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These were originally technical colleges set up by local authorities in the first sixty years of the twentieth century. Their upgrading to university status took place in two waves. The first wave occurred in the mid 1960s, when ten of them (e. g. Aston in Birmingham, Salford near Manchester and Strathclyde in Glasgow) were promoted in this way. Then, in the early 1970s, another thirty became ‘polytechnics’, which meant that, as well continuing with their former courses, they were allowed to teach degree courses (the degrees being awarded by a national body). In the early 1990s most of these (and also some other colleges) became universities. Their most notable feature is flexibility with regard to studying arrangements, including ‘sandwich’ courses (i.e. studies interrupted by periods of time outside education). They are now all financed by central government.
1. Put 15 questions to the text.
Oxford University Library
A SCHOOL STORYby M. R. James www.world-english.org Two men in a smoking-room were talking of their private-school days. "At ourschool," said A., "we had a ghost's footmark on the staircase. " “What was it like?" "Oh, very unconvincing. Just the shape of a shoe, with a square toe, if Iremember right. The staircase was a stone one. I never heard any story aboutthe thing. That seems odd, when you come to think of it. Why didn't somebodyinvent one, I wonder?" "You never can tell with little boys. They have a mythology of their own.There's a subject for you, by the way - "The Folklore of Private Schools." "Yes; the crop is rather scanty, though. I imagine, if you were toinvestigate the cycle of ghost stories, for instance, which the boys atprivate schools tell each other, they would all turn out to behighly-compressed versions of stories out of books." "Nowadays the Strand and Pearson's, and so on, would be extensively drawnupon." "No doubt: they weren't born or thought of in my time. Let's see. Iwonder if I can remember the staple ones that I was told. First, there wasthe house with a room in which a series of people insisted on passing anight; and each of them in the morning was found kneeling in a corner, andhad just time to say, 'I've seen it,' and died." "Wasn't that the house in Berkeley Square?" "I dare say it was. Then there was the man who heard a noise in thepassage at night, opened his door, and saw someone crawling towards him onall fours with his eye hanging out on his cheek. There was besides, let methink - Yes! the room where a man was found dead in bed with a horseshoemark on his forehead, and the floor under the bed was covered with marks ofhorseshoes also; I don't know why. Also there was the lady who, on lockingher bedroom door in a strange house, heard a thin voice among thebed-curtains say, 'Now we're shut in for the night.' None of those had anyexplanation or sequel. I wonder if they go on still, those stories." "Oh, likely enough - with additions from the magazines, as I said. Younever heard, did you, of a real ghost at a private school? I thought not,nobody has that ever I came across." "From the way in which you said that, I gather that you have." "I really don't know, but this is what was in my mind. It happened at myprivate school thirty odd years ago, and I haven't any explanation of it. "The school I mean was near London. It was established in a large andfairly old house - a great white building with very fine grounds about it;there were large cedars in the garden, as there are in so many of the oldergardens in the Thames valley, and ancient elms in the three or four fieldswhich we used for our games. I think probably it was quite an attractiveplace, but boys seldom allow that their schools possess any tolerablefeatures. "I came to the school in a September, soon after the year 1870; and amongthe boys who arrived on the same day was one whom I took to: a Highland boy,whom I will call McLeod. I needn't spend time in describing him: the mainthing is that I got to know him very well. He was not an exceptional boy inany way - not particularly good at books or games - but he suited me. "The school was a large one: there must have been from 120 to 130 boysthere as a rule, and so a considerable staff of masters was required, andthere were rather frequent changes among them. "One term - perhaps it was my third or fourth - a new master made hisappearance. His name was Sampson. He was a tallish, stoutish, pale,black-bearded man. I think we liked him: he had travelled a good deal, andhad stories which amused us on our school walks, so that there was somecompetition among us to get within earshot of him. I remember too - dear me,I have hardly thought of it since then - that he had a charm on hiswatch-chain that attracted my attention one day, and he let me examine it.It was, I now suppose, a gold Byzantine coin; there was an effigy of someabsurd emperor on one side; the other side