A LESSON IN STUDENT LIFE
Going to university presents both opportunities and challenges. Here, eight people share their experiences of third level education
‘Never confuse the academic mind with common sense ...’
One morning in late September 1976, I mounted my Yamaha RD 400 motorcycle, exited the Liverpool docks and set off in search of Jesus. For the avoidance of doubt, that’s Jesus College Cambridge, my new academic home. Ordinarily, an undergraduate like me would have visited already for an interview, but for some reason they offered me a place on the strength of my entrance exam, sight unseen. Was that wise? Certainly, there were many times over the next three years when one or other side expressed the desire for a full refund!
Three hundred miles from Liverpool, I arrived, late afternoon, in Cambridge, wet, tired and hungry. I wanted to try the then-famous English pub grub and found The Eagle, probably the most famous bar in Cambridge. But the door was locked and there was no one to be seen inside, staff or customers.
I tapped the door, then rapped it, thumped it, maybe even gave it a kick or two, but nothing. As I discovered, English licensing laws in those days stipulated pubs close in the afternoons. My first lesson that I was in a place apart from my home.
I checked into college after that, greeted by the Senior Porter, who clearly hated motorbikes, but also didn’t seem fond of the Northern Irish, given his eagerness to tell me about his military service. It was a theme that ran through my student days. It wasn’t that long after the Guildford, Woolwich and Birmingham bombings. Most people, especially from the southeast of England, did not know much about people from Northern Ireland, didn’t care to take time to find out what “sort” we were and found us, at best, peculiar.
Unfortunately, most of the 10 English Literature undergraduates in my class at Jesus College were from the south-east of England and showed the same characteristics — they didn’t like me because of where I came from, they didn’t want to bother to find out about who I was, or what I stood for, and I sensed suspicion wherever I went — lecture theatre, college restaurant, sports changing rooms.
Mind you, the fact the college’s full title was The College of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Saint John
the Evangelist and the glorious Virgin Saint Radegund, might lead you to make some false assumptions about my background!
I visited the college bar my first night and encountered that reaction for the first time, with the noble exception of the student who was to become my best friend. His name was Nick Hornby, who became one of our generation’s greatest fiction writers and, to date, twice an Oscar nominee for screenplays.
That said, I should confess when Nick told me his chosen career was to be a successful writer, I felt I should burst his bubble as gently as possible, so suggested there was more chance of me becoming leader of the Ulster Unionist Party.
That first chat with Nick took place amid a near-riot, as a tall Australian student announced the outrage that the price of a pint of beer in the college bar was now 21p, meaning, for the first time ever, it was no longer possible to get five pints for a pound.
Also, 21p disrupted your ability to build up a cache of 10p pieces, necessary when you queued up at one of the two phone boxes to call home on Sunday afternoons — no Facetime in my day.
So, what would I tell my 18-year-old self, with the benefit of 40-plus years’ experience? Firstly, you are who you are. You may come from a family, community and country, but do not tolerate others labelling you on that basis. Be yourself and do not assume anyone is better than you.
Secondly, never confuse academic intelligence with common sense. I was at university with people who sat in tutorials, sounding like they had two brains. But you learned quickly that you couldn’t let them loose with the shopping list in the local supermarket.
Inside every one of us is a spark of ability, creativity and talent. It might be found in academic study, but it’s equally likely to emerge playing sport, singing in the choir, acting on stage, or any of the multiple ways we live our lives. Use university to explore who you are and what your future should be.
My summer job those three years at Cambridge was as a bin man in Newtownards, in the days before wheeled bins, when you lifted the bin onto your shoulder, carried it to the lorry, dumped the contents, and took the empty bin back where you found it. In certain places, there were bins you tried to avoid — let’s say there was a hole in the bottom of the bin and ugly liquids might run down your back if you lifted it.
My full-time colleagues didn’t have an academic qualification between them, I was studying at one of the world’s top universities, but guess who lifted the leaky bin most weeks? Those “unqualified” bin men were doing practical maths every day, speeding up or slowing down, to position me where I did not want to be.
Despite my friendship with Nick Hornby, I was miserable during my first year, to the point I wanted to transfer to Queen’s University, Belfast. When I asked my tutor to make it happen, he refused to help. He told me if I wanted out, it was up to me to ask QUB if they would have me. I was shocked, but when I thought about it, I realised I had more thinking to do.
I could transfer back to Belfast and wonder, “What if I had stayed in Cambridge?” for the rest of my life. Or I could dig in, try to make the most of the remaining two years and have no regrets.
So, to my younger self, I say what I say to my ageing self: whatever you choose, give it everything.
Finally, I say to young Nessy, just because you are studying at Jesus College does not mean you have to try to look like him.
Mike Nesbitt is Ulster Unionist MLA for Strangford and a former leader of the party