The Individuality of Chivalric Culture

Sophie Smith (DA U6)

‘It is dusk. A young knight is riding through a deserted countryside, seeking shelter for the night. He has seen no one all day, save a fisherman who has told him of a castle nearby where he will be made welcome.’

This is an extract from the tale of Perceval, written in the 12th century by the French poet Chrétien de Troyes. At the heart of the story is a young knight who is burdened with the solitary quest of finding the holy grail. As in many chivalric legends, the solitude of knightly endeavour is a prominent theme. Alone, he must overcome hardship, challenge and adventure in order to prove his bravery and demonstrate core chivalric values – valour, faith, diligence, temperance and justice. These stories were born out of the developing knightly values of the 12th century, of which individualism was a significant part; society was changing from a homogenous entity centred around the monarchy to a culture where each aristocrat sought to assert their individual prominence. This change was influential in spurring on the development of democracy and parliament.

It has been postulated that it was this shift which also led to the foundation of fame and celebrity in society. At the heart of chivalric culture was the desire for knights to prove themselves against their competitors: the tales of Chrétien de Troyes and others therefore focused on the deeds of a lone questing knight, for it was by these acts of individual heroism that unique worth could be demonstrated. Renowned figures such as William Marshal, Richard the Lionheart and the legendary King Arthur are examples of the widespread recognition that could be gained from individual heroism. This desire for honour and competition with others was an integral part of chivalric culture.

However, there are certainly great differences between the notion of fame today compared to that of the Middle Ages. Recognition of celebrities today is reliant on media and imagery, the lack of which would have detracted from the fame of 12th century knights. Yet the use of heraldry and symbolism was a means by which chivalric culture managed to surmount this issue. Unique shield designs and heraldic animals were adopted by knights to propagate their individuality and extend their fame.

Not only was medieval individualism expressed through heraldic insignia: the building of castles provided another means for self-expression and distinctiveness. Unlike churches or cathedrals, the construction of castles required no adherence to set rules or the inclusion of obligatory elements, resulting in much greater variation. For instance, Chateau Gaillard, or ‘saucy castle’, was constructed in Normandy by Richard the Lionheart and is recognisable for its deliberately quirky, unusual and complex design, which, as claimed by Richard himself, meant it would not be taken ‘were the walls made of butter’.

Fame and individuality were therefore important aspects of chivalric culture, and ideals that inspired the writers of 12th and 13th century tales. This individualism also bears similarity to the notion of solitude prevalent in aspects of monasticism. The drive of reformers to emulate the life of Christ and the desert fathers led to the rejection of worldly society in favour of solitude and simplicity. Austerity, prayer and hardship were to be endured alone, much as the questing knights must overcome challenge and danger. Stories of Perceval and the Holy Grail suggest the influence of Christianity in chivalric society; the notion of solitude and the struggle to overcome the inner battles of personality thus seem closely connected to the legends of chivalric society.

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Anouschka Verdon (LI L6)

Swiss philosopher Rousseau (1712–78) profoundly influenced the progress of thought across Europe. His works inspired the Romantic generation which, in turn, marked the end of the wave of Enlightenment throughout Europe, as well as inspiring aspects of the French Revolution (though taking place after his death, in 1789). Rousseau taught parents to take a new interest in their children and their education. He furthered the expression of emotion rather than practicality and polite restraint in love and friendship. He opened people’s eyes to the beauties of nature. But, fundamentally, Jean-Jacques Rousseau held a lot of criticisms for contemporary civilisation and, ultimately, he self-isolated from the corruptness and destructive nature of society.

That is not to say that he believed people were inherently evil. In fact, Rousseau thought humans were good by nature, but that it was society which had taken a bad turn; according to Rousseau, society had only become more harmful as it had become more sophisticated. So, oddly enough, Rousseau was hostile towards modern progress – not unlike some people today. He exonerated nature and believed early societies, which he called ‘nascent’, were the ‘golden age’ of mankind. These nascent societies were when people built their first huts, facilitating the cohabitation of men and women and, in turn, producing the habit of living as a family and associating with neighbours. When unhappy with the present, it is not unusual to look to the past for inspiration – and certainly, it is very easy to glorify and idealise history. While Rousseau’s criticisms for society may have been justified, he, too, like the rest of us, emphasised this by trying to find a solution in the past – the nascent societies.

With Covid-19 and various lockdowns, and a new age of technology, we have found ourselves in unprecedented times. The 21st century marks a new era – the first in which a generation has been raised with mobile phones and other similar devices. Though with many perks and benefits, technology has been linked to increased fatigue, stress, and depression in younger generations. Children feel the negative effects of the lack of physical social connection. And pop culture has exploded thanks to new technologies and social media, based on the short-term tastes and interests of the younger generations, characterised by simple and accessible styles – arguably a response to the difficulty of much of modernism. In return, the ‘technology generation’ looks to the recent past – the 1990s, 1980s, and 1970s for inspiration in life. This is largely reflected in modern fashion trends. But this is in no way a new concept; the 1960s looked back to the 1920s and, on a larger scale, the Victorians looked back to the Ancient Romans and Greeks, as did those in the Renaissance.

But, while Rousseau thought nascent society was the golden age of human history, he also believed it to be the reason jealousy was born. Neighbours started to compare their abilities and achievements with one another, which ‘marked the first step towards inequality and at the same time towards vice’. Rousseau found that people’s ‘innocent self-love turned into culpable pride, as each person wanted to be better than everyone else’. And so, society was corrupted. Though, it does raise the question: can society ever not be corrupt?

Rousseau clearly thought nothing could be done to fix the destructive nature of civilisation, because he self-isolated for much of his life. Though stemming from a scandal in 1762 about the unorthodox religion in one of his books, Rousseau decided to continue to stay away from society. To Rousseau, solitude was the promise of immunity from the hatred of others. And, in fact, he believed solitude to be the natural human state and that, by distancing oneself from other voices, one was facilitating the return to oneself.

So, a government-ordered separation from the community (his 8-year exile in 1762), turned into a voluntary separation, in which Rousseau got in touch with nature and with himself.

Ms V R Brown (CR, Religious Studies and Philosophy Department)

The thin, ash-streaked arm is raised through the curling pipe-smoke, punctuated by twin horizontal peaks of elbow bones. The tapering wrist supports a clenched hand, grey skin stretched over the knuckles, each shrivelled finger leading to a twisted, spiralling overgrowth of nail. The thumb clenched between the forefingers gives the fist a defiant aspect, as if it has long been raised against an ancient indignity. Forty-four years ago, Amar Bharati Urdavaahu felt such distress at the warring state of the world that he raised his right hand in protest - and has been protesting ever since. A naga sadhu since the age of seven, he has spent 66 years practising Vedic spirituality as a Hindu monk.

The naga sadhus are unique amongst the holy men and women of India, as they are usually naked, smothered in ashes. However, such people are a common sight in India, particularly in holy places such as Varanasi on the banks of the holy river Ganges. Also known as a sanyasi, swami, yogi, vairagi, guru or baba, a sadhu is a holy person called to a life of asceticism in which they leave behind worldly possessions and become nomadic. Their saffron robes, painted tilaks on their foreheads, shaved or dreadlocked hair, and few possessions including a staff, alms bowl and prayer beads, single them out as those whose focus is beyond the visible. Inspired by their guru, usually a revered sadhu himself, they have chosen to take new names and left behind their previous lives. Their initiation into the spiritual sect involves a pseudo-funeral ceremony in which they die to their old, worldly lives and are reborn into a spiritual existence. Many of them cultivate seemingly superhuman command over bodily faculties through extreme yogic practices, as Sadhu Urdavaahu has done; the pain of a locked, withering arm will surely have tested his devotion over the years.

Most Hindu ascetics can be broadly divided into two groups: those devoted to the god Shiva (Shaivites) and to the god Vishnu (Vaishnavites), with countless sub-groups within and between the two. The main divisions are called akhadas. People who choose to renounce life as a member of society for a simpler existence, involving abstinence from physical pleasures, are common within Indian religious tradition, and indeed many other religious traditions. They live in isolation, devoting themselves to pilgrimage, meditation and the search for escape from reincarnation and final unification with the ultimate reality – moksha, in Sanskrit. It is this total renunciation of the material world that allows the sadhu to realise the truth of the self or atman – a spiritual aspect that it is believed constitutes the eternal reality within each of us. Thus, through active separation from what many of us might call ‘humanity’ – the society, norms, rules and relationships that create the intricate web of human life – the sadhu seeks to achieve ultimate understanding of their inner selves and the wider active energy of the universe. The use of yoga and meditation techniques in bringing about such understanding is interesting; many modern people find them useful in curing illness, relieving stress, anxiety or anger due to the control they help us to gain over our senses as well as our emotional and mental health.

Perhaps the most important aspect of asceticism for the sadhu is that it results in complete independence: freedom from the comforts of the material world, the relinquishing of family ties, of communal or societal principles. However, this does not seem to be something that is intended to apply only to the few who decide to take this path. Traditionally, the Vedic literature has divided human life into four parts, or ashrams. The first two are brahmacharya, the stage of youth or learning, and grihastha, the householder phase including marriage and until the person becomes a grandparent. The final two Vedic ashrams are vanaprastha and sanyasi – the hermitage and renunciation phases.

The hermitage phase is the time to move away from active participation in society and family life and to observe and guide at a distance. Literally meaning “dwelling in forests”, this stage allows the individual to live a simple life away from society in order to prepare for the renunciation of worldly ties for the final part of their life. Anyone who has had the privilege to stay in an Indian ashram will know that the communities are usually selfsufficient, growing their own food and abstaining from anything more than the simplest of meals and personal needs: such is the expectation for those who have moved into the vanaprastha life stage as they prepare for further renunciation of earthly life in their later years. The final stage, sanyasi, is when each person’s acquired lifetime of knowledge, morality, experience and wisdom can be consulted by those still within society to seek assistance

or guidance. According to the Vedas, the individual has no need of wealth, material comforts or worldly things during this stage; they should disconnect themselves from family and human society and should exist on the charity of others. The entire energy and focus of the individual at this point should be on the achievement of moksha, or salvation from eternal rebirth.