had been worn practically smooth,and he had had cut on it - rather barbarously - his own initials, G.W.S.,and a date, 24 July, 1865. Yes, I can see it now: he told me he had pickedit up in Constantinople: it was about the size of a florin, perhaps rathersmaller. "Well, the first odd thing that happened was this. Sampson was doingLatin grammar with us. One of his favourite methods - perhaps it is rather agood one - was to make us construct sentences out of our own heads toillustrate the rules he was trying to make us learn. Of course that is athing which gives a silly boy a chance of being impertinent: there are lotsof school stories in which that happens - or any-how there might be. ButSampson was too good a disciplinarian for us to think of trying that on withhim. Now, on this occasion he was telling us how to express remembering inLatin: and he ordered us each to make a sentence bringing in the verbmemini, 'I remember.' Well, most of us made up some ordinary sentence suchas 'I remember my father,' or 'He remembers his book,' or something equallyuninteresting: and I dare say a good many put down memino librum meum, andso forth: but the boy I mentioned - McLeod - was evidently thinking ofsomething more elaborate than that. The rest of us wanted to have oursentences passed, and get on to something else, so some kicked him under thedesk, and I, who was next to him, poked him and whispered to him to looksharp. But he didn't seem to attend. I looked at his paper and saw he hadput down nothing at all. So I jogged him again harder than before andupbraided him sharply for keeping us all waiting. That did have some effect.He started and seemed to wake up, and then very quickly he scribbled about acouple of lines on his paper, and showed it up with the rest. As it was thelast, or nearly the last, to come in, and as Sampson had a good deal to sayto the boys who had written meminiscimus patri meo and the rest of it, itturned out that the clock struck twelve before he had got to McLeod, andMcLeod had to wait afterwards to have his sentence corrected. There wasnothing much going on outside when I got out, so I waited for him to come.He came very slowly when he did arrive, and I guessed there had been somesort of trouble. 'Well,' I said, 'what did you get?' 'Oh, I don't know,'said McLeod, 'nothing much: but I think Sampson's rather sick with me.''Why, did you show him up some rot?' 'No fear,' he said. 'It was all rightas far as I could see: it was like this: Memento - that's right enough forremember, and it takes a genitive, - memento putei inter quatuor taxos.''What silly rot!' I said. 'What made you shove that down? What does itmean?' 'That's the funny part,' said McLeod. 'I'm not quite sure what itdoes mean. All I know is, it just came into my head and I corked it down. Iknow what I think it means, because just before I wrote it down I had a sortof picture of it in my head: I believe it means "Remember the well among thefour" - what are those dark sort of trees that have red berries on them?''Mountain ashes, I s'pose you mean.' 'I never heard of them,' said McLeod;'no, I'll tell you - yews.' 'Well, and what did Sampson say?' 'Why, he wasjolly odd about it. When he read it he got up and went to the mantel-pieceand stopped quite a long time without saying anything, with his back to me.And then he said, without turning round, and rather quiet, "What do yousuppose that means?" I told him what I thought; only I couldn't remember thename of the silly tree: and then he wanted to know why I put it down, and Ihad to say something or other. And after that he left off talking about it,and asked me how long I'd been here, and where my people lived, and thingslike that: and then I came away: but he wasn't looking a bit well.' "I don't remember any more that was said by either of us about this. Nextday McLeod took to his bed with a chill or something of the kind, and it wasa week or more before he was in school again. And as much as a month went bywithout anything happening that was noticeable. Whether or not Mr. Sampsonwas really startled, as McLeod had thought, he didn't show it. I am prettysure, of course, now, that there was something very curious in his pasthistory, but I'm not going to pretend that we boys were sharp enough toguess any such thing. "There was one other incident of the same kind as the last which I toldyou. Several times since that day we had had to make up examples in schoolto illustrate different rules, but there had never been any row except whenwe did them wrong. At last there came a day when we were going through thosedismal things which people call Conditional Sentences, and we were told tomake a conditional sentence, expressing a future consequence. We did it,right or wrong, and showed up our bits of paper, and Sampson began lookingthrough them. All at once he got up, made some odd sort of noise in histhroat, and rushed out by a door that was just by his