May is a rather wet month in St Andrews. Although this May (with the marked exception of last week) has been particularly rainy and miserable, this designation has nothing to do with the weather. Instead, it has everything to do with quirky University traditions.
The cobblestones outside of St Salvator's Chapel are inset with the letters 'PH' in honour of Patrick Hamilton, a young university lecturer who was executed there in 1528. Hamilton was condemned by the University and the Archbishop for teaching Protestant doctrine. University lore claims that Hamilton cursed the spot on which he was burned at the stake, declaring that any student who set foot on it would fail their degree. Although I've never come across any historical evidence of such a curse (and Hamilton factors quite heavily into my research), University students avoid the spot like the plague. This actually requires some doing, as the letters are smack in the middle of the sidewalk, right outside of the Quad gates. I've seen groups of chatting students unconsciously part down the middle in order to avoid them. I've also seen distracted students notice them at the very last minute, stop short and leap (or fall over) to avoid touching them. Following graduation ceremonies, the 'PH' is often doused with whisky or champagne by thankful graduates. If you do manage to accidentally step on the 'PH', there is only one way to alleviate the curse:
You must jump in the North Sea at dawn on May 1st. And you must go all the way under.
The May Dip is also the only way to atone for the 'sin' of 'Academic Incest'. In their first weeks at uni, first-year undergraduates are invited to join an 'Academic Family': they are 'adopted' by third or fourth-year undergraduates (usually a 'mother' and a 'father') who introduce them to the academic and social culture of the University. It's a rather elaborate tradition, and you usually end up with a very extensive 'family' including brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, nieces, nephews, etc. My officemate, who has done all three of her degrees here at St Andrews, often refers to her 'husband' and 'children'. The 'sin' of 'Academic Incest' involves having a romantic relationship with another member of your academic family (although, I think academic 'husbands' and 'wives' are exempt from this). If you do manage to become romantically involved with a member of your academic family, there is only one means of penance:
You must jump in the North Sea at dawn on May 1st. And you must go all the way under.
Whilst I have far too much respect for young Master Hamilton to step on his cobblestones, and I have no academic family, and therefore, no one with whom to commit 'Academic Incest'... I jumped into the North Sea at dawn on May 1st. And I went all the way under. East Sands beach was teeming with undergrads, many of whom had spent the evening and wee hours of the morning sitting around beach bonfires fortifying themselves with 'liquid courage' in preparation for the frigid dip. The North Sea is always cold, so it is recommended that you charge into the water as fast as you can. And that you get out as quickly as possible. Wetsuits are considered cheating. And while most sensible people (like my friends and myself) opt for bathing suits, there are those impetuous few who choose to leave their inhibitions, and their clothes, behind. Fortunately, most people are too preoccupied with not getting hypothermia to pay any attention! Police and paramedics are on hand, just to make sure things don't get too out of hand.
I was persuaded to join in this St Andrean Rite of Spring by my friend Katherine. Now, anyone who knows me knows I am not exactly a 'morning person', so the prospect of getting up at 4:30 to jump into the icy North Sea wasn't exactly high on my 'To Do List'. But as Katherine pointed out, this is our last year as St Andrews students, and ten years from now, when we look back we will regret not taking part in such an essentially St Andrean tradition. She proposed only wetting our feet, and I agreed. Later, after giving the matter further thought (and considerable prodding from my friend Claire), I resolved that this was a 'go big or go home' situation, and prepared myself to go all the way under. Needless to say, I had a rather fitful night's sleep on 30 April, thinking about my alarm going off at o-dark-thirty and the subsequent polar plunge. Then, at dawn--armed with a warm change of clothes, a hot water bottle, fresh towels, a warm blanket, a flask of hot tea and the moral support of my flatmate, Birgit (who I cajoled into coming along as a spectator, with the promise that witnessing my momentary lapse of reason would be well worth it)--I headed towards the sea.
Katherine had no idea I was actually going to go all in. When I showed up wearing wellies (rubber boots), she thought I was going to cheat. She (quite justifiably) stared at me in utter astonishment when I told her my plan (it was a cold, breezy morning). As the three of us made our way down to the surf, Kat and I agreed that we would hold hands as we charged into the sea (believe me, you need all the encouragement you can get), and that she would let go when she was in as far as she wanted to go, while I would keep going. So she rolled up her trousers and I stripped down to my bathing suit (remember, I'm sensible). Leaving our things with Birgit, we held hands, took a deep breath, and went storming into the icy water.
A few strides in I let go of Katherine's hand. When I got in about waist-deep, I turned back to the shore to get my bearings... and to find Katherine (fully clothed) right behind me! I was so gleefully shocked that I didn't even feel the bone-chilling water as she and I counted to three and went under! Then we high-tailed it out of there! We didn't linger on the beach for long, wanting to get home (to hot showers and pots of tea) before the adrenaline wore off and we were met with the full force of the cold!