Despite the Vedic exhortations, these final two stages are not the chosen path for most. As such, these holy men (for they are mostly male, due to persisting Indian societal and religious norms) occupy a peculiar place in society. Despite occasionally being viewed with suspicion due to their ‘otherness’, they are more often called baba, meaning ‘father’, ‘grandfather’ or ‘uncle’; they are revered, and their blessings and counsel are sought by those who encounter them. Without any means of obtaining money or even a place to sleep, they are entirely reliant upon the generosity and kindness of strangers. Their spiritual practices are believed by many to be responsible for removing bad karma from themselves and the community at large which means that people are often more than willing to support them.

The time to remove ourselves from society and reflect upon the meaning and purpose of our lives is not something many of us are given, particularly as we are active, busy, modern people many of whom are still working well into what would be the hermitage phase. Recent events, however, may well have afforded us opportunities to ‘dwell in the forest’: to simplify our lives, purify our thoughts and take a step back from the hubbub of consumerism, social media and life outside ourselves. If you have eaten something you have grown, cleared out and given away your clothes to charity or read a new book that transported your mind, then you may just have taken a leaf out of a baba’s book.

January 2021 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

Looking for Lockdown Difference? Consider the Example of Simeon Stylites

Reverend T W G Novis (CR, College Chaplain)

Whilst seeking to avoid your ‘annoying little brother’ who is constantly ‘around’, wanting to be in your room, you consider what activities you can do outside during your permitted daily exercise. With a little research you stumble upon the example of Simeon Stylites . . . initially, you find the peace and the tranquillity you sought with no one to disturb you. But, ironically, your chosen outdoor activity is so bizarre you attract a huge crowd who constantly badger you for advice, and even prayer and sermons.

Simeon Stylites, was born in Turkey in 390 ce and passed away in Aleppo, in 459 ce . He was a Syrian mystic and hermit who converted to Christianity in his youth. He was attracted by what was deemed the heady trendiness of the new faith, recently recognised by Constantine in 325 ce as the official ‘religion of the empire’ in the West.

He was an ‘extreme ascetic’, and always accepted the Lenten challenge of neither eating nor drinking for all 40 days! After entering a monastery, Simeon decided to absent himself from the presence of the other monks and their annoying habits (if you’ll pardon the pun). He didn’t go on a long solo pilgrimage or choose to live in a single cell like the Cistercians in the West. Instead, he built a pillar, 20 feet high, upon which he sat for years – completing his daily exercises, which involved bending his forehead down to touch his feet, praying and even preaching to people who insisted on disturbing his bizarre peace.

After a time, however, the crowds became tedious. After all, sitting atop a pillar was meant to get Simeon away from people and literally up higher and closer to God. Thus, he built a taller pillar, then an even taller pillar. His final pillar, upon which he died after 37 years of existence at its summit, was 60 feet high with a six-foot diameter platform at the top.

Stylites wasn’t Simeon’s last name – it means ‘pillar dweller’ in Greek (‘Stylos’ is the Greek word for ‘pillar). It wasn’t falling from the heights that most concerned the ironic visitors to this lofty hermit, but instead it was worry, on his behalf, that he was driven by the Cardinal Sin of the Seven Deadlies – that of Pride. To give him a holy opportunity to prove himself humble, they would regularly ask him to come down; if he refused, they believed it was as a result of his pride. If he obeyed, he was truly humble. Thus, poor Simeon, constantly pestered, would begin his lengthy descent. His devotion and humility proved, he would be left alone until other tricksters came to test him – time and time again.

But it wasn’t just delinquents in search of a laugh who visited him, Pope Leo I even consulted him on his Christological views. Even today, he is venerated by the Oriental Orthodox Church, the Eastern Orthodox Church, the Roman Catholic Church and the Anglican Church. In Western Christianity, his Feast Day is 5th January.

Amazingly, if you select this to be your Lockdown project, you won’t be alone today in this endeavour. The Katskhi Pillar in Georgia is 131 feet high and occupied by a modern-day monk named Maxime Qavtaradze, age 67, who sleeps in a fridge at the summit to protect him from the elements. Not quite the extremist as Simeon, Maxime descends once or twice a week to offer counsel to the troubled young men who come to see him.

With the extraordinary examples of Simeon and Maxime to follow, Lockdown need never be boring or lonely again!

Lara Higgins Anderson (LI L6)

The rich history of Christianity is brimming with colourful characters and momentous movements; however, few are quite as extraordinarily outlandish as that of the Desert Movement.

The third and fourth centuries witnessed thousands of devout Christians, both men and women, taking themselves off to the wilderness of the desert to live lives of extreme asceticism, either on their own or in monastic communities. These remarkable people retired from society to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, who was famously led by the Holy Spirit to the desert to spend forty days and nights in solitude to test his faith and resilience and prepare himself for the onerous mission ahead of him, fasting and resisting the temptations of the devil:

And the tempter came and said to him, ‘If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread’. But he answered, ‘It is written, Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God’. (Matthew 4: 1–25)

This is a part of an extensive biblical tradition of the desert wilderness, stretching back to the Old Testament, and which is associated with pivotal biblical characters such as John the Baptist, Moses and Elijah. In combination with other contemporary ascetic and monastic developments in Christianity, such as the Northern Egyptian Apotaktikoi, the flame that kickstarted the Desert Movement was ignited, inspiring innumerable numbers of early Christians to devote themselves to a life in isolation – solely dedicated to God.

The Desert Movement is principally associated with Lower Egypt and the Nile Valley: the most famous of its exponents being Anthony the Great, otherwise known as St Anthony of the Desert. Whilst not being the first Desert Father, he was the greatest pioneer of the Desert Movement, and is considered the founder and father of organised Christian monasticism. He withdrew from society in ad 286, in a quest to find absolute solitude, selecting a mountain by the Nile as his place of residence. However, it was not the adverse living conditions that presented him with the greatest challenge, but, like Jesus, his spiritual combat with the Devil. The Devil is said to have manifested himself in a number of guises, challenging his pious resolve – such as a monk tempting him with bread during a period of fasting. Anthony’s steadfast prayer and penance in the face of the Devil’s wiles is regarded as legendary and is depicted in a number of works of both literature and art – notably the paintings of both Hieronymus Bosch and Salvador Dalí, as well as in Flaubert’s novel The Temptation of Saint Anthony. His solitary life as a hermit allowed him to attain a level of spiritual purity that inspired countless monks to follow him into the desert – choosing self-imposed isolation combined with ascetic practices.

As the UK faces its third national lockdown, families who at first were relishing in the luxury of being at home with their loved ones are now raring to get out again, praying to God (not unlike the hermits) that a sense of normality will be restored, and the simple luxury of sitting in a café will again become routine. Cracks in previously tight family units appear and deepen – sometimes threatening to shatter, with the sound of constant bickering becoming as inevitable as the dawn chorus. I myself have found rows over who gets to hold of the remote control becoming more and more heated. Ironically, whist as a nation we are said to be ‘isolating’, for many of us, it seems near-impossible to find a moment of solitude, free from the constant pestering of our ‘dearly-beloved’ family members. This may be a situation that desert hermits would be able to relate to, when they, though seeking absolute seclusion and withdrawal from society, actually managed to draw attention to themselves. Paradoxically, a number of them gained a sort of celebrity status which attracted a constant swarm of pilgrims seeking their wisdom. In the words of St Athanasius ‘the desert had become a city’, and – much to the dismay of the hermits - they had become its tourist attractions.

This was very much the case for St Simeon Stylites – a revered Syrian monk who retreated to the desert in ad 423. Like other desert hermits believed his self-imposed isolation and steadfast devotion to Christianity would bring him closer to God. However, wherever Simeon resided - from a hut in the desert to a crevice in the mountains – flocks of pilgrims would encroach on his solitude. In a desperate attempt to find absolute seclusion he took up residence on top of a 50-foot pillar in the ruins of the ancient city of Telanissa – where he remained

for the next 37 years of his life. Permanently exposed to the elements, he was restricted to a one square metre platform, which forced him to remain standing or sitting day and night, receiving meagre amounts of food from his disciples and visiting pilgrims. Whilst occupying such a small, remote area – St Simeon’s influence was substantial – converting many to Christianity, and even convincing the Eastern Roman emperor Leo I to support the Orthodox Chalcedonian party. His legacy continued to inspire ascetics to become Stylites long after his death, even as late as the 19th century.

Upon first glance, it is easy to cast the Desert Movement and its hermits aside as ludicrous and absurd. However, its importance in the development of Christianity and monasticism should not be overlooked. Furthermore, dare I say it – I believe we can learn from these reclusive hermits; I am not suggesting that you sell all your possessions and climb to the top of a pillar, but more that you consider their view of isolation. Nowadays, the word ‘isolation’ has negative connotations and implies an enforced state of loneliness – often connected with punishment; however, these Christian hermits actively sought isolation, stiving for a heightened state of spirituality and self-awareness. Thus, perhaps isolation does not always have to be a negative experience, and benefits can be drawn from it.

January 2021 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

Self-isolation for Prayer in the Cells in the San Marco Dominican Friary, Florence

Isobel Benster (DA L6)

Upon entering the first floor cells of the Dominican friary of San Marco in Florence, there is an overwhelming sense of the sweet spiritual beauty of Fra Angelico’s carefully painted religious frescos that adorn the plastered walls of each. Long corridors are flanked by solitary cells, each containing a fresco to aid the friars’ prayer and worship. The friary had been abandoned until, in 1434, Cosimo de Medici (the celebrated and generous patron of the arts) returned to power in Florence and decided to renovate it, in order to represent the best in Christian humanism. In addition to the San Marco complex, built by distinguished architect Michelozzo, Cosimo financed the paintings of Fra Angelico (as well as those of Benozzo Gozzoli), which were completed in the middle years of the century. The paintings remain vibrant and vivid to this day, and are considered a pinnacle of religious Renaissance art. Thus it seems they have often been admired outside the original context for which they were made – namely, as a spiritual focus for solitary contemplation of friars, whose role was to preach the word of God, and to uphold Christian rectitude across society.