desk. We sat there fora minute or two, and then - I suppose it was incorrect - but we went up, Iand one or two others, to look at the papers on his desk. Of course Ithought someone must have put down some nonsense or other, and Sampson hadgone off to report him. All the same, I noticed that he hadn't taken any ofthe papers with him when he ran out. Well, the top paper on the desk waswritten in red ink - which no one used - and it wasn't in anyone's hand whowas in the class. They all looked at it - McLeod and all - and took theirdying oaths that it wasn't theirs. Then I thought of counting the bits ofpaper. And of this I made quite certain: that there were seventeen bits ofpaper on the desk, and sixteen boys in the form. Well, I bagged the extrapaper, and kept it, and I believe I have it now. And now you will want toknow what was written on it. It was simple enough, and harmless enough, Ishould have said. "'Si tu non veneris ad me, ego veniam ad te,' which means, I suppose, 'Ifyou don't come to me, I'll come to you.'" "Could you show me the paper?" interrupted the listener. "Yes, I could: but there's another odd thing about it. That sameafternoon I took it out of my locker - I know for certain it was the samebit, for I made a finger-mark on it and no single trace of writing of anykind was there on it. I kept it, as I said, and since that time I have triedvarious experiments to see whether sympathetic ink had been used, butabsolutely without result. "So much for that. After about half an hour Sampson looked in again: saidhe had felt very unwell, and told us we might go. He came rather gingerly tohis desk, and gave just one look at the uppermost paper: and I suppose hethought he must have been dreaming: anyhow, he asked no questions. "That day was a half-holiday, and next day Sampson was in school again,much as usual. That night the third and last incident in my story happened. "We - McLeod and I - slept in a dormitory at right angles to the mainbuilding. Sampson slept in the main building on the first floor. There was avery bright full moon. At an hour which I can't tell exactly, but some timebetween one and two, I was woken up by somebody shaking me. It was McLeod,and a nice state of mind he seemed to be in. 'Come,' he said, - 'comethere's a burglar getting in through Sampson's window.' As soon as I couldspeak, I said, 'Well, why not call out and wake everybody up? 'No, no,' hesaid, 'I'm not sure who it is: don't make a row: come and look.' Naturally Icame and looked, and naturally there was no one there. I was cross enough,and should have called McLeod plenty of names: only - I couldn't tell why -it seemed to me that there was something wrong - something that made me veryglad I wasn't alone to face it. We were still at the window looking out, andas soon as I could, I asked him what he had heard or seen. 'I didn't hearanything at all,' he said, 'but about five minutes before I woke you, Ifound myself looking out of this window here, and there was a man sitting orkneeling on Sampson's window-sill, and looking in, and I thought he wasbeckoning.' 'What sort of man?' McLeod wriggled. 'I don't know,' he said,'but I can tell you one thing - he was beastly thin: and he looked as if hewas wet all over: and,' he said, looking round and whispering as if hehardly liked to hear himself, 'I'm not at all sure that he was alive.' "We went on talking in whispers some time longer, and eventually creptback to bed. No one else in the room woke or stirred the whole time. Ibelieve we did sleep a bit afterwards, but we were very cheap next day. "And next day Mr. Sampson was gone: not to be found: and I believe notrace of him has ever come to light since. In thinking it over, one of theoddest things about it all has seemed to me to be the fact that neitherMcLeod nor I ever mentioned what we had seen to any third person whatever.Of course no questions were asked on the subject, and if they had been, I aminclined to believe that we could not have made any answer: we seemed unableto speak about it. "That is my story," said the narrator. "The only approach to a ghoststory connected with a school that I know, but still, I think, an approachto such a thing." * * * * * The sequel to this may perhaps be reckoned highly conventional; but asequel there is, and so it must be produced. There had been more than onelistener to the story, and, in the latter part of that same year, or of thenext, one such listener was staying at a country house in Ireland. One evening his host was turning over a drawer full of odds and ends inthe smoking-room. Suddenly he put his hand upon a little box. "Now," hesaid, "you know about old things; tell me what that is." My friend openedthe little box, and found in it a thin gold chain with an object attached toit. He glanced at the object and then took off his spectacles to examine itmore narrowly. "What's the history of this?" he asked. "Odd enough," was theanswer. "You