Universities and the State in England, 1850-1939

Universities and the State in England, 1850–1939

The question of the relationships between universities and the state is one of considerable current concern and debate. This book studies the development of the modern university system in England from the midnineteenth century to the outbreak of the Second World War, focusing on the role of the state. In this formidable study, the author covers a range of key areas, including: • •

•

a review of the reforms of the ancient universities, the creation of civic universities and the formation of the federal London University; an examination of the development of a co-ordinated university system in the early years of the twentieth century and the inter-war period; a discussion of such issues as technical versus literary curricula, the clash between central and local authorities, and the output of universities in terms of the needs of the state and the economy.

Students of history and education, and academic historians, will find this an informative and important text. Keith Vernon is Senior Lecturer in Social History at the University of Central Lancashire.

Universities and the State in England, 1850–1939

Keith Vernon

Woburn Education Series

First published 2004 by RoutledgeFalmer 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by RoutledgeFalmer 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2004. RoutledgeFalmer is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group © 2004 Keith Vernon All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 0-203-49994-8 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-58109-1 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0-713-002-352 (Print edition)

Contents

Preface

vi

Introduction

1

1

The national universities, c.1800–1900

9

2

A university for London, 1825–1900

51

3

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900

93

4

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914

133

5

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939

176

Conclusion

215

Notes Select bibliography Index

225 258 268

Preface

When I first started working at Lancashire Polytechnic there was a module on the History of English Education to be taught and, as the new boy, it was down to me to do it. I knew something of the subject but not a great deal, so had a fair amount of preparation to catch up on. All went reasonably well until it came to the session on universities. There were some excellent studies of certain themes or particular institutions but, when I reached for the book that would tell me in a single volume an outline of the modern development of the English universities, it wasn’t there. With enthusiasm, born of naivety, I decided to write it and, some considerable time later and much narrowing of the scope of the project, this is the result. A few will claim that there is no correlation between teaching in higher education and research – which is nonsense. Many argue that teaching arises out of research – which is true; but research can equally be inspired by the demands of teaching. No historical work is ever the product of one person and it is a pleasure to acknowledge the considerable material and moral support that has sustained this project. I have been fortunate to receive financial assistance from The Royal Society, The Scoloudi Foundation and from the University of Central Lancashire. A crucially formative phase of the work was undertaken during an idyllic summer spent as Honorary Visiting Fellow at the International Social Sciences Institute of the University of Edinburgh. As is always the case, many people have helped in shaping and developing my thoughts about the history of universities. It would be impossible to identify everyone who has had an influence, but I should particularly like to thank Ged Martin, Robert Anderson and Sylvia Harrop for their advice and encouragement. Librarians and archivists at Central Lancashire, Bristol, Manchester, Birmingham, Liverpool and London universities have been extremely helpful. A different, but no less important, source of sustenance has come from family and friends, including the particular brand of madness provided by the Crows. Above all, I want to thank the friends, colleagues and students, past and present, of the Department of Historical and Critical Studies whose support, in so many ways, has been greater than I know how to acknowledge. They are what make a university.

Introduction

Quite suddenly, and not a little surprisingly, universities have become the focus of enormous attention in the UK. This has been brought about by the extraordinarily rapid and radical transformation in the size, structure, finance and organisation of higher education. Until recently, UK universities were the preserve of a small and highly selective minority, apparently removed from the exigencies of everyday life and engaging but little interest in a wider population from which they appeared distant and remote. Over the last two decades, however, fuelled by concerns about skills shortages in the increasingly competitive knowledge economy, and belatedly aping the rest of the developed world, successive governments have sought to increase the numbers of young people staying on into tertiary education while gearing it more explicitly to the demands of the economy.1 At the same time, levels of funding have been proportionately reduced, making the question of how expansion is to be paid for a major political issue. The results of this concerted effort to create a system of mass higher education have been dramatic. Student numbers have expanded prodigiously, and are set to rise still further. With the elevation of the former polytechnics, the total number of universities virtually doubled overnight, and more have since been recognised. The state seems to exert ever-closer control over the direction and activities of the universities. Inevitably, serious questions and concern have been raised about the nature of the university, its ethos and function, about academic standards, and about the role of the state. Apocalyptic accounts foretell the end of the university, the final demise of an institution that has lasted for centuries, but which now faces a fundamental threat to its essential nature.2 The state has become too interventionist, undermining traditional academic freedom and institutional autonomy in a drive to subordinate higher education mechanistically to the supposed needs of the economy. All ideals of the disinterested pursuit of knowledge and truth, the integrity of academic disciplines, the independent critique of established ideas and the individual formation of brilliant young minds have been abandoned in favour of the production line inculcation of transferable skills in a lumpen student mass, serving a

2

Introduction

philistine society. Similar concerns have been raised about comparable attempts in other countries to gear higher education more directly to the apparent needs of the market and economy.3 For the UK, the controversy seems particularly acute because the transformation is so recent and so marked, and the new kind of relationship between universities and the state apparently so removed from that which previously prevailed.4 It appears that in the UK, especially in England, the state played a very small part in the development of the universities and traditionally maintained a respectful distance. Even when the state took on a more prominent role, eventually becoming the principal funding body for the universities, governments were still reluctant to interfere in the running of individual institutions or their academic orientation. Only in the last two decades has there been a real attempt to direct the universities and bend them to centrally dictated priorities. Can it be the case, though, that the state has really played such a limited or benign role in the development of the universities in England? How far is there a new kind of relationship developing between universities and the state? When we look for literature on the history of English universities to help us address these questions there is remarkably little by way of critical discussion. There are plenty of institutional histories, but they tend to the more or less celebratory. There are very few accounts of the development of the English university sector as a whole as it took its modern form from the middle of the nineteenth century. Nor is there much close analysis of the role of the state in this development before the early twentieth century. The purpose of this study, then, is twofold. On the one hand, it seeks to offer a general survey of the development of the universities in England during a formative period, which is accessible and wide-ranging. On the other, it focuses on the role of the state in the emergence of the modern English university system, to understand the nature of the relationships put in place, against which, apparently, the state is now reneging.

Historians, universities and the state In an increasingly knowledge – and information – driven society and economy, universities have become ‘powerhouses’, supplying the motive force for a world constantly seeking new ideas.5 To meet the demands, they have evolved into ever-larger and more complex forms, in turn impinging on myriad areas of modern life. Consequently, there are innumerable issues and debates, both current and historical, revolving around the role and development of universities that could be addressed, so it is important to indicate as clearly as possible at the outset, the circumscribed range of topics that will be considered in this study and the literatures that inform it. What becomes quickly apparent when trying to situate a contribution to university history is that, although universities feature in a great many historical debates, for such important institutions there is a quite

Introduction 3 limited body of critical work that takes universities as its central focus. Having said that, there has, in fact, been a notable increase of interest in the last few years. As the centenaries of many of the major civic universities came around, several marked the event with a new or continued history of the institution.6 Similarly, with the elevation of the former polytechnics to university status, there was a spate of identifying historic lineages and noble aspirations.7 Commissioned, commemorative studies have a particular purpose to serve, especially in uncertain times when an attractive volume offers an opportunity to publicise or even reposition an institution. Thus, while maintaining as critical an edge as possible, most of these histories have had to keep an eye on celebration.8 Considerably more substantial are the multi-volume projects on the histories of Oxford and Cambridge universities that have also recently come to fruition.9 While making appropriate attempts to contextualise, all these histories are of individual universities with an understandable tendency to highlight the unique features of that particular institution. Given the complexity of the modern university, engaging with a single institution’s multifaceted role is difficult enough. Focusing on the one university, however, leaves out any sense of either commonality or comparison and gives no impression of the overall development of a university sector. Work that considers a range of institutions, then, is less common and has to be either more selective in its focus, or more general in treatment. Historians who have made this kind of analysis have concentrated on certain themes, such as the relationships of the universities to industry, to local and professional interests, or to the formation of elites.10 These studies have helped enormously to locate underlying patterns in the development of universities, although, inevitably, they tend to skew interpretations towards those specific factors. Another kind of literature that seeks to identify broad themes and trends comes from overarching sociological surveys of the modern university.11 Although often drawing on historical evidence and offering useful perspectives and insights, there is usually too little detail to allow for secure historical interpretations of the development of the sector over time. A related, but more thoroughly grounded approach has been made in the studies of the systematisation of education.12 This mode of analysis encompasses the construction of whole educational systems and comparisons between different countries, although some systematisation literature does address the issues specifically relating to higher education. In doing so, the literature emphasises the emergence of more or less organised and coherent systems of education, with concomitant differentiation and specialisation of function between the various elements. Although this approach also tends to operate at quite general levels, it is particularly useful in taking a broad view of the factors influencing the historical development of a whole system and in seeking to identify the emergence of different kinds of institution and how they relate to each other. Consequently, this book is

4

Introduction

informed and inspired by the systematisation approach in analysing the formation of a more or less coherent and differentiated university system in England. Almost as soon as one considers the English university system as a whole and the question of differentiation, one has to address issues of hierarchy, for Oxford and Cambridge have always been so clearly dominant.13 For centuries, Oxford and Cambridge were the only English universities which forged, and moreover retained, particularly close connections to national elites – especially in the established Church of England, but also to political, social and cultural elites as well. Oxbridge thus acquired a weight of tradition, authority and independent wealth which proved impossible to challenge, so, even when other universities were created, Oxbridge retained a special status. A related issue is that of academic drift, whereby new universities seem continually to lose their original and distinctive sense of mission to become merely lower grade versions of the Oxbridge ideal of the university.14 Historians have frequently debated the meanings and implications of the perpetual dominance of Oxford and Cambridge universities over all rivals, asking, for example, whether this represents the continuing hegemony of an aristocratic ideal, which carries with it profound implications for Britain’s social and cultural growth, political development and economic prosperity.15 This borders on the vast and complex debates surrounding the British decline, which have to be raised here in order that they may be bypassed. These debates are pertinent, and it would be almost impossible to escape from them entirely, but it needs to be emphasised at the outset that there is no intention of addressing the British decline as a central concern. It is too large and unwieldy an area, and to engage with it fully would swamp the rather different aims of this study. Having made this caveat, the emergence of a hierarchy in the development of the English university system and the continuing dominance of Oxbridge is a matter of central relevance to this discussion, and the particular issue to be investigated is how far the state was involved in the phenomenon. In the systematisation literature and the discussions of academic drift, there is little sense of agency, that a hierarchy might have been actively created, differentiation imposed, or academic drift promoted. Here it will be argued that these processes were positively encouraged, and that the directive principle came from central government. The role of the state with respect to universities is a matter of crucial importance, it being an essential tenet of the modern Western university that it can only function effectively under conditions of academic freedom and institutional autonomy. Universities must be free to pursue novel, uncertain and even unpopular lines of inquiry, and any external intrusion on this independence constitutes an assault on the very nature of the university. Few modern universities, however, could survive without external involvement for funds or recognition, and the state has emerged as the principal provider of both. Moreover, as already noted, universities have

Introduction 5 become such pivotal institutions of modern life that no nation can really afford not to become involved with their universities. Thus, there is a fundamental tension. While it is generally acknowledged that whoever pays the piper has some right to call the tune, if that privilege is overused the music is not worth listening to. In England, a curious situation seems to have arisen in that, while the state has become the principal source of funding for the universities, it seems to have kept a distance from individual institutions. What might be termed the received view is that there has traditionally been a ‘hands off ’ relationship in which the state respected and sought to preserve university autonomy. There are several sources for this view. Very importantly, the tenor of the relationship was set by Oxford and Cambridge, which, until well into the twentieth century had no reliance on state funding since they had their own independent finance through historic endowments.16 Thus, there was a strong sense that the state did not have a legitimate role in the direction of universities in England. Historians of Oxford and Cambridge are keen to emphasise the limited role of the state in their affairs.17 It is also the case that whereas the universities in Germany and France developed during the nineteenth century in very close connection with the state, by comparison the British government appeared to play a negligible role.18 Even when the state did begin to be more significant, it seems that it still sought to keep a respectful distance. This was exemplified in the role of the University Grants Committee (UGC), created in 1919, which, although a state agency and responsible for directing state funds to the universities, acted as a buffer between the universities and central government.19 Thus, the state had no direct power of control over what happened in the universities. The received view also emerges in the complaints that it has been lost in recent times.20 Several historians, however, have offered a corrective, arguing that the state was in fact important right from the nineteenth century, although they have not followed up the observation in much detail.21 It should also be noted that historians of the Scottish and Welsh universities are much more ready to acknowledge the role of the state in their development.22 Since the significance of the state is going to be emphasised in this book, it is worth considering for a moment just how the term ‘the state’ is going to be used and its role understood. To begin with, there is no attempt to follow or devise a particular theory of the state. Rather, the role of the state will be interpreted much more loosely to refer to the actions of central government departments and agencies. Thus the work of specific state departments such as the Treasury, the Privy Council, the Board of Education or the UGC in financing, advising, regulating or actually creating universities will be particularly important. Similarly, statesponsored inquiries such as Royal Commissions, Select Committees or Departmental Inquiries will be regarded as representing state involvement and providing indications of state attitudes and priorities. There is a

6

Introduction

danger here of reifying the state, of rendering it a black box and skating over the role of interests and individuals within the state. As far as possible, within the parameters of this study, clashes between government departments or the roles of specifically important individuals will be studied closely. Nevertheless, in considering the range of possible factors that could act on the universities, such as industry, the professions, charities or local interest groups, it still makes sense to regard the state as an identifiable one through these means. While eschewing overtly theorised conceptions, there is a useful historiographical literature on the role of the state in the studies of the Victorian revolution in government.23 This body of work studies the paradoxical growth of the state through the mid-nineteenth century as it became involved in evermore aspects of British life and exerted ever-greater influence. It is paradoxical because, apparently, central government was wedded to the principles of laissez-faire, of minimal intervention in everyday activity. There is a further level of contradiction here because it was widely felt that part of the essence of a university was that it should be free of external influence if it was to preserve its academic autonomy and thus fulfil its primary purpose. Thus, we need to account for how a state, twice committed to minimal intervention, became involved with the universities. Again, the intention is not to make this account into another case study of the growth of government. The literature and its perspectives, though, provide a useful context in which to discuss developments.

Signposting This book seeks to do two things in tandem: First of all, it offers a general survey of the development of the English universities as a sector. The starting point is set by the first Royal Commissions on Oxford and Cambridge and the beginning of a serious attempt by the state to influence the development of the English universities; the end is marked by the outbreak of the Second World War. By the late 1930s, a relationship between the universities and the state had been put in place, which remained essentially the same until the recent changes, still in train. Within that, the scale of state involvement with the universities since the war has altered dramatically, and to address these issues fully would make for a much larger undertaking. There are also histories of these developments.24 This period from c.1850 to 1939, then, has coherence in marking the emergence of the modern English university system and the establishment of a pattern of university–state relationships, on which post-war expansion built and against which more recent moves have reacted. For similar reasons, the focus is confined to England. Although many of the issues considered here were common throughout Britain, especially in the twentieth century, there were also numerous specific circumstances, which, again, to analyse properly would make for a much larger study. And, again, there are useful

Introduction 7 recent histories of the Scottish and Welsh universities.25 By contrast, there has not been an extensive account of the history of the English universities in this period, and it is hoped that this one will offer an accessible introduction for those unfamiliar with the subject. At the same time, the general survey also serves as context for the second main purpose, which is to focus on the role of the state with respect to the universities; this aspect will be dealt with in a much more detailed manner. Each chapter, then, seeks to synthesise a broad discussion of overall developments with a closer analysis of the specific role of the state. The overall approach is in the spirit of the systematisation literature, which charts the emergence of a co-ordinated and differentiated higher education system. Evidence is taken mainly from printed primary sources, together with manuscript sources from government departments and a sample of institutions. Where there are substantial secondary histories, these will be mined as well. Since a large part of the object of the exercise is to provide a general account that does not as yet exist, there will, inevitably, be some unevenness of tone. Some areas are very well served historically, and use is made of those sources where available. Other areas are substantially unresearched, so for these there is greater recourse to original material. The principal argument put forward is that the state was crucial in the development of the English universities and was actively shaping the configuration of the universities from the middle of the nineteenth century. There is no attempt to suggest that other factors were not important, or even that the state was always the overriding one. Without the activities of the state, however, the English universities would not have taken the form they did. Furthermore, many of the distinctive features of the English university system, particularly the emergence of a differential hierarchy and the continuing dominance by Oxbridge, were also built into the structure of the university system, more or less consciously, by state action. To substantiate this thesis, one cannot really begin anywhere other than with Oxford and Cambridge. They have exerted such an influence over university development in England that some account must be provided; but this is a daunting task. There is already such a large literature on the subject, massively enhanced by the recent multi-volume histories, that there is little that can be said that is startlingly new. The main objective of the opening chapter, then, is to offer a brief and accessible summary of the most salient features of the ancient universities, together with a review of the specific role of the state in their reform during the nineteenth century. After Oxbridge, the second chapter discusses the emergence of higher education in London and the creation of the University of London. The two, however, were not coextensive, which led to considerable debate about the problems of university education in the metropolis and the nature of the University of London. A large part of the analysis focuses on the repeated attempts by the state to bring about a reorganisation of the university at the end of the nineteenth century. The third

8

Introduction

chapter concentrates on the crystallisation of the provincial university colleges. With the provincial colleges came the first serious financial engagement by the state with English higher education, and the story of the parliamentary grant forms a crucial element. In the first three chapters, then, we chart the emergence of three kinds of university institution during the second half of the nineteenth century, with distinctive backgrounds, orientations, offering differing experiences and with different levels of state engagement. By the turn of the century, one might be able to identify a rough functional differentiation and incipient tripartite systematisation between them, but it is probably more apparent with hindsight. In the fourth chapter, the three parts are considered together, as there was a more concerted effort by the state to fashion an overall policy towards the universities in the early twentieth century and to establish something like a conscious university system. The First World War put paid to many of the Edwardian initiatives, but also reinforced the need to create a more co-ordinated university system. Responding to the circumstances of war, a relationship between the universities and the state was put in place, which remained in force until the last decades of the twentieth century.

1

The national universities, c.1800–1900

Universities were national institutions, the epitome of a nation’s education and culture. At the opening of the nineteenth century, Oxford and Cambridge Universities were the English universities. As the only such institutions in England, this was, of course, a truism but, over centuries of hegemony, they had acquired uniquely privileged roles in the life of the nation. From the sixteenth century, their significance rested in their connections with the national Church of England and the Protestant state, maintaining a bulwark where the tenets of Anglicanism were preserved and transmitted, ensuring that the future religious, social and political leaders of the nation could be relied upon to serve the state and defend the faith. By the early nineteenth century, however, this Reformation view of their function had fossilised, leaving the universities removed from the rapidly changing social and political make-up of the nation and the currents of modern life. Moreover, although possessed of great wealth, Oxford and Cambridge had ceased to yield much worthwhile educational return. Thus, the English universities no longer either reflected or served the nation and reformers pressed for them to embrace the new condition of England. There were many within the universities who decried the calls for reform, insisting that the essence of a university lay in its religious commitment, and that the proper role of Oxford and Cambridge was as arms of the national Church. But there were those who, while not denying the importance of the religious life of the universities, recognised that they were failing as institutions of higher learning. Vast new realms of knowledge were being pioneered through the study and harnessing of the natural world, and by the political and cultural revolutions of the eighteenth century. A new idea was taking root, particularly in Germany, that moved away from the medieval conception of the university as an institution that simply preserved and passed on received knowledge towards the university as a place where new knowledge was generated and explored. Although not entirely endorsing continental developments, reformers within Oxford and Cambridge did want the universities to pursue new areas of study and open their doors to a wider audience, more reflective of

10 The national universities, c.1800–1900 the changing composition of the population. In so doing, the old universities could reassert their traditional roles as national leaders, but now as the nationally pre-eminent centres of higher education and scholarship. Debate between rival conceptions of the national role of the universities rumbled, more or less acrimoniously, through much of the nineteenth century, ultimately drawing the state, as closely concerned with the national interest, into the deliberations. But what was the role of the state in this controversy? A paradoxical situation had emerged in the relationships between the universities and the state. Over the centuries, Oxford and Cambridge Universities had become integrated with religious, social and political elites. Yet, constitutionally, these Universities and colleges were autonomous corporations with legal privileges, and the accumulated wealth to maintain their independence. What might induce a government to interfere with what were effectively arms of its own authority? Their very intimacy with the establishment, however, meant that the universities constituted a political issue that could not easily be ignored. Similarly, their wealth and privileges, and oligopoly in the educational world, meant that they could not be regarded simply as private concerns. Thus, if it was felt that the universities were failing to fulfil their functions as national institutions, governments had a responsibility at least to encourage them to do so. Even so, state intervention sat uneasily with early nineteenth century governments, especially when dealing with institutions of such long-standing status. Eventually, it was acknowledged that the universities were not fulfilling the roles reasonably expected of them, and a series of Royal Commissions of inquiry, legislation and statutory commissioners ensued. The overall aim of state activity was to promote access and efficiency. With enormous resources at their disposal, it was incumbent on the national universities to use them appropriately and effectively on genuine academic and educational work that would, moreover, be accessible to the whole nation, not a religiously exclusive faction. Yet intervention was tentative and governments unwilling to impose sweeping changes. Building on internal pressure, state activity was primarily devoted to providing a framework within which reform could take place. Any discussion of universities in England really has to start with Oxford and Cambridge; they inevitably formed the benchmark for any question relating to university education in England, whether it was emulated or reacted against. Given the wealth of literature available on the old universities, it is worth reiterating the aim and scope of this chapter. One object is to provide a concise summary of the reform of Oxbridge through the nineteenth century, which, hopefully, may itself serve a useful purpose. The main aim is to analyse and, in the process, emphasise the role of the state in the recasting of the ancient universities. To begin with, it is important to consider the unreformed condition of Oxford and Cambridge, their organisation, work, curricula and communities. Although something of a stereotype, it nevertheless had substance, and the caricature was an

The national universities, c.1800–1900 11 important target for reformers. There were two main phases of state intervention, revolving around the Royal Commissions and legislation of the 1850s and 1870s, which will be analysed to ascertain the nature and extent of state involvement and official perceptions of the role of the universities. This will be supported by a brief consideration of state activity in the development of universities in Scotland, Ireland and Wales. State activity in England was largely designed to encourage internal reforms that would enable the universities to reclaim their place as leaders of the English educational world. Operating within a revised legislative framework, both universities made noticeable efforts to reach out to wider audiences and to focus on educational work, although retaining much of their traditional structures. By the end of the century, they had re-established themselves as the nationally pre-eminent institutions, but with reputations increasingly grounded in actual academic attainments.

