Friday, May 2, 2025
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Your essential guide to the music of May Day

Daniel Burns
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Your essential guide to the music of May Day

May Day: It’s unique, convivial and quintessentially Oxford. Only once a year does the city come together like it, and when that happens, it’s not one to miss out on. So, what can you expect to see on the day? When will it all be happening? And, most importantly (in my unbiased opinion), what is the role that music has to play in the history behind the traditions?

​Officially, the day kicks off on 1st May at 6am with the annual performance of Magdalen College Choir. From Long Wall Street to the Plain Roundabout, crowds gather all along High Street and Magdalen Bridge in their thousands. Given the popularity of the spectacle though, many arrive earlier at Magdalen Tower to enjoy a closer view. So, make sure to get there in plenty of time if you want a good spot!

​One might wonder why the early start: May Day celebrates the arrival of summer, and so welcoming in the sunrise has always been a central part of the celebration. For many students at the University of Oxford and Oxford Brookes University however, the festivities begin even earlier. Nowadays, pulling an all-nighter seems a more appealing option than crawling out of bed in the early hours of the morning. Don’t be surprised to see some even in formal attire, as all-night balls don’t go unheard of.

​After all the build-up, the Hymnus Eucharisticus, sung by Magdalen College Choir, marks the beginning of May Day. Music’s role does not diminish from there – the choir follows up with a cycle of songs, including the Renaissance-derived ballet, Now is the Month of Maying, a sort of traditional madrigal. First sung in 1595, and featuring a good-old ‘fa la la la la’, it never fails to be an uplifting start to the ceremony. From ‘merry lads’ to ‘barley break’, the lyrics send us back to past times while reminding us of the exciting summer ahead.

​After their ten-minute show, the bells of the Great Tower ring for another twenty minutes. Meanwhile, some head to Radcliffe Square while others, mostly students, make for Magdalen Bridge, where jumping into the river has become tradition. This happens despite accidents in recent decades. For example, in 2005 at least ten people ignored warnings from police about low water levels. They were soon rushed to hospital after attempting the plunge. Nevertheless, if safe, it can be a highlight of the day for those who take part.

​If adrenaline rushes aren’t your thing, there’s still plenty to enjoy around the Radcliffe Camera. The entertainment that steals the show is Morris Dancing. Since the first documented time the city celebrated the festival 500 years ago, it has always been a fan-favourite. With folk music reverberating around the square, the Morris Men of Oxford swing their handkerchiefs and jingle their bells as they execute their time-old choreography. If to be believed, the Morris Men are said to bring magic power to wherever they dance. When Radcliffe Square is as busy and bustling as it is on May Day, it is hard to deny there’s something magical in the air.

​As the procession moves up to the city centre, the bagpipes, squeezeboxes and fiddles of the all-in-green Whirly Band can be heard outside Clarendon Building. They never fail to bring the spirit of summer to the city as their viridescent suits symbolise a new leaf. It’s their one gig of the year, and their folk songs dating back to the 13th century like Miri It Is are not one to pass up. 

​Besides this, general revelry and Highland dancing outside All Souls College are some of the events to enjoy. Be sure to keep a look out as well for the Jack-in-the-Green bush – someone dressed up in what looks like a Christmas tree – which also makes its way round the city centre. The phenomenon originates from a milkmaid tradition of carrying flower-decorated milk pails, supposed to show the beauty of spring. Perhaps slightly detached from its previous meaning, the Oxford Jack is now a central part of the procession. With 14,000 people behind him, Jack plays follow-the-leader up the High Street.

May Day is full of peculiarities and eccentricities, all of which put the day high on everyone’s agenda. Music is a key part of this, with the mix of Latin lyrics and folk melodies characterising the day’s unique origins. But it is the camaraderie and togetherness of May Day that make it so special for the city. So, be sure to get up early and not miss out on what is truly an unforgettable day of music and memories.

Going Dreamy: The Singular Will of David Lynch

Arthur Meynell
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Going Dreamy: The Singular Will of David Lynch

In a behind-the-scenes clip from David Lynch’s final project, Twin Peaks: The Return, a crew member tells him that they only have two days to shoot a scene. Lynch frowns, and searches his pocket for another cigarette.  

“Why?” he demands.  

Someone mumbles an explanation about someone else’s schedule, but the nasal tirade is already underway. “This is absolutely horrible.” In his fury, it’s difficult to say whether he stops to smoke or to speak. “We never get any extra shots; we never get any time to experiment.” He pounds the table. “We never get to, you know, go dreamy or anything.”  

This is not the only video of Lynch going berserk when someone interferes with his process. How maddening this must have been for the auteur, when the free and slow approach to filmmaking, the chance to “go dreamy”, had won him overnight success (literally, at first). His feature film debut, Eraserhead, premiered at the 1977 LA Filmex Festival as a midnight movie, a slot reserved for independent, avant-garde filmmakers with a budget as spare as their audiences. These were films that could afford to flop, and usually did. But with lighter pockets, directors were free to experiment – no big-bucks producer was around to stub their cigar on the final draft. 