know the yew thicket in the shrubbery: well, a year or two backwe were cleaning out the old well that used to be in the clearing here, andwhat do you suppose we found?" "Is it possible that you found a body?" said the visitor, with an oddfeeling of nervousness. "We did that: but what's more, in every sense of the word, we found two." "Good Heavens! Two? Was there anything to show how they got there? Wasthis thing found with them?" "It was. Amongst the rags of the clothes that were on one of the bodies.A bad business, whatever the story of it may have been. One body had thearms tight round the other. They must have been there thirty years or more -long enough before we came to this place. You may judge we filled the wellup fast enough. Do you make anything of what's cut on that gold coin youhave there?" "I think I can," said my friend, holding it to the light (but he read itwithout much difficulty); "it seems to be G.W.S., 24 July, 1865." The Dancing Partnerby Jerome K. Jerome www.world-english.org "This story," commenced MacShaugnassy, "comes from Furtwangen, a small townin the Black Forest. There lived there a very wonderful old fellow namedNicholaus Geibel. His business was the making of mechanical toys, at whichwork he had acquired an almost European reputation. He made rabbits thatwould emerge from the heart of a cabbage, flop their ears, smooth theirwhiskers, and disappear again; cats that would wash their faces, and mew sonaturally that dogs would mistake them for real cats and fly at them; dollswith phonographs concealed within them, that would raise their hats and say,'Good morning; how do you do?' and some that would even sing a song. "But, he was something more than a mere mechanic; he was an artist. His workwas with him a hobby, almost a passion. His shop was filled with all mannerof strange things that never would, or could, be sold -- things he had madefor the pure love of making them. He had contrived a mechanical donkey thatwould trot for two hours by means of stored electricity, and trot, too, muchfaster than the live article, and with less need for exertion on the part ofthe driver, a bird that would shoot up into the air, fly round and round ina circle, and drop to earth at the exact spot from where it started; askeleton that, supported by an upright iron bar, would dance a hornpipe, alife-size lady doll that could play the fiddle, and a gentleman with ahollow inside who could smoke a pipe and drink more lager beer than anythree average German students put together, which is saying much. "Indeed, it was the belief of the town that old Geibel could make a mancapable of doing everything that a respectable man need want to do. One dayhe made a man who did too much, and it came about in this way: "Young Doctor Follen had a baby, and the baby had a birthday. Its firstbirthday put Doctor Follen's household into somewhat of a flurry, but on theoccasion of its second birthday, Mrs. Doctor Follen gave a ball in honour ofthe event. Old Geibel and his daughter Olga were among the guests. "During the afternoon of the next day some three or four of Olga's bosomfriends, who had also been present at the ball, dropped in to have a chatabout it. They naturally fell to discussing the men, and to criticizingtheir dancing. Old Geibel was in the room, but he appeared to be absorbed inhis newspaper, and the girls took no notice of him. "'There seem to be fewer men who can dance at every ball you go to,' saidone of the girls. "'Yes, and don't the ones who can give themselves airs,' said another; 'theymake quite a favor of asking you.' "'And how stupidly they talk,' added a third. 'They always say exactly thesame things: "How charming you are looking to-night." "Do you often go toVienna? Oh, you should, it's delightful." "What a charming dress you haveon." "What a warm day it has been." "Do you like Wagner?" I do wish they'dthink of something new.' "'Oh, I never mind how they talk,' said a forth. 'If a man dances well hemay be a fool for all I care.' "'He generally is,' slipped in a thin girl, rather spitefully. "'I go to a ball to dance,' continued the previous speaker, not noticing theinterruption. 'All I ask is that he shall hold me firmly, take me roundsteadily, and not get tired before I do.' "'A clockwork figure would be the thing for you,' said the girl who hadinterrupted. "'Bravo!' cried one of the others, clapping her hands, 'what a capitalidea!' "'What's a capital idea?' they asked. "'Why, a clockwork dancer, or, better still, one that would go byelectricity and never run down.' "The girls took up the idea with enthusiasm. "'Oh, what a lovely partner he would make,' said one; 'he would never kickyou, or tread on your toes.' "'Or tear your dress,' said another. "'Or get out of step.' "'Or get giddy and lean on you.' "'And he would never want to mop his face with his handkerchief. I do hateto see a man do that after every dance.' "'And wouldn't want to spend