Fra Angelico, a renowned Renaissance artist and a Dominican friar at San Marco himself, was familiar with the theology of Thomas Aquinas and St Augustine, and knew that sight was not only corporeal, but spiritual and intellectual. Upon first glance, the walls seem to encapsulate the epitome of religious Florentine art; but when they are viewed during deep prayer and worship, the frescos occupy another space, one that can be accessed only via the spiritual eye. Through isolated prayer, believers were able to truly engage with the divine, before a beautiful and idyllic painting – not only on a spiritual, but also on an intellectual level.

However, Fra Angelico, like some of this religious contemporaries, might have been cautious when providing the viewer with an image capable of connecting the physical (art) to the intellectual and spiritual sensibilities aroused in the observer. These paintings were far from being designed to bring delight and pleasure, unlike much art (including religious art) of the time. Perhaps such religious artists believed the very process of painting the frescoes enabled them to access the divine. In the words of Georgio Vasari, in his The Lives of the Artists: ‘A sublime and exceptional talent such as that Fra Angelico possessed could and should not be bestowed upon anyone but a man leading the most holy of lives; for this reason, those who engage in ecclesiastical and holy works should be ecclesiastics and holy men themselves, for we see that when such things are executed by people who have little faith and hold religion in low esteem… the work is censured for its impurity but praised for its craftsmanship and skill’.

Following the Medicis exile from Florence in 1494, another friar of San Marco, the demagogue Savonarola, declared the city ‘the New Jerusalem’ and claimed that it had entered a new golden age. From then on, he greatly influenced political and daily life in Florence. Despite also being a Dominican friar and a devout Christian, Savonarola is something of a paradox: profoundly pious, a champion of liberty, yet a harsh upholder of strict moral standards. He was referred to by Machiavelli as the ‘unarmed prophet’. In Savonarola’s radical Bonfire of the Vanities, he burned both secular art (including works of Botticelli) and irreligious luxuries in the Plaza della Signoria. He was later excommunicated and sentenced to death; his body burned to ensure that he could not be remembered as a martyr. And yet Savonarola, the unexpected leader who replaced the Medici, knelt on the very floors of the San Marco cells. His harshness lay in contrast to Fra Angelico’s apparently saintly character.

Whilst the paintings in each cell are individual, they all act harmoniously to represent a greater narrative. Similarly, whilst each individual worshipper contemplates the fresco on the wall before them, each is connected through the art and the worship, and perhaps more importantly – though isolated, they are together in their connection to the divine. The physical eye needn’t be separate from that of the spiritual and intellectual, but instead their marriage can connect the visible to the invisible.

William Snooks (C1 Re)

‘A person is a person through other persons; you can’t be human in isolation, you are human only in relationship.’ As Desmond Tutu suggests, isolation is not a natural human phenomenon. We have relied on each other from the earliest times – whether for protection, reproduction or economic reasons; we are inherently sociable. We need others.

When you consider the word ‘isolation’, it is currently heavily associated with the pandemic and the need to protect others by separating yourself as required from society. However, there have always been many forms of isolation, some of which force an individual to separate themselves totally from society or part of society, or to make others feel isolated whilst appearing to be included within the community they live in. Then there are those people who voluntarily elect to leave the norm and to ‘drop out’ of society altogether. This article will consider briefly different types of isolation moving to a particular focus on ‘dropouts’ who chose to walk away from society. Electing to isolate can be caused by a series of factors and this paper attempts to identify these and briefly summarise the key reasons for the same. From research undertaken, it would appear that it can either be as a result of social factors or conscious choice.

In terms of social factors, isolation can be triggered by environmental changes, such as the current pandemic, or societal pressures, for instance the ghettos seen during The Second World War. This form of isolation is determined by the community or elements of the community rather than the individual. Elements of society are required to adhere to wider restrictions placed on them by others.

Elective isolation, however, is when an individual has made a conscious decision to withdraw from society. The term ‘dropout’, whilst derogatory, reflects the fact that an individual has chosen to leave society. These people are interesting because their behaviour is contrary to what is accepted to be normal psychological behaviour. To illustrate the differences within these groups, I’m going to consider hikikomori, hermits and those individuals affected by mental health issues.

Hikikomori refers to both the particular type of isolation and the people themselves. Hikikomori is prevalent in the younger generations of Japanese society. The term itself means ‘being confined’ in Japanese, and these people, by definition, confine themselves to their homes often for more than six months (and sometimes years) with very little interaction with anyone. In choosing not to interact with society, they miss the normal contact found with their peer groups in either school or work. They are unable to live alongside others. Some psychologists have suggested that this phenomenon is in part as a result of technology defining their world and limiting their ability to communicate. It is almost like severe agoraphobia. There is a great deal of research that suggests that this form of social withdrawal is increasing as shown in a study conducted in March 2019, when there were believed to be approximately 1.2 million people who identified as hikikomori. Worryingly, it has been noted that hikikomori isolation is being identified in other locations in the world, which suggests perhaps that we need to consider if society is responsible for this behaviour triggered by the amount of time spent online rather than with others.

Should we therefore be looking to consider the impact of the digital world on people’s mental health? There is already a great deal of evidence indicating a negative mental effect on young people as a result of the growth of the online world.

Turning from hikikomori to hermits, it is a Hindu belief that everyone matures into a hermit. This is an interesting concept, given Desmond Tutu’s statement to the effect that we are naturally sociable. From the start of time hermits have existed outside the normal social boundaries electing to lead a simpler life away from others, an early example being Paul of Thebes (ad 250). They elect to be on their own. Some people have suggested that electing to isolate or “drop out” from society allows you to become wiser, a belief that is held by numerous religions, whereby you can really focus on the essential. You also will find numerous examples of people choosing to self-isolate because they feel threatened by the society they were once part of. However, there are also numerous

psychological studies that suggest that solitary confinement is psychologically damaging, with similar suggestions around the negative impact on people’s mental health as we’ve identified with the hikikomori. Whilst it is easy to understand people’s desire to break away from the pressures that come with being a member of society, history has shown that this can lead to an inability to reintegrate into society, further separating them from communities.

Finally, isolation can often be experienced as a result of mental health issues. It is important to recognise that isolation is not the same as loneliness. People can often feel isolated whilst still being within a community, and only relatively recently has it been acceptable to acknowledge mental health issues – it certainly was not acceptable when our parents were our age. In our generation, we have seen society acknowledge that it is fine to recognise and address an inability to cope with day-to-day life, whether it is work, school, family etc. In fact, with events like Mental Health Awareness Week, we are helped to understand that specific mental health issues can drive a sense of isolation which in turn leads to depression, anxiety and paranoia. It is important to have the opportunity to say, ‘I need help’. Failure to provide the support mechanisms has historically had devastating consequences.

So ‘dropouts’ appear to be affected by the society of which they’re part, to such a degree that they can no longer function as an element of the same. We should question therefore if it is our responsibility, as the next generation, to acknowledge and address the new and current triggers for conscious isolation – could it otherwise in its own right be a new pandemic?

February 2021 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

Mr M P L Bush (CR, History Department)

Sport often focuses on teamwork, not solitude. So, in a somewhat ironic undertaking, Mr Bush selects a team of famous ‘Sporting Isolators’ from across a range of disciplines:

Athletics – Derek Redmond

British 400m sprinter Derek Redmond won gold in the 4x400m relay in the Tokyo World Championships in 1991, alongside the more famous Roger Black, John Regis and Kris Akabusi. However, it is his perseverance in the face of adversity a year later for which he is best remembered. Having posted the fastest first round qualifying time and won his quarter final at the Barcelona Olympics, Redmond cruelly tore a hamstring with 150m to go in the semi-final. The pain was obvious for all to see, as the distraught and isolated Redmond hobbled along the track, determined to finish the race. He was joined by his father who had barged past security on to the track to help. Leaning on his father’s shoulder for support, Redmond received a standing ovation from the 65,000-strong Spanish crowd as he crossed the finish line amid emotional scenes. His courage and determination captured the Olympic spirit and the enduring image of Redmond and his father Jim has been used on a series of advertisements.

Basketball – Magic Johnson

Former NBA superstar Earvin ‘Magic’ Johnson was a basketball sensation in the 1980s. Johnson won no fewer than five NBA titles for the Los Angeles Lakers across the decade, and was awarded the Most Valuable Player in three separate seasons. He is often regarded as the best point guard that the game has ever seen. However, his career ended abruptly in 1991 when he announced he had contracted HIV, a revelation that shocked the sporting world. In the days when the AIDS pandemic was feared and not widely understood, Johnson went from hero to zero. Seen as an outcast, he was isolated by fellow players. He returned for the 1992 All-Star Game and to play in the ‘Dream Team’ at the Barcelona Olympics, only to be forced into retirement again following protests. He returned once more in 1996 aged 36. Arguably one of the greatest men ever to play the sport, Johnson was twice inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame, in 2002 and 2010. He has survived with HIV for 30 years and has campaigned for HIV/AIDS prevention and awareness.

