Image caption: Janet Shell with 'Maid Marion', the college nurse
On a sunny, dry, Saturday in November, a small, disparate, but perfectly formed group of pensioners walked through Lancaster and up Bishop’s Walk to their alma mater, S. Martin’s College, now the University of Cumbria.
48 years ago, we arrived with our spirits high, fresh-faced and ready to embrace college life. In the hush of the Princess Margarita Hall, the Principal welcomed us and set out what life might be like for us and how we could make the most of our time at college; of the friendships we would make and of the possibilities we were investing in.
As one of our number said, “We were so young; this is where we started ‘adulting’”. It’s tempting to say that some of us are still trying.
As we approached the college, remarkably quickly, some of us questioned if they had flattened out the walkway! It used to be such a trial to get up to college and on chilly days when the cutting wind blew across, it could be harder work than ever. Long gone are the imposing gates of the college by the old Porter’s lodge. It was there we would wander down to see if we had any post; actual letters, in the days when Tim Berners-Lee was only just graduating and still some way from creating the world wide web.
Image caption: Walking through the main gates by the Porter's Lodge, 1979
Indeed, communication generally was in person or by letters. Professors wishing to communicate to us would have letters posted to us in our pigeon-holes at the bottom of the JCR. Our way of getting messages to everybody about some sports match or the many societies was to use the Banda machine and handwrite out some text and then place them on all the tables in the dining room, the purple script invariably inviting comment. Calling home meant queuing up for the telephone at the bottom of the hall of residence and of course paying for it by coins.
The dining room was one of the hubs of the college. We were all fed at lunchtime and then between 5-6pm each night, and that was it, until the next day. No wonder the corner shop out of the back gates by Hornby, and the chip shop (Sweaty Betty’s) were popular destinations.
Back in the late 1970s we shared a room in our first year if we were in Hornby and Barbon, those imposing stone buildings at the top end of the college. Those in Willy Tom, the tallest building by far in the area and which can still be seen from town, had single rooms, as did the other, newer halls. At any one time there were about 300 students milling around.
There was always somebody to knock on your door and come and chat or ask about some essay or the latest gossip, and gallons of tea and coffee would be consumed over the course of a term.
During the week we attended lectures and seminars and were kept fairly busy, but the place was always buzzing with people and events. The students’ union was active and full of ideas for Rag Week or other fund-raising ideas, to events, and the twice-weekly discos held in the JCR. Every Wednesday night one of the societies would hold a disco and on Saturday night it was a massive college-wide event, with bouncers on the door because the locals could also come along to enjoy our company and cheap booze!
Image caption: Trev Jackson and Dave Little, Rag Week 1979
At weekends there were the sports matches and the aforementioned disco and of course the bar was a real hive of activity. The bar in those days was run by Cyril who had the power to stop you drinking, could shut the bar when he wanted or let you have bar extensions. Not that most of us could afford to drink – it was orange juice and lemonade for the most part!
The bar housed a darts board and a very popular space invaders machine. The pool table was in the JCR, as was a coffee bar and during the day, in the faint whiff of stale beer, we would gather to have a coffee and cake and play pool.
Those of us who were keen on sports could take advantage of no lectures at weekends and play tennis in the summer and badminton and squash throughout the year, along with football and hockey and other team sports. A couple of our year were keen climbers and regularly climbed the college keep at weekends for practice. We all got used to the sight of Tim and Gavin halfway up the edifice.
We reflected between us about our time at college life and realised that because everything had to be face to face, we bonded really well with each other. That doesn’t mean we didn’t fall out, but it meant we had to find ways to negotiate friendships and other relationships and find a way through. There was always somebody to talk with and in those days, we were assigned a tutor to whom we could reach out. Every hall of residence had a hall tutor, like a house master, who was on site 24/7 in case they were needed by any of us and we had Maid Marion, our nurse in the health centre, who while being fairly no- nonsense, was sympathetic to young students who were trying to be all grown up but still stumbling around on occasions. What strikes me, writing this now, is that we had freedom to try things out, but there was a responsible adult nearby if we faltered. It was a perfect system.