the whole evening in the supper-room.' "'Why, with a phonograph inside him to grind out all the stock remarks, youwould not be able to tell him from a real man,' said the girl who had firstsuggested the idea. "Oh yes, you would,' said the thin girl, 'he would be so much nicer.' "Old Geibel had laid down his paper, and was listening with both his ears.On one of the girls glancing in his direction, however, he hurriedly hidhimself again behind it. "After the girls were gone, he went into his workshop, where Olga heard himwalking up and down, and every now and then chuckling to himself; and thatnight he talked to her a good deal about dancing and dancing men -- askedwhat dances were most popular -- what steps were gone through, with manyother questions bearing on the subject. "Then for a couple of weeks he kept much to his factory, and was verythoughtful and busy, though prone at unexpected moments to break into aquiet low laugh, as if enjoying a joke that nobody else knew of. "A month later another ball took place in Furtwangen. On this occasion itwas given by old Wenzel, the wealthy timber merchant, to celebrate hisniece's betrothal, and Geibel and his daughter were again among the invited. "When the hour arrived to set out, Olga sought her father. Not finding himin the house, she tapped at the door of his workshop. He appeared in hisshirt-sleeves, looking hot but radiant. "Don't wait for me,' he said, 'you go on, I'll follow you. I've gotsomething to finish.' "As she turned to obey he called after her, 'Tell them I'm going to bring ayoung man with me -- such a nice young man, and an excellent dancer. All thegirls will like him.' Then he laughed and closed the door. "Her father generally kept his doings secret from everybody, but she had apretty shrewd suspicion of what he had been planning, and so, to a certainextent, was able to prepare the guests for what was coming. Anticipation ranhigh, and the arrival of the famous mechanist was eagerly awaited. "At length the sound of wheels was heard outside, followed by a greatcommotion in the passage, and old Wenzel himself, his jolly face red withexcitement and suppressed laughter, burst into the room and announced instentorian tones: "'Herr Geibel -- and a friend.' "Herr Geibel and his 'friend' entered, greeted with shouts of laughter andapplause, and advanced to the centre of the room. "'Allow me, ladies and gentlemen,' said Herr Geibel, 'to introduce you to myfriend, Lieutenant Fritz. Fritz, my dear fellow, bow to the ladies andgentlemen.' "Geibel placed his hand encouragingly on Fritz's shoulder, and theLieutenant bowed low, accompanying the action with a harsh clicking noise inhis throat, unpleasantly suggestive of a death-rattle. But that was only adetail. "'He walks a little stiffly' (old Geibel took his arm and walked him forwarda few steps. He certainly did walk stiffly), 'but then, walking is not hisforte. He is essentially a dancing man. I have only been able to teach himthe waltz as yet, but at that he is faultless. Come, which of you ladies mayI introduce him to as a partner? He keeps perfect time; he never gets tired;he won't kick you or trad on your dress; he will hold you as firmly as youlike, and go as quickly or a slowly as you please; he never gets giddy; andhe is full of conversation. Come, speak up for yourself, my boy.' "The old gentleman twisted one of the buttons at the back of his coat, andimmediately Fritz opened his mouth, and in thin tones that appeared toproceed from the back of his head, remarked suddenly, 'May I have thepleasure?' and then shut his mouth again with a snap. "That Lieutenant Fritz had made a strong impression on the company wasundoubted, yet none of the girls seemed inclined to dance with him. Theylooked askance at his waxen face, with its staring eyes and fixed smile, andshuddered. At last old Geibel came to the girl who had conceived the idea. "'It is your own suggestion, carried out to the letter,' said Geibel, 'anelectric dancer. You owe it to the gentleman to give him a trial.' "She was a bright, saucy little girl, fond of a frolic. Her host added hisentreaties, and she consented. "Her Geibel fixed the figure to her. Its right arm was screwed round herwaist, and held her firmly; its delicately jointed left hand was made tofasten upon her right. The old toymaker showed her how to regulate itsspeed, and how to stop it, and release herself. "'It will take you round in a complete circle,' he explained; 'be carefulthat no one knocks against you, and alters its course.' "The music struck up. Old Geibel put the current in motion, and Annette andher strange partner began to dance. "For a while everyone stood watching them. The figure performed its purposeadmirably. Keeping perfect time and step, and holding its little partnertight clasped in an unyielding embrace, it revolved steadily, pouring forthat the same time a constant flow of squeaky conversation, broken by briefintervals of grinding silence. "'How charming you are looking tonight,' it remarked in its thin, far-awayvoice. 