Ancien régime Oxbridge Universities originated in the twelfth century as intellectual arms of the Church to preserve, deepen and transmit religious learning. The Universities and colleges of Oxford and Cambridge traced their lineages to the twelfth and thirteenth centuries respectively.1 Successive Crowns granted privileges to the universities by virtue of their high calling, and their students went on to occupy learned roles in the Church and state. Through the vast upheavals of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the universities managed to retain their privileged positions. While overturning the authority of the Church and ransacking its wealth, Tudor governments nevertheless confirmed and enhanced the rights of the universities, consolidating their role within the reformed Church and maintaining their links to the secular state. Thus, the universities remained organs of the Church, although now of the Church of England, defending the established Anglican faith, training Anglican ministers and supplying educated personnel who could be relied upon to support the Protestant state. As the religious and political crises receded, however, the universities lapsed into torpor. A university education ceased to confer significant advantages in the secular world, so few availed themselves of it. Connections with the Church remained, and the universities became, essentially, Anglican seminaries, locked in a post-Reformation assumption of importance, but without the sense of urgency. Resting on the overt and intrinsic authority that integration with the national Church afforded, and without competition from other institutions, there was little incentive to energy or innovation. Intellectually, the universities fossilised, the great ferments of the Enlightenment and technical upheavals of industrialisation largely passing them by. At the same time, the universities became increasingly wealthy. Although Henry VIII established a number of chairs, relationships between the universities and the state were through religious and political

12 The national universities, c.1800–1900 ties rather than financial dependence. The universities derived their income, partly from fees, but primarily from endowments, usually in the form of land. As the universities became more closely associated with secular elites from the sixteenth century, former students commemorated their formative experiences through endowments. Endowment income also carried a symbolic value in that, in principle, the universities were funded not by the state or private interests but by the nation at large, giving of their charity for higher purposes and, in the process, conferring independence and autonomy.2 As land values rose during the eighteenth century, so did income, yet inertia continued to channel it into established avenues. With substantial wealth, and few demands, the university societies relaxed into the languid roles of gentlemen country landowners. Such bucolic sloth, however, grated with those within the universities who valued learning and education. By the early nineteenth century, it was anathema to reformers watchful for Old Corruption, and the ancient universities, possessed of wealth and privilege yet completely out of tune with the currents of modern life, were prime targets. The rest of this section sketches a portrait of the unreformed universities, their organisation, communities and curricula, and some of the attempts at internal reform through the first half of the nineteenth century. To appreciate the nature of the old world of the universities, one must draw a distinction between the colleges and the Universities per se.3 Effectively, the Universities existed as administrative bodies, running the process of gaining a degree, while most of the educational work itself was carried out in the colleges.4 Thus, University authorities were responsible for admitting students onto the register, organising examinations and conferring degrees. There were professors employed directly by the University to give public lectures, but the primary responsibility for teaching devolved to the colleges. Increasingly lavish and independent colleges began to replace the old medieval hall during the Tudor period, taking on more elaborate functions of tuition and supervision as well as accommodation.5 With such a formative role, successful and charitable students were more likely to remember their college than the University, so the colleges became wealthy corporations in their own right, steadily superseding the bureaucratic entity of the University. With wealth went power, and representatives of the colleges came to lead the university governing bodies. By the early nineteenth century, Oxford’s ruling Hebdomadal Board and Cambridge’s Caput Senatus were both dominated by the colleges, with only minority involvement from the professors or other University officers. Consequently, university affairs were directed to college interests, and the everyday work at the universities revolved around the colleges.6 A college society was exclusively male and comprised the head, fellows and undergraduates, as well as servants, maintained partly by fees, but mainly from endowments. The fellows were a central component of the college

The national universities, c.1800–1900 13 community of scholars, paid for by endowment income specified for the purpose. They were graduates, generally appointed on examination; sometimes the examinations were open to all, but often were restricted in some way. For example, a philanthropist wishing to benefit his birthplace as well as his college might specify that only people born in his home town were eligible. A fellowship awarded by examination was intended as a reward for someone who had demonstrated academic ability, which might keep a worthy scholar from penury while he devoted himself to higher things. After several centuries, however, the income derived from an endowment might be substantial. Nor was it necessarily specified that a fellow actually spend his time on higher things. Thus, by the early nineteenth century, having secured his post, a fellow could apply himself to scholarship and teaching, establishing a career outside the university, or gentlemanly inactivity and good port. One of the few limitations was the common proviso that the fellow took Holy Orders within a certain time and remained unmarried. Since endowments made the colleges substantial landowners, they had rights of appointment to a great many livings in the Church of England, which offered an appropriate career route for their fellows. Typically, then, a fellow might retain his post for five to ten years, fulfilling what activities he wished and taking Orders. When a living became available, he would resign, get married and follow a clerical vocation. Confirmed bachelors might choose to stay and take on college functions, or accept a living and retain their fellowship, occupying one of their posts in absentia. Undergraduates formed the other main component of the college community. Apart from notable examples, such as Trinity College, Cambridge, most colleges were small and formed intimate societies of a hundred or so.7 Vestiges of earlier divisions between rich and poor students persisted; fellow-commoners could be well off with few expectations of academic diligence, and allowed to take a degree with minimal requirements. Many undergraduates did not seek degrees or contented themselves with a gentleman’s Pass degree that demanded neither intelligence nor application. A substantial number of scholarships, often with the same sort of restrictions as fellowships, enabled suitably qualified students of more limited means to attend a college. Gaining a university education, however, was expensive. University and college fees had to be found, and ambitious students often had to resort to private tutors. There were also living expenses, and wealthy students could easily lure others of modest means into extravagance and debt. Thus, affluent undergraduates could pursue a country life of sports, wining and dining with negligible study; riotous behaviour in a community of young men was a problem both for university authorities and the townspeople. A more studious day might consist of a few hours tuition in the morning, a walk in the surrounding countryside in the early afternoon, followed by dinner in college and some private study in the evening.

14 The national universities, c.1800–1900 In principle, the curriculum was based on the ideal of liberal education, derived from Renaissance humanism and leaning heavily on ancient classical texts.8 Classical learning was the hallmark of the gentleman and imparted the civility, humanity and broad views of the great civilisations. It was also deemed essential for a proper understanding of the early scriptures, particularly the Greek Testament; so, by theological sleight of hand, Anglicanism managed to incorporate pagan texts as the basis of a Christian world-view. A university course comprised a prescribed diet of subjects, which in concert moulded the religious and intellectual faculties of the mind in a complete and unified manner. At Oxford, the curriculum revolved around Literae Humaniores, or ‘greats’, a mixture of classical literature, history and philosophy. Cambridge had developed a strong emphasis on mathematics, drawing on the legacy of its most famous scholar, Newton. To gain a Bachelor’s degree, students had to reside a certain number of terms and satisfy the University examiners in an oral disputation of sometimes legendary minimalism. Both universities had a number of professors, in a variety of subjects, whose lectures were supposed to provide breadth to an undergraduate’s study, but, since the degrees only examined in classics or mathematics, and religion, there was very little incentive to attend extra-curricular lectures. Effectively, the principle of liberal education was translated into practice in the colleges through the study of set Latin and Greek texts and mathematical problems. It was also the case that classics and mathematics suited a collegebased system; there was an abundance of potential teachers and the subjects were relatively cheap to teach. Also arising from college dominance, and quite unlike most European universities, neither Oxford nor Cambridge had significant professional faculties.9 Both Universities awarded degrees in law and medicine, and graduates in those subjects could claim important privileges from the principal professional bodies.10 There was little actual professional training, though. For the most part, would-be barristers and physicians completed a normal undergraduate degree that provided the essential liberal grounding for the gentleman professional, then went to London for the more practical training, before claiming their degree from the University. Professional education in England, then, developed in London at the Inns of Court or hospitals.11 Even in theology, besides a preliminary test of the rudiments of religion, there was no systematic study.12 It was held inappropriate to subject youths to searching questions of faith. There were higher degrees in divinity, but these were honorary, obtainable by application a certain period after graduation. Oxford and Cambridge were bastions of the established Church, and a university education did not consist merely in the curriculum but rather in the whole experience of studying and maturing in an Anglican environment and ethos.13 Oxford refused to admit any student who failed to subscribe to the 39 articles of Anglican faith. Cambridge allowed non-

The national universities, c.1800–1900 15 Anglicans entry, but they were not permitted to take degrees without a satisfactory declaration of faith. Not only were the Universities and colleges Anglican, they were predominantly clerical; all the University principals and college heads were in Holy Orders, an overwhelming majority of fellows were ordained clergymen and the great majority of undergraduates went on to become clergymen.14 In the 1820s and 1830s, Oxbridge supplied over 80 per cent of Anglican clergy. The colleges furnished the environment in which tuition took place.15 Undergraduates were required to attend chapel daily and divine worship every week; clerical fellows exercised pastoral guidance and restraint. With a prescribed curriculum and uniform environment, Oxbridge university education was intended to be a total experience, and to disturb any part of it threatened to undermine the Anglican student, the Anglican Church and the Anglican state. Socially, then, the college communities formed cosy brotherhoods, in which endowed income was siphoned off into gentlemanly living for the fellows, while small numbers of undergraduates studied, or not, as they wished. Inward-looking and entrenched like-mindedness buttressed the political tenor of the universities, which operated as arms of the Church of England and defenders of established tradition. During the late eighteenth century, this position was reaffirmed as conservatives rallied to God and King against the threat of Godless, Gallic revolution.16 Although doubtless something of a caricature, this portrayal of reactionary attitudes and gentile sloth was not without substance or influence, but not everyone within the universities acquiesced in it. There were many who felt that their institutions should take education and scholarship more seriously and fulfil a much more active role in the country, commensurate with their national status. During the first half of the nineteenth century, then, internal reformers sought to revivify the educational work, launching a number of important initiatives. While genuine efforts, they were unable to silence mounting criticisms from without that Oxbridge was religiously exclusive, resistant to wider political, social and educational reform and inefficient in their use of great wealth; in short, that they were bastions of Old Corruption. Alarmed by assaults on their own position, and the Church of which they were a part, the universities and the Anglican Church moved to re-assert their traditional authority. This could take very positive forms, such as movements to extend elementary education, reform secondary education or in renewed efforts to reconnect the universities to the nation. There were also reactionary attempts to defend the educational and politico-religious status quo that undermined reforming tendencies. The most dramatic initiative from the universities, the Oxford Movement, began as a religious intellectual resurgence but ended in disaster, and its demise meant that outside intervention could not reasonably be avoided. At the turn of the century, both universities saw promising moves towards implementing serious educational work. Cambridge led the way

16 The national universities, c.1800–1900 through establishing exacting examinations in mathematics, with elaborate lists of merit for successful candidates.17 Oxford drew up an examination statute in 1800 with publicised passes and failures.18 Written examinations were a much more rigorous test than oral disputations that, together with their associated laurels, provided a goal for the serious student and a spur for the less motivated. Similarly, they offered a function for those college dons with a vocation to teach. At the same time, some colleges made more exacting requirements for admission to their fellowships.19 Thus, an avenue was opened that recognised academic endeavour, and began to revive the colleges as places of education. The reforms were well intentioned, with a notable, if modest, effect; student numbers rose and intellectual life blossomed.20 But the innovations had limitations. Mathematics so dominated the curriculum at Cambridge that when an alternative degree, concentrating more on classics, was established in 1822, it could only be taken after the candidate had first completed the course of mathematics.21 Competition for places on the merit list could be so intense that students resorted to private tutors to cram them for the examinations. Since many of the private tutors were also college tutors, making a lucrative sideincome, there were few incentives to offer better tuition within the colleges. Similarly, at Oxford, Literae Humaniores had to be completed before a student could seek distinction in mathematics.22 Thus, degrees were still only available for courses comprised mainly of mathematics or classics. By the late 1820s, any impetus towards academic reform was overshadowed by a violent political reaction against the growing clamour for much wider political and social reform that impinged both on the universities themselves and their parent Church.23 The campaign for Catholic emancipation was regarded by many within the universities as a direct assault on the status and authority of the Church of England. Worryingly, the work of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners indicated that the Anglican Church was not above investigation, even of its finances. Moves for wider electoral and political reform showed that traditional authority was no longer necessarily to be acceded to. Against the rising tide of secular reform and removal of centuries-old privilege, conservative clerics sought to defend the traditional position and rights of the established Church, and the place of the universities as redoubts in that firmament. Peel, the turncoat advocate of Catholic emancipation, was pointedly rejected as MP for Oxford and the moderate liberal revival of the early nineteenth century was dissipated in the atavistic religious reaction. Recalcitrance to social and political reform exposed the weakness of the internal liberal forces for academic modernisation. Quite how marginal the progress had been was highlighted by comparisons to the novel forms of the university emerging in Europe, especially in the German states.24 After the catastrophic defeat by Napoleon’s forces at Jena, the Prussian government sought to rebuild the nation through a revival of

The national universities, c.1800–1900 17 German culture, with a new university in Berlin as a centrepiece. The man charged with launching the University of Berlin, von Humboldt, drew on the idealist philosophy of Kant, Hegel and Fichte to establish a new kind of institution. Greater importance was attached to pure knowledge and personal development rather than professional studies for a career, which was captured in the notions of Bildung and Wissenchaft. Bildung referred to the free cultivation of the individual and the formation of the faculties of the mind; Wissenschaft was the search for new knowledge, not simply regurgitation of what was already known. Instead of digesting a prescribed diet of ancient texts in the suffocating atmosphere of an overgrown schoolhouse, German students were given the freedom to concentrate on their preferred areas and to study them wherever they wished, free from patronising supervision. Young men would emerge from the universities with rigorously trained and open minds, a morally and intellectually cultivated foundation on which the nation could be rebuilt. Professors had the equivalent freedom of teaching and researching in their specialist fields, and status gradually accrued to those with the most innovative ideas and methods of study. Startling new interpretations in linguistics, philosophy, theology and history began to shake established intellectual firmaments, while organised laboratory science probed more systematically the natural world, making astonishing discoveries. Closer to home, the Scottish universities offered another model that was also in clear contrast to Oxbridge, most notably in their greater accessibility.25 The universities of Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen and St Andrews took students direct from the parochial schools at a young age and offered a wide-ranging course with a philosophical basis. Tuition was by professorial lecture and qualification by certificate of attendance. There was some emphasis on professional subjects, and the University of Edinburgh especially had created a renowned medical school. Students were not required to live in residential colleges, but could seek accommodation to suit their pockets. Altogether, there were far fewer costs attached to a university education in Scotland than in England, and, in principle, a boy of quite modest means could acquire a sound general education preparatory to training as a minister, schoolteacher or entering a profession. Modelling themselves on Scottish and German examples, the new college in Gower Street, styling itself the ‘university of London’, and its counterpart King’s College, offered more accessible and useful forms of higher education.26 Oxbridge’s failure to engage seriously with the modern world, either academically or politically, drew the attention of radical reformers. A series of scathing attacks by William Hamilton, published in the Edinburgh Review in the early 1830s, lambasted the ancient universities.27 They were exclusive, denying civil rights to non-conformists, the reforms put in place were minimal and the vast wealth at the disposal of the Universities and colleges still yielded a minuscule educational return. Oxford and

18 The national universities, c.1800–1900 Cambridge needed to model themselves more on the German and Scottish examples. In turn, William Whewell of Trinity College, Cambridge, although not averse to moderate reform, mounted a defensive rationalisation of the place of classics and mathematics in the curriculum, insisting that they were peculiarly apt for developing the wider faculties of reason and principle required in a liberal education.28 Against such intransigence, calls were made for a Royal Commission to probe the universities, which, for the time being, was resisted.29 As Chancellor of Oxford, Wellington, tried to prod the heads of houses into moderate reform. Slightly more serious discussions took place at Cambridge, although little was actually achieved.30 Responses to criticisms, either of the Church or the universities, were not entirely negative. The Anglican Church was certainly alarmed by attacks on its position, but also tried more positively to reassert its authority and established role as guardian of the nation’s cultural, moral and spiritual welfare.31 There was a revival movement that sought to renew the fervour and seriousness of purpose within the Church, and a campaign to reach out to the wider population from which it had obviously become so distanced. Education formed a central component of this missionary movement, both to the poor, through elementary schools, and to the apparently disaffected middle classes in reformed public schools. The latter is worth considering further, for there were close relationships between the universities and the public schools, which grew more intimate through the century. Although not his alone, the reforms are particularly associated with Thomas Arnold and Rugby.32 At the beginning of the century, the major endowed schools were largely moribund, with a reputation for brutality and riotous behaviour. Arnold, besides seeking to invigorate his own school, shared the wider vision of the Anglican revival to re-moralise the expanding middle classes and bring them into connection with the established political and cultural elites. Greater religiosity, more fervent devotion to chapel, and self and peer control would curb boys’ natural barbarism and instil an ethic of Christian manliness. Brought up to the ideals of liberal education and stout Anglicanism, the rebellious middle classes would be acculturated to appropriate, and subordinate, positions of leadership. The Arnoldian type reforms mitigated the worst excesses of existing schools and encouraged more parents to believe that their sons would not only be safe but also enjoy a positively formative experience. Those who were unable to get their sons into the existing schools began to create their own versions through joint-stock ventures and, from the 1840s, an expanding sector of schools for the middle classes was established. A decent copy of the character-building ethos, through a classical curriculum, school houses, prefects and, increasingly, team games, could be put in place, which might smooth entry to the leading echelons. Although perhaps not motivated by Arnold’s fervour, his desire to see the middle classes incorporated into the elites was facilitated.

The national universities, c.1800–1900 19 There were those at the universities, too, who wanted to contribute to the Anglican revival and re-education of the nation, but who had alternative ideas of how to achieve it. More liberal reformers believed there were valuable lessons to be derived from the German conceptions of the university, especially notions of Bildung.33 With no professional faculties to speak of, Oxbridge was attuned to the German emphasis on pure knowledge, while the development of intellectual and moral stature in individual students echoed the best of the traditional ideals of liberal education and had a clear appeal to college tutors. Through a re-emphasis on tuition, the universities might also regain a political role in creating a Coleridgean-style clerisy, a cadre of highly educated elites who would provide secular intellectual leadership comparable to the spiritual leadership of the Anglican clergy.34 By contrast, the charismatic coterie of dons who launched the Oxford Movement was more concerned with reaffirming the authority of the Anglican Church. The Oxford Movement was based on a series of theological tracts, intended to provide the intellectual basis of the Anglican revival.35 Their leaders were a formidable group, concentrated around Keble, Pusey and Newman, who were missionary in their zeal to root out doctrinal laxity and to elevate the status of the Church as central to the nation and above secular intrusion. For the universities, this meant resisting all moves towards liberalisation or outside interference and asserting their essential unity with the Church. The passionate intensity of the movement was a far cry from the dilatory worldliness of ancien régime Oxbridge Anglicanism, and swept up many in both universities seeking purpose and vocation in their lives. Through the 1830s, however, the Tractarians increasingly isolated themselves, withdrawing into idealised nostalgia for a medieval golden age when they supposed the Church had been truly central to society and culture. Dangerously, some began to question the wisdom of the Reformation that had undermined the place of the Church, and, by the early 1840s, prominent figures in the Oxford Movement were crossing the line from High Anglicanism to Catholicism. The climax came in 1845, when several of the leaders, most notably Newman, formally defected to Rome, with a fallout that was as destructively vituperative as the initial engagement had been intense. The disintegration of the Oxford Movement reverberated throughout Church and state. Within the universities, many, especially in Oxford, were personally traumatised. In the meantime, efforts to advance reform had been obstructed and educational work had been drained by the energy expended on the movement and the debilitating effects of its collapse. Besides the emotional cost, it was politically disastrous for the traditionalists. Far from being defenders of the national Church, the universities had instead nurtured a worm in the bud. There was little left to protect the universities from the criticisms of their curriculum, Anglican exclusivity and financial and educational inefficiency that had

20 The national universities, c.1800–1900 been mounting from the 1830s. Reading the signs, both universities made more earnest gestures towards reform. Encouraged by its new, educationally progressive chancellor, Prince Albert, Cambridge University began a review of its statutes which proceeded with glacial rapidity.36 Oxford revised its examination statutes to establish new degree programmes, but this only served to expose the inadequate arrangements in the colleges for providing the necessary teaching.37 Radicals had called for a Royal Commission on the universities from the late 1830s, but the basis for state intervention was ambiguous. At that time, it could seem that the worst of the reactionary backlash of the late 1820s was over, and that the Anglican revival might serve as a positive impetus – as it was proving for both elementary and secondary education. Moreover, it remained the case that the universities were autonomous corporations with the wealth to sustain their independence. They were financed by a grateful nation at large, and made no demands on the state exchequer. Early Victorian governments were beginning to probe the wilder edges of social and economic life, but primarily in response to the perception of an ‘intolerable evil’ that could not be ignored.38 Religious exclusivity was becoming intolerable, but some response to the problem was made in the creation of the University of London.39 Financial and educational inefficiency were also undesirable, but not yet a sufficient cause for state intervention. They were nothing like the plight of women and children in mines and factories. In the wake of the debacle of the Oxford Movement, however, and the reluctance of the universities to address issues of exclusivity and inefficiency, calls for state intervention were renewed, supported by some within the universities.40 The pressure for some measure that would drag the universities out of the Reformation, building in parliament through the late 1840s, could not be resisted.

