In Medieval Britain, there was a time when to wear the wrong sort of clothing would mean arrest and punishment. This was due in part, to the plague of 1348, when the death of almost half the population led to the distribution of wealth being greater. This meant that those who survived found themselves better off than they had ever been, and the poorer classes began to imitate their social betters in what they wore, ate and how they lived. The Sumptuary Law passed by Edward III was an attempt to restore the social order; by governing exactly how individuals from each class could outwardly display their status.
This form of social control continued until well in to the 17th century. Now, with our relaxed social conformity and (until recently anyway) our greater standard of living, it is only really possible to tell the super-rich and the extremely poor from the rest of us. Who you are, and how you fare in life is much harder to read from outward signs. Unless, for example, you are graduating from the University of Cambridge. Here, tradition pervades thickly, like damp fog on a high hilltop. Navigating your way takes caution, and strict adherence to the official pathway.
The social order is maintained, and displayed: the gown you wear is an outward emblem of what you have become. A 'Mathmo', or perhaps a 'Natsci', each subject having it's own colour, and each level of degree having some other tell-tale sign to those in the know, perhaps the length of the gown, or the length of slit you are permitted. The graduation ceremony itself has elements that are 800 years old, with a parade through the town culminating in a reverential service at the Senate Hall. There is much pomp, with the studious carrying of maces donated by the Duke of Buckingham when Chancellor (1626-28), and earnest entry of the important figures, taking up their allotted places at the front of the hall, while the graduands are assembled in orderly fashion toward the back.
The whole has a feeling of high church or catholic mass. Indeed, the official name for the ceremony is Congregation. There is no doubting who is where in this macrocosmic world. The red gowns are the those at the top, and between them and white fake fur of the BAs are subtle degrees (yes, I know) of social order. As I watched my son, Gareth (Mathmo, Masters, blue flash in the gown) kneel before the Vice-Chancellor, I though, how very medieval. How very moving. Long may it continue.
This form of social control continued until well in to the 17th century. Now, with our relaxed social conformity and (until recently anyway) our greater standard of living, it is only really possible to tell the super-rich and the extremely poor from the rest of us. Who you are, and how you fare in life is much harder to read from outward signs. Unless, for example, you are graduating from the University of Cambridge. Here, tradition pervades thickly, like damp fog on a high hilltop. Navigating your way takes caution, and strict adherence to the official pathway.
The social order is maintained, and displayed: the gown you wear is an outward emblem of what you have become. A 'Mathmo', or perhaps a 'Natsci', each subject having it's own colour, and each level of degree having some other tell-tale sign to those in the know, perhaps the length of the gown, or the length of slit you are permitted. The graduation ceremony itself has elements that are 800 years old, with a parade through the town culminating in a reverential service at the Senate Hall. There is much pomp, with the studious carrying of maces donated by the Duke of Buckingham when Chancellor (1626-28), and earnest entry of the important figures, taking up their allotted places at the front of the hall, while the graduands are assembled in orderly fashion toward the back.
The whole has a feeling of high church or catholic mass. Indeed, the official name for the ceremony is Congregation. There is no doubting who is where in this macrocosmic world. The red gowns are the those at the top, and between them and white fake fur of the BAs are subtle degrees (yes, I know) of social order. As I watched my son, Gareth (Mathmo, Masters, blue flash in the gown) kneel before the Vice-Chancellor, I though, how very medieval. How very moving. Long may it continue.
