Rory Walsh revisits Oxford to discover sites of Victorian vice and virtue
Walk • Urban • South-east England • Web Guide
Below an iron-grey sky, honey-coloured buildings stand in heavy rain. Streams trickle along kerbs. On the pavements, puddles have become ponds. Yet even on a soggy day a few weeks after Christmas, Oxford is busy. The streets echo with footsteps as people pass by under flocks of umbrellas. Local historian Liz Woolley and I have only just started walking. She suggests that the weather is rather apt. ‘We’re doing what Victorians described as ‘rational recreation’.
An Oxford resident since 1985, Woolley’s research explores Victorian life in the city. Her walk focuses on what workers did during days off. ‘Victorians became very concerned about how people used their free time. Many felt that leisure and entertainment must be constructive and self-improving,’ says Woolley. ‘Going for a walk, even in the rain, was preferable to idling indoors. We’re getting fresh air, exercise…’
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Leisure stemmed from societal change. Woolley explains: ‘The Industrial Revolution led to mass migration from rural areas to towns and cities. New urban jobs created new routines. Farm labourers, for example, worked every day from dawn to dusk. Urban jobs typically had shorter hours, with formal time off. Add bank holidays, better public transport and rising wages, and soon more working people had time and money to spare.’
Demand grew for places to relax and socialise outside work. Oxford’s location at the confluence of two rivers, the Cherwell and Isis/Thames, fuelled a large brewing trade. By 1883, the city had 319 pubs, breweries and licensed premises — one for every 110 locals.
This abundance didn’t please everyone. ‘Employers, philanthropists, churches and other groups had vested interests in keeping people out of pubs,’ Woolley continues. ‘So they actively encouraged “rational recreation”, especially for the working classes.’
Oxford’s struggle with vice and virtue appears on Alfred Street, a cobbled lane with bicycles locked up at each end. Outside a white-walled pub, the Bear, Woolley points to the smart building opposite. The Oxford Gymnasium was opened in 1858 by Archibald MacLaren, who devised the British Army’s gymnastics programme. As work became increasingly sedentary, his gym helped people keep active. Among the equipment was an 18-metre Norwegian climbing pole. Ironically, the building is now an office.
From the former gym, we pass the Story Museum (with its lanterns marked ‘SPEAK FRIEND’ and ‘AND ENTER’) to stop by an archway lined with flags of the world. Pembroke House is a language school. It was previously the Victorian equivalent of a leisure centre. ‘It had racquet courts, billiard rooms and baths,’ Woolley reveals. ‘At a time when few working-class homes had bathrooms, public baths served health and social functions. They were a forerunner to today’s saunas and spa retreats.’
Besides healthy bodies, ‘rational recreation’ aimed to create healthy minds. Mental and moral strength were valued alongside physical fitness. Reading, particularly instructive material, was considered an improving pastime. The ornate Town Hall marks the site of Oxford’s first public library.
While the famous Bodleian Library was founded in 1602, the public library opened just over 250 years later. ‘The Victorian period saw vast increases in literacy,’ explains Woolley. ‘Many offices and shops required employees to read and write.’
In its first year, the library had more than 100,000 visits. A letter to a local newspaper stated that ‘many a young man has been reclaimed from the haunts of dissipation and vice, and habitual drunkards induced to spend their evenings in the Library’.
Other means to keep ‘habitual drunkards’ away from temptation included working men’s clubs, public lectures and concerts. In 1865, 1,000 people attended a concert at the Corn Exchange that advertised ‘light music for the working classes’.
‘Events like that seem patronising now, but they reflect Victorian anxieties,’ Woolley says. As we continue, she sets out the origins of ‘rational recreation’. ‘It emerged from upheaval and uncertainty. Leisure and free time were new, alien concepts. People had to go somewhere, away from home or work, to “do leisure”. It became an activity in itself. Victorians soon discovered a tension between work and leisure. In many ways they’re symbiotic. We can’t have one without the other.’
Tension increased as leisure became commercialised. Outside the New Theatre, Woolley offers an example.
‘Theatres were regularly full of people from all classes. Shows like pantomimes and music hall offered escapism from work — so long as you paid. Rural entertainment often meant waiting for a passing show to visit your village. In urban areas, fun was on tap. You could go to the theatre whenever you liked, if you could afford a ticket.’
Besides looking at types of leisure, Woolley’s walk meets some of its organisers. A few doors from the New Theatre stands the former YMCA building. The Young Men’s Christian Association was founded in the 1840s to guide men spiritually, morally and physically. ‘The building had ground-floor shops to generate rental income and attract visitors,’ Woolley says. ‘Upstairs were a lecture hall, gym and classrooms. All the facilities were geared towards improvement and education.’
Elsewhere, we pause at a former temperance hotel. ‘The temperance movement grew from middle-class concerns about alcohol,’ Woolley summarises. In 1868, campaigners claimed that more money was spent in Oxford on drink than food. Working men could stay in temperance hotels without alcohol and with their families. Temperance groups also put on alternatives to frequenting pubs.
There were picnics and outings, including visits to galleries and museums. At the Ashmolean Museum, we pause to browse the collection of worldwide artefacts. On a 16th-century map of Oxfordshire, I enjoy spotting my hometown. With its polished floors and pale walls, the museum feels like a calming cathedral of culture.
Back outside, we turn left by the Randolph Hotel onto the broad thoroughfare of St Giles. Teeming rain and hissing tyres give some sense of the noise and energy of St Giles’ Fair, a large funfair that started as a medieval feast and is still held each September. ‘It’s extraordinary,’ says Woolley. ‘The whole street is shut and a carnival begins, packed with rides and stalls. Then after two days it disappears.’
Wooley gives a vivid account of the Victorian fair. ‘People dressed up in their best clothes. There were places to drink and dance. The attractions included freak shows, flea circuses, boxers and wrestlers, wild animals. For a penny, you could have an electric shock.’ Woolley suggests St Giles’ Fair is the walk’s ultimate ‘irrational’ pastime. She also highlights that it takes place just around the corner from the Ashmolean. ‘The Victorian struggle between “rational” and “irrational” recreation was never resolved. Arguably it continues today.’
Leisure has evolved since Woolley created the walk in 2012. ‘It feels more solitary now,’ she reflects. ‘You don’t have to meet other people so much. We have online shopping, online gaming. Streaming services rival theatres and cinemas. We can eat or drink at home instead of going out. There are more leisure options but, in some ways, less socialising.’ Walk now complete, we chat about this in a pub.