The first Royal Commissions In 1850, separate Royal Commissions were launched to inquire into the ‘State, Discipline, Studies and Revenues of the Universities and Colleges’ of Oxford and Cambridge.41 They were formidable inquiries in which the commissioners recognised that the universities, in failing to adapt to changing conditions, were not discharging their educational responsibilities to the nation. Furthermore, that without some kind of external impetus, necessary reform would not happen sufficiently far, or sufficiently fast. Yet the Commissions were also wary of forcing the pace of change too much and were reluctant to intervene too strongly. Both Commissions were full of friendly and supportive reformers, and the inquiries and subsequent deliberations were informed by a desire to give the universities the means and freedom to reform themselves. Even so, there was considerable reluctance at the universities to co-operate, and an absolute refusal to divulge financial information. Nor did the commissioners enforce com-

The national universities, c.1800–1900 21 pliance, and they were reduced to gleaning evidence from those who were prepared to participate and were unable to deal with the fourth part of their terms of reference at all. This section examines the Commissions’ analysis of the problems besetting the universities, which were thought to undermine their proper role in national life, and what reforms they felt were required to remedy the situation. It also considers the timidity of the proposals and the limited changes that were implemented. Confronted by a lack of evidence on revenues, the reports produced by the Commissions concentrated on the three areas of governance, discipline (which overlapped with extension), studies and tuition. The key to all three was the role of the colleges and their relationships to the Universities. To begin with, if the universities were to reform at all, they had to be given the means to do so, and this started with the governing bodies. The question of governance, however, was complicated by a legal morass stretching back to Tudor times or, via their original statutes, to the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.42 Cambridge had been extensively reviewed under Elizabeth, while Oxford had been given comprehensive new regulations by Laud in the early seventeenth century. Since then, however, many of the details had been ignored or overtaken by circumstances, but without corresponding legal revision. Indeed, it was possible that the universities had in fact been operating illegally for some time. Complicating matters further were a range of oaths that bound members of the Universities and colleges to uphold the statutes. Thus, while practice had long ceased to follow principle, the principles could not be altered to accord with the practice, even if that meant the practice was formally illegal. This did not prevent Oxford from attempting to declare its Commission illegal as undermining the statutes that it failed to follow itself.43 The Universities and colleges, then, had to have the power to revise their own statutes. If the revisions were to be at all progressive, however, the reactionary stranglehold of the college heads over the University governing bodies had to be broken, by making them more representative of, and answerable to, the wider academic communities – especially the professoriate. The question of discipline also revolved around the role of the colleges and was bound up with the issue of extension.44 It was widely held that an important factor limiting the number of students was the expense of collegiate life, which, despite the ideals of tutorial instruction and paternalism, was added to by inadequate supervision. The need to resort to private tutors if academic distinction was sought was an extra cost. Nor did tutors properly curb youthful excess and peer pressure that pushed young men further into debt. That there were few educational demands made of undergraduates, many of whom did not study for examinations and degrees, was a licence for idleness. Noticeably, the two Commissions differed in their responses to this problem. The Oxford commissioners recommended that greater opportunity for undergraduates to live in lodgings,

22 The national universities, c.1800–1900 dissociated from any college, would encourage poorer students. At Cambridge, students were already permitted to live in lodgings, and its Commission advised that these students be brought into greater association with each other, and with the colleges, to allow for closer supervision. Pervading the issues of discipline and extension was the highly contentious question of dissenters. Both Commissions noted that this matter was not part of their terms of reference, and so could not be dealt with fully or directly, yet both managed to offer their views. The Oxford Commission felt that the declaration of faith required of undergraduates excluded the conscientious, who objected on principle, yet became a perfunctory task for those who gave it little real thought, and they were as concerned about the moral debasement of the latter as with the restrictions placed on the former.45 More forthright attention was addressed to dissenters in the Cambridge report.46 Undoubtedly recalling the disturbing acrimony of the Oxford Movement, it was accepted that diverse religious observance in the close confines of an intimate college community might give rise to disciplinary problems, or compromise students’ religious observance. In a powerful statement, however, the commissioners wanted the university to keep pace with the prevailing moves towards religious civil rights. The third area of attention concerned studies, curriculum and tuition.47 It was acknowledged that both universities had made important moves, through the examination statutes at Oxford and the new degrees at Cambridge. To consolidate these developments, the Commissions recommended greater organisation through the establishment of schools or boards of studies. Four schools were suggested for Oxford, comprising theology; mental philosophy and philology; jurisprudence and history; and mathematical and physical sciences. For Cambridge, boards of theological studies, legal studies, medical studies, mathematical studies, classical studies, moral sciences and natural sciences were proposed. These would inject greater coherence and structure into the curriculum, help to organise the academic work of the universities and their professors, and also provide for a degree of specialisation for the later stages of students’ courses. It was urged that more could be done to provide preliminary education in law and medicine. Although neither town could provide the facilities for professional training, which would still have to be completed in a large city, nevertheless, there would be advantages to professionals and the universities in making the preliminary, academic studies available at the ancient centres of learning. Organising the curriculum was one thing, providing for the adequate tuition of those subjects and allowing for new areas of development was altogether more difficult. Once again, the problem returned to the colleges, for the examination curricula were driven by what the colleges could provide: primarily classics and mathematics. Even in these restricted areas, a student who sought distinction had to resort to private crammers. Oxford’s examination statute of 1850 sought to extend the subject range,

The national universities, c.1800–1900 23 but only succeeded in demonstrating that the colleges did not have the means to meet it.48 On the other hand, collegiate dominance of the curriculum had left the professoriate without a role. Since their subjects hardly featured in the examinations, there was little incentive for students to attend professorial lectures. Many of the chairs were inadequately endowed, forcing the incumbents to neglect their duties to seek additional income. Underlying all three issues of governance, discipline and extension, and tuition, then, was the relationship between the colleges and the Universities, and the need to shift the balance of power from the former to the latter. The root of the problem was the closed, seminary-like collegiate mentality. On this view, the college was an Anglican redoubt, preserving a harmonious society in which the future clergy was raised in the faith, and which saw the University as serving its requirements. The Commissions’ recommendations were designed to undermine this view. Enhancing the authority of the professoriate on the governing bodies might help to reorient the universities towards academic ends, extend the curriculum and develop new areas of work. Practical reform, however, required tackling the colleges, opening them to a larger and wider audience and gearing them more to student teaching. In this vein, it was thought that removing the restrictions on scholarships that limited them to a narrow potential clientele might encourage access. The key to college, and ultimately university, reform, however, lay in the fellowships. While there was a place for clerical fellows to exercise religious authority, fellowships had to cease being sinecures and take on defined duties of tuition or administration to revivify both collegiate teaching and, indeed, the fellowship. So, if a fellow obtained a Church living or acquired another means of maintenance he should resign, but if he committed himself to educational work there should be the possibility of carving out an academic career and even marriage.49 In addition, the colleges had to redirect some of their wealth towards the wider functions of the University. Both Commissions readily acknowledged that many colleges were already progressing along the lines they recommended, but it was clear that the potentially seismic shifts envisaged would not be welcomed wholeheartedly. At Oxford, the very legality of any outside agency inquiring into their functions had been questioned, and its Commission noted the reluctant contributions to the inquiry and refusal to divulge anything concerning revenues.50 Prince Albert had persuaded Cambridge to go along with its Commission, but there was still resistance.51 Both Commissions emphasised that their object was to improve the position and fortunes of the universities, not to undermine or destroy them. Yet neither was in any doubt of the need for some kind of external intervention if real reform was to be carried out. If nothing else, there had to be some outside involvement to try to sort out the legal morass. The Oxford report summarised the situation: ‘no doubt can exist as to the necessity of

24 The national universities, c.1800–1900 legislative interference, if the principal measures which we have recommended for the reform of the Colleges are to be carried into effect’.52 By the time the Royal Commissions submitted their reports, the government that instituted them had fallen, but its successor continued the undertaking.53 Following the Commissions’ general desire to give rein to internal impetus, there was no precipitate action but, by the end of 1853, the government decided that some indications of activity were necessary and issued letters to both chancellors laced with just a hint of warning. Her Majesty’s Government . . . have no hesitation in avowing their opinion that repeated and minute interference by Parliament in the affairs of the Universities and their Colleges would be an evil, and they are desirous to maintain the dignity of these institutions, and to secure for them the advantages of freedom of action. For these reasons, therefore, as well as on other grounds, they earnestly hope to find on the part of these bodies such mature views and such enlarged designs of improvement as may satisfy the reasonable desires of the country and, by obviating the occasion for further interference, may relieve those persons in the Universities who are charged with the weighty functions of discipline and instruction from the distraction which the prospect of such interposition must necessarily entail.54 So prompted, the universities did submit responses, but which evidently did not embody sufficiently mature views or enlarged designs,55 and the government proceeded to legislate. The Oxford University Act of 1854 and its Cambridge counterpart of 1856 embodied most of the recommendations made by the Royal Commissions.56 Under the Acts, statutory commissioners were appointed whose responsibility was to ensure that, ‘for the Advancement of Religion and Learning’, revisions to statutes and regulations were implemented. As a baseline, both governing bodies had to be reconstituted to include elected representatives of the professoriate and the wider membership of the universities beyond the heads of houses, with defined procedures for preparing and voting on statutes. Thus, Oxford’s Hebdomadal Board was replaced by the Hebdomadal Council, and Cambridge’s Caput Senatus by the Council of Senate. Provision was made for new residential arrangements outside the colleges, subject to regulation by the governing bodies. Colleges were given powers to alter their statutes, but only for a specified range of purposes, including the opening of scholarships and fellowships, the limitation of the tenure of fellowships, and to transfer funds from the colleges to the University. If satisfactory revisions were not submitted within a certain time limit, the commissioners had powers to impose their own, subject to some consultation. Despite its official absence from the Commissions, both Acts contained clauses removing part of the limitations on non-Anglicans. Henceforth, matriculants and degree candidates in arts,

The national universities, c.1800–1900 25 law, medicine or music were not required to make any kind of subscription or declaration of faith. Neither Royal Commission sought swingeing upheaval. They wanted to give the Universities and colleges the space and powers necessary to reform themselves, but recognised that this required an element of external intervention to make it possible. Thus their role was, effectively, to support the internal reformers. There was, however, a vision of the position the universities should play, and why reform was needed. In more or less its opening statement, the Oxford report detailed a list of privileges and responsibilities possessed by the university, such as its interconnections with the Church of England, the avenues for advancement opened by its degrees, its representation in Parliament, special rights of land ownership and the monopoly of its press: Such an institution cannot be regarded as a mere aggregation of private interests; it is eminently national. It would seem, therefore, to be a matter of public policy that inquiry should be made, from time to time, in order to ascertain whether the purposes of its existence are fulfilled; and that such measures should be taken as may serve to raise its efficiency to the highest point, and to disperse its benefits most widely.57 As national institutions, the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge had national responsibilities. If they did not take adequate steps to fulfil those responsibilities then the state, as representative of the nation, had a responsibility to encourage them to do so. In the wake of the legislation, there were some notable developments, particularly of the governing bodies.58 In other respects, however, there was only limited movement. Some of the restrictions on eligibility for scholarships were removed, and there was some redistribution of funds to ensure that more scholarships had a reasonable value in order to cater for less-well-off candidates. Unfortunately, opening scholarships to meritocratic competition often meant that more of them went to affluent boys who were better prepared at public school. Fellowships were also opened up, with fewer purely clerical fellows and more carrying specific educational functions. If the terms of the Acts suggested something less than optimism about the prospects of extensive and rapid reform, however, it was not misplaced. By the deadline for voluntary submission of revised statutes, only three Oxford colleges had done so.59 Lincoln College was one of the progressives, but its proposals indicate the minimal extent of change envisaged.60 Regional restrictions on the appointment of fellows were removed and fellows had to resign if they were preferred to a Church living above £300, acquired a private income above a certain level, or married. The Rector of the college and twelve of the fellows were still required to be Anglican, and all except two fellows had to take Holy

26 The national universities, c.1800–1900 Orders within two years of appointment. Fellows who had college responsibilities had to reside during term-time. These statutes were approved by the commissioners, confirming the essentially clerical, Anglican and celibate character of the college, the principal change being some opening of the fellowship. When the statutory commissioners proceeded to frame statutes for the other colleges, unsurprisingly all but one found them acceptable.61 At first the Cambridge commissioners were more optimistic, and they continued to negotiate with the colleges beyond the official deadline for the submission of revised statutes.62 Debate about the tenure of fellowships, and trying to extract funds from the colleges to support the University, however, proved intractable. The commissioners hoped to implement a system, similar to one in place at Trinity College, whereby fellowships would be of limited tenure, unless the holder performed designated college or University functions, in which case he would be allowed to retain his fellowship and even marry. Some clerical fellowships would still be tenable for life, or until preferment. The proposals were strongly resisted by other colleges. Similarly, although Trinity accepted a proposal of a 5 per cent levy on distributable income for the purposes of the University, other colleges refused to comply. Ultimately, the commissioners agreed to various arrangements regarding fellowships from different colleges. Trinity retained its system whereas St Peter’s College continued with fellowships for life and a minimum of three out of fourteen fellows in Orders. Highly significantly, the Cambridge statutory commissioners, somewhat contrary to the view of the Royal commissioners, accepted the view that colleges had the right to reserve their fellowships, although not their scholarships, to members of the Church of England, and the Anglican tenor of Cambridge colleges persisted.63 There were undoubtedly some important initiatives during the 1850s, but they soon proved to have serious limitations. The University governing bodies were democratised to an extent, and both colleges and Universities had been given powers to reform themselves, but the colleges remained the dominant parties, reluctant to engage in fundamental change. There were some curricular developments, the new degrees in natural and moral sciences, predating the Royal Commissions, continued, but the dominance of mathematics and classics remained. Candidates for the new subjects had already to have completed the Bachelor of Arts (BA), which retained its mathematical or classical bias. Inevitably, student numbers were small in the face of mastering a range of new subject matter in a year after the BA.64 At Cambridge, the commissioners managed to redistribute existing endowments to allow a rationalisation of the professors in theology and mathematics, but arrangements for the other professors remained uneven, and there was little scope for expansion.65 In the colleges, opening the fellowships to a wider candidature, and requiring some activity of them, encouraged the greater spirit of industry. Removing

The national universities, c.1800–1900 27 the geographical restrictions on scholarships, however, perversely narrowed the undergraduate clientele in other ways, although at least the products of the reformed public schools brought with them some seriousness of purpose. Abolishing tests of faith on undergraduates had potentially far-reaching implications, but, again, the prevailing Anglicanism of the colleges cannot have been conducive to dissenters. The 1850s Royal Commissions recognised that the underlying problem was the dominant power of the colleges over the University, which militated against reform on a series of fronts, including extension, discipline and studies. Subsequent legislation nudged the universities further in the direction of educational and academic modernisation, but, for the most part, aimed at providing the means by which the institutions could reform themselves. This meant that actual progress depended on the will within the universities to achieve it, but as the commissioners discovered and as we shall see more in the next section, there was still a great deal of resistance. The power of the colleges was not broken, nor did state intervention go so far as to demand it. A central factor was the failure to deal with the question of finance. It was clear from the outset that the universities were not going to discuss finance, and the Royal Commissions did not press the issue. Thus, wealth remained in the colleges, where there was little immediate incentive for innovation, and all real prospects of curricular reform were stymied. In the early 1850s, legislative intervention was generally quite tentative and it is not entirely surprising that probing such monuments of religious and cultural authority was limited and tame.66 The minimal extent of the progress that was made, however, meant that these Royal Commissions were just the first stage of state investigation.

The second phase of reform During the mid-Victorian period there were several interweaving threads of reform and reaction, both within and enveloping the universities. The 1850s initiatives had some impact, especially in fostering the emergence of an important new constituency: the professional college tutor. Although teaching undergraduates was taken more seriously, wider debates about the nature of the university were becoming more prominent, notably the place of research and its relationships to teaching and examination. Reforming parties, however, still had to struggle to make headway against traditionalists, who clung to the ideal of the university as an Anglican redoubt against what they perceived as attacks from the forces of secularism. Meanwhile, higher education generally was beginning to acquire more prominence, but it was no longer confined solely to Oxford and Cambridge. State intervention throughout national life was also snowballing, including a sustained effort to rationalise the finance and organisation of elite schooling. These threads will be pursued across other sections of this and subsequent chapters. Here, the focus will be on the continuing

28 The national universities, c.1800–1900 debate within the old universities and the growing realisation that further state involvement was required before adequate reform could be achieved. A new Act to remove the remaining religious restrictions was passed in 1871 and a further Royal Commission established, largely to try to complete the process started twenty years previously. As a belated acknowledgement of the need for reform, new subjects and degrees had been introduced into both universities in the early 1850s, but their impact was minimal because students were still required to complete the existing, predominantly classical or mathematical, degree before taking up the new areas. Traditionalists maintained that specialisation undermined the essential unity of mind and character-forming university education and, through the elision from liberal education to Anglicanism, threatened the Christian basis of the universities. Outside Anglican Oxbridge, however, the realm of learning was undergoing unprecedented expansion.67 Knowledge of the natural world was growing exponentially from the production line research laboratories. Systematic study in history, linguistics or of philosophical and theological texts revealed startling new interpretations of received wisdom. The clerical view held sway for another decade, when the Cambridge natural and moral sciences triposes finally became independent degree routes, although with the retention of some classical learning in the early stages.68 Against substantial opposition from the clerical parties, qualifying in Literae Humaniores was removed as a preliminary to other Oxford degrees in 1864.69 Pressure for educational reform was growing from a significant new constituency: the college tutors.70 The emergence of the college tutor as a distinctive role had begun with the early nineteenth-century reforms surrounding examinations, but was encouraged by the Royal Commissions. Emphasising the educational responsibilities of college staff, and revising the terms of some of the fellowships, raised the profile of the tutors. Revisions that allowed marriage at some of the colleges made it possible to make tutoring a life career. There was positive reinforcement with the influx of earnest young men finished in the Arnoldian public schools. Undergraduates infused with the ideal of Christian manliness wanted purposeful and engaging tuition while, in a virtuous circle, the role of tutor acquired a more clearly defined sense of vocation. Thus, combining pastoral supervision of students with serious devotion to educational endeavour, tutoring increasingly offered an honourable calling. At a professional level, the position still had to be distanced from rote cramming, and prospects for advancement secured, so college tutors formed associations to further their interests. In so doing, they made an influential party for educational innovation, such as pressing for curricular specialisation. They were also an important agency of secularisation for, while still often clergymen, they gradually identified themselves primarily as educators. The social and academic mission of college tutors was to teach, and their enthusiasm helped substantially to re-emphasise the educational

The national universities, c.1800–1900 29 function of the colleges. Through the 1860s, however, an alternative conception of the role of the academic, and function of a university, was articulated by those who wanted to encourage the development of research.71 Discovering new knowledge, as opposed to simply transmitting what was already known, had been a fundamental reorientation in the emergence of the modern German university. An emphasis on research was particularly important for newly professionalising scientists. One of the most vocal campaigners, however, was Mark Pattison of Lincoln College, Oxford, partly inspired by his investigations of the German system.72 Initially, Pattison was more concerned with expansion of the curriculum and supported the scientists in calling for greater state encouragement of science; he later came to deplore the narrow emphasis on teaching at the universities. Colleges, he complained, resembled overgrown schools, when the real purpose of a university was to advance new knowledge. Such views were highly tactless in a collegiate system where reformers were still trying to get teaching taken seriously. The question of research and its place in the university, however, was not going to disappear. Even in Oxbridge, while college tutors did not want teaching to be denigrated, they too came to see research as a means of preserving something of the gentlemanly independence that had upheld the status of the unreformed fellows. The possibility of contributing to knowledge also held the appeal of distancing the role of the college tutor from the routine drudgery of cramming dullard undergraduates for examinations. Dissenting undergraduates, curricular specialisation and fragmentation, research that challenged received wisdom and the apparently associated slide into secularism were anathema to the clerical parties who still conceived of the universities as bastions of Anglicanism.73 Threats to the traditional authority of the Church, however, were multiplying. Darwin’s vociferous supporters re-ignited the debates between science and religion on the place of both God and man in nature.74 Perhaps more distressing was the volume of Essays and Reviews that was written primarily by Oxford clergymen clustered around the prominent liberal reformer Benjamin Jowett. The essays advocated stripping away the baroque encrustations of Anglicanism and adopting a fresh and challenging approach to the scriptures.75 Essays and Reviews provoked a reactionary backlash, led by the Oxford Regius Professor of Hebrew, Edmund Pusey, to resist reform. Curricular specialisation was opposed; breaking the unity of classical liberal education divorced moral sense from university learning. Although reforms were obstructed, it was the last stand of a declining force; the pressure of the expansion of knowledge was too great. Even more contentious was the highly political issue of revisiting tests of faith. Under the 1854 and 1856 Acts, matriculants and candidates for degrees, apart from divinity, were not required to make any kind of subscription or declaration of faith, thus, in principle, opening the universities to non-Anglican undergraduates. The statutory commissioners, however,

30 The national universities, c.1800–1900 allowed colleges to keep many of their benefits, including fellowships, exclusively for members of the Church of England, so maintaining the colleges as primarily Anglican institutions. Higher degrees were also restricted to Anglicans, which meant that the governing bodies too remained exclusively Anglican.76 For the clerical parties, admitting dissenters to the upper reaches of the universities would be a Trojan horse in the fortress of Anglicanism. The universities, they maintained, are seminaries of the Church of England, and owe their greatness chiefly to their connexion with the Church; and that the Church could not safely entrust her future Clergy to persons who had given no security for their soundness in the faith.77 If the universities gave way to outside pressures, then who would maintain the lights of English religion? Religious exclusivity had been a serious matter of civil rights in the 1820s, and by the 1860s continuing religious restrictions were even more unacceptable. Moreover, if the universities were to become properly national institutions and overcome the cultural divides in the nation, opening them fully to a diversity of religious views was imperative. From the mid-1860s it was clear that the opportunity for substantive internal reform had not been seized and that further external involvement would be required before any real progress took place. A number of Bills were introduced to remove remaining religious tests and to open the universities to a wider audience, but were resisted.78 After the 1868 election, however, the contrast between the more openly democratic nature of the electorate and the persistently inward-looking closeness of the universities meant that intervention could not be denied. An attempt was made to obstruct action by diverting the question to a Select Committee, but The Universities Tests Act was passed in 1871.79 The preamble to the Act argued that the benefits of the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge and Durham ‘should be rendered freely accessible to the nation’.80 All tests of faith, except for degrees in Divinity, were removed, although safeguards to ensure proper means of religious instruction and discipline were also included. Addressing the question of access to the universities refocused attention on what exactly students would gain access to, and highlighted the limited educational reform actually achieved since the first Royal Commissions twenty years previously. Pattison provided a perception of the distance yet to be travelled before the universities were fully devoted to teaching and learning.81 Although the dominance of the traditional subjects had been broken, there was minimal provision in new areas and little prospects for future development that could encompass the everexpanding realms of knowledge. The natural sciences were particularly problematic. It was apparent that for proper tuition in science laboratory

The national universities, c.1800–1900 31 instruction was essential, but creating laboratories and multiplying staff was expensive. Besides provision for students, was the question of what facilities should be devoted to original research. Yet the Universities did not have the resources to fund expansion. Colleges had resources, but with so few students per college taking the new areas there seemed little point investing in expensive laboratories. The outstanding problem of the relationships between the colleges and the Universities needed to be revisited. The desirability of a thorough inquiry into the revenues and property of the universities was raised during discussions surrounding the Tests Act.82 This was, of course, the principal area where the colleges had refused to co-operate with the 1850 Royal Commissions, but the situation was now very different. State intervention in national life had grown apace in the last twenty years.83 A series of Royal Commissions, Select Committees, and Departmental Inquiries gathered information on a spectrum of issues that formed the basis of legislative frameworks, leading to inspection to ensure it was effective and thence to further refinements of control. Particularly pertinent here were the investigations, and subsequent reorganisation, of elite schooling. Schools for the middle classes had multiplied and expanded through the first half of the nineteenth century, but the sector as a whole was very diverse. Some enjoyed vast wealth from ancient endowments, while others struggled to survive on inadequate finance. At the upper end, the criticisms levelled at Oxbridge colleges – that at best they were using endowments inefficiently and at worst abusing them – applied equally to many schools.84 When evidence of apparent abuses at the wealthiest school, Eton, accumulated through mid-century, a Royal Commission was set in train to probe it and its closest peers. Nine schools were investigated by the Clarendon Commission and were legislated for in 1868, effectively confirming their position as the premier public schools. In its wake, a vast survey of the rest of the endowed schools was undertaken by the Schools Inquiry Commission.85 One of its principal recommendations was that existing endowments be pooled to re-establish a smaller number of properly endowed schools. It had ambitious schemes of a nationally graded system that would cater for different levels of society, but which would encompass all middle-class education. Although the larger visions were never put into practice, the series of inquiries of the 1860s moved substantially towards the organisation, proper foundation and efficiency of schools for the middle classes. This series of state intervention was much more assertive, most notably in overturning ancient endowments (in fact strictly illegal) and long-standing institutions to ensure a properly funded and rationalised system of schools. There were clear implications for the universities. Governments were not as tentative about treading on financial toes or rescinding ancient rights if the result was seen to be ultimately in the national interest. Thus, when a choice was put to the vice-chancellors of either a Royal Commission simply to gather information, and not to make judgements, or