Climbing – Reinhold Messner

Marlborough has a celebrated history with the conquest of Mount Everest. Although it was Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay who famously made it to the summit in 1953, the expedition that resulted in the first successful ascent of the world’s tallest mountain was led by Old Marlburian John Hunt (C2 1924–28). However, it was Italian mountaineer Reinhold Messner who achieved the first solo scaling of Everest, 27 years later. Operating in isolation and without supplementary oxygen, Messner established a new route. During the climb, he spontaneously elected to ascend through a steep gorge on the north face of the peak. Since Messner’s feat in 1980, a number of other mountaineers have scaled Everest, including OM Jake Meyer (C3 1997–2002) who in 2005 became the youngest person to do so.

Both Islam and cricket remain key components of Pakistan’s national identity since partition from India in 1947. Over 96% of Pakistanis are Muslims, whereas Christians make up just 1.5%. Yousuf Youhana was born in Lahore to a poor Punjabi Christian family and, as a promising cricketer, he was selected to play for the national side in 1998. With a team culture centred around religion and prayer sessions commonly held in holy periods such as Ramadan, Youhana was inevitably an isolated figure to some degree. Success with the bat cemented his position in the side and centuries were celebrated by performing the sign of the cross on his chest. In 2005 after 59 Tests, Youhana surprised many by converting to Islam and changing his name to Mohammad Yousuf. Some wondered if this was to enhance his chances of captaincy, but he insisted that it was a private matter and refused to discuss it publicly. In the year that followed he had great success on the field, as he ended 2006 with 1,788 runs – still a world record for the most Test Match runs in a calendar year. The sign of the cross was replaced by a sadjah (the act of bowing to Allah). Later he said that he became a better player and better human after converting, ending his career in 2010 with 24 centuries in 90 Tests at an average of 52.29.

Football – Bert Trautmann

Born in 1923 to working class parents in Bremen, Bert Trautmann became a Hitler Youth member, an Iron Cross recipient and an Eastern Front survivor. He arrived in Lancashire as a Prisoner of War having been captured by the British at the end of the Second World War. It was in the prisoner-of-war camp where Trautmann’s goalkeeping potential was first spotted and after a brief spell at St Helen’s Town, he was scouted by the then First Division Manchester City, which he joined in 1949. As a German in an English dressing room, Trautmann was an unpopular and isolated figure. As a former Radio Operator in the Luftwaffe, his signing proved controversial with the club’s support base. Memories of the Blitz still haunted Mancunians in a city with a significant Jewish population. His performances gradually won over the doubters and he was awarded ‘Footballer of the Year’ in 1956, the same season that City won the FA Cup with Trautmann notoriously breaking his neck in the final. The book Trautmann’s Journey by Catrine Clay tells the story of his life as does the 2018 film entitled The Keeper.

Golf – Tiger Woods

Tiger Woods is one of the most famous names in sport, let alone golf. With a record 82 PGA tour wins to his name alongside 15 major championship titles, he is arguably the greatest golfer of all time. However, it was his first Masters victory at Augusta, Georgia, which was his most poignant. The youngest Green Jacket winner was 21 years old and triumphed by an astonishing 12 strokes, finishing 18 under par. However, it was the issue of race which was the most symbolic. In the spring of 1997, Woods became the first black man to win on a course which had only been forced to allow black members seven years earlier. Set in America’s deep south, black golfers were banned from competing at the Masters until 1975 and until 1982 all caddies had to be black. Although World No.1, Woods remained an isolated figure in some parts of America. Soon afterwards he took part in a famous Nike advert, saying, ’There are still courses in the USA that I am not allowed to play on because the colour of my skin’. Despite well-publicised personal problems later in his career, he remains a golfing hero and a pioneer for black golfers across America and the world.

With the coronavirus pandemic in full swing, Jess Thirlby was forced into self-isolation following a positive Covid test in October 2020. The problem for the England netball head coach was that her team was about to embark on a series in faraway New Zealand. Despite not suffering any symptoms, Thirlby had to abide by the necessary protocols and stay at home. She opted instead to provide virtual leadership from the other side of the world. With assistants Kat Ratnapala and Colette Thomson in charge on the ground, Thirlby adopted New Zealand time, ignoring clocks and sacrificing sleep to watch the team train and communicate using video-conferencing. Although the Vitality Roses lost the series to the Silver Ferns, Thirlby saw the experience as a positive one, being able to watch from afar and communicate motivational messages and tactical insight from her laptop in Bath. It should contribute to strengthening her team as they target the 2022 Commonwealth Games in Birmingham.

Running – Bruce Tulloh

Marlborough’s very own Bruce Tulloh won gold in the 5,000m at the 1962 European Championships, sprinting for home from 700m to stun his opponents in Belgrade. He was famous for running barefoot, and illness cruelly denied him the opportunity to compete at the 1964 Olympics in Tokyo. In 1969 he embarked on the challenge of running solo across America, from Los Angeles to New York. Running at an average of 45 miles per day and supported by his wife Sue and seven-year-old son Clive, the ‘isolated runner’ was sponsored by British Leyland, Schweppes and the Observer. The original ‘Forrest Gump’ completed the 2,876 mile journey in 65 days, smashing the record by eight days. Tulloh released the book Four Million Footsteps about the experience. He later joined the College in 1973 where he taught Biology and ran the Athletics for over 20 years. As a tribute to Bruce, the College Chapel was full for his memorial service in 2018, and the pavilion at the athletics track was named in his honour in 2019.

Rugby – Chester Williams

No sportsman symbolised the end of apartheid as distinctly as Chester Williams. Growing up in the Western Cape, he was something of a rarity in a regime brutally divided along racial lines, where rugby was seen as the ‘white man’s game’, and black youngsters would cheer the opposition rather than the Springboks. An isolated figure, Williams recalled having to change for matches on the bus, as the locker rooms were restricted to white athletes. He later claimed in his autobiography that he was called racist names by fellow team-mates in the national side. Scoring four tries against Samoa in the quarter-finals, Williams was the only black South African in the 1995 World Cup-winning squad. The enduring image of Nelson Mandela dressed in a Springbok jersey presenting the Webb Ellis Cup to captain Francois Pienaar later inspired the film Invictus. Williams died of a suspected heart attack in September 2019. Two months later fellow countryman Siya Kolisi became the first black captain to lift the World Cup, 24 years after the famous Mandela final.

Derbyshire born British sailor Ellen MacArthur spent no fewer than 71 days, 14 hours, 18 minutes and 33 seconds in isolation when she broke the world record for the fastest solo circumnavigation of the globe in 2005. Her voyage saw her sail 27,354 nautical miles (50,660km) setting out from Falmouth in Cornwall and finishing across an imaginary line between England’s Lizard Point and Ushant on the coast of France. Her journey took her to the South Atlantic before heading eastwards past the Capes of Good Hope (South Africa), Leeuwin (Australia) and Horn (South America), then heading up the Atlantic again. She slept for no more than 20 minutes at a time. The day after finishing it was announced that Ellen would be made a Dame, the youngest ever recipient of this title. In 2010 she launched the Ellen MacArthur Foundation, a charity focused on accelerating the transition to a regenerative circular economy (economic system aimed at eliminating waste and the continual use of resources).

Tennis – Monica Seles

Born in the former Yugoslavia to an ethnic Hungarian family, Monica Seles was a child prodigy who won the 1990 French Open aged just 16. She went on to win seven more Grand Slam singles titles while still a teenager and ended both 1991 and 1992 ranked No. 1 in the world. Tragedy struck in April 1993 when she was the victim of an on-court stabbing attack while playing in Hamburg. The deranged culprit was a Steffi Grafobsessed fan who ran from the crowd during a break between games to stab Seles between the shoulder blades. She was rushed to hospital and the combination of her injuries and the psychological trauma forced her into a two-year period of isolation from the game. Although she returned to win a fourth Australian Open title in 1996, she was never able to consistently regain her best form, and played her last professional match in 2003. Many regard her as having had the potential to be the best female tennis players of all time had she not been stabbed. The legacy of the attack on Seles led to much greater security across the sporting world.

Image credits: Derek Redmond – https://www.reddit.com/r/OldSchoolCool/comments/72ha81/derek_redmond_and_his_father_1992_summer_olympics/ Magic Johnson – https://thegamehaus.com/nba/celebrating-magic-johnson/2020/08/14/ Reinhold Messner – https://www.nationalgeographic.com/adventure/adventure-blog/2016/04/21/how-climbing-everest-without-oxygen-can-govery-wrong/ Mohammad Yousuf – https://wisden.com/almanack/mohammad-yousuf-in-2006-graces-beard-bradmans-appetite-almanack Bert Trautmann – https://ghanasoccernet.com/bert-trautmann-remembering-the-man-city-legend-as-the-keeper-hits-uk-cinemas Tiger Woods – https://www.augusta.com/masters/story/news/2017-03-31/woods-runaway-victory-1997-masters-shook-sport Jess Thirlby – https://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/netball/54456778 Bruce Tulloh – https://www.marlboroughcollege.org/2019/10/bruce-tulloh-book-anniversary-edition/ Chester Williams – https://www.irishtimes.com/sport/rugby/where-s-chester-another-springboks-95-legend-passes-away-1.4011520 Ellen MacArthur – https://www.bt.com/sport/news/2021/february/on-this-day-in-2005-dame-ellen-macarthur-breaks-round-the-world-record Monica Seles – https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/w3cswmts

James Fuller (LI Sh)

Elite sport in general is usually highly sociable, with players surrounded by coaching staff, team-mates, opponents and fans. However, it isn’t always so – sometimes high performance sport can become lonely. Not only is there physical isolation – being physically absent from others, in sailing for example, but there is also the psychological side of it. Many sportsmen and women have found that the public spotlight, or just the sheer pressure of making important decisions, causes them to undergo a feeling of extreme loneliness.