'What a lovely day it has been. Do you like dancing? How well oursteps agree. You will give me another, won't you? Oh, don't be so cruel.What a charming gown you have on. Isn't waltzing delightful? I could go ondancing for ever -- with you. Have you had supper?' "As she grew more familiar with the uncanny creature, the girl's nervousnesswore off, and she entered into the fun of the thing. "'Oh, he's just lovely,' she cried, laughing; 'I could go on dancing withhim all my life.' "Couple after couple now joined them, and soon all the dancers in the roomwere whirling round behind them. Nicholaus Geibel stood looking on, beamingwith childish delight at his success. "Old Wenzel approached him, and whispered something in his ear. Geibellaughed and nodded, and the two worked their way quietly towards the door. "'This is the young people's house to-night,' said Wenzel, as soon as theywere outside; 'you and I will have a quiet pipe and glass of hock, over inthe counting-house.' "Meanwhile the dancing grew more fast and furious. Little Annette loosenedthe screw regulating her partner's rate of progress, and the figure flewround with her swifter and swifter. Couple after couple dropped outexhausted, but they only went the faster, till at length they remaineddancing alone. "Madder and madder became the waltz. The music lagged behind: the musicians,unable to keep pace, ceased, and sat staring. The younger guests applauded,but the older faces began to grow anxious. "'Hadn't you better stop, dear,' said one of the women, 'you'll makeyourself so tired.' "But Annette did not answer. "'I believe she's fainted,' cried out a girl who had caught sight of herface as it was swept by. "One of the men sprang forward and clutched at the figure, but its impetusthrew him down on to the floor, where its steel-cased feet laid bare hischeek. The thing evidently did not intend to part with its prize so easily. "Had any one retained a cool head, the figure, one cannot help thinking,might easily have been stopped. Two or three men acting in concert mighthave lifted it bodily off the floor, or have jammed it into a corner. Butfew human heads are capable of remaining cool under excitement. Those whoare not present think how stupid must have been those wh were; those who arereflect afterwards how simple it would have been to do this, that, or theother, if only they had thought of it at the time. "The women grew hysterical. The men shouted contradictory directions to oneanother. Tow of them made a bungling rush at the figure, which had the endresult of forcing it out of its orbit at the centre of the room, and sendingit crashing against the walls and furniture. A stream of blood showed itselfdown the girl's white frock, and followed her along the floor. The affairwas becoming horrible. The women rushed screaming from the room. The menfollowed them. "One sensible suggestion was made: 'Find Geibel -- fetch Geibel.' "No one had noticed him leave the room, no one knew where he was. A partywent in search of him. The others, too unnerved to go back into theballroom, crowded outside the door and listened. They could hear the steadywhir of the wheels upon the polished floor as the thing spun round andround; the dull thud as every now and again it dashed itself and its burdenagainst some opposing object and ricocheted off in a new direction. "And everlastingly it talked in that thin ghostly voice, repeating over andover the same formula: 'How charming you look to-night. What a lovely day ithas been. Oh, don't be so cruel. I could go on dancing for ever -- with you.Have you had supper?' "Of course they sought Geibel everywhere but where he was. They looked inevery room in the house, then they rushed off in a body to his own place,and spent precious minutes waking up his deaf old housekeeper. At last itoccurred to one of the party that Wenzel was missing also, and then the ideaof the counting-house across the yard presented itself to them, and therethey found him. "He rose up, very pale, and followed them; and he and old Wenzel forcedtheir way through the crowd of guests gathered outside, and entered theroom, and locked the door behind them. "From within there came the muffled sound of low voices and quick steps,followed by a confused scuffling noise, then silence, then the low voicesagain. "After a time the door opened, and those near it pressed forward to enter,but old Wenzel's broad head and shoulders barred the way. "I want you -- and you, Bekler,' he said, addressing a couple of the eldermen. His voice was calm, but his face was deadly white. 'The rest of you,please go -- get the women away as quickly as you can.' "From that day old Nicholaus Geibel confined himself to the making ofmechanical rabbits, and cats that mewed and washed their faces."
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