32 The national universities, c.1800–1900 a Statutory one that might impose binding legislation, they agreed to cooperate with the former.86 All parties hoped to gain from the investigation and seemed to welcome the possibility of reaching a settlement that might bring decades of internecine wrangling to a close. This time, the inquiry was conducted in writing. A series of prepared forms of return with exhaustive lists of questions was prepared, which the various bodies were to complete ‘in order that the information might be given on a uniform system and presented in a systematic and intelligible shape’.87 Abstracts were compiled for each constituent institution under the headings of ‘property’, ‘income’ and ‘expenditure’. It did not prove as easy as hoped to tabulate comparable statements: endowments and trusts frequently had complex regulations attached to them, and had been acquired over such a length of time that there were problems even in understanding the arcane terminology. Nevertheless, the returns were brought to order and some clear issues arose.88 Above all was confirmation of the key financial disparity between the colleges and the Universities. The corporate income of the University of Oxford stood at some £32,151 and that of Cambridge £23,642, while the colleges of Oxford enjoyed a corporate income of £330,836 and of Cambridge £278,970. Of that, £101,171 of the Oxford colleges’ income went on fellowships, and at Cambridge £102,976. A further telling comparison was between the payments made to the University professorships out of college income, which amounted to £6,694 at Oxford and £1,011 at Cambridge, and the sums spent to augment benefices in the gift of the colleges, of £8,772 at Oxford and £5,253 at Cambridge. A variety of other financial anomalies were also brought to light. The colleges remained very substantial landowners, but most retained the oldfashioned system of letting on beneficial leases, which yielded erratic and uncertain income. Legislation had allowed the Universities and colleges to move to a more usual rack-renting arrangement, but there had been only limited progress in this direction. Similarly, trust funds, another important source of income, often presented no full balance sheets or evidence of professional auditing. On one point, the colleges were still obdurate, continuing to regard fees as a confidential matter between student and teacher. For the most part, however, the extent of co-operation was in marked contrast to the earlier Commissions. Memorials were forwarded to the commissioners by various colleges outlining some of their proposals for reform. Trinity and Jesus colleges submitted a series of draft resolutions to restrict the tenure of fellowships unless the incumbents were fulfilling a genuine function of education or learning, in which case there had to be some possibility for the fellow to develop a professional career.89 Similarly, New College, Oxford, forwarded a set of resolutions geared to reapportioning its corporate income and altering the tenure of its fellowships, the better to contribute to college and university teaching, extension work and the encouragement of education and mature learning.90 During the mid-1870s, further

The national universities, c.1800–1900 33 inquiries yielded systematic information on the number, nature, duties and workload of the professors in each university.91 At Cambridge, a syndicate was appointed to consider in detail the requirements of the different departments of study.92 For its part, the Commission abided by the strictly investigative nature of their brief, although it could not resist making one observation: ‘There is one point brought out prominently in the result of this inquiry, the great disparity between the property and income of the several Colleges and the numbers of the members.’93 The resources available had to be mobilised much more effectively; specifically the funds devoted to fellowships had to be reallocated to wider University purposes. In many respects, The Universities of Oxford and Cambridge Act, 1877, reprised the sections of the 1854 and 1856 Acts regarding the transfer of funds from the colleges to the Universities but, in specifying how this could happen, a great deal more force was put behind them. Once more, statutory commissioners were appointed, with a focus on three main areas.94 First, to advance learning in the university by enabling or requiring the colleges to contribute to University purposes, thus creating a common University Fund supervised by the University; second, to allow the colleges to revise their statutes, particularly for the purpose of altering the terms of fellowships; third, revisions could be made to statutes to connect college and University functions. Thus, the principal aim of the Royal Commission was to finish what was begun in the 1850s: to redistribute wealth and power from the colleges to the Universities, thus ensuring that the enormous resources put at the disposal of the universities by the nation at large were devoted effectively to national educational ends. This time, the colleges seemed more willing to co-operate, perhaps because the state was more determined that the necessary reforms would be put in place.

Celtic comparisons. Nations, states and universities in Scotland, Ireland and Wales Oxford and Cambridge monopolised university education in England at the start of the nineteenth century, but they were not the only universities in the kingdom, nor did they hold the undisputed premier position. Scotland had four universities of not much less longevity and considerably greater academic prestige. This study is consciously confined to England but, to appreciate the role of the state and its connections to the national universities, it is worth making a brief excursion to the other home nations. The Scottish universities had a long and distinguished national tradition with close relationships to the state, quite different to those that had emerged in England. With the Act of Union, the British government inherited responsibilities towards the Scottish universities. Thus, when reformers pressed for change during the nineteenth century, it was incumbent upon the government to seek ways forward. Unsurprisingly, higher

34 The national universities, c.1800–1900 education in Ireland was bedevilled by sectarianism, which continually undermined state attempts to try to create a nationally encompassing university. By contrast, the movement for a university for Wales was a grassroots campaign, which managed to persuade the government to support a Welsh national institution. From the sixteenth century, a tradition of Scottish education had emerged with close connections between the schools, universities, Church and state.95 Schools were established in every parish and, from the parochial school, boys could go to the universities to return as clergy or teachers. Clergymen, teachers and professors were all public servants, paid by the state in an open and democratic system. The universities in Edinburgh, Glasgow, St Andrews and Aberdeen accepted students at an early age and provided a four-year general arts course of classics, mathematics and philosophy, which could serve as preparation for clerical training. Tuition was primarily by professorial lecture and qualification by certificates of attendance. There were no entrance or residential requirements and, since the university course led to relatively humble callings, no great dominance by wealthy elites. Thus, in principle, a comparatively poor boy could obtain one of many bursaries to take him from the parish school to the university where he could live frugally, attend lectures and prepare himself for a respectable and learned occupation. Whatever the myths or realities of the so-called ‘lad o’ pairts’, quite unlike their English counterparts, the Scottish universities were notably accessible and geared towards serious education. During the eighteenth century, Edinburgh and Glasgow Universities, supported by local and central governments, added highly progressive medical schools, which achieved considerable eminence. The Scottish universities also basked in the intellectual afterglow of leading Enlightenment thinkers. Through the nineteenth century, the traditional Scottish pattern began to be squeezed by developments in secondary education and continuing reforms of the English universities. The parochial school system operated well enough in rural locations, but in the expanding urban areas middleclass secondary schools increasingly interposed between the primary schools and the universities. Copying the English public school model, Scottish secondary schools selected pupils more carefully, took them to a later age and prepared them to a higher level, partly to allow them to compete with the English school products in civil service and professional examinations. This had a knock-on effect for the universities, which, at their lower levels, were not unlike secondary schools. Reformers wanted to enhance the academic level and introduce greater specialisation into the general arts course leading to definite degrees, both of which could be facilitated by an entrance examination. Meanwhile, as the English universities reformed and multiplied, there was not so much incentive for dissenters or those seeking an effective medical training to go to Scotland. By tradition and, since the Act of Union, legal requirement, the Scottish uni-

The national universities, c.1800–1900 35 versities looked to the state, so it was to Westminster that reformers turned to bring about modernisation. As concern about the nature and direction of Scottish university education ebbed and flowed, a series of state inquiries were prompted, revolving around the same issues of raising the academic level and introducing greater breadth and specialisation into the curriculum. While modernisers pressed for change, opponents felt that reform meant Anglicisation and a loss of valuable distinctiveness. A Royal Commission was prompted in 1826 by continuing disputes in Edinburgh between the university and the town council, but its general recommendations were deemed too drastic and were not implemented. A more cautious body of executive commissioners created under an Act in 1858 introduced a measure of specialisation and new three-year degree courses alongside the four-year arts course. Another Royal Commission in 1878 to review the curriculum was again felt to be urging too rapid change. By the mid-1880s, there was greater consensus on breadth and specialisation, and a new set of executive commissioners was established. Perhaps tiring of the continual controversy, the commissioners suggested making an annual grant to the universities of £40,000, or a lump sum of thirty-three and a third times this figure, as a final settlement of state obligations. This, however, implied disestablishment, which the universities were not prepared to contemplate. Ultimately, an annual grant of £42,000 was made in return for the removal of certain residual undertakings by the state, such as pensions and maintenance of buildings.96 This sum was soon raised by a further £30,000. By the end of the century, an entrance examination was finally introduced, the curriculum was broadened with greater choice, and new honours degrees were created. Altogether, state involvement with the Scottish universities during the nineteenth century was repeated and detailed, but that was part of the state’s responsibilities in the Scottish tradition. Paradoxically, the ultimate effect was to significantly undermine several of its distinctive features. The legacy of the incorporation of Ireland into the union was much less happy. At the start of the nineteenth century there was one university, in Dublin, of which Trinity was the sole college.97 Trinity College, however, catered exclusively for Episcopalians, leaving the Catholic majority unserved. Successive governments launched several initiatives to try to provide university education for the majority, generally too poor to supply it for itself, but continually foundered on sectarian divides. State endeavours tried to create embracing institutions that could overcome religious divisions and appeal equally to Catholics and Protestants. For the Catholic hierarchy, however, education had to be suffused with a religious tenor, so non-sectarian education was automatically rejected. During the troubled 1840s, Robert Peel made a placatory attempt to open up higher education.98 In 1845, three new Queen’s colleges were established in Belfast, Cork and Galway.99 They were non-denominational, with identical

36 The national universities, c.1800–1900 constitutions and significant state funding; £100,000 was provided for land and buildings: £12,000 for libraries, and an annual grant to each college of £7,000. At the same time, two other institutions were re-launched. St Patrick’s College Maynooth, which trained for the priesthood, had received a state grant, first from the Irish Parliament then from Westminster, from the late eighteenth century. In 1845, St Patrick’s was incorporated with an extra £30,000 for buildings and its annual grant raised to over £26,000. Meanwhile, a Museum of Irish Industry was opened in Dublin in the same year to promote technical education. Queen’s College, Belfast thrived, but the gesture fell on stony ground in Cork and Galway. Although they were intended to cater primarily for Catholics, they were denounced by Rome as grave and intrinsic dangers to the faith. In opposition, the Roman Catholic bishops founded a Catholic University of Ireland with a college in Dublin and a school of medicine. Despite attracting the converted Henry Newman to be its principal, without funds or endowment the Catholic University did not succeed, although it continued as a loose federation of colleges. Renewed pressure for a university that would better meet Catholic aspirations mounted during the 1870s.100 The, perhaps not entirely welcome, result was the Royal University established by an Act of 1879.101 As a direct imitation of the University of London, the Royal University was an examining institution that required no attendance, except for medicine. It had a carefully selected governing senate with equal numbers of Protestants and Catholics, but no religious tests for the students. There was a complex scheme of fellowships whereby twenty-nine fellows, distributed across five institutions, were paid £400 per annum to serve as a board of examiners and provide teaching. It may have seemed like a good idea at the time. An examining university imposed no requirements on the teaching or the environment in which it took place. Thus, the various institutions could have developed their own educational cultures, with the Royal University simply acting as a validating body, maintaining the standards of the examinations and degrees, with no hint of sectarian bias. Even at its foundation, however, arguments against examining universities were being voiced in London, and the educational problems associated with simply examining were quickly applied to the Royal University.102 Educationalists were also concerned at the continuing religious nature of the institution. Equal numbers of Protestants and Catholics on the governing body were, indeed, equitable, but still meant appointment on religious rather than educational criteria. Moreover, there was still nothing like a Catholic University, while many Protestants were worried at the preponderance of fellowships at University College, Dublin. Trinity College was generally resented. In the 1890s, Irish MPs blocked legislation on the University of London, arguing that the situation in Ireland was in more urgent need of attention.103 To appease them, and secure safe passage for his London Bill, R. B. Haldane offered to investigate the matter.104 Ever ready to make prac-

The national universities, c.1800–1900 37 tical proposals on the basis of sound principle, Haldane recognised that the only way to assuage concerns was in fact to accede to sectarian divisions. He proposed that the Royal University be replaced with two new ones – one in Belfast, catering mainly for Protestants, and one based in Dublin, mainly for Catholics.105 He also envisaged each university having, like London, an external side, which would open them beyond their local audiences. On a tour of Ireland to sell his scheme, Haldane claimed to find substantial support from both the Catholic bishops and the Presbyterian Assembly.106 So long as each university was treated equally then each side was prepared to try to make the proposals work. In the short term, Haldane’s practical and, in its way, principled sectarianism was rejected, although it ultimately provided the basis of university organisation in Ireland under the Act of 1908.107 The attempts in the 1840s and 1870s to establish a single and unifying national organisation for higher education in Ireland were probably doomed; there simply was not the united national support. Unhappily, Haldane’s divisive plan reflected more closely the national cultural realities. While the several and expensive attempts to find a workable university institution in Ireland were more or less rejected, campaigners in Wales wished that some of the state’s educational generosity would come their way. There was St David’s College in Lampeter, founded in the 1820s, but this was an Anglican venture intended to cater for those too poor to go to Oxford or Cambridge.108 St David’s retained close connections with Oxbridge and won the right to award Bachelor of Divinity (BD) degrees in 1852 and BAs in 1865. Consequently, it offered little to the largely nonconformist population. A more nationalist movement for a university of Wales, spurred by the example of the Queen’s colleges, began in 1854, but made little headway until the early 1860s when it was revived by more energetic campaigning. It took ten years to raise enough to open a non-sectarian college in Aberystwyth, hopefully located as central to all Wales. The deeprooted support for the project was evidenced by some £50,000 being raised from over 100,000 contributors, but was not enough to make a thriving college. It was recognised from the start that state funding was likely to be necessary. An appeal for a grant was rejected in 1877, but supporters managed to elicit a Select Committee, chaired by Lord Aberdare, to inquire into the condition of intermediate and higher education in Wales in 1880. The resulting report applauded the effort exerted to create the college at Aberystwyth, but was critical of what had actually been achieved.109 Numbers were small, finance precarious and standards depressed. Many students were inadequately prepared, especially in the sciences, often having only an elementary education, or having studied privately while working. Secondary school heads were scathing, claiming that they offered an equivalent level of education and that they prepared for the proper universities in England, not narrow and provincial local institutions. The committee was not persuaded that higher education in Wales was a lost cause

38 The national universities, c.1800–1900 but that it needed to be modelled more closely on the new English provincial colleges. First, it was necessary to develop intermediate education more widely and not to attempt too much at a higher level too quickly. Several colleges across Wales, however, with modern and practical curricula connecting to local industry and support, and with managements representative of educational and nationalist causes, could find a role. It was suggested that a new college be founded in South Wales and that Aberystwyth become the college for North Wales, perhaps moving to somewhat more accessible Bangor or Caernarfon. There was also a case for a university in Wales, and since St David’s already awarded degrees there was a precedent. Nothing, however, could be properly achieved without state funding. In the wake of the Aberdare report, events that transformed the position of higher education in Wales moved quickly.110 Aberystwyth got a government grant in 1882, and a University College was established in Cardiff with an annual Treasury grant of £4,000 the following year. A year after that, another college for North Wales was opened in Bangor. Initially, the Treasury transferred Aberystwyth’s grant to Bangor but, after a wave of sympathy and material support flowed towards Aberystwyth following a fire, the college was rescued and a third grant of £4,000 was approved. The three colleges settled to arts and science work, preparing higher-level students for University of London examinations. Local authorities were supportive, although Cardiff received little help from industrialists. Bangor and Aberystwyth developed work in agriculture. The Welsh Intermediate Education Act of 1889 improved secondary level education and, with the prospect of a larger and better-prepared clientele, helped to underpin discussions about a charter. A University of Wales was created in 1893 as a federal teaching university, requiring attendance at courses of study, but which could be pursued at any of the three constituent colleges. Government activity on behalf of the Celtic universities offers a useful insight into the state’s perception of the role of the university in the nineteenth century, and its own responsibilities towards them. In Scotland, the state had clear legal responsibilities to maintain the universities in their place in the Scottish educational and cultural system. The state tried to create a single, unifying national university structure in Ireland but there was no unifying national sentiment to sustain it. Welsh nationalists strove heroically to create a university that would reflect their sense of cultural identity. In all three cases, the government recognised the importance of the university as a national cultural institution, the apex and co-ordinating principle of the educational system and preserver of distinctive cultural values. As ultimately responsible for maintaining national interests, the state was ready to play an active part in sustaining national monuments. Moreover, in the absence of historic endowments and substantial indigenous wealth, it fell to the state to provide the funding necessary to realise

The national universities, c.1800–1900 39 national university institutions. It is telling that the Welsh campaigners managed to convince the government that Welsh culture and identity was sufficiently distinctive to merit such a national monument as a university. As we shall see in a later chapter, it was also noticeable that when the state made grants to the English provincial colleges on which the Welsh ones were modelled, they were of a much lower value than to the Welsh national institutions. The situation was not quite the same for the English national universities. There were no clear legal obligations, as in Scotland, and Oxbridge had no need of state funding. Nevertheless, there are important comparisons: as the state sought a university solution in Ireland that would cater for religious and cultural difference, so it ensured that Oxbridge was opened to the religious and cultural diversity of the nation and served it more efficiently.

Reaching out State intervention in England was geared towards giving the universities the means by which they could reform themselves, complementing the pressure from campaigners within the universities and providing a framework in which they could operate. Throughout the second half of the nineteenth century, reformers explored new ideas of how they could fulfil their national academic functions in a rapidly changing environment. Internally, college tutors redefined the nature of university tuition, while others explored the place of research in the university. As Oxbridge began to bring a more diverse clientele within its walls, a corresponding vision saw the university reaching out to take higher education to the nation, thus serving more concretely as the co-ordinating principle of the national educational system. Several ventures sought to extend the scope of the universities, partly through a sense of mission but also with an awareness of self-preservation. Setting and organising examinations for middle-class schools, providing lectures and classes in other towns, opening some opportunities for higher education to women, and establishing university settlement houses drew on different, but overlapping, currents. Altogether, they helped the ancient universities realise a different conception of a national institution. Arranging examinations for school pupils was a not unnatural initiative. Connections between the principal old-established schools and the universities were close; indeed, an endowment might contribute to the upkeep of both a school and a college, or might provide a college scholarship for a pupil of a particular school. As noted, schooling for the middle classes expanded enormously through the mid-nineteenth century, through the growth of existing schools and the foundation of new ones. The newer schools could not claim the same kind of privileged connections to the universities that the established ones could, but they still sought to offer a liberal education to a level appropriate for entry to university and looked

40 The national universities, c.1800–1900 to the universities as a natural progression for their ablest pupils. Nor did the universities fail to appreciate the significance of this much-enlarged constituency. The universities could provide a way of ensuring standards for the schools, while bringing them into closer relationships with the wider educational world, thereby fulfilling a desire of the Royal Commissions that they should play a more active national role: The universities should be made to feel that they have an interest in the education of all England, and all England should be made to feel that they have an interest in the prosperity and excellency of the universities.111 An obvious vehicle for ensuring standards was through organising examinations. The universities had been pioneers of written examinations, and their value as impartial and rigorous tests of ability and attainment had commended them to the increasingly meritocratic Victorian society.112 Both universities launched schemes of local examinations for middle-class schools in 1858. Those schools that claimed a long-standing connection with the universities held aloof, but elsewhere there was much interest. The number of candidates grew quickly, primarily for the Cambridge examinations – but Oxford caught up at the end of the century. Cambridge also pioneered a system of inspecting whole schools rather than individual examination candidates. Again, old schools initially clung to ancient ties but, by the late 1860s, some of the headmasters asked the universities for a more formal relationship, and the joint Oxford and Cambridge Schools Examination Board was created in 1873.113 Another initiative, considered further below, was the Cambridge Higher Local examination for girls over eighteen, which helped fuel higher education for women. Organising examinations grew out of established associations between the universities and schools, and helped to formalise the relationships between them. A more innovative venture was the move to extend university-type teaching outside the institutional walls. University extension lectures began as an offshoot of examinations.114 When Cambridge agreed to set a Higher Local examination for young women, Anne Clough of the North of England Council for the Promotion of Higher Education of Women asked for a lecturer who could help prepare candidates. James Stuart filled the post, giving a series of lectures in several northern towns from 1867. By 1873, he persuaded the University to accept some official responsibility for a system of travelling lecturers. Stuart had studied at St Andrews and felt the lack of Scottish-style professorial lectures at Cambridge, and the more limited access to university in England compared to Scotland. Extension lectures were not designed solely for women, although they constituted a major proportion of the audiences; men who were unable through lack of time or resources to go to the universities also participated. Stuart quickly settled on a system of twelve-week courses of

The national universities, c.1800–1900 41 lectures with a printed syllabus, followed up by discussion classes and question papers for those who wanted to go into the topic more deeply. Oxford University was, typically, more tentative about such innovations as school examinations, extension or, as we shall see, higher education for women. Most of the impetus to reach out came from the colleges, particularly Balliol College, where the charismatic and energetic Benjamin Jowett held sway.115 Jowett had advocated liberal reform from the 1830s, and supported moves for a commission of inquiry in the 1840s. He was interested in the new German universities and the idealist philosophy underlying them, but was more influenced by a broadly Anglican revival sense of the universities playing a wider and more active role in the intellectual and cultural life of the nation. Privately, Jowett began to steer promising young men into the civil service, particularly the Education Department, where they might impart an Oxbridge ethos to the whole educational system.116 In the 1850s, his opinion was solicited by the Northcote– Trevelyan Commission on admission to the civil service. Jowett urged that Oxbridge types were best suited to the civil service and that the proposed examinations be tailored accordingly.117 His views echoed those of J. S. Mill, who also argued that the state should actively seek to recruit Oxbridge products.118 It was spectacularly ambitious to associate university reform with reform of the state itself, insinuating an Oxbridge ethos into the core of state activity. After becoming Master of Balliol College, Jowett was able to generate enthusiasm for extension and to offer material support to a number of schemes. Of far-reaching implications was his patronage of Balliol protégé, T. H. Green, who, from the 1870s, laid a systematic philosophical basis for university outreach and educational development.119 Although much more secular, Green’s ideas continued to inspire a cohort of Oxford graduates with a social ethos who went on to work in education, community work and politics, ultimately helping to shape the nature of English university education. Green drew on Hegelian idealism, which supposed that there was an ultimate reality underlying the everyday phenomenal world. On Green’s formulation, reality is a product of an eternal consciousness, and human consciousness is itself a reproduction or realisation of the eternal. In seeking beyond the immediate phenomenal world, towards that which is ultimate and eternal, people realise the eternal consciousness in the everyday. Individually, this can be achieved through an educative process of self-awareness and spiritual perfection. Self-realisation, however, can only fully take place in a community and in accordance to the eternal principle of promoting the common good. Thus, personal spiritual growth could be achieved through practical work for the common good, which would in turn realise more fully the underlying eternal consciousness in the everyday world. With their combination of practical activity and high ideals, these ideas inspired a variety of university types. For earnest public schoolboys infused with Christian manliness, they offered a sense of