Now there aren’t many places on Earth more isolated than in the middle of the ocean, which is where Pip Hare, a 47-year-old sailor, had found herself for just under 100 days. On the 12th February, she became the first Brit and the eighth woman in history to complete the Vendée Globe, a non-stop, solo yacht race circumnavigating the world. Just over halfway through her race, Pip faced the task of fixing her rudder in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Upon discovering that the vital component was broken, she began to despair, and stated that she felt ‘extremely lonely’ in that moment. Following that incident, Pip experienced a week of emotional struggle, mental fight and physical pain, and she stated that she felt ‘completely isolated’. Throughout her 95 days at sea, the only living things she saw were a couple of dolphins in the Pacific, and she said afterwards that it soon became extremely difficult to stay positive and motivated. And so, despite having contact with her family and coaches, as well as messages of support coming in to spur her on, the sheer feeling of being hundreds of miles away from the nearest land was extremely difficult to take, and at times, she said that it ‘really overwhelmed’ her. Thus, it is clear that being miles away from anyone else can really rattle somebody.

By contrast, living your life as a football manager is living surrounded by others. Not only do you have players, staff, opponents around you, but you also have thousands of fans and an excess of media attention, and this has its pros and cons: when it is going well, everyone loves you. When isn’t, however, everyone wants you out, so to speak. Hence, as a football manager, you are constantly among people and their opinions. Despite this, many football managers have felt completely alone when it comes to big decisions. Sports Psychologist Dr Steve Peters said that ‘being in charge and having responsibility can be isolating’, when investigating the issue with loneliness in sport. Peters was employed by Liverpool FC while they were managed by Brendan Rogers, who coincidently did feel the pressure of being stuck in the spotlight. Rogers talked about the difficulty of having to make multimillion-pound decisions and dealing with the criticism that inevitably goes with it. He also talked about the struggle of always knowing that people dislike you. If you make a bad decision then your own fans hate you; if you make a good decision then opposition fans hate you, so either way you are unpopular with people, who often don’t try to keep it a secret, and it isn’t hard to see why in this situation, managers can begin to feel isolated.

Lastly, I want to write about one other example of isolation; however, it isn’t a direct result high performance sport: it is a result of what follows. More and more, we are seeing sportsmen and women having to face isolation and loneliness during their retirement. Although some find it laborious, many sportspeople enjoy the fame, the status and the publicity of being in high performance sport, and so miss it when it’s gone, and begin to feel lonely. As well as this, the average age of retirement from professional sport is 33, and most sports don’t pay as well as you would imagine, so most people have to find new jobs, and it is very difficult for them to look back at where they were, and where they are now. Also, it is upsetting and disorientating to discover that you are unable to do something you were able to do just years before. So, some retired sportsmen and women feel like Carl Fogarty, four-time world super-bike champion: ‘I was depressed because I could no longer do the thing that I was good at; retiring is like walking out of a supermarket with all your bags, but not knowing where the car is’. Finally, all of these are feelings of isolation and loneliness that retired sportspeople experience, and isolation leads to depression, which is why now more than ever, with the influence of the media, we are sadly seeing suicide rates that are higher than ever in this category of people.

Thus, despite being an extremely sociable community, loneliness and isolation in top level sport is becoming more and more prominent. Both physically and psychologically, whether they’re making their debut, in their prime, or retired, the feeling of isolation is affecting professional sportspeople, with serious consequences. It is a problem, we’re not yet sure if it has a solution, but the sporting community must have the knowledge of it, otherwise it is only going to get worse and further impede what we love.

Dima Montanari (C1 Re)

Wilfrid Thesiger in Arab dress, in the Empty Quarter (Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford University, Photo 72, Volume 15, Oman 1948–1949). Also appears in in the book Wilfred Thesiger, My Life and Travels, an Anthology, first published in 2002 by HarperCollins.

Wilfrid Thesiger, who died in 2003, is considered one of the greatest explorers and travel writers of the 20th century, as well as being a fine photographer. He was the last of a celebrated breed of 19th and 20th century desert-loving English explorers. These included Charles Doughty, Richard Burton, Gertrude Bell, Gifford Palgrave, Wilfred Scawen Blunt, Lady Anne Blunt, T.E. Lawrence, Bertram Thomas and St John Philby, all of whom were privately educated, and with the exception of the Blunts, went to Oxford or Cambridge. Some of the most memorable photos of them show them wearing Arab dress and headgear as they travelled across the Middle East. Wilfrid Scawen Blunt was the grand-uncle of the Soviet spy and Marlburian Anthony Blunt, whilst his wife Lady Anne was the granddaughter of Lord Byron, another restless traveller. St John Philby, who converted to Islam, was the father of the notorious Kim Philby (a British intelligence officer and double-agent for the Soviet Union). At this time, a romantic fascination with the desert and its nomads was clearly very fashionable among the English upper class; it was regarded as somewhat eccentric by Americans and Europeans. 142

Wilfrid Thesiger was born in Addis Ababa in 1910. His father was British ambassador there. Thesiger came from an aristocratic family with a distinguished record of imperial service. His grandfather Lord Chelmsford was a general who commanded British forces at the Battles of Isandlwana and Ulundi in the Anglo-Zulu war. His uncle 1st Viscount Chelmsford, a Wykehamist, was Viceroy of India from 1916 until 1921, and the renowned actor Ernest Thesiger, a Marlburian, was his cousin.

Abyssinia was an important influence on Thesiger’s childhood. He later recalled how spellbound he was on the day in 1916 when the army of Ras Tafari, armed with swords, spears and shields marched to battle against a rival royal claimant to the throne: “The day made a profound impression on me, implanting a craving for barbaric splendour, for savagery and colour”, wrote Thesiger. Another experience which he enjoyed greatly was in 1917, when, at the age of 7, he went on a tiger hunt in India during a family visit to his uncle (the Viceroy).

Thesiger went to Eton and Oxford, getting a third in History. He was awarded a boxing Blue and captained the university boxing team, breaking his nose three times – this left a permanent mark on his appearance. In 1930, he returned to Abyssinia to attend the coronation of Ras Tafari as the Emperor Haile Selassie; he had become a close friend of the Thesigers. In 1933, Thesiger established his reputation as an explorer when, with financial help from the Royal Geographical Society, he led an expedition in Abyssinia and discovered the reason the Awash River never reaches the sea. This entailed crossing the lands of the ferocious Muslim Afars, who had a habit of castrating uninvited guests – not that this deterred Thesiger, who found the prospect of meeting their xenophobic Sultan most exciting.

It was in Sudan in the 1930s, working for the British colonial administration, when Thesiger fell in love with the desert for the first time, learning to travel by camel with local companions. During the Second World War he joined the SAS fighting behind enemy lines in the Western Desert; he was awarded a DSO for capturing an Italian fortress in Abyssinia and fought the Vichy French in Syria.

Thesiger is best remembered for his book Arabian Sands, published in 1959, which describes his two crossings by camel of the Empty Quarter of Arabia, between 1946 and 1948. However, he was not the first person to cross the Empty Quarter, which is the harshest and largest sand desert in the world. That feat had already been achieved by Bertram Thomas in 1931 and St John Philby in 1932. Thesiger took longer and more difficult routes, climbing unscaled sand dunes and becoming the first foreigner to enter the Liwa oasis and see the fabled quicksands of Umm Al Samim, both of which he mapped.

In his autobiography and other writings Thesiger provides constant references to the forces that drew him to the desert.

‘In the desert,’ he wrote, ’I found a freedom unattainable in civilisation, a life unhampered by possessions’.

‘I was exhilarated by the sense of space, the silence and crisp cleanliness of the sand . . . I felt in harmony with the past, travelling as men had travelled for untold generations across the deserts, dependent for survival on the endurance of their camels and their own inherited skills’.

‘Here in the desert I had found all that I asked. I knew that I should never find it again’.

‘I was perhaps the last explorer in the tradition of the past. I was happiest when I had no communication with the outside world, when I was utterly dependent on my tribal companions’

‘I didn’t miss Western civilization. I wanted to get away as far away from all that as possible, I was just in time to travel, see and experience a vanishing world, and have lived the life of my choice . . . I went here to find peace in the hardship of desert travel and in the company of desert people . . . the harder the way the more worthwhile the journey’.

Thesiger took great pride in traveling without modern conveniences and rejecting material comforts, ‘All this stuff about boiling water or putting stabilizing tablets in the water, I’ve never boiled or sterilized water, 143

All of Thesiger’s travels were by foot or by camel, not donkey or horse, as people had done for millennia. He walked barefoot, so that every step in the desert burned or cut his soles. He slept on rocks long after the introduction of mattresses. Eric Newby described a famous encounter with Thesiger in 1956 in the Hindu Kush by the banks of the Panjshir River. As Newby and his companion started to inflate their air beds, Thesiger cried out, ‘God, you must be a couple of pansies’.

The Dutch writer Ian Buruma described Thesiger as ‘the well-bred aristocrat revelling in excruciating discomfort and horrid food’. A 1957 article on Thesiger in the New York Times suggested that the curious English taste for discomfort originates from having been brought up in the rigours of an English public school.

At times Thesiger’s relish for hardship bordered on masochism; in Arabian Sands he recalled how in December 1946, he was starving in the desert without food and with little water. ‘I lay with my eyes shut, insisting to myself that if I were in London, I would give anything to be here . . . I would rather be here starving than sitting in a chair, replete with food, listening to the wireless and depending on cars to take me through Arabia’. One would have thought that all this would have damaged his internal organs beyond repair, but he did make it to 93, so he was remarkably tough. In the 1970s and 1980s, already approaching old age, he retired to a remote region of Northern Kenya, where he lived among the semi-nomadic Samburu people in a hut, without electricity and running water.