We threw ourselves into this world and seemed to gel particularly easily as a year group. What we discovered on our recent meet up was that we all felt extremely comfortable with each other because of the myriad of shared experiences we had. We lived through all of our heartbreaks and triumphs and found out who we were and where we stood in the world. We took those first steps into the world together and because none of us were under pressure to be something we were not, 45 years later, we recognised each other and felt as if none of us had changed, at any fundamental level anyway!
Image caption: Andy Bramwell, Janet Shell, Gavin Atwood, Ian Quatermaine, November 2025
In our second year we were all farmed out to live away from college (the reality being there was not enough accommodation for all of us to be in hall at the same time). Many of us ended up in Morecambe in bedsits in the West End, training or bussing it into college each day and paying occasional visits to the funfair on the front. The light in Morecambe Bay each day was different and it was a spectacular sight on a clear, sunny January day.
We tried to pinpoint how we still felt so at ease and delighted in each other after all these years. Some people married partners from college days. For others, in the late 70s it was still unusual to be gay, so those who were, had to forge an unknown path. We all stopped to think of Trevor Jackson, one of our year, who was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma in his final year and died the year after. His was the first funeral of somebody my own age I attended and there was a memorial service in the college chapel, which was packed out, for some it being the first time they had set foot inside the chapel. A field of daffodils was created in his memory. We couldn’t find that on our visit, but I hope it is still recalled in some way.
I was a musician and spent many concerts and rehearsals in what seemed a large space in the chapel with the Bratby behind us. It now seems so small. Likewise, the Kay Shuttleworth lecture theatre is tiny.
We were struck by the silence at the weekend, when in our day it would be brimming with students. Some will have been playing sport, some practising music, some in the library with fabulous views across to Morecambe. The whole place engendered activity. As one of our number commented, he hardly ever went in the library but when he did, it was for the view really. It was a great thinking space.
Many of us have gone on to do some rather extraordinary things in different fields. Some of us stayed in teaching, but a fair few of us used our degrees and moved into other areas, and it was seriously impressive to discover what achievements there were between us and our recognition in the wider world.
We look back very fondly on our time as ‘smarties’ and our participation in college life. Perhaps ‘participation’ is the key word. It wasn’t of course a positive experience for every single person, yet, within the community could be found support and encouragement; and there was time to be alone if you wanted. I remember walking out of the back of the college on certain days and heading for the Williamson Park to contemplate, and in our day, there was also the Hornsea Pottery, a short walk away, whose mugs graced many a room.
Stories from our time started to emerge: when the boys took the door off one of their friend’s rooms; when the climbers re-enacted a Monty Python sketch and climbed up the pathway to the dining room; going across the river Lune to the Golden Ball hotel close to the turn of the tide; staying up all night to see the sun rise from the kitchen at the top of the Willy Tom; walking three miles across the fields to the university for a concert by Judas Priest; one of our friends pitching a tent and sleeping overnight in the garden of the Principal’s House ( he was not amused); trips out to the Lake District; three legged pub crawls for charity; floats and bed races for Rag Week; people regularly being thrown into the Biology pond; running the college bars under the beady eye of Cyril; rooms being turned upside down while recipients were out – tables on the balcony, all posters turned around and many, many more bonding experiences!
Image caption: Rag Week February 1980
Inevitably, some of our year and others have left us, or are no longer in touch and we would love to create the same kind of online community that we enjoyed in person back in the day. There is a Facebook page called ‘S. Martins, back in the day’, follow this here, and we have our wonderful Alumni Association now too.
I believe our time was very special and all of us agree we smile when we look back and are hugely grateful that we experienced them with such a diverse and talented group of people.
As I write this, I realise that at 18, I struggled to write a 1500-word essay but have no such problems with these reminiscences here.
Janet Shell
1977 – 1980 St Martin’s College