42 The national universities, c.1800–1900 purpose and value; so too for their college tutors pursuing a vocation of teaching and personal tutorship. To those facing more profound crises of faith, perhaps in the wake of the challenges to revealed religion posed by science or biblical criticism, idealism offered comfort, for the idealist eternal consciousness could readily be conflated with Christian spirituality. Although a transcendent God was increasingly questioned, He might still have an immanent presence in the world and could be served through devotion to good works. Green’s ideas, and his personal influence as a lecturer and tutor, inspired a remarkable cadre of men, many of whom went on to influential positions in public life, but who started out in some of the extension schemes launched by Jowett.120 His initial ideas on extension were hugely ambitious. Through the 1870s, Jowett conceived the idea of planting new colleges in provincial towns, which would feed a new cadre of students to the university. Ten such colleges were planned, and he persuaded his own college and New College to sponsor a pioneer in Bristol, which ultimately metamorphosed into an independent university. It was soon apparent that this was too ambitious a scheme, and in 1878 the University decided to follow the Cambridge example of organising travelling extension lecturers. Michael Sadler, inspired by Green’s idealism, vitalised Oxford extension from the mid-1880s.121 He quickly adopted Stuart’s system of lecture, syllabus, class and written work, but undercut the Cambridge version by offering shorter, six-week courses geared more to civic issues than attempting to reproduce university-type courses. Sadler also continued Jowett’s idea of creating extension colleges in other towns, with particular success at Reading. A further innovation was the summer meeting, first held in Oxford in 1888, where people who had studied extension courses could spend a week or more at the university itself; from 1892, the summer meeting alternated between Oxford and Cambridge. Oxbridge extension peaked during the 1890s, but thereafter declined as other universities entered the field. University extension had a limited effect in bringing higher education to the masses; their audience was always going to be relatively leisured women and men. Nor did they bring in many students to the old universities, which were still far too expensive for the target audience. Nevertheless, extension was an important means by which the universities sought to project beyond the college walls. Green and Jowett were also important in the development of the related settlement movement. Settlement was pioneered by Samuel Barnett at Toynbee Hall in the 1880s.122 Barnett’s vision of settlement was for young graduates to spend some time actually living in poor communities, where they would act as beacons of light, inspiring and elevating the working classes through their example of living as much as through social activity. He was supported by advocates of Oxbridge extension, and the model of Toynbee Hall was soon replicated by several universities in the 1880s and 1890s as outlets for voluntary work and a means of making

The national universities, c.1800–1900 43 some connection with the generally poor communities in which many found themselves. Examinations and extension lectures proved enormously valuable in making university-level education available to women, but this was an area in which the universities were singularly reluctant to extend their role. Gaining access to higher education was a central feature of the middle-class women’s movement.123 In large part, it was an effort to open intellectual horizons for women and demonstrate their equal capacity, but there was an important economic incentive as well. An increasing number of middle-class women were simply unable to achieve the socially dictated norm of married dependency because of a shortage of suitable partners and the prolonged delay in age of marriage. With so few positions open to respectable women, many were condemned to serious, if genteel, poverty and it was hoped that better educational attainments might offer some prospect of economic independence. Campaigners had notable success in expanding opportunities for secondary education, and the new universities were reasonably prompt in admitting women, but gaining admittance to the ancient universities proved much more difficult, though considerably less so at Cambridge. Opening local examinations to girls, which Cambridge allowed in 1863 as a temporary measure and made permanent in 1867, was an important first step as it made a connection between the universities and female education.124 The following year a new kind of exam for women over the age of eighteen, the Higher Local, was established; Oxford followed in 1875. Providing examinations for women was an important justification for the development of extension lecturing, and women featured prominently in the audiences. Indeed middling-class women became a mainstay of the extension circuit, since it was so difficult for working men to afford either the fees or the time. Examinations and lectures, however, implied no necessary connection with the life of the universities themselves, and serious objections could be mounted to the presence of women. Oxbridge education was residential, so to introduce women into such male preserves compromised not only the women themselves but the whole nature of collegiate society. Nevertheless, pressure for a college in connection with Oxbridge, where women could devote themselves to uninterrupted study, was a considerable force. With its somewhat more congenial attitude, Cambridge seemed most promising and the first college for women was opened at Hitchin in 1869, moving to the village of Girton, just outside Cambridge, in 1873. The principal of Girton College, Emily Davies, insisted that her students take the same examinations as the men, demanding that the same standards be applied and attained. This could put considerable strain on women who had little prior preparation for the required levels of classical languages. An alternative approach was adopted at the second college, Newnham, by Anne Clough, who entered her students for the Higher Locals, preferring

44 The national universities, c.1800–1900 an incremental and less oppositional approach to getting women into university education. At Oxford, the Clough line was adopted at the two new halls for women that opened in 1879, Lady Margaret and Somerville.125 Lectures were provided under the auspices of the Association for Promoting the Higher Education of Women in Oxford, which had a wider constituency among women in Oxford. The Cambridge colleges relied more on university lecturers allowing women into their lectures or making special trips to the women’s colleges. Ultimately, entrance to the same examinations as men was the only consistent way to demonstrate equal attainments, and to have a qualification with an acknowledged external value. Women were officially allowed to take university examinations at Cambridge in 1881, although they could substitute Higher Locals for preliminary examinations. Nor were women formally admitted to degrees – they were awarded a certificate indicating that they had achieved university-level distinction. Oxford followed suit in 1884, although with rather more resistance. Despite the considerable achievements, and ample demonstration that women were equally as intellectually able as men, particularly when the only first-class level result in the classical tripos in 1887 was by a woman, moves to admit women fully to degrees were repeatedly defeated at the end of the century. It would be difficult to argue that the series of measures considered in this section represented a fundamental sea change in the character of the ancient universities. Although officially recognising school examinations, extension lectures and the presence of women, neither university devoted many funds to them or did much beyond admitting the principle. Equally, there was no vast influx of hitherto unrepresented groups that changed the universities into openly accessible institutions. Nor were the projects undertaken intended to achieve this. Oxford retained a patrician ideal to bring enlightenment to the benighted masses; Cambridge was more responsive in meeting educational needs addressed to it. Nevertheless, examinations and extension constituted a crucial acknowledgment that the universities needed to look outside their own insulating walls. They had to find new ways of fulfilling their responsibilities to the nation if they were to deserve, or perhaps retain, their claim to be the national universities.

The national universities in the late nineteenth century After the watershed years of the 1870s, the last decades of the nineteenth century saw substantial changes at both universities, especially Cambridge, which reaffirmed their positions as the premier educational establishments of the nation. New degrees were created with more scope for specialisation; new subjects and posts in both sciences and humanities were established with opportunities for scholarship and research; there was much physical expansion and redevelopment; student numbers rose and the universities hummed with serious educational purpose. Yet the undoubted

The national universities, c.1800–1900 45 progress was not nearly as far-reaching as modernisers had hoped. Despite all efforts to the contrary, the colleges remained much the more dominant force, which had important implications for curricular diversification and student life. Perversely, it was the collegiate experience that emerged as the most desirably distinctive feature of Oxbridge education, and which re-cemented the universities’ relationships with the national elites. The overarching aim of the 1877 Act had been to shift the balance of funding and power from the colleges to the Universities. Although this had been a principal aim of earlier legislation, this time the means were provided through the legal requirement that the colleges contribute to University coffers.126 This would allow for the development of new subjects, especially natural sciences, and for the promotion of learning and research. The best-laid plans of the commissioners were founded on a calculation of the income the colleges derived from their endowments, which could be reassigned from paying sinecures to idle fellows to providing posts and facilities in new areas. College endowments, however, existed primarily as land, and the estimates of future returns were quickly negated by the agricultural depression that affected rural England from the mid1870s to 1890s. It is unclear just how far the depression actually affected the colleges’ incomes, but agricultural decline allowed colleges to prevaricate over handing money over to the University.127 An important distinction emerged between the two universities over this issue.128 At Cambridge, the statutory commissioners imposed a fixed levy on the colleges for University purposes, whereas at Oxford contributions to the Common University Fund could be offset by the colleges themselves providing facilities for University purposes. The upshot was that Cambridge University had notably greater funds to spend as it wished. Although the Oxford colleges did support the development of new University posts and facilities, they were determined by what the colleges chose to invest in. At both places, however, it was the colleges that remained dominant, dictating the overall character and orientation of the universities’ work. Certainly, there were a number of important curricular initiatives. At Oxford, separate honours schools were created in ‘greats’, modern history, law, theology and natural sciences in the early 1870s. By the end of the century, undergraduates could also take degrees in oriental languages, English language and literature, and modern languages.129 Cambridge separated law and history into separate triposes in 1875 and added new ones in oriental languages, medieval and modern languages and mechanical sciences. New faculty structures were also erected to cater for the more diverse range of studies.130 Classical learning, however, remained the bedrock of university education. Both universities required students to pass an examination in ancient languages, including Greek, before proceeding to degree studies.131 This placed a heavy burden on non-classicists, more so at Oxford which had a much stiffer test than Cambridge. At Oxford in the early twentieth century, ‘greats’ was still taken by almost

46 The national universities, c.1800–1900 half of matriculated students. Next most popular was modern history with over 20 per cent, which was similarly as prevalent at Cambridge. History tutors pioneered the development of cross-college teaching, which allowed a moderately sized number of staff to offer a range of subjects and individual tuition.132 Collegiate dominance perpetuated the cycle in a familiar pattern. Since the majority of college scholarships were earmarked for classicists, there was no great demand for tuition in the new fields. At the same time, colleges saw little point in providing expensive facilities for the few students that wanted them, and so did not attract many more. The reluctance of the colleges to pass over funds to the Universities, which could have maintained expensive facilities more efficiently, stymied efforts to develop the natural sciences. The situation was particularly difficult at Oxford where the colleges had more control over what they did for the University.133 Following the example of the historians, some colleges did set up joint laboratories, and there were successful endeavours in chemistry and physiology. Astronomy, geology and biological sciences, however, that did not feature prominently in the curriculum, fared badly. A good deal of Cambridge’s relative success in the sciences was due to the comparatively larger fund at the University’s disposal, although one college in particular also played an important role. Cambridge also had a much stronger scientific tradition to carry forward.134 Through the late nineteenth century two fields especially confirmed the position of science at Cambridge.135 In physics, the Cavendish Laboratory was founded on a donation from the Duke of Devonshire, but supported by the University, and a succession of path-breaking physicists created a research centre of world renown. A second locus of science and research was in physiology, under Michael Foster, which was the offspring of Trinity College.136 Trinity put up the initial funding for the laboratory and to pay Foster until it was taken over by the University. Dividing the natural sciences tripos into two parts in the early 1880s encouraged demand, especially for the relatively broad Part I, which was useful for those going on to study medicine, or who contemplated going into teaching.137 Altogether, Cambridge was able to create a self-sustaining critical mass of students for science.138 Associated with the desire to enhance the place of science was the wish to encourage original research. In this respect college dominance had a more mixed effect.139 Even at Cambridge, research was not instituted throughout the sciences, being limited to a few notable instances, while the general paucity of laboratory space at Oxford prevented systematic scientific investigation. Similarly, the relative lack of funding for professorships prevented many of them from devoting much time to original work. In the humanities, however, college fellowships could give the leisure necessary for research. Certainly, an impressive list of publications by college staff at both universities could be compiled. Yet research was not regarded as a central component of college life. An element of scholarship might properly accompany tutorial responsibilities, but the primary work of the

The national universities, c.1800–1900 47 college was teaching. Colleges might offer opportunities for research, but it seems not to have been routinely expected. Oxford and Cambridge had long been conspicuously lacking in professional and vocational education. Even in theology, despite being well served with professorships, and a high proportion of graduates going into Holy Orders, there was no actual training for the ministry.140 Similarly, there were professorships in law and medicine, but professional training had emerged in closer connection with professional bodies and institutions.141 The Royal Commissions recognised that it would be difficult to provide for the strictly technical aspects, but saw an opportunity for the universities to develop preliminary education appropriate to the old liberal professions.142 Law as a discipline gained a foothold, but concentrating on the more theoretical Roman law and jurisprudence, rather than the case law necessary for practice in England, and professional legal training continued to be provided primarily outside the universities.143 From the early 1880s, the Cambridge statutory commissioners made a concerted effort to build on a promising foundation of medical education, recommending the formation of several new professorships.144 The reorganisation of the natural sciences tripos and the eminence of Foster’s physiology laboratory attracted students and, by the end of the nineteenth century, Cambridge had a thriving pre-clinical medical school, although students still had to go elsewhere, primarily the London hospitals, for clinical training. Other vocationally related subjects fared less well. Cambridge founded a tripos in mechanical sciences in 1892 and opened a department of agriculture.145 Engineering, forestry and agriculture did not appear in Oxford until the early twentieth century.146 Student numbers were small and there was much snobbery against studies deemed below the dignity of a liberal education. Probably the most important career-related initiative was in the relationships between university examinations and entry to the civil service. The Northcote–Trevelyan reforms gradually moved the civil service away from appointment by patronage towards more openly meritocratic recruitment by competitive examination. Following Jowett’s advice, examinations for senior posts were modelled on those for Oxbridge degrees. Even more closely entwined were the examinations for the Indian Civil Service.147 Through the second half of the century there was a shifting interdependency. When age limits for entrance were over twenty-one, Oxbridge candidates featured highly. In 1892, after consultation with Oxford, the limit was set at twenty-three, with a heavily classics-oriented examination, resulting in Oxford men taking 52 per cent of the places and Cambridge 20 per cent between 1892 and 1894. This, however, was hardly technical training; what was really more important was that candidates for the civil service had received an Oxbridge education. By the end of the nineteenth century this is what mattered. Increasingly, for the professions, politics and public service, and intellectual and cultural life, an Oxbridge

48 The national universities, c.1800–1900 education was the basis of career success.148 What students sought to launch them in the world was the kind of preparation that only Oxbridge collegiate life could offer. Although still dominant, the colleges had not remained static but continued along established lines of development, which gradually made collegiate life in the late nineteenth century a somewhat different experience to what it had been at unreformed Oxbridge.149 Fellowships that allowed absenteeism, or had no specified duties connected with them, certainly persisted, but declined significantly, and most members of the college societies were expected to contribute to their educational work. Fellowships of limited tenure allowed a young don to pursue scholarship without other diversions, while the removal of restrictions on marriage for tutors with career ambitions in teaching allowed them to make it a life’s work. Although large numbers of staff remained in Holy Orders (up to a third of fellows at Oxford in 1890), fellowships designated as purely clerical dwindled and the colleges slowly secularised, eroding the religious acrimony of the preceding decades.150 From the late 1860s, at Oxford, the distinctive tutorial system, of students meeting individually with their tutors to discuss work and progress, added further pastoral dimensions to the role of the tutor and reaffirmed the college as the focus of undergraduate tuition. College based teaching was less pronounced at Cambridge, but efforts were quickly made to follow the Oxford example.151 The greater spirit of educational purpose proved popular and undergraduate numbers increased significantly from the 1860s, rising from around 2,000 matriculated students at Cambridge in 1869/70 to almost 3,000 in 1900/1 and totalling around 2,400 at Oxford in 1892.152 The social spectrum from which they were drawn widened marginally, with fewer coming from landed and clerical backgrounds and more from the professions and business. In other ways, the clientele narrowed further, drawing increasingly on products of the public schools. Relationships between the public schools and the universities got ever closer during the late nineteenth century. Almost 60 per cent of matriculants, previously educated in the UK, came from a core of fifty schools, with a further 12 per cent from similar schools; the proportions had not changed much by the outbreak of the First World War.153 This was partly a result of removing the restrictions on recruitment to scholarships; when they were awarded on merit, they went to the best prepared who, especially in classics, tended to come from the public schools. The nature of college life was also enormously attractive to public school boys who found, and fashioned, a slightly more mature version of their old school house, with team games, college societies, convivial masculine company, and personal pastoral care and tuition by dons who were often themselves only recently graduated.154 Even the women’s societies adopted collegiate structures for the public school girls now coming to them. By the late nineteenth century, moreover, the corporate life was

The national universities, c.1800–1900 49 becoming recognised as a distinctively valuable feature of the education provided by the ancient universities. In the intimate fraternities and collective endeavours, a young man would have his character and sensibilities honed and refined. At his Oxbridge college, he would acquire qualities transposable to positions of leadership wherever he chose to utilise them, in the Church or professions, politics or civil service, even in business, whether at home or in the Empire. It was another self-perpetuating circle. As more public school/Oxbridge men gained positions of authority, so they turned to similar products to fill posts at their disposal, making an Oxbridge education more attractive to the ambitious and continuing the mythology that such an experience offered the best kind of preparation for responsible careers. Thus, the ancient universities re-cemented their relationships to the established elites. Certainly, Oxbridge graduates increasingly had a rigorous higher education, but it was the complete Oxbridge experience that was really valued.

Conclusion At the end of the nineteenth century, Oxford and Cambridge were still the English national universities, although the nature and meaning of the role had changed. Previously, the universities’ national position rested on their privileged relationships to the national Church and informal, though still highly political, ties to the state. Now, the national function of Oxford and Cambridge meant that they accepted students from all constituencies of the nation (apart from women) and, while no longer the only universities in the country, they were undoubtedly the largest, wealthiest and most prestigious, propelling their students, much as they had before, into the elites of Church, state and professions. Their prestige was now more of an earned commodity, secured through educational activity and reputable scholarship rather than naked privilege. Nevertheless, the continuing presumption that Oxford and Cambridge were the premier institutions meant that they remained so. Paradoxically, the principal basis of their eminence and popularity continued to rest in the collegiate system that reformers had sought to undermine. Reform had been tortuous, and not taken the course that many campaigners envisaged, but had steadily transformed the ancient universities from closed, remote and moribund institutions into acknowledged educational and academic leaders. How far, then, was the state responsible for what change had come about? While the impetus for reform was certainly generated internally, it is doubtful how much could have been achieved without state intervention. The university liberals had little formal power and reform was successfully resisted even against definite legislative sanction. It must be recognised that governments were wary; the ancient universities were formidable institutions, with long-standing legal rights, financial independence and political influence. Nor, in the early phases of reform, was there a

50 The national universities, c.1800–1900 great deal of precedent for state intervention. Gradually, however, the state came to acknowledge the necessity of involvement and, with the general growth of government, made more pressing demands. Evidence from the Scottish, Irish and Welsh universities indicates that the state was prepared to intervene in university affairs if it was deemed necessary in the national interest. On the other hand, the state did not have a detailed programme of its own that it sought to impose; successive commissioners took their lead from internal reformers, although they did seek to establish certain base-lines, to remove flagrant abuses and ensure that the significant resources provided by the nation at large were devoted, efficiently, to appropriate ends. So long as the universities were, in fact, using their wealth for educational activity, though, there was little call for the state to dictate what that activity was. A measure of competition was introduced in the creation of the University of London, but at no point did the state seem to consider reducing the old universities entirely and starting again elsewhere. The underlying purpose of state activity, then, was to give the universities the means by which they could reform themselves in order to ensure that they retained their position as the premier, national institutions.

2

A university for London, 1825–1900

A particular problem surrounding the issue of university education in London is that for most of its existence during the nineteenth century the remit of the University of London was not coextensive with the provision of university education in the capital. The attempts to try to bring the two into closer alignment constitute the central theme of this chapter. For our purposes, higher-level education in London began with the foundation of an institution calling itself the university of London, better known afterwards as University College, London, which was non-denominational, and the establishment soon afterwards of King’s College, which was determinedly Anglican. The University of London was created by the state as a compromise to try to overcome the impasse occasioned by the rival colleges.1 Essentially, the University was a body of examiners, which set and marked the examinations for which students could be taught at either of the colleges, thus giving precedence to neither. Logically, however, there was no reason why a candidate should not study for a University of London examination at any other college and, soon, institutions across the country prepared students on the prescribed syllabuses. When the examinations were opened to those who had not necessarily studied at any college, there was nothing to bind the University to London at all, other than the location of its headquarters. Whatever the merits of a purely examining agency, and despite its undoubted influence, there were many who criticised such a notion of the university, not least the providers of university education in London. By the late nineteenth century, the question of the role, organisation and scope of the University, particularly its relationships with higher education in the capital, had become a matter of increasing concern. As with other chapters, the aim here is twofold: to offer a synthetic account of the development of higher education provision in London, together with an analysis of the role of the state in shaping the form it took. The two aspects are particularly closely connected in this instance because the University of London was a creation of the state, organised, financed and, to a significant extent, run by the state. Thus, when it seemed that the University was failing to work effectively, amidst the

52 A university for London, 1825–1900 complex institutional rivalries and internecine debate of the late nineteenth century, it was incumbent upon the state to try to resolve the situation. A series of Royal Commissions wrestled with the problems, which stretched into the inter-war period. Some kind of solution seemed to have been achieved with a new constitution in 1900, and this chapter will take the story up to this point. To begin with, then, the circumstances surrounding the foundation of the University, with the formation of the ‘university’ and King’s College, will be considered. As the University looked increasingly outward, the original London colleges enjoyed mixed fortunes, giving rise to mounting concern. How to devise an institution that catered for the demand for higher education in London, while maintaining the unique advantages of the examining University, proved enormously difficult and engaged the efforts of two Royal Commissions in quick succession. The first proved an intermediate stage in the controversy, which brought together the main arguments, but led only to further debate. In many respects it was a prologue to the much more wide-ranging consideration launched by the second Commission. This survey was the largest state inquiry into higher education in England in the late nineteenth century and provides a useful insight into official perceptions of the nature and functions of the modern English university. Despite its confusing and controversial nature, the University of London, in conjunction with its principal London outlets, pioneered modern university education in England. They severed the connection between religion and university degrees, developed new subjects relevant to a modern urban society, removed the requirement of residence, even of attendance, and, eventually, admitted women to degrees. Although a remote device, the exacting requirements of London University examinations came to serve as a guardian of university standards and, effectively, a monitor of higher education throughout the Empire. When institutions were new and uncertain, it was an admirably efficient mechanism. By the late-Victorian period, however, the university as bureau for utilitarian examination seemed inadequate to the aspects of university education increasingly emphasised – academic independence, the intimate association between teaching and examination and teacher and student, and the importance of research. The examinations, however, still served too useful a function, so efforts were devoted to reaching a compromise that incorporated the new aspects of the university, while keeping the framework of the old.