Although he found spiritual contentment in desolation, what really attracted Thesiger to the desert was its people, the Bedu. He only travelled with locals, not other Europeans. ‘I’ve no desire to be an Englishman when I am travelling about,’ he wrote. His motive for crossing the desert was to share the hardship of life of the Bedu and earn their comradeship. He rode with them, dressed like them and lived off a daily ration of a few dates and a pint of water. As was typical of the English upper class, he admired the resilience, generosity, courage and tribal pride of the Bedu, and was unperturbed by their more savage traits. Thesiger believed that the Bedu had chosen the nomadic life of the desert out of their own free will because they cherished its freedom. This was an over-romantic view; much to his disappointment the discovery of oil transformed Arabia. The Bedu were only too happy to swap their tents and camels for air-conditioned housing and Toyota trucks once wealth came their way. Returning to the UAE in 1977 he described the new modernity as an ‘Arabian nightmare’,

A constant theme in Thesiger’s life was his rejection of modern technology. He was a total Luddite who loathed cars and airplanes and resented every innovation after the steam engine. He admired traditional cultures and despised Western civilisation as a corrupting force which had deprived the world of its diversity and colour. He was a fugitive from the present, yearning for a way of life that was vanishing before his eyes.

Frank Gardner, the BBC’s Security Correspondent, was inspired by Thesiger to learn Arabic at university after leaving Marlborough. Gardner’s mother had known Thesiger since the 1950s and in 1977, when Gardner was 16, she took him to have tea with Thesiger at his Chelsea flat. He has described how he was mesmerised by Thesiger’s black and white photos of Arabia, curved daggers and old camel saddles. In Gardner’s view a major achievement of Thesiger was that ‘he was able to bring alive, for a global English-speaking audience, the life and times of those civilizations and places that don’t really exist any more through his beautiful prose in books like Arabian Sands and The Marsh Arabs.’

In his writings Thesiger is quite open about the fact that he formed very strong attachments to handsome young Arab and African men and that these mattered greatly to him. In particular, he writes of bin Kabina and bin Ghabaisha - the two Bedouin guides who accompanied him across the Empty Quarter. He compared bin Ghabaisha to Antinous, a beautiful youth of ancient legend who had drowned himself in the Nile to save Hadrian in ad 130. He also formed similar attachments to his paddlers in the marshlands of southern Iraq where he lived between 1951 and 1958 and to the three Samburu boys he later adopted in Kenya. Thesiger never married and showed little interest in women; he hinted that he might have been homosexual, had he been born in a different epoch.

Thesiger’s book, The Marsh Arabs, published in 1964, contains some of his finest writing. One particularly elegant paragraph stands out:

Memories of that first visit to the Marshes have never left me: firelight on a half-turned face, the crying of geese, duck flighting in to feed, a boy’s voice singing somewhere in the dark, canoes moving in procession down a waterway, the setting sun seen crimson through the smoke of burning reedbeds, narrow waterways that wound still deeper into the Marshes. A naked man in a canoe with a trident in his hand, reed houses built upon water, black, dripping buffaloes that looked as if they had calved from the swamp with the first dry land. Stars reflected in dark water, the croaking of frogs, canoes coming home at evening, peace and continuity, the stillness of a world that never knew an engine.

Sadly, the Marsh Arabs, and their ancient way of life, were destroyed by Saddam Hussein in 1991 following a rebellion against his rule. Their waters were poisoned and eventually drained. Nothing remains of the world described by Thesiger.

Although Thesiger may have spent much of his life among primitive tribesmen, it would be wrong to think that he rejected our world completely. He was a contradictory character who lived a double life.

In the company of his noble savages, Thesiger wore a turban, Arab dress, with a curved dagger by his waist. But in London he opted for a tweed three-piece suit, a bowler hat, and a rolled umbrella; he also liked to frequent his Pall Mall club. Ben Macintyre, the historian and columnist of The Times writes that in Thesiger: ‘East and West did meet, to produce a unique amalgam: the Etonian Bedu, the upper-class savage with one foot in a windblown tent and the other in the Travellers’ Club’.

The fact that he left us with his books and photographs (he gave 38,000 black-and-white photos to the Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford University) indicates that he wanted us to learn about his incredible travels and adventures. Thesiger’s private wealth enabled him to fund his unusual lifestyle; he presumably had to pay his young tribal companions. It is alleged that over 20 years, his adopted Samburu sons fleeced him of at least $1million. His influential connections helped him secure travel permits to difficult places, and according to the Economist, he conducted all his travel operations from his mother’s Chelsea flat. ‘It was always his base.’ He would return there for three months every year during the two decades that he lived in Kenya.

Thesiger has been described as a lone wolf and a relic from the 19th century. He was often pompous and cruel, and thought that educating the working class was a waste of good servants. He shot 80 lions in one year in Sudan and 1,000 wild boars in Iraq. He kicked his dog and when the two lion cubs he had reared grew too large and boisterous he killed them.

Nevertheless, his travels, photos and writings were remarkable. In addition to Arabia, Southern Iraq and Kenya he also explored the mountains of Kurdistan, Afghanistan and Morocco, the desert of eastern Iran and numerous other Asian and African countries. In 1995 he was knighted. He also received honours from the Royal Geographical Society, the Royal Central Asian Society and the Royal Asian Society.

Rory Stewart believes that Thesiger, who did not have a regular job or income for the last 50 years of his life, wandered in his way for almost 40 years because he found that these journeys gave a meaning and comfort to his life, which he could not convincingly articulate. ‘Rather than being the last Victorian, Thesiger was closer to being the first hippie on the overland trail,’ according to Stewart.

In 1995 Thesiger permanently returned to England, where he would spend his last eight years. He died in a London hospital, not – as he had once hoped – in the wild, left for hyenas to tear apart.

Samuel Topley Rubinstein (B1 Re)

Many wonder what life must be like for mountaineers and climbers; to be on the verge of death from avalanches or hypoxia, and also be completely isolated from civilisation… surely this must take a toll on one’s mental health?

When a person has little to no human contact, they can develop a range of serious mental problems and illnesses: for example, depression, insomnia and accelerated cognitive decline. This has the potential to become a significant threat when scaling freezing, slippery and unstable mountains. One bad day could be all it takes to make you forget a vital instruction and to get lost in a snowstorm, or to take a wrong path. This is why it is crucial to find a climbing partner. Not only does it ease the weight of having to remember everything, but it also helps to deal with the problems of isolation and loneliness.

On the other hand, the situation of being alone with one’s thoughts may indeed clear your head, creating a sense of peace. Being surrounded by the sheer beauty of a mountain range – with no one to keep you company except yourself, can teach you to admire the world around you – and possibly relieve some stress.

How about being stuck overnight in a cable car with other people? Although you are able to have a small amount of contact, you are still isolated from the rest of society. This can be thought of as a more pleasant form of isolation, as you will begin to learn more about the people you are trapped with, which may begin a friendship. However, if you are with someone who has an undesirable personality, this could turn out to be a complete nightmare.

What if you were skiing and you went off-piste? This would be an incredibly dangerous circumstance because you could fall and injure yourself with no one nearby. You would be isolated from the rest of the people on the slope and left utterly helpless. What makes this even worse, is that there would be no mobile phone signal and therefore no way to seek help. This is possibly the worst type of isolation on a mountain.

There is a unique condition that only happens in extreme situations called third man syndrome. This is the sensation of an extra presence, of an unseen person to comfort you when nobody is nearby except yourself. In 1933 there was a solo expedition to climb Mount Everest by a British explorer called Frank Smythe. He managed to get within 1,000 metres of the summit, and, had an incredibly strong feeling that someone was with him. In fact, he broke off a piece of cake and handed it to them, even though no one was there. This imaginary person managed to rid him of his loneliness. But in the end, although he survived, he unfortunately did not manage to reach the peak of the mountain.

There have even been instances when this bizarre occurrence has happened to multiple people. While Sir Ernest Shackleton was on the final leg of his journey in Antarctica, he and his two other companions felt an incorporeal being join them. In his book South he wrote, ‘during that long and racking march of thirty-six hours over the unnamed mountains and glaciers of South Georgia, it seemed to me often that we were four, not three.’

Whatever the case, isolation is clearly something to be aware of when preparing to climb a mountain, and its advantages and disadvantages should not be cast aside.

Tabitha Lincoln (EL Re)

Solitude can always be found to be both a blessing and a curse. With all the recent lockdowns over the past year, we have all experienced, in our own way, the feeling of loneliness. An analysis from the Understanding Society study1 found that mental health has worsened by 8.1% on average as a result of the pandemic. With our recent understanding of how lonely and depressing it can feel being isolated, why do people choose willingly to travel to such secluded places?

With our very heavily populated world of 7.674 billion people, society can be found to be overwhelming. 76.5% of the global population lives in urban areas. Thus, when many people find their lives too crowded and overrun, many may turn to the opposite of their normal, areas with enormous, open, unpolluted skies and peaceful, deserted places. Some may utilise the feeling of insignificance in comparison with nature, to make their worries seem small and unimportant in the context of a colossal forest or a continuously flowing river. Some people may seek or want a feeling of a simpler life, away from the internet, which over 63.2% of the entire world’s population has access to – constantly following everyone as if there is no privacy to this modern world. Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, is a book about a young man called Chris McCandless, who had an urge to cut himself off from society, urged by the romantic appeal of wild places and having to hunt and gather his own food. However, Chris McCandless’s attempt to live a simpler life was a colossal failure, and his body was found four months later by a hunter. Though we may feel like we want a simpler life, it is not an easy lifestyle, as demonstrated by Chris McCandless, and it does not always live up to the romantic ideal.

People may be visiting these locations for the beauty and the wilderness that these places provide. Though does a lonely place mean a place with no people or just a beautiful and remote place that may still be touristy? An example is Mount Everest, which used to be so remote, unexplored and isolated. In 1951, there was a reconnaissance expedition, where a British party explored the unknown south side of Mount Everest. This unlocked a route up Mount Everest, which led to the famous expedition in 1953, in which John Hunt (an old Marlburian) was the group organiser and Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay reached the summit. Since then, it is still seen as a challenge to climb and a beautiful remote place, but around 800 people attempt to climb Everest annually. Humans feel drawn to wilderness, as though we have been genetically programmed to, just as humans have always been drawn to fire, which over the millennia has been crucial to human survival. We love to feel the warmth of the fire, to be able to test the fire’s limits and watch how it consumes fuel. Daniel Fessler, an evolutionary anthropologist at the University of California, found that humans have evolved psychological mechanisms specifically dedicated to controlling it, that we are only interested by fire until we can obtain mastery of it. For wilderness, we never have complete control over it, causing us to always be interested and drawn to it.