Only in a sparsely filled theatre, in the early hours of the morning, could a ‘cult-director’ like David Lynch have been conceived. And his conception was unforgettable. The opening scene of Eraserhead, shot in shadowy black and white, depicts a spermatozoon uncoiling from the protagonist’s mouth; after a buboed man pulls a lever, it wriggles through space to make cinematic legend.   

As with all great art, there is no single explanation for Lynch’s popularity. The first episode of Twin Peaks, aired in 1990, is among the most watched TV pilots in history. Sitcoms like Cheers and The Cosby Show had dominated ABC in the 80s, and America’s Funniest Home Videos played immediately before Lynch’s network debut. Perhaps, fed up with canned laughter and neat narrative, the nation wanted to feel disturbed. If the storyline of who killed Laura Palmer was the hook of Twin Peaks, it was the velvet visuals, oddball characters and general weirdness of the show which kept its audiences transfixed. In a miracle of modern television, Lynch made the avant-garde conformist.  

But the show’s prime was brief. Early into the second season, producers became paranoid they would lose their audience if the mystery remained unsolved, and Laura Palmer’s killer was revealed earlier than Lynch had intended. Only then did ratings drop, and Twin Peaks was cancelled. The director’s work had suffered from executive meddling before. Deeply humiliated by the comprehensive failure of Dune in 1984, he had his name credited as ‘Judas Booth’ for its TV run. But it was Lynch, not the producers, who had betrayed and killed his art. After ceding the director’s cut, he trusted that the studio would realise his vision – if his vision existed at all. “I started selling out even in the script phase,” he confessed to Stuart Mabey in 2006. Lynch was sorely punished for his leniency, along with the production company, which lost at least $15 million at the box-office, over a quarter of its budget. 

Even with autonomy, Lynch would frequently make losses on his films. But if fortune would be fickle, he would be unbending. Lacking the funds to advertise Inland Empire, he ruled out negotiating with Hollywood moguls for aid. Instead, set up on a Los Angeles street corner, he sat between a cow and a huge poster of Laura Dern, promoting the film alone. “Without cheese, there wouldn’t be an Inland Empire”, read his placard. I’ve watched the film: with a runtime of 197 minutes, all handheld shots and trauma-montage, it dehydrated and depressed me. Yet there was no doubting that each scene belonged entirely to Lynch. Whether I enjoyed it felt irrelevant; this was a vision uncompromised, and to slate the film as obscure or impenetrable would be to assume that he owed us something. 

Major studios still try to predict our wants and needs, but Lynch seemed to know our darker desires. It’s unsurprising that his most popular films, Mulholland Drive and Blue Velvet among them, are like broadcasts from the subconscious. Deeply haunting and oddly beautiful, they lurk just below the intellect, but are no more exasperating than a nightmare. For Lynch, going dreamy was not just an aesthetic: it was a responsibility.

No-buy Trinity: A guide to buying less and creating more

Faye Chang
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No-buy Trinity: A guide to buying less and creating more

For Oxford students, the start of Trinity marks not just the start of the final term of the year, but also the start of a brand new wardrobe to match the rising temperatures. College puffers and chunky thermals are out – crop tops, linen shirts, and tastefully long jorts are in. With this seasonal rebranding, there’s a temptation to just buy more to keep the summer looks on-trend; fast-track shipping, Vinted and Depop, and the slew of local thrifting opportunities make acquiescing to the panic of looking too ‘last year’ easy to fall into. 

However, 2025 has also seen a growing ‘No Buy’ trend. Participants in the trend hold off on buying strictly unnecessary goods: anything like clothing, home decor, and even takeout. All jokes about recession indicators aside, reducing the rate at which we buy clothes is undoubtedly good – the fashion industry consumes unimaginable quantities of water, and accounts for up to 8% of global carbon emissions. In this context, the ‘No Buy’ trend indicates an encouraging shift towards a mindset less based in endless consumption, and more in making do with what we already have in creative ways. 

Of course, the hectic pace of terms can make it difficult to invest a bit more time into revising our consumption habits. For the most part, I consider this to be a moot point: most students aren’t just constantly working on their degrees, and by this time of the year, hopefully even the freshers have figured out something of a work-life balance. 

Another, more pressing obstacle people might come across is the question: Where do I get the resources? It’s tricky lugging a sewing machine to Oxford, to say much less of finding where to store it over vacations. Hand sewing is tedious, even for students without two deadlines per week.  

It’s here that repair cafes like Share Oxford’s come in handy. Running monthly, the ‘cafe’ brings together community members and volunteers to share expertise on how to fix broken things: anything from clothing to jewellery, bikes to electronics. With the first Repair Café opening in Amsterdam in 2009, the model has since proliferated to over 3,500 cafes globally, with more than 60,000 items repaired per month. Oxford’s own branch runs out of 1 Aristotle Lane, just 3 minutes away from St Anne’s College. Other community groups like Bullingdon Community Association also run repair cafes – this one in Headington – although their emphasis is more on mechanical and technological repairs than textile ones. 