I manage to bypass the post-exam soaking, since, as a PhD student, I don't have exams. But my final assessment is far more terrifying: The Viva. Currently, I have a complete draft of my thesis--roughly 83,000 words (that's about 210 pages, 1.5 spaced). I'm in the process of editing the draft, which may take a month or so to complete. Then I'll have to polish my footnotes and bibliography, write my acknowledgements and an abstract, check for typos, have it all printed and bound (3 copies) and then chase down some signatures. Once everything is in order, I can submit it to the University. They'll hand a copy to my internal examiner (a lecturer or professor in History from the University of St Andrews) and a copy to my external examiner (a lecturer or professor from another British University). Both will be experts in some aspect of my research, and will have up to three months to read my thesis and tear it to shreds. Then, they will set up a date and time to meet with me to discuss it. This is the Viva (in the States it is called a 'defence'). Basically, it will be me and the two of them, in an office for anywhere from 45 minutes to 4 hours. They will challenge and pick apart my research, and I will have to defend it. PhDs are won or lost in the Viva. That's why it is called a 'viva', which roughly means 'life' in Latin. If I pass the Viva, the examiners will give me a list of corrections to make. These could take anywhere between a few days, a few weeks, a few months or a year to do. Once the corrections are made, and the internal examiner and my supervisor have signed off on them, I can submit my final thesis to the University, and then start planning for Graduation (God willing, on 30 November this year).
Postgraduates like to think that they are considerably more civil and mature than their undergraduate counterparts, so there are no hoards waiting to drench you with water when you emerge from the Viva. Most examiners really make you work for those three little letters after your name, so those coming out of the Viva are usually in need of a strong drink--even those who don't normally imbibe! So we celebrate with a bottle (or two) of champagne... like the sophisticated people we like to think we are. There is some debate regarding when one can start using the title 'Doctor'. Some people say you can use it as soon as you pass the Viva. Others say it is after you submit your final corrected thesis. Then there are those who say it can only be used after you've had the degree officially conferred on you at a graduation ceremony. God willing, all three will be taken care of by 30 November.
Katherine had no idea I was actually going to go all in. When I showed up wearing wellies (rubber boots), she thought I was going to cheat. She (quite justifiably) stared at me in utter astonishment when I told her my plan (it was a cold, breezy morning). As the three of us made our way down to the surf, Kat and I agreed that we would hold hands as we charged into the sea (believe me, you need all the encouragement you can get), and that she would let go when she was in as far as she wanted to go, while I would keep going. So she rolled up her trousers and I stripped down to my bathing suit (remember, I'm sensible). Leaving our things with Birgit, we held hands, took a deep breath, and went storming into the icy water.
A few strides in I let go of Katherine's hand. When I got in about waist-deep, I turned back to the shore to get my bearings... and to find Katherine (fully clothed) right behind me! I was so gleefully shocked that I didn't even feel the bone-chilling water as she and I counted to three and went under! Then we high-tailed it out of there! We didn't linger on the beach for long, wanting to get home (to hot showers and pots of tea) before the adrenaline wore off and we were met with the full force of the cold!So May begins with water, but it also ends with water.At the end of the month, when fourth-year undergraduates are taking their very last ever university exams, their friends assemble outside of the exam building--with large buckets of water. After the exam, when the exam-taking fourth-year emerges from the building, their friends douse them in water. Some of the more afluent students have been known to use champagne (although the University frowns on this). One of the exam halls is across the street from my office, and you can hear the shrieking and laughter during exam weeks. Those finishing their exams last week had it easy, since it was warm and sunny. But their fellow fourth-years who finished the previous week were doused with icy water in November-esque conditions, courtesy of the typically unforgiving Scottish weather. Those finishing exams in January have it the worst. But the University has decided, starting next year, to move the winter exams to before Christmas as opposed to the traditional post-New Year exam period they've had for who knows how long. At least it might be one or two degrees warmer in December than January, right? Small consolation for finishing fourth-years who will end up soaked and frozen no matter what!
I manage to bypass the post-exam soaking, since, as a PhD student, I don't have exams. But my final assessment is far more terrifying: The Viva. Currently, I have a complete draft of my thesis--roughly 83,000 words (that's about 210 pages, 1.5 spaced). I'm in the process of editing the draft, which may take a month or so to complete. Then I'll have to polish my footnotes and bibliography, write my acknowledgements and an abstract, check for typos, have it all printed and bound (3 copies) and then chase down some signatures. Once everything is in order, I can submit it to the University. They'll hand a copy to my internal examiner (a lecturer or professor in History from the University of St Andrews) and a copy to my external examiner (a lecturer or professor from another British University). Both will be experts in some aspect of my research, and will have up to three months to read my thesis and tear it to shreds. Then, they will set up a date and time to meet with me to discuss it. This is the Viva (in the States it is called a 'defence'). Basically, it will be me and the two of them, in an office for anywhere from 45 minutes to 4 hours. They will challenge and pick apart my research, and I will have to defend it. PhDs are won or lost in the Viva. That's why it is called a 'viva', which roughly means 'life' in Latin. If I pass the Viva, the examiners will give me a list of corrections to make. These could take anywhere between a few days, a few weeks, a few months or a year to do. Once the corrections are made, and the internal examiner and my supervisor have signed off on them, I can submit my final thesis to the University, and then start planning for Graduation (God willing, on 30 November this year).
Postgraduates like to think that they are considerably more civil and mature than their undergraduate counterparts, so there are no hoards waiting to drench you with water when you emerge from the Viva. Most examiners really make you work for those three little letters after your name, so those coming out of the Viva are usually in need of a strong drink--even those who don't normally imbibe! So we celebrate with a bottle (or two) of champagne... like the sophisticated people we like to think we are. There is some debate regarding when one can start using the title 'Doctor'. Some people say you can use it as soon as you pass the Viva. Others say it is after you submit your final corrected thesis. Then there are those who say it can only be used after you've had the degree officially conferred on you at a graduation ceremony. God willing, all three will be taken care of by 30 November.
And then it will be my turn to pour some champagne on the 'PH'.