People travel to these places for the beauty and the aesthetic of pristine wildernesses and calm, glistening lakes. The Romanticism movement, from the late 18th century to the late 19th century, included a deepened appreciation of the beauties of nature, which was seen as a pure and spiritual source of renewal. One definition of beauty is ‘a combination of qualities, such as shapes, colour, or form that pleases the aesthetic senses, especially the sight.’ This shows that cities can be thought of as beautiful too, and it is dependent on everyone’s own thoughts about what they believe to be beautiful.

People may be travelling to these remote places, for the feeling of finding something new and the desire to explore. Exploration has been a theme for several hundred years, from exploring new lands to climbing mountains. An example is the polar expeditions. The conquest of the North Pole is credited to the American explorer Robert Peary in 1909, while Roald Amundsen was the first to reach the South Pole in 1911. Both of these expeditions were extremely challenging, pushing everyone to their limits. However, many expeditions over the years have been unsuccessful: South written by Ernest Shackleton is a book about the Imperial TransAntarctic Expedition from 1914 to 1917 which he led. Its goal was to cross Antarctica by foot, though as soon as they got there it was a disaster and they ended up stranded in ice. Instead of a story about achievement, it is a great story of fortitude, human determination and rescue. As much as a challenge these explorations can be, they can provide a sense of satisfaction, as Edmund Hilary once said, “it’s the sense of challenge, the attempt to

stretch yourself to the utmost and overcome considerable difficulties. If you can do that, you get a great sense of satisfaction.” It is the feeling of being the first person to have reached that part of the world or to be the only person there.

People are evidently drawn to go to lonely places for a variety of different reasons. Though with recent lockdowns across the world, will the allure of the lonely places be less, as everyone has been trapped, isolating for months now? In my opinion, despite the pandemic, the allure and appeal of lonely places will continue for a variety of reasons. From the desire for a simpler life, to being inspired, to exploring the wilderness for its beauty, to the feeling of being drawn to the outdoors, to the seeking of a challenge . . . As Edmund Hilary once said, ‘it is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves’: each reason will be different for each of us.

Bibliography: 1 Understanding Society: the UK Household Longitudinal Study (UKHLS), is one of the largest panel survey in the world, supporting social and economic research.

June 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

The Silent Square: psychoacoustics in anechoic chambers

Thomas Phelps (B1 L6) and Mr D C Wills (CR, Music Department)

We have a fairly clear conception of darkness: windowless rooms; corridors without automatic lights; even blindfolds and sleeping masks give us an easy experience of near-darkness. Silence is a far more alien concept to most of us. The closest we come still involves a ~30dB background noise from wind, birds, distant roads and the ever-present hum of air traffic (Defra, 2014).

The quietest place on earth is in Minneapolis. Not, perhaps where you might first turn in a quest for true silence. The Microsoft Corporation has constructed the world’s quietest room: an Anechoic Chamber measuring -20.4dB(A) at room temperature. The idea of building a room which is isolated from all noise may seem counterintuitive, but it is imperative for testing audio equipment, industrial volume testing, supercomputing, understanding the human psyche and the way sound interacts with the ear, and the way the ear interacts with the brain (Zwicker & Fastl, 2010). Chambers fall into two categories: acoustic anechoic chambers are designed or smaller more accurate readings, whereas radio anechoic chambers are designed for larger, more industrial readings (Beranek, 2009). Think testing a jet engine.

fig 1 – Anechoic Chamber, University of Birmingham

Anechoic literally means ‘without echo’. The original concept came out of the Second World War telecommunications revolution, along with modern microphones, stereo technology, and FM radio. Engineers wanting to separate their transmissions from background noise constructed a space where sound goes to die. Built from fibreglass wedges of between 1.5 and 2 metres long, mounted on the walls, floor and ceiling of the space the room effectively ‘eats’ any sound produced inside it. The user then stands on a mesh floor, strung across the room.

The physical experience of being in a ‘silent’ room is more disconcerting than might initially be imagined; the first thing the participant will become aware of is the sound of their own breathing. The complete absence of any background noise then draws your attention to internal sounds of your own body, from the churning of your stomach to the sound of saliva evaporating on your tongue. The lack of reverberation makes you aware of the extent to which we rely on sound to define our sense of space. Participants quickly lose their sense of balance and may even fall over.

After less than a minute, participants have reported experiencing peculiar phenomena as a result of extreme sensory deprivation (Deutsch 2003). The most common is hearing sounds or voices which are not there. This type of psychoacoustic phenomenon is the result of auditory pareidolia; the tendency of the human brain to recognise patterns or meaning in abstract information. In the same way we perceive faces in clouds, our brains format the unfamiliar sounds of our own bodies as speech or other familiar sounds from the outside world.

In the mid-90s, psychologist and psychoacoustician Diana Deutsch experimented with an algorithm to produce ‘phantom words’ (1995) by splitting the syllables or phonemes between stereo and quadraphonic sound systems. Initially, the phonemes were separated in real time; the experiment then increased the timespan between the phonemes, testing the limit of each participants sensibility. In order to mitigate the impact of room acoustics on this experiment, Deutsch employed the anechoic chamber at the University of California.

Deutsch discovered that human beings have an unsurpassed capacity to differentiate between silence and speech under virtually any conditions. A dynamic psychoacoustics model, with a temporal resolution of an order of magnitude greater than that of the typical Mel Frequency Cepstral Coefficients model, and which implemented simultaneous masking around the most powerful harmonic in each of 24 Bark frequency bands, was evaluated within a two-stage binary speech/silence non-linear classification system.

The way we perceive volume and specifically the changes in volume over distance is peculiar to our special understanding of the world around us. In acoustics, due to the propagation of sound as energy in three dimensions, the intensity of sound decreases by approximately 6 dB for each doubling of distance from the sound source. In practice, this decrease forms a significant part of the way we understand movement relative to a fixed object (Deutsch). For example, when we walk away from a wall, our brain processes the distance, not only by the visual information of how our surroundings are changing, but also by the change in the echo of our footsteps against the wall.

In an echo-free environment, there is a resulting disconnect between the visual information our brains receive and the corresponding auditory information. This affects the way our brains process sound. Without a sense of directionality, the quality of the information becomes more abstract. Deutsch reported that after 30 repetitions, participants reported that a speech sample lost all sense of intelligibility.

Extremes of sensory deprivation of one sense have a surprising impact on not only our other senses, but also the underlying way our brain functions.

Bibliography: Beranek, Leo (10 August 2009). “Oral History Interview with Leo Beranek”. Niels Bohr Library & Archives. American Institute of Physics (Interview). Interviewed by Richard Lyon. Retrieved 8 December 2014 Department for Environment Food & Rural Affairs (2014). Environmental Noise:Valuing impacts on: sleep disturbance, annoyance, hypertension, productivity and quiet. (PB 14227) Available at https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/ file/380852/environmental-noise-valuing-imapcts-PB14227.pdf Deutsch, D. (1995) Musical Illusions and Paradoxes La Jolla: Philomel Records. Diana Deutsch (2003) Phantom Words and Other Curiosities La Jolla: Philomel Records Zwicker, E. and Fastl, H., (2010). Psychoacoustics. Berlin: Springer. Wills, D (2016) Anechoic Chamber [Photograph] At: University of Birmingham, Department of Engineering.

George Honeyborne (LI U6)

‘The sea is everything. It is an immense desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides.’ – Jules Verne, Twenty Thousand leagues Under the Sea

A depth of 10,911 metres below the earth’s surface. Crammed in a 2m sphere with only one person for company. Only 10cm separate you from an alien landscape, a landscape where you would implode instantly. A landscape upon which 1.25 tonnes is exerted on every cm2 of skin. A landscape bathed in complete, eternal, inky blackness. Devoid of substance or content. All alone, existing in isolation, a complete lockdown, separate from the realms of the living and the light. You are now an inhabitant of the hadopelagic zone (6,000–11,000m deep) on board the Trieste, a bathyscaphe (deep sea submersible) which touched down in Challenger Deep, the Deepest part of the Mariana Trench, the lowest point on the planet, on the 23rd January 1960.

The descent has taken 4 hours and 47 minutes, window panes have cracked, and the temperature is now sitting at a cool 7 degrees. The vessel lies upon a bed of ‘diatomaceous ooze’, the slow degrading remains of all that has lived on planet Earth. You are totally and incomprehensively aware of the fragility of your current existence. Your very survival is dependent on that one cracked window pane, on your fellow passengers’ mental capacity to cope and the functioning of flotation devices to raise the Trieste back to the surface. And all you can do is sit, watch, wait and listen to the omnipresent, permeating creaks and rattles of your tin can, far beneath the surface.

Jacques Piccard and Lieutenant Don Walsh accomplished this feat. They survived, rising to the surface 3 hours and 15 minutes after leaving the ocean’s floor. In today’s world of tedious Zoom calls, endless timewasting and unproductive anxiety, I cannot help but draw comparison with the emotions felt by these heroes. As a collective, our future is currently so uncertain, so precipitous, that I often feel as if I am stranded: all alone. Often I sit, oblivious to the unfolding Zoom meeting before me, consumed with confusion and frustration at the elaborate but necessary cage in which we are trapped, designed by unqualified leaders with a seemingly inhumane disregard of science and an apparent lack of empathy or understanding. But it also helps to step back, to go outside, to look around and to realise: we are not alone.