The foundation and development of the University of London, c.1825–1858 To a large extent, the University of London was a response to the failings of Oxford and Cambridge. The first institution to call itself the ‘university of London’ provided for those who were actively excluded from Oxbridge

A university for London, 1825–1900 53 on religious grounds, were too poor to meet the costs of collegiate education, or who wanted a curriculum more relevant to modern urban life. From the start, the intended clientele was the extensive London middle classes. That there was a perceived demand for cheap and useful higher education was demonstrated in the formation of the rival King’s College, which offered much the same, but within an Anglican context. To overcome the rivalry between the secular and Anglican institutions, in 1836 the Whig government called into existence an examining and degree-awarding body, chartered as the University of London. Students could prepare for the University’s examinations in either college, with the state-appointed examiners ensuring impartiality and equivalent standards. There was no reason why candidates for examination had to prepare only at the two London colleges, thus a means of extending access to modern, university level education outside of Oxbridge, while maintaining some supervision of standards was also created. This section focuses on the emergence of the two London colleges and the framework provided by the University up to the 1858 legislation, which broke the direct connections between them. That the largest and most powerful metropolis of the early nineteenth century did not boast a university is remarkable. Some commentators in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries identified the elements of a university in some of the famous schools, in the supervision exercised by the Inns of Court over calling barristers to the bar, or in the facilities provided by the great hospitals for clinical instruction.2 There were also chairs in university subjects endowed by Thomas Gresham, the Tudor philanthropist, but these had degenerated into sinecures. However, since the secular professions had made their own arrangements to train and regulate entrants, and Oxford and Cambridge provided plenty of learned recruits for the Anglican Church, there was little demand for the traditional higher university faculties.3 A general liberal education of the Oxbridge kind, suffused with clericalism and remote from the economic and social currents of the eighteenth century, had little relevance to a commercial, administrative and industrial city, which prospered prodigiously without it, and which fostered its own advanced urbane culture without the medieval trappings.4 By the early nineteenth century, however, political radicals and religious dissenters were not so complacent. As discussed in the previous chapter, reformers pressed for fundamental change at Oxbridge in order to remove religious exclusivity, financial profligacy and apathetic educational irrelevance. While there had been promising initiatives at the start of the century, by the mid-1820s a reactionary backlash had set in with a resurgence of atavistic Anglican assertiveness. There was to be no breaking of the connection between the universities and the established Church, no breaking of the power of the colleges, and no wholesale modification of the curriculum. By contrast, the new conception of the university in Germany was becoming more firmly established – urban institutions with

54 A university for London, 1825–1900 little tutelary supervision, modern subjects, freedom of teaching and learning, and devotion to extending as well as transmitting knowledge. Closer to home, the Scottish universities continued to provide examples of how modern urban higher education could be made more widely available. Models from Scotland and Germany provided the stimulus that led to the foundation of a successful university college in London. In 1820, the Scottish-born, London-based literary figure Thomas Campbell was enthused by a visit to the recently opened University of Bonn and sounded several leading radicals and reformers on the possibility of creating something similar in London.5 A public campaign was launched when he wrote a letter to The Times, in February 1825, addressed to the leading utilitarian Henry Brougham. Campbell called for the establishment of a university in London that would teach a range of modern and professional subjects aimed squarely at the ‘middling rich’ of the capital. There would be no religious tests or residence; students would remain under the moral influence of home, which would also keep costs down. Education featured prominently in utilitarian schemes of reform, as promoting the exercise of reason and economical efficiency.6 Utilitarians had supported Lancaster’s monitorial system in elementary education, teacher training and Birkbeck’s Mechanics’ Institute, and were vocal critics of the manifest failure of Oxbridge. Brougham himself was a keen advocate of educational reform and readily accepted the challenge contrived by Campbell’s open letter. Brougham became the figurehead of the campaign, which attracted support from a variety of utilitarians, radicals and reformers.7 To raise funds, a limited liability company named the ‘university of London’ was created in 1826, shares in which were issued to supporters. Although the take-up was not as enthusiastic as envisaged (and the shares never yielded a dividend), there was enough for building to begin on land in Bloomsbury, bought by some rich supporters, which opened in 1828. Fees were set at relatively low levels, although it was intended that the professors would be paid out of fee income. Students in the general department took a wide-ranging course, including arts, sciences and some commercial subjects. The first year was largely classical, but there were options in later years in sciences and modern languages. Certificates were awarded for successful completion of the course. Professional studies were an important feature, with provision for legal education and a medical school, the latter quickly becoming the most successful aspect of the new institution. In 1830, a school for boys was founded under the supervision of the university, with an equally radical aspect; there were no compulsory subjects, no religious teaching and no flogging. The mix was persuasive and the school thrived. The ‘university of London’ was a decidedly utilitarian venture, consciously modelled on the Scottish universities, and aimed at those middling sorts who could not, or would not, afford the costs of Oxbridge classical

A university for London, 1825–1900 55 education but might be attracted by a moderately priced, modern curriculum with useful career prospects and no hidden expenses. Also against Oxbridge, there were to be no religious tests that would hinder access, but there was a larger question about religious instruction. Requiring young men to make a public declaration of faith was coming to be regarded as objectionable, but to remove religion from university education altogether, leaving the same young men without moral guidance, was equally as worrying. For many it was unthinkable that an English university should not have some religious basis.8 Paradoxically, the rejection of religious tests attracted dissenters, who promptly exerted pressure to make the project into a dissenting university. There were even suggestions that, as in some of the German universities, which had separate chairs of Protestant and Catholic divinity, there could be a variety of denominational studies. For those who demanded on principle that education should have a definite religious foundation, this was anathema – as it was to secularists and important Jewish supporters of the ‘university’. Ultimately, it was decided to exclude all religious teaching. This highly radical position was partly justified by the lack of residence, which meant that students would still come under the moral supervision of home. Unsurprisingly, there was a swift and vituperative reaction. There was astonishment at this latest utilitarian effrontery and derision that a limited company could style itself a university.9 In the midst of the Anglican backlash of the mid-1820s, most venom was reserved for the exclusion of religion at the ‘university’, a flagrant undermining of all educational principle that earned it the nickname of the ‘Godless institution of Gower Street’. A sermon delivered by Revd Hugh James Rose, Christian Advocate to the University of Cambridge in October 1826, is credited with launching a more concerted counterblast.10 Rose preached that human reason alone, unaided by divine inspiration, was narrow and limited, and that true education required spiritual as well as intellectual sustenance. High Anglican factions took up the matter and, paralleling Campbell’s manoeuvre, contrived a pseudonymous letter to the Home Secretary, Robert Peel. The author, George D’Oyly, Rector of Lambeth, objected to the lack of religion at the ‘university of London’ and suggested that there was room for an alternative, where higher education would have a proper Anglican foundation. That he recommended naming it in honour of the king suggests that support at the highest level had already been sanctioned. A public meeting was arranged in June 1828, at which the Prime Minister, Wellington, presided, attended by a splendid array of archbishops, bishops and aristocracy. With such an overwhelming display of establishment patronage, the future of King’s College seemed assured and large sums were quickly collected. Although it was decided that the college would not be reserved exclusively for members of the established Church, and no religious tests were actually imposed, an Anglican tenor pervaded the institution. The Church

56 A university for London, 1825–1900 was heavily represented on the governing body, with enormous power reserved to the Archbishop of Canterbury as visitor, the principal had to be in Holy Orders, and the staff, apart from those in oriental literature and modern languages, had to be Anglican.11 Initially, it was intended that King’s College should become residential and a distinction followed between full members, who would attend daily service and lectures in divinity, and other students who might only attend occasionally and would not have to fulfil the duties of the residents. In the event, King’s College did not become residential, although the distinction between full members and others remained. In other respects, King’s followed the lead set by the ‘university’ with a junior department for schoolboys that might supply the higher general department. The upper division similarly boasted a wideranging curriculum, covering sciences, languages and commercial subjects, with a clear professional orientation, including a medical school. King’s College, however, did not want to pose any rivalry to Anglican Oxbridge, and declined to claim degree-awarding powers or full university status. Its higher work was intended to provide a course for boys between the ages of sixteen and twenty who wanted a few years more education before embarking on a career, or as preparation for entry to an Oxbridge college. The general arts and science department, then, was analogous to a public school sixth form. King’s College was launched on a wave of establishment fervour, drawing as much on defending Anglicanism against the encroachments of Catholicism as opposing secularism.12 In June 1828, when King’s College was launched, both Peel and Wellington were opposed to Catholic emancipation, but soon had to submit to political expediency and support it. Anti-Catholics bayed betrayal, and readily, if unfairly, implicated the college with its turncoat promoters. Despite the college emphasising its Anglican provenance and mission, a number of potential donors withdrew their support with a good deal of rancour. Surprisingly then, for such an establishment venture, King’s suffered from financial problems for the rest of the century, which severely impeded its progress. Nevertheless, the college had sufficient state support to be granted a site in the Strand by the government, which, despite carrying certain obligations, was a benefit not enjoyed by its rival, or by any other comparable college in the nineteenth century. Despite clear political and religious rivalry, the ‘university’ and King’s College shared many features in common. Both aimed to provide a modern higher education for the sons of the London middle classes that would better prepare them for careers in the capital. Following from this, one of the most important features of both institutions was a medical school. Medical interests would be inextricably bound up with the development of university education, especially in London, and it is worth considering the area in greater depth. By the early nineteenth century, the medical profession and medical education were in a state of considerable

A university for London, 1825–1900 57 flux.13 In principle, there remained a tripartite hierarchy of qualified medical practice. Crowning the structure were the physicians, who enjoyed the status of a liberally educated profession, and who could command a large income from attending on wealthy patients. Physic dealt with problems of internal medicine, which required a theoretical understanding of how the body worked, and physic was based on a university education. The practice of physic was regulated by the Royal College of Physicians, based in London, which had close connections with the ancient universities. An Oxbridge education provided the appropriate liberal cultivation and theoretical knowledge expected of a physician, which was then completed by a spell of more practical training at one of the London hospitals. The actual degree was still awarded by one of the universities and was recognised by the Royal College of Physicians as constituting a licence to practise outside London. Practice in the capital required further examination, although this too could be evaded. Although medical education at Oxbridge at the start of the century was almost moribund, and the Royal College of Physicians similarly fossilised, they still carried considerable prestige and power. Graduates of other universities, including those from the much more progressive Scottish medical schools, had to submit to further examination if they wanted recognition as practitioners at the highest level of the profession. Surgery, by contrast, was more of a craft, dealing with external problems of the visible body. Surgeons were trained by apprenticeship, where practical experience and manual dexterity could be honed. They could enjoy an important status; but surgery remained a craft, not an educated profession. At the bottom of the traditional hierarchy were the apothecaries. Although also trained by apprenticeship the apothecary was more like a tradesman who kept shop and, again traditionally, only prescribed on the advice of a physician. During the eighteenth century, this schematic arrangement had begun to break down.14 Apothecaries gained the right to advise on their own account, and surgeons and apothecaries increasingly merged into a new category that would come to be recognised as the general practitioner. Surgeon-apothecaries advised, made up prescriptions for medical complaints and dealt with physical surgical matters. Under the Apothecaries Act 1815, the Licentiate of the Society of Apothecaries (LSA) provided a licence to practise for the new general practitioners.15 Although an important achievement for the new stratum of practitioners, the LSA added to the confusion of more than a dozen medical qualifications available throughout the kingdom, each with its own regulating body but with little co-ordination or regulation. Mirroring the social restructuring of the profession, medical training, and the knowledge on which it was based, was also undergoing fundamental revision. Training for the surgeon-apothecary was still primarily by apprenticeship, but increasing numbers also spent time at one of the new voluntary hospitals.16 Here, pupils would ‘walk the wards’ with one of the

58 A university for London, 1825–1900 consulting staff and attend lectures, thus rapidly expanding their medical knowledge and clinical experience before taking up private general practice.17 To begin with, consultants had their own students, rather like apprentices, but several of the largest hospitals, in conjunction with their consultants, consolidated their teaching activities into medical schools.18 The hospital medical schools did not provide an organised medical curriculum leading to a particular qualification. It was up to the student to seek whatever tuition he wanted that would fulfil the criteria of the licensing body whose qualification he hoped to acquire. Hospital medical training was predicated on a concentration of sick poor in the one institution, where a range of experience could be gained rapidly. The same factor also fuelled an enormous expansion of medical knowledge, especially in surgery.19 In the vast hospitals of Revolutionary and Napoleonic Paris, systematic study of patients and corpses revealed empirical knowledge of anatomy that provided the basis of a more physical understanding of illness. A fundamental shift in medical understanding replaced the traditional reliance on patients’ accounts of their symptoms with detailed examination of physical signs. A further range of institutions multiplied in the chief centres of medical training as private anatomy schools complemented the hospitals in supplying the latest knowledge for trainee practitioners. By the early nineteenth century, then, there was a great ferment in medical knowledge and reorganisation of medical education. Old professional structures were breaking down and new ones emerging, resulting in fragmentation and confusion. In an unregulated medical marketplace there was little co-ordination between licensing agencies, or between them and the medical schools.20 In this context, many medical reformers hoped that the ‘university’ and King’s College might help bring some kind of order. The ‘university’ was based on a Scottish model, where medical education was associated with the universities rather than the hospitals, and which had built an enviable reputation. A medical school attached to an institution of general higher education might provide a more ordered and coherent medical curriculum extending over several years, while the liberal context might also add useful social cachet to a practitioner. Association with a university also opened the attractive possibility of medical degrees. If, like Oxbridge degrees, they could be recognised by the medical corporations as licences to practice without the need for further qualification, then they would be very desirable indeed. It should be remembered, though, that the two London colleges were very much newcomers to the field, and their presence was not welcomed by long-standing medical interests, nor, given their rivalry, did they work with each other. From the beginning, the governors of Gower Street wanted a charter to award degrees, to become in fact, as well as in name, a university that devised, regulated and examined its own courses of instruction leading to recognised qualifications.21 The ‘university’ tried in 1825 and again in 1831

A university for London, 1825–1900 59 to obtain the requisite powers, but, despite the sympathy of the Whig government, was rejected on both occasions.22 Oxford and Cambridge Universities were vigorously opposed to any moves to create another degree-granting body. So too were the hospital medical schools, which saw a large potential threat to their position if any one London institution had the privilege of granting medical degrees. Undoubtedly, a medical degree had significant professional value, and the existing schools were aghast that this upstart venture should seek to subvert them. Despite its name, then, the ‘university’ remained a proprietorial venture, owned by its shareholders and run by its governors. Paradoxically, King’s College stated at the outset that it would not apply for powers to award degrees, and this, with its establishment credentials, allowed King’s to get a charter of incorporation as an independent and autonomous institution in 1831.23 A renewed attempt from Gower Street for incorporation as a university was launched in 1833, heavily supported by its medical interests. At the time, medical education was under investigation from a parliamentary Select Committee, and the ‘university’ medics hoped to stake a claim in whatever new framework might arise.24 The ‘university’ was on the verge of finally obtaining a charter when the authorities of King’s College, also pressed by their medics, objected.25 Despite its earlier statement of intent, King’s College’s position was clearly threatened if its rival obtained the right to award degrees, especially in medicine. The standoff between the ‘university’ and King’s College inevitably carried overtones of utilitarian reform versus the Anglican establishment and contributed to the already charged political atmosphere of the early 1830s. University education was increasingly bound up in controversy with the reassertion of Anglican privilege by the Oxford Movement.26 Medical education too had its political and sectarian overtones with different medical systems having conservative or radical implications.27 How to negotiate the situation posed a problem for the new Whig government. Decisions about whether to grant charters of incorporation, including those for universities, were the responsibility of the state. Although naturally sympathetic to the ‘university’, there were no grounds for allowing it, and not King’s, to give degrees, but it seemed absurd to have two degreeawarding bodies in the one city.28 Meanwhile, there was pressure from radical reformers to remedy the abuse of civil rights and national wealth perpetrated by the ancient universities. The solution was to create a new agency that could encompass both rivals and give neither exclusive privileges. In so doing, an alternative to the closed and archaic sectarianism of Oxbridge could also be created. That the new University of London was a state venture is highlighted by the close involvement of several leading government ministers, Thomas Spring-Rice, Chancellor of the Exchequer; Lord John Russell, Home Secretary; and Henry Warburton, who had led the inquiry into medical education on which Spring-Rice had also served.29 Even the prime

60 A university for London, 1825–1900 Minister kept a watching brief. The plan was that the Crown would appoint a body of senators who would oversee the setting and marking of examinations leading to the award of a degree. Students would have to supply evidence of having completed a course of instruction at a recognised college before being admitted as candidates for the examinations. Thus, students could be prepared for the examinations at either of the rival London colleges, choosing whatever wider sectarian or secular environment in which to study as they wished. Indeed, there was no reason why students should not prepare for the examinations at any other college duly recognised, wherever it might be. The disjuncture between teaching and examining was modelled on Cambridge, where the individual colleges provided the teaching, but the examinations and award of degrees were vested in the central University apparatus. Whereas at Cambridge all the colleges were located in the same town, the University of London had no such geographical limitations. Spring-Rice and Warburton also hoped that the scheme might help to bring some order to medical education, whereby centrally arranged medical examinations provided guidelines for the various medical schools. In mediating the rivalries between the two London colleges, then, the government had found a solution capable of almost indefinite extension. Accordingly, the original ‘university’ was persuaded to drop its application for degree-awarding powers and, on the same day in 1836, two charters were issued: one to create a new University of London with wide-ranging powers of examination and awards, and a second to make the institution in Gower Street into University College, London, affiliated to the University. Spring-Rice appointed thirty-eight senators, including a chancellor and vice-chancellor to act as a governing and examining body. Offices were supplied in Somerset House and the government provided a grant of £1,000 to meet initial expenses. Thus, a new instrument of state had been established to set the standards for, and oversee, non-Oxbridge university education in England. Spring-Rice intended that graduates of the University of London should enjoy the same rights, privileges and status as those from Oxbridge, including medical degrees being accepted by the Royal College of Physicians as licences to practise – although it was many years before this came about. Although designed primarily to solve the London problem, the scheme had clear implications for English university education more generally. Following the example of University College, students could live cheaply at home and study at local institutions for state-regulated qualifications in modern and useful subjects. If Oxbridge would not be reformed, it could be supplemented, perhaps even supplanted. Not surprisingly, the early years of the University of London were plagued by controversy as the fledgling organisation carved out its role and relationships with existing agencies. There was a lack of clarity over the functions of senators as governors or examiners, there was debate over

A university for London, 1825–1900 61 the appointment of a registrar, the Royal College of Physicians refused to concede any rights to the novel institution and declined to recognise its medical degrees as licences to practise. Renewed investigation of medical education also largely ignored the University. When a new Tory administration was returned, there was some unfriendly inquiry into continuing to finance the University. Ultimately, funding was approved and the state continued to make up the difference between the examination fees charged by the University and the administrative costs of running the examinations. There were no religious tests and no examinations in religion, but an early controversy still surrounded the matter. One of the senators, the eminent headmaster Thomas Arnold, pressed for an examination on the Scriptures, even if it was not specifically Anglican, arguing that no degree in England could be without a Christian component. This was opposed by secularists and non-Christians, with the result that a voluntary examination was established, but which languished. More importantly, as a result of the decision, King’s College distanced itself from the University for many years.30 Despite these problems, by the early 1840s the University had erected a framework of examinations and established the curricula that would be tested by those examinations.31 Standards were exacting and rigorously imposed. Candidates first had to matriculate with a syllabus covering mathematics, sciences, classics and English subjects. Two years had to elapse before they could take the BA examination, which was equally as wide-ranging. Besides the standard undergraduate BA, degrees were available in law and medicine, and there were further examinations for higher degrees. As the University settled into the educational scene, the number of candidates and graduates increased steadily, as did the number of affiliated colleges. By mid-century there were close on a hundred institutions claiming affiliation and, therefore, qualified to submit students for examination.32 Prominent among them were provincial medical schools and dissenting and Catholic theological colleges. Medicine was still an aspiring profession and, even though London medical degrees did not have the same cachet as Oxbridge ones, they remained marks of distinction in a highly competitive marketplace. Non-Anglican divines also enjoyed ambiguous social status, and here too a University of London BA was a sign of learning and recognition, although it was a degree in the arts not divinity. In 1850 a new tranche of senators was appointed, which included several highly eminent figures who were obviously prepared to ally themselves to the University.33 By the middle of the century there was also a growing number of graduates of the University, establishing themselves in their professions and keen to assert their rights.34 An informal body of mainly London-based graduates coalesced into a pressure group and helped to give the University a higher public profile. An awards ceremony was instituted with full academic dress and pageantry. More concretely,

62 A university for London, 1825–1900 this pressure group campaigned to extend the traditional rights of graduates in the major professions to those of the University of London as well. Success came first in law when, in 1852, the Inns of Court allowed that graduates of other universities would be called to the bar on the same terms as those from Oxbridge. In 1854, London medical graduates were finally given the same rights as those from Oxbridge, thus making a London medical degree a licence to practise and avoiding the need to take a further qualification after graduating. Effectively, the University of London was a committee appointed by the state to supervise a system of examinations, and a degree from the University of London was certification that a set of examinations had been passed. The graduates injected a useful sense of energy, humanity even, into what could appear a soulless and bureaucratic procedure. Before long, however, the informally constituted graduates’ committee began to see itself as more intimately concerned with the functions of the University than the senators.35 Through the 1850s, the relationships between the senate, the graduates and the government became increasingly fraught, presaging decades of convoluted debate. In the late 1840s, the senate had discussed whether the graduates should become, as at Oxbridge, an electoral body, appointing at least a proportion of the senators, thus making the University more like a self-governing academic organisation. Nothing came of the suggestion, nor of the bold claim by the graduates to elect all the senators. Stasis set in whereby the senate refused to concede to the graduates and argued that, as a state-appointed body, it was for the government to decide the matter. The graduates appealed to the Home Secretary, Earl Grey, for action; he felt that the senate should take responsibility for making a decision about its own University. Ultimately, in 1856, Grey forced the issue by telling the senate that a new charter would be drawn up and demonstrated his intentions by appointing some new senators, including graduates of the University. After continued wrangling, the University’s revised charter of 1858 created a new forum for the graduates, convocation, which would be responsible for electing a quarter of the senate. This significant move towards academic democracy, however, was overshadowed by a new controversy which split graduate opinion and had profound implications for the nature of university education. In discussing the forthcoming charter, the senate introduced a clause which opened University examinations in arts and laws to anyone who wished to take them. Hitherto, candidates had had to produce certificates of having attended a course of study at a recognised college. An attendance requirement remained in force for medical examinations but, under the new clause, a candidate could prepare themselves however they wanted, whether through an institutional course of instruction or private study. Supporters saw this as fulfilling the original intention of the University: the opening of degrees to the widest participation. They argued that since there was no inspection or

A university for London, 1825–1900 63 other form of control over what actually happened in affiliated colleges, it was only the examinations that offered evidence that degree-level education had in fact taken place. To opponents, reducing degrees to examinations negated the whole notion of university education, which was predicated on the personal, mind-forming influence of the teacher on the student. Nevertheless, the clause came into effect and a new direction in university education was launched. The new arrangement was a logical extension of the University’s constitution; indeed, of a peculiarly English organisation of the university. Spring-Rice modelled his University on Cambridge, copying the disjunction between colleges that provided the tuition and the University that matriculated, examined and awarded degrees. This solution neatly subsumed the rivalries between the two London colleges and, since it was not necessarily confined to any particular place, was capable of almost indefinite extension. While Oxbridge continued recalcitrant, the state created an alternative means of fostering the expansion of university education, while preserving some quality control through that supremely utilitarian device, examination. A centralised body of examiners, independent of institutional or sectarian pressures, could ensure that uniform standards were applied and degrees of equivalent value awarded. Similar regimes came to be established for Wales, Ireland and the major northern English cities.36 Removing the connection between teaching and examining, however, did have important new implications. Undoubtedly, access to degrees for those unable to attend an institution, while allowing those who wanted and could take courses of instruction to do so, was extended. Whether examination success alone provided sufficient evidence of a university-educated person, however, proved to be a central debate. The 1858 charter also seemed to remove the University of London even further from university education in London.