If you’re looking for access to sewing machines and other textile repairs on a more regular basis, other community groups in Oxford abound. The Hackspace cooperative, also based in 1 Aristotle Lane, runs socials weekly on Wednesday evening, where you can use the sewing machine to your heart’s content. For those looking to extend their creative skills beyond clothing, Hackspace also offers tools for woodworking, metalworking, and 3D printing – you might even be able to set a no-buy on jewellery and make your own here. 

If you need even more regular repairs – perhaps your shirts keep snagging on branches while punting, or perhaps drunken walks home keep producing tears in your trousers – the Christ Church art room hosts its own sewing machine. While you’ll need to be certified to use the machine, a process which mainly involves proving you can thread a machine and wind a bobbin, the almost 24/7 access is a life-saver for those committed to making their own clothes and doing their own repairs. 

For those more uninitiated in the habit of repairing and making their own things, all of this information might look slightly overwhelming. What about getting the materials for repairs in the first place? My answer: Thrift shops. Finding pieces of secondhand or scrap fabric, realising their potential, and turning them into something entirely new can produce a unique thrill of its own. However, it’s quite likely that you’ll be able to find some pieces in your own wardrobe that aren’t just getting worn – tearing them apart, cutting them up into pieces, and using them to repair other clothing is an equally viable strategy.

The same principle goes for getting started with learning how to repair. While online guides can include a tantalising array of measuring tools, embroidery wheels, and felting kits, you don’t truly need to buy new things. All you really need to get started is a needle, and some thread.

Joanna Miller’s ‘The Eights’: Unapologetically, indulgently Oxford

Freddy Conway-Shaw
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Joanna Miller’s ‘The Eights’: Unapologetically, indulgently Oxford

Do not worry: despite the title, this is not a rowing novel.

Instead, the term ‘The Eights’ in Miller’s novel refers to the four women who populate corridor eight in St. Hugh’s College – in 1920, making them four of the first women to ever matriculate at the University of Oxford. The novel follows their first year, a year that, for Oxford students reading, will modulate between the overwhelmingly familiar and the shockingly unique. The students – bright, troubled Marianne; rebellious Otto; beautiful, grieving Dora; and fervently political Beatrice – bond over excessive reading lists, attend union debates, and panic over formal attire, all evergreen Oxford experiences. At the same time, owing to their historical context, they deal with ridiculous chaperone rules, confront tutors who refuse to teach them, and obey strict curfews that cause unceremonious theatre-night exits.

It is Miller’s interweaving of the quintessentially Oxonian with this drastic historical moment that lends the novel such charm and interest. And it is, indeed, intensely Oxford, to an extent that surpasses Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited or Emerald Fennell’s Saltburn. Joanna Miller, herself an Oxford alumna, of Exeter College, has no shame in steeping the novel in Oxford’s unique atmosphere. It does not have Parts I, II, and III, instead sectioning the novel out into Michaelmas, Hilary, and Trinity; chapters follow weeks, from 0th to 8th.  Throughout, timeless Oxford sentiments are shared by the reader in the know – the excitement that a scholar’s gown comes “with sleeves”, for example, or the yawning question, “Is this it?” upon straining to hear May Day choristers.  

Yet this is a historical novel, and the four main characters also must tackle the fervent misogyny that faced the first female matriculands, the shadow of World War I, and bouts of the Spanish Flu. The novel’s shining moments come in its attention to the historical conditions that inspire it: as an addended author’s note makes clear, Miller’s research for the novel was far-reaching and rigorous. Rules and notes “taken from real documents in the St Hugh’s archives” populate the text alongside sometimes factual, sometimes fictional articles from the Daily Mail, The Oxford Chronicle, and The Imp. The environment of the novel, furnished by this fascinating historical material, is thus expertly wrought.  

If there is to be criticism of Miller’s work, it should fall on its plotlessness – the main draw of the novel is the climate it creates, lacking in real action or purpose. It is quiet, meandering: Personally, I found this pleasant, a reading experience that feels like a stroll round Christchurch Meadows. Undoubtedly, for others, this will be frustrating. Where there is plot, though, it is often underbaked and unbelievable. Perhaps the main drive of the novel is what the blurb calls Marianne’s “secret she must hide from everyone”, but Miller seemed to forget to hide it from the reader – clues are so clumsily dropped that it is clear what secret she is keeping by 5th week of Michaelmas. The novel’s ending, and resolutions, tend too close towards fable and fairy-tale: It would’ve been a bolder and better choice, to properly deal with what would have been painful, unhappy consequences of the discovery of an alive-but-thought-dead husband, the reveal of a child-caring widower, and unrequited lesbian desire. Instead, while the choice to only cover one year cleverly leaves the novel open for a sequel (or two, because readers will want to see the Eights deal with Finals and graduation), all the conflict of the text is too cleanly resolved. Any development in this narrative from Miller will have to depart radically from what she has left herself with.

