‘University Challenge’ and the achievement of Bamber Gascoigne

The death of Bamber Gascoigne is a reminder of how much British academic life has changed in the sixty years since he launched University Challenge. As its first quizmaster, in the early years this urbane polymath also set all the questions — a task that might have deterred his successor, Jeremy Paxman, from taking on the role of presenter when the programme was revived by the BBC in 1994 after ITV had cancelled it in 1987. Gascoigne’s wit and effortless manner contributed mightily to the show’s popularity: though never actually an academic, he became the nation’s favourite don.

He went on to play a significant cultural role, not least by providing Grange Opera with a much-needed new home in 2015 after he unexpectedly inherited a large country house and estate in Surrey. But Gascoigne will be affectionately remembered for his catchphrases, such as “Starter for ten” and “fingers on the buzzer”, on what remains the nation’s most enjoyable and least mercenary quiz show.

Thanks to its longevity and its unchanging format, University Challenge has reflected the evolution of higher education better than any other barometer. Everything from the composition of the teams to the subject matter of the questions tells us a great deal — if not about our intellectual history then certainly about the history of our intellectuals.

Due to its uncompromising focus on knowledge and mental agility, the charge of elitism has been levelled at least since the student protests of the late 1960s — yet watching clever (mostly) young people show off their erudition has proved highly entertaining and the British public love it.

One anecdote illustrates this tension to perfection. In 1975 a team from the University of Manchester decided to protest against the perceived Oxbridge bias of the programme (the two ancient universities were allowed to field five college teams apiece, while polytechnics were excluded). Led by the then far-Left firebrand David Aaronovich, they answered every question in one round with: “Trotsky”, “Che Guevara”, “Marx” or “Lenin”. In spite of this attempt at sabotage, ITV broadcast the episode anyway — but banned Manchester for years. Aaronovich is now a Times columnist and a pillar of the Establishment, but when the polytechnics acquired university status in the 1990s, University Challenge gladly took them on board.

In so far as the accusation of elitism had any merit, it was really a complaint about a university system in which a single Cambridge college (Trinity) might happen to have more Nobel laureates than the whole of France, say, or a couple of Oxford colleges (Christ Church and Balliol) produce 17 prime ministers between them. Harmless or otherwise, such a concentration of talent in a handful of institutions is hardly uniquely British — unlike University Challenge, which is.

Over the past 60 years, the programme has, like the universities, greatly broadened its intake, becoming more classless, ethnically diverse and international in the process. The show’s evolving sartorial fashions alone would furnish material for a PhD: from suits and ties to T-shirts and jumpers, along with every conceivable hairstyle. Teams now include many more mature students and generational contrasts are a welcome feature. Women are still underrepresented, despite being in the majority on campus, but a bewildering variety of gender identities is on display. Participation is, of course, voluntary; not everyone wants their appearance, accent and character mercilessly dissected on social media.

The questions have inevitably adapted to cultural changes, too: where once Gascoigne could indulge a shared taste for classical music, Paxman must now preside over entire rounds in which obscure and highly specialised knowledge of, say, heavy metal or drum n’ bass is required. Some may deplore such nods to popular culture, but democratisation does not equal debasement. Science and the humanities are now given equal weight, which is fair though occasionally baffling for non-boffins. The questions also reflect the more cosmopolitan outlook of today’s undergraduates: in order to span the globe, those on history and geography, for example, are less Eurocentric.

All in all, University Challenge has made fewer compromises than those who bemoan the decline of civilisation might have predicted. Even in our supposedly dumbed-down era, it still counts for something to speak other languages, ancient and modern, to be able to bridge the “two cultures” of science and the arts, to have a gift for mathematics, an eye for art history, an ear for music, a smattering of history or to be well-versed in poetry. Those who have made a study of the programme claim to have spotted its quirks: my wife is convinced that in almost every episode the answer to one question will be “Immanuel Kant”.

Yet the test of a successful University Challenge team remains constant: breadth as well as depth, quick thinking, cool heads and iron logic. Many answers are necessarily informed guesses and luck plays a part, especially if a set of questions happens to coincide with an individual’s pet subject. Over the gruelling course of half an hour, however, the best team normally wins.

The pathologies of academic life — philistine intolerance, excessive specialisation and cowardly conformism — are mercifully absent from this mainly flattering simulacrum. Very occasionally the demons emerge briefly, leaving viewers trapped for a few moments in an academic pseud’s corner. But such moments are rare and Paxman can be relied on to restore order with a raised eyebrow or a caustic comment. Perhaps Gascoigne’s most lasting legacy is the fact that on University Challenge are no prizes other than the honour of victory — an honour that properly belongs to all who participate. For that we must thank the only begetter of this feast of cerebral competition for its own sake. In an age when cash is king and Bullingdon-style bullying has been replaced by woke witch-hunts, Bamber Gascoigne upheld the timeless value of intellectual integrity.

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