Reporting Racial Harassment at Oxford
The shadow over universities: racial harassment Sophie, a student, is sitting at the bar on her university campus, when a few of her coursemates come in after a society social. Sitting across the room from her, the group gets louder, rowdier, harder to ignore. She is put on edge by their behaviour
Letter to the Isis: #1
The existence of an academic elite at Oxford can never be justified unless it is open to students of every background – The Isis, October 1978. This is a statement made in the first article of the 1,684th edition of The Isis, and despite being published nearly forty years ago, it still rings painf
Far Away
What are you doing just now? Perhaps you’re rinsing a coffee cup Warm water caressing your hands Sea waves lap over ankles Deliberately digging your toes into the sand Speaking with a relative And something they say confirms that hope or fear you have about these days. Sunk in the sofa with siblin
Cardiff Bus
This piece was incorrectly printed in the Trinity 2017 magazine as being by Brian O’Driscoll. The correct author is Daniel O’Driscoll, from Jesus College. We apologise for this error, and hope you enjoy Dan’s atmospheric portrayal of life on a ‘Cardiff Bus’. Tha
Revelations
London, 1924 They did not normally have people for dinner. The war made such gluttony feel unfair; the empty chairs and departed voices had subsumed the vivid pleasures of ante-bellum times. But now, for the first time in a very long time, there would be something of a party at number fifteen Eaton
My Sister Says the Strangest Things
Press play to listen the accompanying music as you read… Where was I? On the top of the night bus, coming back home. Pretty empty, in fact basically empty, which usually makes me nervous – you know? – like remember that story that used to go round school about the kid who got ruffied by [&
Double Sorrow
Look, our careless sleep has laid the world to siege. Morning thrusts its tattered sails like white surrenders into this, our dream, our winter palace, while spores of mustard gas steal homeward from the breach so we might taste our cruelty with those towns strung out all night