These shortcomings, though, should not take away from what is definitely a successful creation and an exciting, important debut novel. What we can learn from this semi-imagined Oxford of 100 years ago is clear. When Marianne reflects that “misogyny is like the mice under the floorboards […] scuttling about unseen, but never far away”, it risks sounding inauthentic, a 21st century voice, but it is nevertheless pertinent. While, fortunately, Oxford has come a long way in its treatment of women, the novel makes plain, in some of the University’s antiquated rules and antique fellows, that much is still to be done. Being made “on occasion […] to feel like unwelcome house guests” will be a feeling that is undoubtedly, unfortunately familiar for far too many students today. Miller is still able to combine an important message with an atmosphere that, for the freshers excited for their first trinity, for finalists not ready to leave, or for nostalgic alumni, will be gloriously, unapologetically, indulgently Oxford. 

The Eights was published in March 2025, and is now available at bookstores.

Missing the plot of ‘Wuthering Heights’: Is the book always better?

Sophie Price
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Missing the plot of ‘Wuthering Heights’: Is the book always better?

From the director who brought you Saltburn comes a story of violent passion, bleak moorlands, and the mutually destructive relationship between a teenage girl and a ‘dark-skinned’ brooding antihero. Emerald Fennell’s new Wuthering Heights adaptation has placed Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi into the shoes of Emily Brontë’s Cathy and Heathcliff, a casting choice that has infamously perplexed readers and critics upon its announcement last September.

Elordi and Robbie, for all their talent, deviate considerably from the characters they will be portraying. Like many other period dramas falling victim to ‘iPhone face’ casting and 21st-century embellishments, the pair feel oddly misplaced in Brontë’s Yorkshire. Most notably, Heathcliff is described by Emily Brontë as ‘dark-skinned’, and while his ethnicity is never explicitly stated, he is likely of Romani or East Indian descent. Heathcliff’s outsider status is central to the novel’s romantic and social tension, and his being an outsider is augmented by issues of both class and race. 

However, fidelity to the source material doesn’t have to mean scene-by-scene replication. Films are constrained by runtime and driven by visuals, and many literary scenes are like untranslatable words in a foreign language when trying to adapt to the screen. Pages of a character’s inner monologue would be frankly unmarketable if accurately translated to screen with no artistic flair, and many filmmakers find themselves at the mercy of studio demands for runtime, meaning they simply cannot afford to include everything. Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, for example, spans well over nine hours in its entirety and still omits significant parts of Tolkien’s original. Yet, Jackson’s choices in the ‘to cut or not to cut’ debate work because they preserve the central plot of the story he wanted for his movie, while maintaining respect for the source material. Some content can be cut, and not a great deal of the overall picture changes, but this is not the case for what viewers are seeing with the new Heathcliffe and Cathy.

But how far can filmmakers go before reinterpretation turns into distortion? Most viewers understand that film and literature are different media, and it would be patronising to assume otherwise. The frustration doesn’t come from minor adjustments or those necessary evils that arise from the adaptation process, but instead from drastic changes to the story’s core. Those ‘essential organs’ that should survive the journey of translation – characteristics of age, race, and background – are not irrelevant details that can afford to be upended to cast marketable public figures. 

When done well, adaptations can be refreshing approaches to a known tale. Greta Gerwig’s Little Women pleased audiences upon its release in 2019. Along with altering the timeline’s linearity, Gerwig notably left the ending ambiguous: Jo still marries Professor Bhaer, but it remains unclear whether this is Jo’s fate or the ending she penned to sell her novel. In the book, Jo marries Professor Bhaer as a reluctant Alcott writes the ending that her own publishers desired for her heroine. Gerwig’s film is not a letter-for-letter adaptation of the original, but her changes enhance the experience of watching the March sisters grow, rather than detract from it. 

At the other end of the spectrum are adaptations that lose their footing entirely. Director Mary Harron has expressed disappointment over the reception of American Psycho in pop culture. Though both the book and the film are intended as satires of the ‘finance bro’ archetype, Christian Bale’s Patrick Bateman has been bizarrely embraced as a role model by some viewers. Those putting this satirical figure on a pedestal misread or missed the plot altogether, accidentally idolising a figure that was created to be mocked. 

It’s easy enough to argue ‘you can’t please everyone’, and directing a film is an entirely different ball game from writing a book. However, the uproar over Robbie and Elordi’s casting teaches us that, at the very least, audiences ask that adaptations remain faithful to the parts of a story that really matter to its overall message. 

After all, no one listens to Kate Bush expecting a Brontë lecture. But they do expect Heathcliff, and not Elvis.

A review of Day 2 of the Oxford University Short Film Festival

Tomas Overton
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A review of Day 2 of the Oxford University Short Film Festival

The Oxford University Short Film Festival took place at the end of last term in Keble O’Reilly Theatre. Each day featured a variety of well-crafted student films, and day two was no exception. Six student films were broadcasted, each reviewed below.

Skelter

The first film of the night, directed by Max Morgan, depicts a girl moving on from her summer job at a fairground and all the emotional disconnection and reorientation that entails. It’s set on her last day of work as she says goodbye to a close friend. The film mines a similar economical, hesitantly emotional vein as the films of Colm Bairéad and Charlotte Wells. Its storytelling is assuredly minimal, preferring to hesitate on shots of the environment and pitch its conversations in a place of naturalistic awkwardness.