University education in London, c.1836–80 The University of London was not responsible for the actual education of students; it merely provided an academic framework within which colleges of higher education could operate. In London, the two principal colleges, University and King’s, in conjunction with the University, pioneered a new form of higher education and offered a new model of institutional organisation. In many respects, the innovations were a response to difficult circumstances, and neither college achieved the initial success that their position might have presaged. By the second half of the century, University College began to achieve substantial academic status, but King’s College laboured longer under its unexpected financial limitations and self-imposed religious isolation. One of the signal achievements of the period, supported by both colleges and the University, was the development of higher education for women, including the foundation of several

64 A university for London, 1825–1900 new institutions and the opening of University degrees. This section considers further the new form of higher education that emerged in London during the mid-nineteenth century, which provided an important model for developments elsewhere. By the 1880s, though, higher education in London seemed to be languishing under a remote University, preoccupied with its increasingly global compass. Professional education was a key feature of both colleges, and the medical schools met with immediate success.37 Medicine was a growth profession and the more co-ordinated curriculum, liberal environment and prospect of a degree attracted healthy numbers of recruits. Initially, University College students had access to Middlesex Hospital for clinical training, but a new hospital under the control of the college, built with funds raised on a special appeal, was opened in 1834. King’s College medical school had more of a struggle, delaying applying to the University for recognition in medicine, and only acquiring access to a hospital by taking over an old workhouse in 1839.38 The costs of maintaining the hospital, however, proved a constant drain on the college’s limited resources. It was also difficult to recruit professors for the medical school who had the requisite Anglican credentials. Both colleges planned for the development of legal education and may have hoped for similar success in law that medicine proved to be. In many respects, the organisation of the legal profession reflected that of medicine.39 At the upper reaches, four Inns of Court supervised the calling of barristers to the bar, with special privileges for Oxbridge graduates. Solicitors were trained largely by apprenticeship. There was, however, very little systematic provision for legal education, and the founders of the original ‘university’ thought there might be a ready market in offering a general liberal course of study in law for entrants to the profession.40 Partly at the instigation of the University, in 1846 a Select Committee on Legal Education inquired into the state of affairs and was resoundingly critical.41 Helpfully, the Select Committee recommended an expansion of legal education in universities and that the Inns of Court form themselves into an institution analogous to the medical Royal Colleges. In response, the Inns of Court began moves towards establishing systematic professional education, which undermined attempts to locate legal education in the universities for the rest of the century. In the period to 1900, University College produced only 135 Bachelor of Laws (LLBs). Through the 1840s and 1850s, both colleges experimented with a series of similar initiatives intended to cater for potential new clienteles. They met with varying degrees of success, but illustrate the new pattern of higher-level education being pioneered in the capital.42 In 1838, King’s College designed a course for engineers, carved out of its existing provision in the sciences, which proved popular – although University College claimed the first chair in engineering in 1841. King’s College’s attempt to establish a military department in the late 1840s, however, was not suc-

A university for London, 1825–1900 65 cessful. The 1850s inquiries into the civil service had clear implications for higher-level education, and both colleges saw an opportunity to offer courses that would prepare candidates for the new competitive examinations. At University College, oriental languages were revived on the basis of preparing Indian civil servants, but the King’s civil service department was not successful. Somewhat surprisingly, King’s College did not open with a theological course, but a department of theology was created in 1846 to cater for students who could not afford to go to Oxbridge; this also proved to be very popular. From the start, the founders of each college saw a role for occasional students who would take just a few courses out of interest or for professional advancement rather than take complete and connected courses. This initiative was taken a step further when University College began evening classes aimed at schoolteachers in 1839; but the classes declined in the mid-1860s. King’s College, however, launched very successful evening classes from 1855. To allow that university education in England did not have to be a full-time, regular undertaking was, in its way, another quite radical innovation and undoubtedly opened it to a much wider audience. Although these courses did not necessarily lead to professional qualifications as such, they nevertheless aimed to provide courses of higher-level education that would cater for young men aiming to enter professional occupations. It was the same principle that had informed the establishment of the colleges; but invention was also born of necessity. King’s College continued to suffer from a shortage of funds and remained aloof from the non-sectarian University.43 Since the University did not offer degrees in applied science or theology, qualification in those departments could only be by a college certificate. Into the mid-Victorian period, however, King’s College still declined to gear its general arts and science course towards the University’s BA degree. Few students were interested in a general course that did not really lead anywhere, when they could be studying towards a degree; nor was it a particularly efficient way of preparing for Oxbridge. Many parents felt that the public schools did it better and cheaper, and in more salubrious environments. Thus, the various expedients were also designed to supply work for the staff. Numbers at the college did improve in the early 1840s, but fell away again in the wake of the controversial removal of its best known professor, F. D. Maurice. There were signs of a slow revival during the 1870s, and in 1877 the higher department curriculum was finally reorganised to lead towards University examinations in arts and science. University College at least had the advantage of wanting to be associated with the University and oriented its courses towards preparation for degrees.44 Even so, the college struggled during the mid-nineteenth century. As a pioneer, it had attracted a good deal of support, but not enough to establish a substantial or secure revenue. Many of the professors were, effectively, part-time, having to supplement their income from

66 A university for London, 1825–1900 other work. When other institutions began providing modern, cheap higher education, University College’s relative position declined, which was not helped by the University’s 1858 charter that seemed to diminish further any special status enjoyed by the London colleges. Despite its apparent demotion, University College revived during the 1860s, building on its connection to the University. A more helpful innovation of the 1858 charter was a new Bachelor of Science degree.45 Hitherto, sciences and arts subjects had been combined in the wide-ranging BA, now more specialised courses could be devised that allowed greater focus and depth. University College already had a strong chemistry department, with a laboratory for practical work.46 Prominent scientists on the University’s panel of examiners, such as Henry Roscoe and T. H. Huxley, pressed for the further development of practical work in chemistry and physiology during the 1870s. University College was happy to comply, leading to a large increase in numbers. 47 Philanthropic funds were attracted by these moves, not only in the sciences.48 A substantial donation by Felix Slade, in 1868, allowed the launch of a complete School of Fine Art, with a building, chair and scholarships. An emphasis on drawing from life paralleled the importance of experimental work in the sciences. Student numbers increased substantially, contributing to a healthier, if not yet robust, financial situation. Perhaps the most important innovation, achieved by a combination of the University, colleges and campaigning groups, was the development of university education for women. At the outset, women did not feature in any of the institutions; they simply did not belong in a university, and when the University received an inquiry from a woman the senate suspected a ploy to bring the whole affair into disrepute.49 Through the 1840s, however, the wider movement to develop serious education for middleclass women resulted in the establishment of several institutions in London that aimed to offer higher-level studies to women.50 In 1848, Queen’s College was opened in Harley Street, with notable support from several professors at King’s College, although the college was not an institutional supporter. The aim was to provide better training for governesses, one of the few occupations open to middle-class women who needed to support themselves. The following year, the Ladies’ College was established in Bedford Square with funds provided by Elizabeth Reid.51 Reid wanted to found a college that would provide a liberal education on broad principles, without religious tests and with the requirement that women be involved in its running. There were considerable problems in trying to open genuinely higher education for women. Few had sufficient preparation and the work tended to more elementary levels. Like University and King’s, the Ladies’ College opened a school, which was quite successful, but which overshadowed the higher aspects. The whole venture depended on the goodwill of part-time male professors who had prior commitments and occasionally clashed with the Lady Visitors that Reid insisted take a

A university for London, 1825–1900 67 role in the governance of the college. Its religious openness also acted against it, and Reid was disappointed with the precarious fortunes of the college in its early years. By the 1860s, secondary education for girls was gaining wider acceptance, helpfully endorsed in the recommendations of the Schools Inquiry Commission.52 With a firmer foundation in place, momentum behind higher education for women gathered pace, resulting in a flurry of activity at the end of the decade. Reid left her legacy in the hands of some trusted women supporters, who used their financial muscle to demand changes at the College.53 In 1869, a more settled constitution was drawn up and the Ladies’ College was incorporated as Bedford College. The school was shut down and the objects of the college reiterated as the provision of higherlevel liberal education for women in secular subjects. Practically, much of the work remained at the lower end and there continued to be debates about the orientation of the college. Several felt that a school was the most viable course, but Reid’s vision was retained. Slowly, more students took connected courses of study at a properly higher level, although other kinds of work and casual education remained important. Although finance continued to be a problem, increasing numbers and an expanding curriculum necessitated a move to larger premises with laboratories for a full range of sciences. A viable university-level college for women was in place by the 1880s. In the same decade two further ventures in women’s higher education were launched. Westfield College was an attempt to create an Oxbridge type institution in London, with residential requirements and Anglican foundation, although also geared directly towards University examinations and with a predominantly female staff.54 Westfield was a modest affair, which took its name from the suburban villa in which it began. By diametric contrast, Royal Holloway College, opened in 1886, was a vast architectural confection, which from its foundation also aspired to university status.55 The college was built using part of the huge fortune amassed by Holloway from patent medicines. It is unclear why exactly he chose women’s higher education as an object for his philanthropy. The project was originally intended as a hospital and it sometimes appears that he was more concerned with the architectural style of the building than its purpose. Nevertheless, he was sufficiently aware of his limitations to seek the advice of leading advocates of women’s higher education. Holloway died before his college was officially opened. His trustees had the foresight to establish a number of scholarships that might help to recruit a reasonable number of students and Royal Holloway quickly established itself as a higher-level institution. Establishing colleges of higher education for women was difficult enough to achieve, but gaining access to hitherto male institutions was even more problematic. Being non-residential, there were fewer social objections at the London colleges than at Oxbridge, but there were many

68 A university for London, 1825–1900 years of tortuous arrangements to avoid any whiff of scandal.56 By slow accretion, however, women gained access to University College.57 During the 1860s, individual professors offered lectures to women, although not actually on college premises, and their work was co-ordinated by the London Ladies’ Educational Association. Gradually, the first classes for women were given on college premises, then admitted as officially under the college. Finally, women were admitted to lectures alongside men and the college offered examinations and certificates for those women who wanted a public test of their attainments. King’s College was later in catering directly for women and kept them at a safe distance.58 The college established programmes of lectures for ladies in Richmond and Kensington during the 1870s, and hesitantly admitted women into several of the college’s occasional classes. When the decision was taken, in 1881, to launch a full women’s department, however, it was discretely located in Kensington, despite being formally an integral part of the college. The University debated how to cater for women from the early 1860s, until they were fully admitted to University examinations and degrees under a new charter, granted in 1878.59 This was a crucial watershed in women’s higher education – not only in London but throughout the country. The three women’s colleges in or near London quickly availed themselves of degree examinations, which helped to secure their status as university level institutions, although providing the facilities necessary for university courses could put further strain on limited resources.60 By itself, the availability of degrees could not overcome the enormous practical difficulties that persisted, especially in medical schools, which remained particularly hostile to women.61 Most women also continued to attend as occasional students, with graduation until the end of the century still quite rare.62 Nevertheless, from the late 1870s there was a reputable public degree available to women, a strong affirmation of women’s capacities and rights. By the 1880s, higher education in London was in a curiously ambiguous position.63 Facilities were expanding, with University College especially achieving a considerable reputation, attracting significant numbers of students, boasting eminent professors on its staff and becoming a centre of original research and scholarship in areas such as chemistry, physiology, English and fine art. Together with King’s College, under the auspices of the University, a new form of higher education had been fashioned that focused on modern and professional subjects, sought to extend as well as transmit knowledge, was relatively cheap and widely accessible on full or part-time bases to men and women, and offered choice and specialisation. Institutions across the country were modelling themselves on University College as the new form of the university. Yet the actual providers of university education in the capital in fact had very little authority over what they did. Teachers had no say over what they taught on degree courses; only the University examiners could set the syllabus, defined by what they

A university for London, 1825–1900 69 chose to examine. Nor were there any official channels of communication from the academics to the governing body. Similarly, however innovative the colleges may have been in devising new courses, they could not initiate a new degree programme – and, here too, there was no means by which the institutions could register their thoughts with the senate. Such subservience was particularly irksome to University College. As the original ‘university’ in London, it had acquiesced in the formation of the state University and sought to work in close association with it.64 Yet, since the 1858 charter, University College had no greater weight with the University than the smallest college in the furthest outpost of Empire, or even the private crammer. The University was run by a state-appointed committee, removed from the everyday life of higher education in practice. Former students had gained some influence through convocation, but not their teachers or institutions. The growing maturation of the provincial colleges caused further consternation, capped by the formation of the Victoria University in 1880.65 Provincial institutions were able to call on local patriotism, which yielded substantial support, but the uncertain position of the London colleges seemed to undermine efforts to tap into similar sources.66 Although theoretically a federation, when it was created the Victoria University consisted only of Owens College, which now had greater control over its curriculum and institutional direction than the college on which it was modelled. Whatever its other advantages, it began to seem that the organisation of the University of London was actually impeding university education in London. Over the next two decades an enormous amount of time and effort would be expended in trying to bring the three disparate components, University, education and London back into an organic relationship.

The campaign for a teaching university During the 1880s, increasing dissatisfaction with the constitution of the purely examining University led to a sustained movement to establish a teaching university in London, one that would reunite teachers and taught, give some independence to London institutions and so engage with the people and priorities of the metropolis. It was no easy task, and almost half a century of controversy ensued as a range of interested parties struggled to agree on a new arrangement. London-based teachers campaigned for the creation of faculties and boards of studies that would represent them and determine the curriculum, examinations and everyday running of the educational work. London institutions sought a measure of autonomy, whereby they could manage, plan and develop academic activity as they saw fit. Most hoped that the existing University structure could be modified to accommodate these desires, but some thought that an entirely new university in London might be necessary. Pressured by these bodies, the existing University governing agencies, senate and convocation, tried

70 A university for London, 1825–1900 to devise another new charter that could cater for the metropolitan concerns while maintaining their responsibilities to the national and international constituencies of the University. Within these four broad interest groups, however, there were numerous internal disagreements and divisions, convoluting the debate yet further. By the mid-1880s, five rival schemes had been put forward, representing different conceptions of what a university was for and how it should be organised. Eventually, as ultimately responsible for the University of London, the state was called in. However, a first Royal Commission, chaired by Earl Selbourne, constituted more of a staging post in the controversy, which continued to rage into the establishment of a second one under Earl Cowper. This section takes the story up to the appointment of the Cowper Commission, and is necessarily somewhat detailed in order to follow why agreement was so difficult to achieve, and the terms on which state intervention followed. Not surprisingly, concern was voiced initially by medics, who were worried that the University examiners were making excessively stringent demands of candidates for medical degrees. Medical frustrations focused on the Preliminary Science Examination in chemistry, physics and biological subjects that had been introduced in the 1860s, which medical students had to take before proceeding to the professional examinations.67 Through the 1870s, the examiners introduced more practical laboratory work into the preliminary examination, making a supposed preparation for clinical training resemble a pure science course. At the same time, there was a significant decline in the pass rate among medical students. In 1879, it was calculated that out of 20,000 to 25,000 medical practitioners with British qualifications, only about 530 held a degree from the University of London.68 It was further shown that, up to 1879, an average of only nineteen MB degrees were awarded per year. Many medical parties felt that the eminent scientists on the senate who supported the Preliminary Science Examination were too remote from the practical professional interests of medical students.69 The unfortunate consequence was that those students who sought a medical degree went elsewhere, neglecting the excellent facilities for medical education that London boasted.70 It seemed that the examiners were actually undermining the potential for higher education in the capital. In 1884, a range of interested parties formed the Association for Promoting a Teaching University for London, which grew quickly to embrace a number of prominent teachers and supporters.71 By a teaching university, it meant: an institution which provides for its students . . . the best attainable teaching, together with the necessary appliances and aids to study. Its function is to commend to students systematic courses of teaching and methods of study, for the efficiency of which it is itself responsible.72

A university for London, 1825–1900 71 Under the existing University, the examiners prescribed the syllabuses, which students selected, and the teachers were merely a means of instruction; in a teaching university, the teachers set the curriculum and had a direct influence over students’ courses of study. To achieve this association between teacher and taught, recognised teachers in London would be brought together into faculties (arts, sciences, medicine and laws) and each faculty, perhaps consisting of several hundred people, would then elect an executive board of studies to organise the teaching and examining in specific subjects. The boards of studies would, in turn, elect representatives of the teachers to form up to a third of the senate, to have a say on the strategic direction of the University. The Association acknowledged that this would make a very different kind of governing body, but suggested that there might be a semi-autonomous body representing the teaching side of the University, which would co-exist alongside the extant senate catering for the examining side. If this dual arrangement did not work, then the teaching side might have to separate off completely. Although a radical transformation, the potential benefits were held to be considerable: teaching and examining would be better organised, an academic influence brought to bear more closely on professional education, research would be encouraged, and new subjects could be developed that individual institutions would not be able to provide alone. Moreover, establishing a more recognisably university-type institution in the capital would help to encourage endowments from Londoners. Initially, convocation was supportive of moves to incorporate teachers more centrally.73 Convocation saw itself as responsible for protecting the interests of students and graduates, and, since students, particularly medics, were being adversely affected by the existing arrangement, a committee of convocation was established to investigate the matter. This committee acknowledged the concerns of London institutions and recommended that those located in or near London be specially designated constituent colleges of the University.74 Teachers in those colleges would be able to elect members to faculties, which would in turn appoint boards of studies and elect representatives to the senate. Examinations would still remain open to everyone, but London-based teachers and institutions would have considerably more influence on the senate and in framing curricula. Convocation would, of course, be represented on the senate and the faculties. When this proposal was put to a full meeting of convocation, however, it did not meet with wholehearted approval.75 Many felt that giving special recognition to London students meant that the position of that large proportion of candidates who prepared for University examinations outside of the capital, whose rights it was also the responsibility of convocation to protect, was being undermined. Consequently, another committee was established to reconsider the question.76 Convocation’s second scheme broadened the conception of constituent colleges to encompass any recognised institution in the country. These would elect

72 A university for London, 1825–1900 representatives to a Council of Education, also consisting of representatives of convocation and examiners, and this body would be responsible for running the educational work of the University. Thus teachers would have some say, but with no special role for those based in London. This scheme was much closer to the traditional preoccupations of the University and convocation, much more readily, approved.77 The senate seems to have held somewhat aloof from the debate until a review of the situation was presented by Lord Justice Fry, a new member who had been close to both University College and convocation.78 Fry conceded that problems had arisen from the lack of connection between teachers and the University, particularly in medicine. There was also something in the charge that the University was little more than an examining body. Greater co-ordination might help to bring the teachers together, and open opportunities to develop subjects that individual colleges might not provide alone. Urged into action, senate set up its own committee, which produced a fourth version of how the University might be reorganised.79 In a significant acknowledgement, the objects of the University were to be revised to specify ‘the promotion of regular and liberal education throughout Her Majesty’s Dominions, and especially in the metropolis and its neighbourhood’.80 Following the other schemes, there were to be four faculties, each of which elected boards of studies to supervise the day-to-day operation of teaching matters and elect representatives to the senate. The faculties would consist of representatives of associated Colleges, which could be anywhere in the UK, providing they were recognised on five criteria: the character of their teaching, the permanence of their foundation, the average age of their students, the number of students sent to the University and any relation it might have to any other university. Similar to convocation’s second report, the senate’s proposals made some acknowledgement of the need to bring teaching and examining closer together, but gave almost nothing to London concerns. The senate committee submitted its deliberations in March 1887, by which time negotiations had been dragging on for three years. Although acknowledging some of the concerns of the Association for Promoting a Teaching University, they were a long way from meeting many of its substantial points.81 There was still no requirement that gaining a degree in arts or sciences should involve a regular course of instruction at a recognised teaching institution. The senate’s criteria for recognising associated Colleges were insufficient to ensure appropriate standards. There was little direct representation of teachers or colleges on the governing body, but still a dominance by former students through convocation. While there was some movement towards acknowledging the place of teachers, overall, there was still no prospect of a teaching university in and for London. Eventually, debate was overtaken by precipitate action by University and King’s colleges. As corporate entities, they had hardly featured in the negotiations, yet they were the premier actual providers of higher educa-

A university for London, 1825–1900 73 tion in the capital. In July 1887, overcoming all previous rivalries, they decided to cut through the seemingly interminable discussion and submitted a joint petition to the Privy Council for the establishment of an entirely independent university.82 For University and King’s colleges, the problem was primarily one of institutional autonomy, and the points of comparison were set by the new provincial colleges, particularly Owens College in Manchester and the Welsh university colleges. Owens had gained considerable independence under the Victoria University, whereby it organised its own curricula, teaching and examinations and could develop areas of work as it wished.83 As an institution in and for Manchester, it could also draw on local patriotism for moral and material support. Despite their leading position in English higher education, University and King’s colleges were subservient to an examining body. London, they argued, was without what was commonly accepted as a university: an Association, that is to say, of Teachers and Students in all the principal departments of learning, organised in a suitable manner for the transmission and increase of knowledge, and possessing the power of granting Public Degrees as marks of proficiency.84 Lacking the standard functions, rights and privileges of a university had impeded higher education. In one sense, the priority given to examinations militated against true university education: Examinations so arranged, though a test of knowledge in a narrow sense of the word, are no adequate test of real education, and tend to deprive instruction and study of that power of transforming the mind of the learner which is their most valuable function.85 Moreover, while there was undoubtedly a demand in the metropolis, and the facilities for higher learning were tremendous, students were actually going elsewhere. With no real co-ordination between the institutions there was limited scope for developing new subjects, or prosecuting original research. Uncertainty as to the actual status of the leading colleges also put off would-be donors. These arguments were similar to those promulgated by the provincial colleges for university status; effectively, what University and King’s colleges wanted was a civic university of London. University and King’s colleges submitted a draft charter for a teaching university, provisionally and opportunistically, titled the Albert University. The two colleges would be constituent colleges with others located in London, particularly the main medical schools, to be admitted if recognised.86 Degrees could be conferred only on those who had pursued a regular course of study in a recognised institution. The governing body would be a council consisting of representatives of the Crown, the

