. . . . The O U is My Lover

 

 

I am not clear what exactly Rudyard Kipling had in mind for filling

in his sixty seconds worth of distance run, but certainly in the three

months after summer school and before the examination on October

25^th 1982, my minutes were well filled. I started a full-time job at the

beginning of September, leaving home at 8.15 and returning at 6

o’clock. After 7.05 supper (with relaxing Archers) I did OU revision for

two and sometimes three hours every night. My lovely house was

very neglected, dust piled up and somehow rushing to shop at

Tesco’s on Thursday evenings I always forgot the lavatory paper. 

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Thinking about it afterwards I assumed that subconsciously I thought

I wouldn’t have time to use it. Exalted though I felt in Schools – the

Oxford University undergraduate examining rooms, no less – when

the off was given on the examination day my hands were trembling

so much I couldn’t write, or even remember my identity number. I

immediately dropped my packet of fruit gums onto the floor. The

only thing that danced in my mind was that John Stuart Mill was born

in 1806 – a fact that, having glanced at the questions would be

totally useless in any answer. Sir Harold Wilson would certainly have

been very proud at the amount of sheer effort, concentration, and

agony that went into those three hours by the OU students. (These

were not the privileged university undergraduates with all day free

to work, but ordinary people who at their own expense and often

with very little free time, struggled on courageously in order to

acquire their own sense of identity and personal achievement).

 

My relationship with the OU was similar to that of a lover; it

produced sleeplessness, it fascinated, I thought of little else. I loved

it, but I hated its power over me. It was like an ongoing battle I could

never escape from. I have to admit I never succeeded in putting it

entirely out of my mind. It teaches self-discipline by its very solitary

nature, but the seminars and self-help groups produced a sense of

belonging to people all striving for a common goal. Thank God

indeed, for the other students’ support because no one else is

remotely interested in your cut-off date or your essay and its

contents. For dinner party conversations such matters rate low.

Academics, or anyone who might be trying to relax at the end of the

intellectual day, do not wish to discuss the Italian Renaissance or

Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, they are keener to argue the relative

merits of Tesco’s or Sainsbury’s if they want to discuss anything at

all. 

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The knowledge I gained by studying was entirely for myself. The

pleasure now felt in an art gallery recognizing an artist not previously

known, the familiarity with Beethoven’s violin concerto or Chopin’s

preludes; or simply being able to understand some of the more

obscure words in a Times leader, without the aid of a dictionary, and

the pleasure that ensues, are autonomous. Mine alone.

 

In early January 1983 a letter came from Milton Keynes

Examination Board. In the appropriate box was the word ‘Pass’.

When the exhilaration had died down there was a new decision to be

made. Only five years to go now before getting the degree – was I to

go on or to stop? Questions, questions. Was it worth the effort? Did I

enjoy it? Would I be able to manage another year with more

specialized work and less tutorial help? Could I afford it, financially or

mentally? Had I enough friends and family prepared to sympathise

and encourage a second year? Was it rather absurd to be a ‘mature

student’ anyway? And so on. I found myself deliberating in a way

that must be very familiar to OU students. Sifting through the pros

and cons, which were about even on my list, it was passion that

determined my answer. I want to know passionately. 

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Opening the

book of knowledge is like stepping into Aladdin’s Cave – wonderful

exciting treasures beckoning and sparkling everywhere. Obviously

the Open University is not for everyone. For those who merely flirt

with the idea, or quite enjoy evening classes, or who are inspired by

the neighbour’s boasting, or whose academic children instil a sense

of competition, the trials of OU are probably too great to be

undertaken. But is under considerable thought, working out how

much time is left, how it will affect family life, and how important it

really is and why, then it is worth at least a go – it is a challenge well

worth taking against yourself. That June I signed on for another year.

The battle starts again.

 

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