The Exam Room by Cyril Edward Power (1934)
John Henry Newman writes to his friend Walter Mayers about his final examinations at Oxford, January 1821:
“My failure was most remarkable. I will grant I was unwell, low-spirited, and very imperfect in my books; yet, when in the Schools, so great a depression came on me, that I could do nothing. I was nervous in the extreme, a thing I never before experienced, and did not expect—my memory was gone, my mind altogether confused. The examiners behaved with great kindness to me, but nothing would do. I dragged a sickly examination from Saturday to Friday, and after all was obliged to retire from the contest. I will not attempt to describe the peace of mind I felt when it was over.”
WNP Barbellion, aged 21, a self-taught zoologist, writes in his Journal of a Disappointed Man, 20th June, 1911:
“Sat at Liverpool University for the practical exam, Zoology, Board of Education. At the close the other students left but I went on working. Prof. Herdman asked me if I had finished. I said ‘No,’ so he gave me a little more time. Later he came up again, and again I said ‘No,’ but he replied that he was afraid I must stop. ‘What could you do further?’ he asked, picking up a dish of plankton. I pointed out a Sagitta, an Oikopleura, and a Noctiluca, and he replied, ‘Of course I put in more than you were expected to identify in the time, so as to make a choice possible.’ Then he complimented me on my written papers which were sent in some weeks ago, and looking at my practical work he added, ‘And this, too, seems to be quite excellent.’ I thanked him from the bottom of a greedy and grateful heart, and he went on, ‘I see you describe yourself in your papers as a journalist, but can you tell me exactly what has been your career in zoology?’ I answered of course rather proudly that I had had no career in zoology. ‘But what school or college have you worked at?’ he persisted.
‘None,’ I said a little doggedly. ‘What I know I have taught myself.’
‘So you’ve had no training in zoology at all?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, if you’ve taught yourself all you know, you’ve done remarkably well.’
He still seemed a little incredulous, and when I explained how I got a great many of my marine animals for dissection and study at the Plymouth Marine Laboratory, he immediately asked me suspiciously if I had ever worked there. We shook hands, and he wished me all success in the future, to which I to myself devoutly said Amen. Came home very elated at having impressed someone at last.”
Naomi Mitchison, novelist, describes school examinations in her account of her Edwardian girlhood, All Change Here (1975):
“Did I ever become educated? If so, only accidentally and occasionally, with a few questions filled in during odd times in the lab, or perhaps talking with distinguished guests [her father was a physiologist]. I suppose it was in late 1913 or early 1914 that I sat ‘Locals’ in some public building. I’m not sure what they corresponded to and have an idea that there were Junior and Senior, the latter being equivalent to university entrance. The standard, especially perhaps in science, was clearly much lower than today. I don’t recollect being worried by these exams or even doing any hard work. In fact all I remember is a very easy Botany paper, with a specimen flower to dissect and label. It had two green caterpillars inside it, which I made race across my desk.”
Kingsley Amis writes to Philip Larkin from Oxford after taking his final examinations in English Language and Literature, 6th December 1946:
“It was very kind of you to send me a letter to arrive on Exam Day, and it has been very lazy and unkind of me not to reply to it before; but I’m sure you remember that activity of any kind is distasteful to one after going in for one of these nastly jubble nasty things [sic]. But now four days’ drunkenness is over, and I have just had a very good collection [college examination], and I have just lighted a cigarette, and I have just played one of my new records—“After a While/Muskrat Scramble,” by Benny Goodman’s Boys—and I have just had a mighty and puissant shit, shaking its invincible turds, so I feel in an epistolary mood. My typewriter does not seem to have liked not being used for a long time and that is why this letter is a hard one to read... I won’t say anything about the examination except that it was not much better or worse than I expected; my chances are still about 4:1 against getting a first-class. I wrote a good answer praising the works of Mr Pope which I expect they liked.”
John Henry Newman writes to his friend Walter Mayers about his final examinations at Oxford, January 1821:
“My failure was most remarkable. I will grant I was unwell, low-spirited, and very imperfect in my books; yet, when in the Schools, so great a depression came on me, that I could do nothing. I was nervous in the extreme, a thing I never before experienced, and did not expect—my memory was gone, my mind altogether confused. The examiners behaved with great kindness to me, but nothing would do. I dragged a sickly examination from Saturday to Friday, and after all was obliged to retire from the contest. I will not attempt to describe the peace of mind I felt when it was over.”
WNP Barbellion, aged 21, a self-taught zoologist, writes in his Journal of a Disappointed Man, 20th June, 1911:
“Sat at Liverpool University for the practical exam, Zoology, Board of Education. At the close the other students left but I went on working. Prof. Herdman asked me if I had finished. I said ‘No,’ so he gave me a little more time. Later he came up again, and again I said ‘No,’ but he replied that he was afraid I must stop. ‘What could you do further?’ he asked, picking up a dish of plankton. I pointed out a Sagitta, an Oikopleura, and a Noctiluca, and he replied, ‘Of course I put in more than you were expected to identify in the time, so as to make a choice possible.’ Then he complimented me on my written papers which were sent in some weeks ago, and looking at my practical work he added, ‘And this, too, seems to be quite excellent.’ I thanked him from the bottom of a greedy and grateful heart, and he went on, ‘I see you describe yourself in your papers as a journalist, but can you tell me exactly what has been your career in zoology?’ I answered of course rather proudly that I had had no career in zoology. ‘But what school or college have you worked at?’ he persisted.
‘None,’ I said a little doggedly. ‘What I know I have taught myself.’
‘So you’ve had no training in zoology at all?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, if you’ve taught yourself all you know, you’ve done remarkably well.’
He still seemed a little incredulous, and when I explained how I got a great many of my marine animals for dissection and study at the Plymouth Marine Laboratory, he immediately asked me suspiciously if I had ever worked there. We shook hands, and he wished me all success in the future, to which I to myself devoutly said Amen. Came home very elated at having impressed someone at last.”
Naomi Mitchison, novelist, describes school examinations in her account of her Edwardian girlhood, All Change Here (1975):
“Did I ever become educated? If so, only accidentally and occasionally, with a few questions filled in during odd times in the lab, or perhaps talking with distinguished guests [her father was a physiologist]. I suppose it was in late 1913 or early 1914 that I sat ‘Locals’ in some public building. I’m not sure what they corresponded to and have an idea that there were Junior and Senior, the latter being equivalent to university entrance. The standard, especially perhaps in science, was clearly much lower than today. I don’t recollect being worried by these exams or even doing any hard work. In fact all I remember is a very easy Botany paper, with a specimen flower to dissect and label. It had two green caterpillars inside it, which I made race across my desk.”
Kingsley Amis writes to Philip Larkin from Oxford after taking his final examinations in English Language and Literature, 6th December 1946:
“It was very kind of you to send me a letter to arrive on Exam Day, and it has been very lazy and unkind of me not to reply to it before; but I’m sure you remember that activity of any kind is distasteful to one after going in for one of these nastly jubble nasty things [sic]. But now four days’ drunkenness is over, and I have just had a very good collection [college examination], and I have just lighted a cigarette, and I have just played one of my new records—“After a While/Muskrat Scramble,” by Benny Goodman’s Boys—and I have just had a mighty and puissant shit, shaking its invincible turds, so I feel in an epistolary mood. My typewriter does not seem to have liked not being used for a long time and that is why this letter is a hard one to read... I won’t say anything about the examination except that it was not much better or worse than I expected; my chances are still about 4:1 against getting a first-class. I wrote a good answer praising the works of Mr Pope which I expect they liked.”
