to a habitual Presbyterian grey
for another year, the single
exception being Friday night
when the pubs are mobbed
(closing at 10 p.m.).
Dominating the city is the
ancient Edinburgh Castle. Near
it, The Mound– a stingy pile of
dirt preserved from excavations
for the New Town and covered
now with bank buildings–
looks down on the opulent
New Town of high finance,
law, industry and business.
Edinburgh offers the obverse
of Galbraith's maxim, for it has
public affluence and private
squalor– not the image
prescribed in tourist brochures.
Yet like some tasty memory
cake, the city is filled with fine
flashes of Scottish history.
From the castle walls,
overlooking Princes St. and the
Gardens, you can grasp the
whole of Sir Walter Scott's
land of lemonade: a
commanding view of the
Forth, of the surrounding
vigilant mountains and hills,
and of the misty, cloudy air
hanging over "Auld Reekie."
Breath taking
At time breathtaking, the
whole city is visually exciting
and captivates you with an
enchanting power. My
intermittent hypnosis recalls
our blind American adulation
of the "civilized English way,"
personified for me by
tea-sipping BBC Radio 3. But
there is another kind of power
here, one which enchants by
controlling an acquiescent
populace. Like bagpipes,
whining complaints are heard
everywhere: scorn for
nationalized railways and
utilities, criticism of "public
services" which function only
at the convenience of the
provider, and skepticism about
recent wage and price controls.
But nothing is done.
Bureaucracy and a kind of
Chivas Regal casts system
impose laws and the people
follow undaunted. They now
jealously enjoy Britain's
celebrated political and social
stability. And taxes are so high
that the old English "work
ethic" is rapidly disappearing:
the people seem to lack
incentives to climb out of a
mediocre life-style. The real
power still lies in the hands of
a quiet, wealthy minority.
"Middle of the road"
people– like the students some
may prefer– are not hard to
find. One might say in general
that they are very friendly,
under certain circumstances.
Ask hurriedly for directions
but expect a proud,
long-winded report on the road
to take and the landmarks you
will pass by. Exasperating.
Charming. But the lowland
Scots here are timid and dour.
Intense about almost nothing,
their hobbies include
gardening, golf, and
America-watching. Sleek, cool
and elegant, women avoid your
eye, not having learned that
(The above is an article written by a
former Assistant French Professor at the
University about his semester at the
University of Edinburgh, Scotland. The
professor is Raymond J. Cormier, who, since
returning from Scotland, has become
Associate Professor of French at Temple
University.
Mr. Cormier had a remarkable rapport
with undergraduates while at the University
and was noted for his ability to make students
who had to take a foreign language want to
take a foreign language. Regrettably, the
Department did not see fit to recommend him
for promotion so he found it necessary to
move to Temple.
Accompanying his reflections on
Edinburgh and the Scottish way of life in
general are excerpts from his letter of
resignation from the faculty of the University.
When contacted by The Cavalier Daily,
Department Chairman Lester G. Crocker
stated that he was unable to supply us with
details of Mr. Cormier's departure, except to
say that he "was asked to leave," due to
alleged deficiencies as a teacher of graduate
students. Mr. Cormier has suggested that
departmental politics may have played a
rather large role in his "dismissal." We will
never know the entire story– such is the way
of academic promotions-but no doubt Mr.
Cormier's former students will draw their own
conclusions as to his qualifications as a
teacher and scholar.–Ed.)
Department of French
University of Virginia
This letter has three purposes. It will serve
as a brief interim report of activities during
my Sesquicentennial Associateship, fall 1972;
as a means of expressing my gratitude to the
University; and as a letter of resignation from
the faculty of the University of Virginia.
On 26 September I arrived in Edinburgh.
My first task was to make some stylistic
revisions in an article accepted for
publication.
Classes began on 9 October, when
Professor Jackson kindly informed me of my
appointment as Postdoctoral Fellow in the
Celtic Department. After several conferences
with him, I decided that the book which I
would write should be a monograph on the
great Irish epic, The Cattle Raid of Cooley,
with a focus on the hero, Cu Chulainn.
In the course of my researches, I have
decided also to revise an article based on my
1967 Harvard dissertation. This I hope to
expand later into another book, on Chretien
de Troyes' Yvain.
It is, however, rather unfortunate that my
original idea–to return to the University of
Virginia and teach some Celtic language and
literature, thus bringing to my students fruits
of all this labor–will not be realized.
After five years of commitment to the
ideals of quality at the University of Virginia,
I find it necessary to resign.
I want you to know, sir, that in no way do
I feel bitter towards the University of Virginia
or towards its administration, or even towards
Charlottesville. All in all, I was well treated by
them. And, by means of the Faculty Research
Committee and for other reasons, I was able,
since 1967 (when I arrived), to complete three
and one-third books, 14 articles and
over a dozen book reviews.
While I was charged with serious
shortcomings by your department, whose
decision of December 1971 it was not to
propose my candidacy to the faculty for
promotion, I was heartened to learn, on the
one hand, that in their view, I had
contributed somehow in the area of service to
the University, even though in their view I
had failed as a scholar and as a teacher. The
effect of that decision, traumatic for me at
first, was countered by the good news from
Provost Shannon about the Sesquicentennial
Associateship.
In a way, I regret not having contested my
rejection by the French department for,
based on sample opinions outside the
department, my scholarship is satisfactory
and, based on student evaluations, my
teaching is adequate. But it is said that at
home no man is a prophet.
Of course I also regret having to leave my
many friends and students and begin all over
again.
In any case, I hereby tender my
resignation from the University of Virginia, to
take effect 1 February 1973.
| The Cavalier daily Thursday, February 8, 1973 | |