With a flick of a switch, you turn on the external lights and peer out the tiny porthole. That barren landscape which was once so harsh is actually swarming with life. Bacteria, thriving in superheated, mineral-rich water surround hydrothermal vents, support isolated ecological oases through chemosynthesis. The conversion of toxic gases and poisonous heavy metals in acidic conditions to bounteous ecosystems equipped with shoals of crustaceans, molluscs and worms. And every vent provides a unique life system, completely isolated from the rest of the planet and yet, arguably, this is where life began.

The Trieste touches off the seabed and begins its ascent. As you climb through the hadopelagic to the abyssopelagic (3000–6000m) and bathypelagic (1000–3000m) beyond, the ocean begins to glow. Vivid patterns of bioluminescence, a result of complex chemical pathways, twinkle like stars glistening in the depths of the ocean. They betray the varied and biodiverse environment surrounding the submarine. Dragonfish hunt with retractable jaws, gulper eels glide and giant squid propel themselves away from ominous sperm whales looming in the dark. All the while, the light show continues.

If, like me, you spend a vast proportion of your day gazing out a window, wishing you were lucky enough to live in New Zealand, then I can only implore you to stop daydreaming and take a good look around. Whilst we are stuck within our isolated, confined capsules, life continues, unaware of the problems of men. But this ignorance is about to be rudely shattered in the deep sea. Whilst we sit and stare, these pristine environments are under threat. Deep-sea mining, unnecessary commercial fishing and fossil fuel exploration threaten this last untouched frontier. The last pure, untampered lockdown on the planet is about to implode, affecting us all.

Gradually, the stars begin to fade, and sunlight starts to infiltrate the water at about 1000m (the mesopelagic) and after three hours of ascent you reach the epipelagic, that thin layer of water in which there is

enough light for photosynthesis to occur. It is believed that 90% of marine life lives within this top 200m, just 5% of the oceans’ average depth. Yet, there is still an abundance of life in the deep and the extent of this life we do not truly know. The oceans contain 99% of living space on the planet and 85% of this is in the deep, dark, cold, isolated ocean. For this isolated realm is the birthplace of life itself and life is thriving there. You release the pressure valve, open the hatch, and take a deep breath of fresh air.

December 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

Mr J A Genton (Common Room)

Imagine that you and your team are preparing yourselves for the ‘space’ round in a forthcoming quiz.

‘Who was the first man to walk on the Moon?’ ‘Neil Armstrong – everybody knows that.’ ‘And the second man?’ ‘Buzz Aldrin – most people know that too.’ ‘And the third man?’ ‘To walk on the Moon? No idea.’ ‘That was Charles Conrad. Not a lot of people know that. What about the third man on the Apollo 11 mission?’ ‘No, you’ve got me there, Ted.’ ‘That was Michael Collins.’

Michael Collins is still going strong at the age of 90, having visited the White House as recently as July 2019, 50 years after the successful Apollo 11 mission. On July 20th 1969, Armstrong and Aldrin entered the lunar lander ‘Eagle’ and prepared for their descent to the lunar surface. Collins was left alone aboard the lunar orbiter ‘Columbia’. He inspected the ‘Eagle’ as it rotated in front of him to ensure that the landing gear had deployed correctly and cleared Armstrong and Aldrin for departure on their ‘day trip’ to the Moon.

During almost 28 hours flying solo around the Moon, Collins completed 14 orbits. Although a journalist wrote ‘not since Adam has any human known such solitude’, Collins said that he never felt lonely and later wrote: ‘this venture has been structured for three men and I consider my third to be as necessary as either of the other two’. During each orbit of two hours, Collins was out of radio contact with Earth for 48 minutes and so isolated from the whole of the human race. He held the individual record for the greatest distance away from the nearest human, at about 2,500 miles. Collins reported that his feelings were not loneliness and isolation, but rather ‘awareness, anticipation, satisfaction, confidence, almost exultation’. However, he did later admit to being very worried about Armstrong and Aldrin’s safety. If they died on the Moon – and the probability of this was small but significant – he would have had to return to Earth alone and, as the mission’s sole survivor, be regarded, he thought, as ‘a marked man for life’.

Image: taken from ‘Columbia’ by Michael Collins and shows ‘Eagle’ just after its landing gear had been deployed at the start of the ‘day trip’.

Much to his relief, ‘Eagle’ docked safely with ‘Columbia’ on July 21st, the trio were reunited, ‘Eagle’ was jettisoned, and ‘Columbia’ started its return journey to Earth, splashing down in the Pacific on July 24th. On the way home, having spent so much time aboard ‘Columbia’, Collins felt obliged to leave his mark on it. He entered the lower equipment bay and wrote ‘Spacecraft 107 – alias Apollo 11 – alias ‘Columbia’. The best ship to come down the line. God Bless Her. Michael Collins, CMP’, CMP standing for Command Module Pilot.

If you wish to prepare your team for the ‘obscure music’ round, here are three references to Michael rather than Phil. In 1970, English rock group Jethro Tull released For Michael Collins, Jeffrey and Me, comparing the ‘misfit’ feelings of vocalist Ian Anderson and his friend Jeffrey Hammond with the astronaut’s own, as he was left behind by the ones who had the privilege of walking on the surface of the Moon. In 2013, indie pop group The Boy Least Likely To released Michael Collins, using Collins’s feeling that he was blessed to have the type of solitude of being truly separated from all other human contact, in contrast with modern society’s lack of perspective. In 2017, American folk artist John Craigie released his own Michael Collins, embracing Collins’s role as an integral part of the Apollo 11 mission with the chorus ‘Sometimes you take the fame, sometimes you sit back stage, but if it weren’t for me them boys would still be there’.

Photo by Gavin James. A close up of the Sea of Tranquility (where Collins’ colleagues landed while he was contemplating existence on his own in the orbiter) taken through the Cooke 10 inch telescope at the Marlborough College Blackett Observatory.

Notes: Michael Collins died on 29th April, aged 90, between the composition of this article and its publication.

An Afterword: The beginning of the end… the way out of lockdown

Professor Sir John Bell (FRS HonFREng PMedSci) (Member of Council and Regius Professor of Medicine at Oxford University)

© Salisbury Cathedral vaccination centre 16th January 2021. Photo by Ash Mills.

It has been an extraordinary time in our lives, one we will never forget. A year ago, the UK was in meltdown, hospitals were at breaking point, testing for the virus was scaling but still rudimentary, care homes were suffering from serious levels of disease and we were in the middle of the first of our three lockdowns. We were being exposed to a whole new vocabulary: social distancing, PCR, NPI, Lateral Flow, R values etc. Marlborough’s site was closed for business as was the rest of the country and we were all wondering where it might end.

In the following months of 2020 there was a cascade of news and activity. Almost every week we learned new things about the virus and the pandemic, testing reached remarkable levels (with Marlborough pioneering the use of Lateral Flow tests), the second wave arrived right on schedule in the UK but we also learned about variants, effective and non-effective medicines, and the impact of the disease across many regions of the world. The year ended on a high, with the arrival of not one but four excellent vaccines, all capable of eliminating severe disease even in the elderly and all safe and effective at reducing transmissions. The job for 2021 was then to get the vaccines into as many people as possible around the globe.

The last few months have continued to see remarkable success at least in a few countries. The UK, Israel and the USA have all shown what extensive vaccination can do to limit the impact of the virus. These countries now sit with between 43% and 59% of people vaccinated, with almost all the vulnerable elderly having immune cover. This level of vaccination shows a remarkable effect on disease, hospitalisations and death. It would appear that with 60% cover, alongside post exposure immunity, we are reaching a point where the disease will no longer be a threat. For the UK, the pandemic is coming to an end.

There are of course still potential surprises around the corner. Variants might arise that break through vaccine-induced immunity. Although possible this is not yet a major threat and the use of another (third) booster generates very, very high levels of antibodies that should see us through. As we vaccinate in younger populations we are seeing very, very rare complications, abnormal clotting from the adenovirus vectors, and myocarditis associated perhaps with sudden death from the mRNAs. These are sufficiently rare that they do not impact the risk benefit at all in most populations; and Covid 19 is a very nasty disease and avoiding it must remain a focus. Fortunately, the UK population has been among the best at taking up the vaccine, the NHS has done an outstanding job deploying it, and we should be in the clear. The AZ vaccine has excellent durability so we may not even need further immunization in the autumn; although we will have variant vaccines we may not need them.

So what does this all mean for Marlborough? Life should begin to return to normal this term. I am not sure whether that gets you to a successful Leavers’ Ball, possibly not, but the summer should be great, and in September when you return things should look like the Marlborough of old. It will, however, not all be the same. This event has been traumatic for many who have lost loved ones and suffered from the issues of isolation in the lockdowns. We are still not sure what long covid is but it is clearly an issue for many and may have a very long tail. Personal contact has been missing for more than a year and people will no doubt be cautious for months to come. But, importantly, we are getting to the other side and, for all the pupils and staff in the school, face-to-face teaching, a return to sports, chapel services, seminars and other activities will allow us to leave the problems of the last year behind.

There is however one important issue that remains unresolved. Outside of the three countries mentioned above, the pandemic still rages. The developing world has received almost no vaccines, and the global death toll will probably reach 20 million people. Vaccine nationalism is inevitable when stocks are low but the behaviour of some countries has been deeply troubling, the global scientific community has been inconsistent and often ill-informed, and some politicians elsewhere, in trying to salvage their political futures, have condemned many tens of thousands of people in developing countries to death. The industry cannot decide whether to treat this as a humanitarian crisis or another commercial opportunity, and meanwhile Covax has had only 20 million doses to distribute outside of India. Tackling this pandemic should have been an opportunity for global solidarity: instead it has been a fragmented array of initiatives that has made it worse than it should have been. We should now double down to put some better plans in place for the next pandemic, as pandemics will likely come thick and fast in the coming years. We can do better next time.

Drawing by Sophie Smith (DA U6)