This approach allows the film to ascend towards a moment of thematic unity as the protagonist descends the eponymous helter skelter for the last time. This scene, greatly enhanced by Aris Sabetai’s overwhelming score combined with the laconic and alienating images of the disassembly of the fairground, leads to a moment of poetic insight as we watch the pair of friends recoiling from and parodying their previous emotional closeness. Their performances affect this admirably, with a real attention to detail in the small expressions that complement the film’s minimalism.

On a more critical note, though the writing is for the most part subtle, it can feel a bit obvious. Stripping it back even further and leaning into the Hemingway-esque economy, even extending some of the environmental storytelling and slowing the pacing (as in the films of Béla Tarr) would accentuate what is a really interesting style.

Drift

The second film, directed by Emily Florence Batty, explores the nostalgic friendship between Lily and Rachel, separated after Lily leaves for university. The film is cut through with cold blue snapshots of their final moments together before they left off with an argument. The weight of their disconnect sits heavily on the film, and the non-linear storytelling allows these two emotional moments to pervade each other.

The film draws on the naturalistic dialogue and subject matter of Normal People, attempting to capture a newly digitized and fractured experience of youth. The cinematography and pacing are excellent, moving the relationship towards its eventual reconciliation. The film’s only limitations are in its writing; some of the scenarios feel clichéd, and the dialogue can be overly expository. However, this does not mar what is a skilful and focused relationship study.

Bright Young Things

The third film, directed by Katie Burge, centres on the relationship between Pia and Soph as they struggle to negotiate youth and morality. The film opens with a dreamlike sequence as Pia sparkles in a black void, fluttering around a star. We wake up on Pia’s 20th birthday as the two friends plan the party they will have that evening. Pia speaks in Waughian lyrics and half-finished ideas, relishing the confusion of her interlocutor. Soph is excited and happy, a lamb for Pia to lead, a dream for her to invent. When Pia kisses the boy that Soph likes at the party, the two fall out. Pia’s self-conscious charisma is imitated by Soph, who then undermines it and exposes its artificiality.

Soph emerges as the emotional core of the film amidst a world of sparkling appearances and inauthenticity. Meaning or morality is banished by a set of glimmering ideals, and youth is something illusory and performative. The film’s dialogue, while contrived at points, is spaced out to allow ambiguity to emerge. Defying any easy resolution, the film’s pessimism is itself unsure and seems to seek for some fragile humanity in its characters. It is a very effective short film, compelling in its dialogue and ambiguous in its conclusions.

It’s My Party

In the fourth film, directed by Rosie Robinson, Louisa’s two awful flatmates throw her a 22nd masked birthday party without inviting anyone that she knows. Through small hints dropped throughout the film we learn about the underlying emotional and familial struggles facing the character and their experience of chronic pain as the party descends into a distorted nightmare. It walks a thin line between comedy and horror, pushing into moments of Eyes Wide Shut-esque terror; we are drawn into the turmoil of the protagonist as the party becomes a wider symbol of an unknowable and overwhelming anxiety.

However, Lili Herbert’s fantastic performance always brings us back to humour with an incredulous facial expression. The main love interest’s conversational tone also follows this rhythm, toeing the line between awkwardness and emotional assurance. This sets a brilliant atmosphere, one that depicts the simultaneous comedy and total alienation of the scenario. The final scene is heartwarming, with great chemistry between the actors and a satisfying emotional resolution. My only critique would be that this ending loses the absurdist edge of the film’s opening.

Cloud Nine

The fifth film, directed by Theo Shorrocks, is a Richard Curtis inspired portrait of contrasting experiences of love. A real interview of an older couple is juxtaposed against the trials and tribulations of a pair of young would-be lovers. The use of the interview footage really elevates the film as their genuine and naturally complex dynamic sits on top of and shifts perceptions of the secondary storyline.

This contrast makes the young lovers seem one-dimensional, but in the same way that Richard Curtis’ characters are deliberately one-dimensional. As such, the film takes apart the Curtis formula, sitting in a place of tension that is at times genuinely heartwarming and at others self-aware of its own limitations. This stops it from synthesising in an emotional conclusion or reaching any final judgement on the theme of love (outside of its precarity), but this is also the film’s greatest strength, leading us into a nostalgic place of uncertainty where narratives of love and real love combine and are muddied. The film’s technical aspects are all excellent, with great pacing, editing, and cinematography.

Strangers

In the final film, directed by Mischa Gurevich, a chance encounter and an unexpected proposition explodes into a haze of dreamlike cinematography as the protagonists dance through an empty building at sunset. The voiceover ruminates on the impossibility of love and the contrast between the immediacy of their connection and the need for hesitation.

It is under half of the length of the other shorts, but it makes the most of its short runtime by disregarding character and relying on the ambiguity of its images. The film is more of an emotional rush than a cognitive experience, plunging between extremes emphasized by the granular sounds of glass and pulsing soundscapes.

