Women in Oxford: a memoir 

I came to England from Hungary as a refugee in 1956. Ten years later I was elected as a Fellow in Engineering in Brasenose College, Oxford. It was a male fortress at the time. No women. I soon learned that in 1893 out of the 26 colleges, only five took women. By 1966 seven new male colleges had been founded but the number of women’s colleges was still five.

This bothered me. I thought it was an anomaly that needed to be urgently addressed. One lunchtime I was playing squash with a fellow-Fellow and between games seemed as good a time as any to raise the subject. “Why don’t we take at least a few women in the next academic year. What do you think?” I asked. He was mildly amused. “This is not the way things are done in Oxford,” he said, “ Changes of this magnitude will take at least ten years to realise. “Surely not,” I said, “it is the twentieth century. Things move much faster nowadays.” He ignored my interjection and continued, in a less confident tone. “I know, Brasenose may not be the best college to initiate this. You might know that for a good century, until quite recently, Brasenose was the most sporty and the least intellectual of all the colleges. When considering admissions, muscle power was always regarded as superior to brain power. John Betjeman writes somewhere in his memoirs — do you know who John Betjeman is?” I nodded, and he continued: “He wrote that after sunset, it was unwise to go near Brasenose. It was too dangerous. In spite of all that, I think we have a good chance to open those closed doors, because of major changes in our college. “ He was referring to the fact that in that  year five young Fellows had joined the college. “We are a determined minority. We can push things forward.” 

He was only in his mid-twenties but already pretty good at assessing the mood of the governing body. Less than four months later the college voted in favour of “exploring the possibility of admitting women undergraduates” and set up a committee to report back to the college. My very modest contribution to the cause of women was to be a member of this committee. The motion was carefully phrased and diplomatically introduced by my squash-friend. Had he proposed that we change the statutes to allow women to enter the college, we would have been overwhelmingly defeated, but just to explore the possibility was acceptable, even to the die-hards. One could always scupper the project later.

By the spring of 1968 negotiations were progressing. A meeting with the heads of the five women’s colleges was on the cards. “You see,” I told my friend as we sauntered toward the squash court for our weekly game, “how overly pessimistic you were. ‘Ten years, you said. It has hardly been two years, and we now have a chance to meet the heads of the women’s colleges and discuss next steps. They are, I expect, even more enthusiastic than we are. They’ll see us as knights in shining armour who came to free damsels in distress. They will shout ‘Liberty, Equality and (possibly) Fraternity’ as well.” We reached the squash court. “Maybe,” he smiled.

Our committee of five met the five heads over dinner at Lady Margaret Hall. We were shown into a large and inoffensively decorated reception-like room. Before we had a chance to sit down, the door at the other end of the room opened and in sailed five battleships — a daunting sight. The average age of our committee was just above thirty, the average age of the distinguished ladies was just below sixty. I had some forebodings that such a difference in age, and very likely outlook, might be an obstacle to reaching a quick agreement.

After some introductions we all moved to another room ready for dinner. There were no name cards, so apart from Dame Lucy Sutherland, who took her place at the head of the table, it was a free-for-all. I manoeuvred myself to sit next to Dame Kathleen Mary Kenyon, Principal of St Hugh’s College, who looked the least battleship-like of the five. I knew her by reputation. She was one of the 2oth century’s most influential archeologists. She led extensive digs in the Holy Land. Reverting to my usual habit of asking my dinner companions about their work, I used the pause before the serious discussion began, asking her whether she had found an excess number of trumpets at Jericho. Dame Kathleen smiled and talked about Jericho, not forgetting to tell me that the number of trumpets found there was a little below average for a city of its size.

The host, Dame Lucy, apparently the most senior among them, dispensed with any small-talk. “What do you propose?” she asked. We told her that the simplest thing to start with would be setting up a joint admission procedure. “No,” she said, “we are not interested.” “What kind of collaboration would you consider that aims to facilitate the entry of women to our college?” our side asked. She, speaking for all of them, closed all possible avenues to an agreement. She reminded me of some Russians I have met whose active vocabulary consisted of the sole word: nyet. She made it clear that if we raised the issue in Congregation (the University’s parliament) they would oppose it. When we left, our committee was of the opinion that for the time being the project should be abandoned.

I was confused. I knew enough naval history to understand that battleships take a while to turn. “Surely,” I insisted the next day, “we could get this through Congregation even if the women’s colleges oppose it. This is the 20th century! We should not in any way discriminate against women. Surely, we would win. How can we condone a system in which there are only five women’s colleges and six times as many men’s colleges?”

“You still don’t understand,” was the reply. “This is not the way we do things in Oxford. Yes, I know that this is the 20th century. But you have to understand the concerns of the women’s colleges. They did not spell them out but I know what they are. Their first concern was probably teaching staff. When there is a new academic appointment by the university, would the successful applicant choose a women’s college? And the same for undergraduates. Would a bright young woman, if she had the choice, prefer a mixed college? They were worried that they will lose out in matters academic. Maybe catastrophically. After our meeting I became convinced that they would oppose us as long as they can.”

The committee’s view was upheld in a discussion in the governing body. The resolution stated: “No further action should be taken in this matter until such time as it can be resumed by more than one men’s college with at least two of the women’s colleges.” The resolution was carried nem con. I voted with the rest.

Another stumbling block I have not mentioned so far, a condition that applies to all Oxford colleges. For changing the statutes, a simple majority is not enough: a two-thirds majority is required. At Brasenose it took us another three more years to achieve that, but after that we could look round to find allies. The women’s colleges could repel the assault of Brasenose on its own but the concerted onslaught of five men’s colleges (as it happened, St Catherine’s, Jesus, Wadham and Hertford Colleges joined us) made them hoist the white flag. They could only delay things. They got the assurance that no other men’s college would go mixed in the next five years. They were allowed to look at our efforts as a five-year experiment. As anyone could have predicted, the “experiment” was a great success, although complete victory did not come in the 20th century. 

Now, in 2021, all colleges, men’s or women’s, are co-residential. Counting the years from that dinner, it took four decades. It turns out that my friend’s off the cuff prediction of a mere ten years had been wildly over-optimistic. Friedrich von Logau, a German poet and epigammatist, wrote: Gottes Mühlen mahlen langsam (“God’s mills grind slowly”). Oxford’s mills might grind even more slowly.

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