Final Thoughts

The festival organisers did a great job setting up and chairing the evening, which ended with a panel with some of the directors. The films were interesting when taken as a set. They had quite a lot in common. Almost all were shot in 4:3. Almost all used a retro, nostalgic colour grade. Almost all, with notable exceptions, attempted a form of social realism. In most cases this was achieved through the use of minimal dialogue. As you would expect given the age range, most explored themes of fleeting youth, university life, or failing love. They were curated based on the theme of ‘interpersonal relationships’, which makes sense; most were interested more in exploring the relations between individuals rather than any wider social concerns. However, in this interpersonal isolation they were unified by their sense of nostalgia and hesitancy, which seems to reflect on a particular historical moment.

Hundreds protest Supreme Court trans ruling in Oxford

Laurence Cooke, Amelia Gibbins, Arina Makarina, and Noah Robson
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Hundreds protest Supreme Court trans ruling in Oxford

Several hundred protestors took to the streets of Oxford today in response to the Supreme Court’s recent ruling on the legal definition of a woman under the Equality Act 2010.

The march – which began at Bonn Square around 11.30am and ended at Oxford Crown Court just over an hour later – was organised by the group ‘Oxford for Trans Rights’. They told Cherwell that the protest aimed to “raise awareness of the harm caused by the Supreme Court’s ruling and the way transphobic individuals and organisations are using it to push their hateful propaganda”.

Following a number of speeches at the start of the route, the demonstration moved down New Inn Hall Street, before turning onto Cornmarket Street and continuing down St Aldate’s. Chants included “Supreme Court, blood on your hands” and “No borders, no nation, trans liberation”.

The protest comes after the Supreme Court ruled that under the Equality Act 2010, the terms ‘woman’ and sex’ refer to a “biological woman and biological sex”. Supporters of the judgement claim it will protect single-sex spaces, whilst critics have said it will undermine protections for trans people.

A diverse mix of people, some affiliated with Oxford University and others local residents, made up the crowd. One resident, who wished to remain anonymous, told Cherwell that he was attending the protest for his trans son, aged 14. He said his son wasn’t attending as he didn’t “think it was quite safe [for him]”.

Meanwhile, two academics in the modern languages faculty told Cherwell that they were “joining in solidarity with trans communities” by taking part in the protest. They carried a banner from the University and College Union (UCU) with the words: “Knowledge is power. Defend education.”

There was a minimal police presence, with only a very small disturbance occurring midway through the march when a bypasser on Cornmarket shouted at the protestors: “Misogynists go home. Defend women.” A large team of stewards and ‘legal observers’ from the organisers were present.

Some local political parties were also represented, including the Greens and the Liberal Democrats. Christopher Smowton, leader of the Oxford Liberal Democrats and Councillor for Headington, told Cherwell the local party had organised an “informal solidarity march” which the national party was happy to allow. No representatives from Labour or the Conservatives were visible at the protest.

By 1pm, the demonstration had largely dispersed after a few megaphone speeches which also addressed topics including racism and solidarity with Palestine.

A Trinity trail of Oxford’s best reads and retreats

Polina Kim
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A Trinity trail of Oxford’s best reads and retreats

Trinity Term has come upon us faster than the lovely magnolia has blossomed, which means the weather has warmed up, the sun is out, and we’re finally moving into the summer (okay, scientifically spring) season! For those looking to read for fun, and not just their degree, below is a perfect Trinity trail of ideal reading spots in Oxford, with book recommendations to accompany every single one. 

First Spot – Vaults and Garden’s summer terrace

Every year, there’s a vicious fight to get these coveted terrace spots, and for good reason! The University Church provides shade, there’s a cool breeze, you can order delicious scones, and you get a view of the Rad Cam. Speaking of scones and afternoon gluttony…

Must-read: The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde 

If you still haven’t read Oscar Wilde’s greatest comedy, this is your perfect opportunity. This short masterpiece is filled with Wilde’s classic wit, and endless aphorisms. It’s a blend of false and mistaken identities, hastened marriages, frivolous engagements, served with lots of social commentary and drama. There’s also plenty of afternoon tea scenes. You won’t be able to tear yourself away, just like Algernon can’t stop with the muffins, so why not spend the whole afternoon over the play, all while having your own mini snack?

Second Spot – In Christ Church Meadows, under the shade of a tree

If you walk past the river bank where the boat house is, you will get to a bend where people rarely go, except if they’re walking the full circle. This means you’ll be largely undisturbed, and the grass makes for a soft sitting space. You can truly forget about the essay crisis and return back to your childhood memories of warm days of seemingly endless time.

Must-read: Mina’s Matchbox by Yoko Ogawa

To make that feeling even stronger, here’s a Japanese fiction recommendation that’s filled with whimsy, childlike carelessness, and the sense of almost limitless potential. After Tomoko is sent to live with her uncle in a coastal town, she finds herself in a fascinatingly mysterious mansion. Her cousin even rides a Pygmy hippo to school. Oh, and she’s a pyromaniac. Oh, and their house is, again, insanely cool… or maybe just insane. Need I say more?

Third Spot – Port Meadow amongst the horses

Snow White may have sung to animals, but you need not be a choir scholar to have your  Disney experience. You can simply read in Port Meadow, and the horses will at some point likely become curious. You might need to sit still though, so you need a book that will truly immerse you, and spark a state of careful, slow reflection.

Must read: Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust

Hear me out on this one: I know In Search of Lost Time is one of the longest books in the world, but reading a volume a year has become my obsession. Let me make it yours too. Proust writes beautifully – every page is filled with sentiment, emotion, and humanity. His writing is best described as incredibly floral, with the slow nostalgic tone and descriptions reminding me of waiting for the first flower to bloom just to examine every petal. This is a book for thinking and feeling deeply. 

Last but not least – By the Oxford canal

The Oxford canal town path is very long, so you are guaranteed to find a lovely seat. You’ll have the occasional barge glide by, the water will provide the necessary coolness, and although the place feels isolated, you can very easily head back to the city centre at any moment. This is also a darker reading spot, so the perfect place for when you’re looking to enjoy a more sombre novel. Or gaze melancholically at the water, despairing over unrequited love…

Must read: White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky 

The main character loves to go on walks by the riverbank (how apt for your situation!) and is a hopeless romantic who falls in love with a young woman yearning in turn for the chance to see her own lover once more. So hopefully not the exact same as your situation, then. He sees her as the sweetest, most perfect young girl, and he does everything he can to help her, and she in turn begins to love him as her closest friend. Could this turn into something more? Does it matter if it doesn’t? 

These are among a few perfect places to enjoy your book! Oxford is truly a literary city, where so many words and stories have begun, there can be no greater gift than reading here. Wandering the cobbled streets, enjoying the view of sun-kissed quads and the tantalising promise of the Bodleian libraries’ endlessly appealing shelves is so inspiring in getting you to pick up a novel, and finally hit that reading goal. Maybe Trinity will be the term to find your favourite read and retreat.

If walls could speak: Lessons from Cowley’s street art

Cienna Jennings
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If walls could speak: Lessons from Cowley’s street art

Just a five-minute stroll from the imposing spires of Magdalen College lies Cowley Road, the heart of Oxford’s urban culture. Oxford, renowned for its grand dining halls and neoclassical facades, is not a place where street art is the first thing that comes to mind. Yet, beyond the grandeur, Cowley Road transforms brick and concrete into a vibrant canvas – capturing the city’s community and vitality in bold, defiant strokes.

A striking example is the mural on Stockmore Street, just off Cowley Road, depicting Horns of Plenty (pictured above) – a community street band formed in East Oxford in 2007. Commissioned for their tenth anniversary and the Cowley Road Carnival in 2017, the piece was created with support from Oxford City Council.

This mural, created by renowned local street artist Andrew Manson (known as Mani) radiates the community’s energy. Its striking contrast of cool blues and fiery reds demands our attention, while its towering presence makes it impossible to miss.

The band dominates the composition, their large figures placed at the top centre, making up over half of the scene. On the top left, one member plays the saxophone while skateboarding, while on the far right, another drums, while crossing the road, adding a playful, lively energy to the scene.

Beneath the band, vibrant shops line the scene, with more musicians scattered throughout, playing saxophones and drums, their lively energy mirrors the booming sounds of Cowley Road’s Carnival. The overlapping figures and surroundings further emphasize the city’s bustling atmosphere during this time.

A closer look at this piece – now far from the vibrant freshness it once had – reveals peeling paint and signs of decay, a quiet reminder of life’s transience. Like the carnival it depicts, the artwork will fade away with time, surviving vividly in the memories of those who saw it. The exposed brick beneath grounds it in the city’s fabric, reinforcing its connection to urban life. 

Street art now contributes to Cowley Road’s vibrant energy, but it wasn’t always so revered. Originating from illegal graffiti, street art formerly faced widespread criticism. However, local artists like the Mes Crew (Must One and Seven) have collaborated with councils and the community to establish the Open Walls Network – legal spaces around Oxford, including tunnels and walls, for artists to showcase their work.

The Mes Crew has also created stunning works around Oxford, including the vibrant redesign of The Library pub on Cowley Road in summer 2024. This piece features a range of characters from books by renowned authors with ties to Oxfordshire.

On the bottom right you’ll find the Cheshire Cat with his mischievous grin, alongside Absolem, with his signature pipe, from Alice and Wonderland by Lewis Carrol, who studied mathematics at the University of Oxford.To the top right is the iconic Cat from Dr. Seuss’s The Cat in the Hat. Dr Seuss himself completed his postgraduate degree at Lincoln college, Oxford. 

Above the sign, the White rabbit from Alice and Wonderland appears alongside the Witch from C.S Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia – Lewis himself an alumnus of Magdalen College, Oxford. At the bottom, a scene from J.R.R Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings pays tribute to the renowned author, who was both an Oxford professor and a close friend of C.S Lewis. 

Another striking piece of street art in Cowley is a mural of the Radcliffe Camera, created by renowned street artist Reeves One in collaboration with the Oxford Street Art Collective. Painted during the 2017 Cowley Road Carnival, it can be found on Moberly Close, just off Cowley Road. The mural reimagines one of Oxford’s most iconic buildings in a bold contemporary style.

Set against a mysterious purple background, the Radcliffe Camera is rendered in vivid, unexpected colours – yellow-tinted windows and a turquoise dome – that reimagines its classical form with a bold, industrial aesthetic. The striking palette creates a powerful contrast between tradition and modernity.

The dome appears to hover, with machine-like elements emerging from both the top and base. These details suggest a fusion of past and present: the classical architecture merges with an industrial, futuristic vision, reflecting the changing nature of art and design.

This mural creates a visual dialogue between Oxford’s classical heritage and its dynamic street art scene, celebrating the coexistence of tradition and evolving creative culture.

Street art in Oxford is a powerful reflection of the city’s energy and culture. So next time you think of art in Oxford, don’t just picture the ornate ceiling of the Radcliffe Camera or the marble sculptures of the Ashmolean – consider the street art, created by and for the community. Unlike the permanence of Oxford’s historic buildings, its beauty lies in its ever-changing nature, a vibrant symbol of modernity. 

Staging the radio play: The audio-visual world of ‘Under Milk Wood’

Rhys Ponsford
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Staging the radio play: The audio-visual world of ‘Under Milk Wood’

“Love the words!”

That was the crisp command from Dylan Thomas, the 20th-century Welsh poet, to the cast of his radio play Under Milk Wood, just before a rehearsal in New York in 1953. Not long after, Thomas was dead. His entreaty to “love the words” is a fitting legacy. Thomas was a writer enchanted by the sound and song of language. He infused his work with the Anglo-Welsh rhythms absorbed during his childhood in Swansea and among Welsh speakers – despite not knowing the language himself. It is this unique brand of poetry that sings throughout Under Milk Wood. 

Under Milk Wood is an idiosyncratic blend of verse, radio, and theatre of the mind. It captures a day in the ordinary life of the fictionalised Welsh village, Llareggub (spelling “bugger all” backwards), featuring an ensemble of eccentric characters. 

We hear the gossipy repartee of neighbours, the Reverend Eli Jenkins’ “greenleaved sermon on the innocence of men”, and the musings of Captain Cat, still haunted by the ghosts of companions drowned at sea; Thomas distills the “big seas of their dreams” and evokes a world in the mind’s eye.

The most famous and beloved version was the 1954 BBC radio broadcast, with Richard Burton as the First Voice (one of two narrators). It invites listeners to conjure their own version of the “lulled and dumbfound town” from the musicality of Thomas’ words and the sound design they are surrounded by. The radio version is intimate; the narrators entreat us to “look”, “listen”, and “come closer now”, assuming a new joyful urgency via their direct address.

The radio version is not bound by the logistical constraints of the stage. Yet the play has also been performed in theatres countless times, and even adapted into film. So in which form can we “love the words” best – radio, or the stage?

One of the most innovative stagings came in the National Theatre’s (NT) version in 2021, directed by Lyndsey Turner. It retains the hallucinatory quality of the original play, but uses the conceit of a care-home setting to establish a frame narrative around Under Milk Wood.

At the heart of Turner’s version is the casting of Michael Sheen in the role of Owain Jenkins, a character unique to this interpretation. He fulfils the roles of the narrators with a joyous spontaneity – as if he had just thought of his lines. Sheen is all wheeling limbs and breathless poetry. There is an effortless ease to his movement between the dream-like world of Under Milk Wood and that of the care-home, where he visits his father who has dementia. Sheen’s verse becomes an attempt to help his father recall the Llareggub of his youth.

Turner largely maintains the pace of Thomas’ roving narrators, the First and Second Voice. Yet these transitions are seamless in radio. In this sense, a staged version of Under Milk Wood may always be trying to chase after audio’s aural echoes.

Indeed, the NT’s austere set still requires an imaginative leap from the audience into the world of Llareggub. In a theatre among hundreds, though, there is a sense of community more absent from audio. You are less like a child lulled to sleep by bedtime tales, and are instead conscious of being one in a crowd, as if in one of the pubs Thomas frequented, over-hearing him mutter to himself while scribbling.

Perhaps audio remains the best medium for a conventional interpretation of Under Milk Wood that highlights its poetry – where “sound [is] as important as sense”, as Poetry Foundation says of Thomas’ work. For when the BBC released Under Milk Woods, a spiritual successor to the play in honour of its 70th anniversary, it was dramatised for the radio. In five short episodes, it captured the daily life of ordinary modern-day Welsh people in five different places. As in the play, you are transported into the characters’ world by the narrators to “hear their dreams”. The format of Under Milk Woods displays how the now-episodic nature of audio drama has begun to shape aural storytelling, even within the radio play tradition.

So in staging Under Milk Wood, which version is more successful? The rich baritone of Burton or the electrifying physicality of Sheen? Should stage try to imitate the radio, or play to its own visual strengths?

Future dramatists will continue to grapple with these concerns, against the backdrop of ever-increasingly popular audio forms. You’ll be able to see for yourself by watching Guy Masterson’s one-man rendition of Under Milk Wood, showing at the Oxford Playhouse this July. 

But come what may, the poetry of Dylan Thomas and Under Milk Wood will endure – for “death shall have no dominion” over his song.

Guy Masterson’s performance of Under Milk Wood will be at the Oxford Playhouse on 15th July.

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