74 A university for London, 1825–1900 two colleges, the Royal Colleges of Physicians and Surgeons, and four from each of three faculties of arts, science and medicine. Faculties would comprise all the teachers and examiners in the recognised institutions who would elect the representatives to council and the boards of studies. After ten years, a convocation of graduates of the Albert University would be formed that could then also elect representatives to the council. Individual colleges would not be under the authority of the council, except as regards regulations on studies and qualifications. Hard on the heels of the petition from the two colleges, however, was another, submitted by the Royal Colleges of Physicians and Surgeons, for the authority to form a senate of its own, with powers to award degrees in medicine and surgery.87 Despite assurances, the metropolitan hospitals and medical schools were concerned that, if the Albert charter were granted, University and King’s colleges’ medical schools would have a clear advantage over the others in London. Both petitions elicited a flurry of opposition; indeed University College council was split by the decision to seek independence.88 Colleges and medical schools across the country were fearful that any new degree-awarding body for London would have a powerful influence and almost certainly would undermine, relatively, their position with the University of London. The University itself argued that the dissociation of the two chief London colleges would be a dangerous precedent, leading to a flood of similar applications that would be difficult to resist. ‘The Senate fear that the creation of numerous small Universities would be fraught with danger to the cause of higher education, and that the competition of graduating bodies would probably . . . lower the standard of graduation’.89 If there were no agency to act as a guardian of standards, teachers and institutions would sit in judgement on their own undergraduates, with the constant temptation to lower levels to attract students. The United States gave ample warning of how unfettered competition reduced higher education to its lowest common denominator. Given the strength of opposition to the Albert charter, and with such a plethora of competing interests and rival schemes, the senate suggested that the whole matter be turned over to a Royal Commission that could review the issue with a fresh mind.90 There seemed little else to do, so in May 1888 a Commission was appointed, with Earl Selbourne as chairman, to ‘inquire whether any and what kind of new university or powers is or are required for the advancement of higher education in London’.91 The petition from the medical corporations was readily rejected as far too sectional: giving degree-awarding powers to a non-academical body in just one faculty was too unprecedented. However prestigious the Royal Colleges were, they remained professional organisations, and there was a persistent concern that degrees in medicine should not sink to the level merely of a licence to practise; there had to be some safeguards of the academic tenor of a professional degree. Otherwise, the Commission felt that the case for a teaching university in and for London was persuasive,

A university for London, 1825–1900 75 although with rather larger horizons. There were a great many bodies in the capital offering higher education, and facilities – notably for medicine – were unrivalled. However, there was no confederation or co-ordination: It can hardly be doubted that if these various institutions . . . could be co-ordinated under a University as their natural head, which would encourage them to do the work for which they are best fitted, and would reward their work when efficiently done with a public stamp of recognition, the cause of education in the metropolis might gain a great impetus.92 This broader vision would be taken up by the Cowper Commission, but evaded the self-interest of the currently warring parties. Having accepted the principle of a teaching university, the Selbourne Commission nevertheless preferred that there should be just one university in the capital. Separate teaching and examining universities would probably weaken effort, so it would be best to combine the two sides under the one head. Despite the palpable lack of accord reached in the previous four years, the Commission noted that senate and convocation had come close to agreement, and if some of the recommendations of the Association for Promoting a Teaching University for London were incorporated a workable compromise might yet be achieved. The outlines of such a compromise were sketched out. Teachers doing university work in London could be formed into faculties with boards of studies who would elect representatives to a revised governing body, which would also include nominees from the Crown, convocation and the principal teaching institutions. The teaching side would have to be restricted to London itself, but this did not necessarily give those colleges predominance over others in the rest of the country. University examinations and degrees would remain open and the final degree examinations should be the same for all candidates. Accordingly, the Selbourne Commission recommended that the matter be returned to senate and convocation to see if they could draw up a new, widely accepted, charter along the lines indicated. Strictly, the Commission was legally required to do so. Under the 1858 Act, only senate, with the approval of convocation, could submit a revised charter, yet they had not finished deliberating when the Albert petition had been submitted.93 Thus, due process had to complete its course. If these bodies could reach some agreement, all well and good; if not, then the matter would have to be referred again for further consideration.94 In the event, then, the Selbourne Commission was an interim measure, which reviewed the situation and sketched out the lines of a compromise before returning it back to the competing factions. That the prospects for success were limited is indicated by the notes of reservation appended to the report by half of the commissioners.95 They recognised that although it would be better to have

76 A university for London, 1825–1900 just one university, and that the Commission’s proposals were about the best way forward, they nevertheless felt that the existing university had been an exclusively examining body for so long that the case for an entirely new teaching university was strong. Dutifully, senate called together convocation, the Royal Colleges, the Albert group and legal interests to reopen negotiations.96 Some progress was made with the medical bodies, the original source of complaint against the University, whereby the medical corporations would have greater involvement with arrangements for medical examinations and the medical schools would become constituent colleges in the University. As soon as some kind of agreement was reached with one party, however, there were inevitable consequences for others. Any attempt to make particular provision for University and King’s colleges, in virtue of their special status in London higher education, would give an apparent advantage to their medical schools over the rest. Similarly, bringing the London institutions together as an identifiable cohort within the wider University seemed to imply that the country colleges, which continued to supply a significant proportion of examination candidates, were being relatively demoted. Even if they did not enjoy substantial formal privileges, simple geography would give the London colleges, if specifically designated, a special status. Mason College in Birmingham led a publicity campaign by the smaller English and Welsh university colleges against bringing teaching and examining in London together. By the end of 1890, after a further eighteen months of debate, the government was pressing for some kind of resolution, so the senate made one more attempt to draft a scheme that would balance the competing interests.97 As was now usual, the governing body was to be expanded to accommodate representatives of the teachers via faculties, and the principal London institutions and teaching bodies. The main innovation was in suggesting a parallel set of categories for non-London colleges and teachers. Provincial colleges could apply for recognition on the same basis as London ones and were entitled to nominate up to four members of senate. Similarly, non-London teachers could form provincial faculties, also with rights of representation. A series of senate standing committees would promote university teaching in departments of arts and sciences in London Colleges, in provincial colleges and for non-college examinations, while similar committees dealt with departments of medicine and laws. There would be closer co-operation with medical bodies for medical degrees. Candidates from recognised colleges would have to show evidence of attendance at classes, but examinations would still be open to noncollegiate students. The committee of convocation that had been co-operating with their senate counterparts urged that this scheme should be approved.98 Once again, however, a campaign had been growing in the wider body of convocation against the trend towards developing teaching in the University. For opponents, any recognition of teachers’ rights or

A university for London, 1825–1900 77 college autonomy was a slippery slope that inevitably led to institutional fragmentation and competition, ultimately devaluing graduates’ degrees. When it came to a vote, then, convocation refused to accept the revised scheme. Since the agreement of convocation was necessary for any new charter to be accepted, this rejection finally dashed hopes for a compromise emerging from the participants to the debate. Consequently, the process reverted back to the Privy Council, which again took up the Albert petition that had effectively been on hold since the appointment of the Selbourne Commission. With suspicious rapidity, the Albert charter was actually approved but, owing to parliamentary procedures, that approval could not be confirmed for several months.99 In that time, a modified petition was submitted with a broader compass to include the ten principal London medical schools.100 A new name for the proposed teaching university was put on the draft charter, which was now to be known as the Gresham University, after the Tudor philanthropist who had endowed chairs in university subjects. Although these lectures had ceased to have any real academic standing, the antiquity and popularity of the foundation added a historic and civic gloss to the application, attracting the support of London Corporation and some of the Guild Companies.101 In this same period, however, opposition was mobilised. A body calling itself the Committee for Opposing the Albert University presented a case against finally acceding to the petition.102 It argued that the Selbourne Commission had ruled that if no new scheme was forthcoming from senate then the matter should revert for further inquiry. Members of Parliament were marshalled to ask that the charter be postponed pending renewed inquiry, which ensured that the whole matter was referred to another Royal Commission.103 Underpinning this debate were alternative conceptions of the university. The University of London was designed as a regulatory body, a means whereby university education could be extended – first in London, then throughout the country and the world – by setting and maintaining appropriate standards of achievement. It was a utilitarian device, premised on the view that passing examinations demonstrated that a candidate possessed a certain level of academic attainment and hence, providing the examinations were exacting enough, had achieved university standing. On this conception, the fundamental criterion of university education was that a certain level of attainment could be demonstrated. Thus, teaching could take place anywhere, and examinations were a proxy for institutional inspection. Although it was based on a Cambridge model, it took the separation of teaching and examining to an extreme conclusion. While both institutions and teachers were uncertain and inexperienced, the system worked admirably well. As both matured into their roles, however, they chafed against such professional subservience. At the same time, other aspects of what was meant by a university education were being emphasised. Oxbridge tutors saw their role increasingly as nurturing

78 A university for London, 1825–1900 undergraduates, forming a personal as well as educational bond that would form the whole man. Provincial colleges urged the integration of teaching, research and examination in a more unified whole that could cater for local interests. The situation was particularly galling for the London-based teachers and institutions who seemed increasingly forgotten by a university ostensibly for them. Superimposed on the underlying differences, however, were myriad contradictory interests. Teachers’ concerns cut across institutions, but there were internal divisions as well. University College’s governing body was split; convocation was divided. A University of London surely meant some kind of university specifically for Londoners, yet any concession to the London colleges worried the country institutions. The situation was exacerbated by the form of the debate; drawing up a draft charter was a tortuous process, with multiple sections and clauses, each a source of potential division. Ultimately, an outside body would have to impose a settlement. Since the University of London was a creation of the state, it fell to the state to try to sort something out. The Selbourne Commission made little attempt to dictate a resolution, but perhaps was not really in a position to do so. It helped to draw together the various threads and suggest the outlines of a new scheme, but had to leave matters until all existing possibilities had been exhausted. Once the matter was fully back in the hands of the state, the Cowper Commission conducted a much more thorough investigation of the condition of higher education in the capital and proposed an even larger conception of the university.

The Cowper Commission and the London higher education market Despite its Gordian convolutions, the debate over a teaching university for London had, thus far, been conducted among a relatively limited range of sectional interests: the senate and convocation of the University, teachers and the principal colleges in London, and medical bodies. Higher-level education in the capital, however, had never been confined to these areas and, even while the controversy raged, was changing significantly. Professional education in law, for example, operated without the university; but London was also a leading centre of artistic and cultural training, underwritten by some of the best collections of artefacts in the world. As the largest industrial and commercial city in the country, specialist knowledge and expertise was in constant demand and, during the last third of the century, technical education was rapidly taking on new institutional forms. Thus, a vast market for higher-level education was developing in London, catering for myriad demands and which had not settled into any definite form. The Selbourne commissioners recognised the changing situation and indicated that a reconstituted University might play an important role as a natural head for these initiatives, bringing co-ordination and efficiency. Little came of the sugges-

A university for London, 1825–1900 79 tion at the time, but it was taken up and pursued by the second Royal Commission to investigate the University of London, chaired by Earl Cowper. Strictly, the Cowper Commission’s terms of reference were limited, confined to considering the draft charter for the proposed Gresham University, but the commissioners took the opportunity to take a much broader view.104 Given the length of time already expended on the issue, it seemed expedient to go into the whole question at some length; to go beyond sectional interests and to try to determine just what was required of the University, for London, the nation and the Empire. In taking such a broad perspective, a number of general issues touching on the nature of the university at the end of the nineteenth century were brought into view: the relationships between teaching, examination and research; what subjects and kinds of education that should properly be within the purview of a university; the connections that should obtain between a university and outside bodies such as professional organisations or artistic and cultural resources. The Cowper Commission was the most extensive and farreaching state inquiry into university education in this period and provides the most substantial, official interpretation of the nature, role and function of the modern university as it was emerging at the end of the century, and laid down a number of markers as to how it should develop. Before anything else, some solution to the Byzantine complexities of the existing debate had to be found. As the Selbourne Commission had done previously, the Cowper commissioners advocated the idea of a teaching university, but through a reconstitution of the existing one, not as an independent entity – so the main tenets of the Gresham charter were quickly rejected. A reorganised University would combine the functions of a teaching university for London, with the wider responsibilities of an examining body for the Empire. Several arguments were adduced to support the need for a teaching university, the principal one being the central importance of personal interaction between teacher and learner in higher education. Whatever objections there may have been, the overriding significance of teachers being the prime influence in setting examinations and guiding students through the syllabus was upheld. Interestingly, this same principle allowed for the preservation of the external examining side of the University. It was recommended that, while there was scope for variation between different institutions, final examinations should be as similar as possible for both internal and external candidates. Teachers of external students, although having no direct input themselves, could at least be reassured that examination setting had been led by teachers rather than a remote body of examiners. Bolstering the case was the fact that most external students only took examinations for Pass Degrees and tended to come into residence for honours, higher or professional courses. Thus, the superior elements of the University remained founded primarily on interactions between teacher and learner. Overall, then, it seemed preferable to keep a single University for London.

80 A university for London, 1825–1900 Having determined on one University, an immediate question was how to connect the various educational institutions into a coherent teaching organisation. In some respects, the commissioners thought in institutional terms, recommending that entire institutions, or sometimes just particular departments, within a certain geographical limit be admitted into formal relationship with the University. These would become recognised schools of the University, where designated courses of instruction were provided and subject to visitation by the University. Teachers in the constituent schools would be eligible for recognition by the University and would make up the faculties of the teaching University. Thus, a distinction was drawn between those institutions, departments and teachers operating in London that were recognised by the University and would become organic parts of it, and those that were not. No hard and fast rules for admission were laid down, but the long-standing criteria covering the foundation of the institution, its financial position and whether it was already connected to a university, whether the teaching was of university rank, the average age of the students and the proportion that were likely to proceed to degrees, all still applied. Although acknowledging the continued centrality of the institutions in other respects, the commissioners’ recommendations undercut institutional authority by emphasising the role of the teachers. It was the recognised teachers, organised into faculties, who would have prime responsibility for electing the boards of studies responsible for the everyday running of the curriculum and examinations, and would also elect members of the academic council. Graduates, too, continued to be represented by convocation. An enlarged senate of sixty-six would be composed of one-third teachers; representatives of the Crown, of convocation and a range of professional and institutional organisations made up the rest. External students would be catered for by a standing board appointed by the senate. From a state-appointed committee, the senate would now display considerable academic democracy. Most conspicuous by their relative absence were the institutions as corporate bodies. Only University and King’s colleges were represented on the senate, with two members each. The independent colleges would be able to determine the areas of work they wanted to develop and continue to provide the actual location of teaching for the University; but, in terms of formal organisation, the University dealt directly with the teachers, distinct from their immediate institutional employers. Avoiding giving institutions too much corporate authority in the governance of the University was perhaps necessary in the light of the much wider conception of the University put forward by the commissioners. Taking the opportunity to consider the role and function of the University from scratch, the Cowper Commission went beyond the familiar range of institutional interests to make a systematic survey of higher education in the capital. It was a chance to engage with a diverse range of organisa-

A university for London, 1825–1900 81 tions, to determine which might profitably be brought into conjunction with the University. Institutions that they suggested should be admitted as Schools of the University included the usual University and King’s colleges and the ten principal medical schools, but there were also the Royal College of Science, the City and Guilds Institute and Bedford College. More surprising were six theological colleges, of varying denominations, and four colleges of music. Law was also included in the six faculties, of arts, sciences, medicine, laws, theology and music, which were envisaged to cater for the expanded scope of the University. It is worth exploring these institutions further, both to identify their place in the London higher education market and to appreciate the nature of the university that the Cowper Commission believed might bring them together. Bedford College was the only institution that had managed to represent its views to the Privy Council when the Gresham petition was considered, but had been peremptorily dismissed. By the mid-1890s, however, Bedford College had consolidated its position as a university-level institution for women, offering full courses in arts and sciences with healthy numbers of students.105 To the Cowper commissioners, then, it had a legitimate claim to be included in the reconstituted University. The first two new appearances in the list – the Royal College of Science and the City and Guilds Institute – represented an increasing concern with scientific and technical education.106 The Royal College of Science had a particularly convoluted institutional history.107 Its origins lay in the 1840s in two institutions, one devoted to chemistry and one to mining, which had been brought together in the 1850s during a phase of interest in scientific education inspired by the 1851 Exhibition. In the wake of a further phase of interest in scientific education during the 1870s, a broader institution encompassing a full range of sciences had been gradually established, with state funding, on land in South Kensington. By the 1890s, the now Royal College of Science and Royal School of Mines were conducting some higher-level research and education, albeit on a small scale. The City and Guilds Institute also came out of the 1870s concern with the condition of scientific and technical education, which, serendipitously, coincided with a scrutiny of the great wealth accumulated by the City of London Guilds. The Guilds or Livery Companies were of medieval origin, responsible for supervising and regulating trade and apprenticeship in the City of London. By the 1870s, their welfare and educational functions had long since become obsolete, but the Companies still enjoyed considerable wealth accumulated down the years, which, to critics, seemed to be conspicuously expended on lavish dinners. In 1875, Gladstone suggested that the Companies devote some of their resources to the not unrelated concern with technical education. Taking the hint, the Companies, in conjunction with the City of London, launched a scheme of technical education under the auspices of a new body, the City and Guilds of London Institute, in the late 1870s. The City and Guilds took over the running of

82 A university for London, 1825–1900 the technical examinations previously operated by the Society of Arts and began making donations to technical institutions across the country. It also established two new institutions in London. A technical school was opened in Finsbury, intended as the model for more, not subsequently realised. To act as a pivot to the whole plan, a great new Central Institution was created. At a cost of some £92,000 it was built in South Kensington, alongside the Royal College of Science and Royal School of Mines, and boasted eminent staff. Scientific and technical education was still very much a current concern while the Cowper Commission sat. Bringing two London institutions that were clearly aspiring to higher-level education into association with the University seemed a useful way of adding force and coherence to the movement. Incorporating music and theology with the University was not without precedent. There had been degrees in music since 1878, although there had been few candidates and fewer successes.108 Many aspiring musicians had little general education and it was commonly felt that the period of musical training was too short and intense to instil higher-level liberal studies as well. Certainly, the theoretical demands of the London B.Mus. were beyond the capabilities of most aspiring musicians. Witnesses from the senior Royal Academy and Royal College of Music continued to display little appreciation of how they might relate to the University. The commissioners’ enthusiasm about the potential for music seems to have come from the Revd H. G. B. Hunt, leading light at the new Trinity College of Music. Born out of the Anglican musical revival, Trinity College did require a rigorous course in liberal arts for its licentiate. With the rapidly acquired prestige of its qualification and energetic educational life, the college thrived. Hunt did see a place for music degrees, particularly for artistic leaders such as composers and conductors. Inspired by his vision, the older academies, probably reluctantly, and the new Guildhall School, originally intended for amateurs, were recommended by the commissioners for admission into the University alongside Trinity. Given the non-sectarian, even secular, origins of the University, theology was a perhaps surprising inclusion. Yet theological colleges had been one of the main suppliers of candidates for the University’s external examinations in the days when attendance on a regular course of study was still required.109 In the mid-nineteenth century, London external degrees were about the only means by which non-Anglicans could get a degree, and dissenting and Catholic theological colleges were keen to affiliate. Admittedly, the degree was in arts rather than theology; it was not the responsibility of the University to cater for, or examine in, sectarian doctrine. By the same token, the only degrees in divinity in England were Anglican. With this, the commissioners were persuaded that there was scope for what colleges of various denominations referred to as theological science – the academic study of theology, without any profession of faith.110 It was hoped that recognition of theology by the University might

A university for London, 1825–1900 83 stimulate deeper study of such an important subject. In admitting Londonbased music and theology colleges, the Cowper Commission tried to bring a much wider range of constituencies into relationship with the University and to extend the scope of the University into new arenas, thereby hopefully mobilising and stimulating educational and cultural resources. In taking a broad conception of their brief, the commissioners were led to consider the relationships of the University with a wide range of issues besides the institutional. In so doing, they discussed many features of the role and function of the modern university. Of increasing importance was the place of research. The commissioners were clear that research should not be entirely hived off into separate institutions. This would lower both the academic character of the schools of the University and the standard of their teaching. Wherever good work was being carried out, it ought to be supported by the University, albeit with a view to consolidation and unification. On the other hand, it was felt that existing facilities were insufficient and there probably would have to be additional independent research institutions, especially in the sciences. This would require greater state funding, and the commissioners were pleased to note that the government was planning a considerable extension of laboratories that might be available to the University. It was noted that hitherto the University had made very small demands on the state; but a teaching university needed much greater public funds. Emphasising the place of research, the commissioners maintained that any new research institution should be open to all qualified people in the University, to promote ‘that zeal for the advancement of knowledge, which is the highest mark and aim of University training’.111 Research was increasingly regarded as a fundamental criterion of a university, with the massively expanding fields of natural science most in need of support. There was the question, however, of whether it was solely the study of science for its own sake that belonged in a university or whether the applied sciences also had a place. A number of witnesses to the Commission made a clear distinction between the demands of pure and applied sciences and argued for a separate faculty of applied science with courses differentiated from pure science from the start, although they also emphasised that the final awards should be degrees in science, not certificates of practical proficiency. Against this was the contrary view that such subjects should not be included within the scope of a university at all, but put into separate institutions, as in France or Germany. For their part, the commissioners recognised that divorcing the two branches was not the practice in Britain and that applied sciences were some of the strongest elements of University and King’s colleges. They believed that ‘the advancement of “Pure Science” will be best provided by showing how it may be applied in the best possible way to useful purposes’.112 Following from this, it became urgent to identify those branches of higher teaching of greatest public utility that were most lacking in resources. They cited

84 A university for London, 1825–1900 chemistry, as applied to agriculture, and the physiology of plants and animals, pharmacology, hygiene and sanitary science. Bringing professional bodies into connection with the University, such as the Royal Agricultural Society, Royal Institute of British Architects, or the Institutes of Engineering was also important in order to ‘prevent errors and omissions likely to arise from a too theoretical appreciation of the subject’.113 Applied science was emphatically a proper element of the British university. Recommending that representatives from technical and practical professional organisations serve on the senate continued the University’s efforts to bring itself into a relationship with leading professional bodies. Suggestions to develop theological science were in the same vein. Medicine was always the closest partner, and the commissioners took the opportunity to press for greater co-ordination. They hoped that arrangements could be made between the University and the Royal Colleges to prevent a multiplicity of examinations. Degrees, however, had to be more than simply a licence to practise, demanding a higher standard of scientific knowledge. On this point, it was suggested that the teaching of preliminary sciences, especially at the smaller medical schools, might be concentrated in a few, thus making for larger and more manageable classes that could attract good teachers and allow the medical schools to concentrate on clinical subjects. Once again, the commissioners tried to tempt legal education into the fold. Legal education did not feature in the petition for the Gresham charter because neither University College nor King’s had any to speak of. Yet it was too important an issue to be ignored by the Commission. In keeping with the breadth of vision displayed throughout the report, the commissioners saw scope for a greatly expanded provision of legal education. Potential practitioners would benefit from a more general higher education prior to entry on professional training, but people intending to enter public life or service, such as MPs, magistrates or civil servants might also appreciate a liberal understanding of the law. Any undertaking in legal education would require the co-operation of the Inns of Court or Incorporated Law Society and, until then, the elaborate proposals forwarded by the Commission remained wishful thinking. For the commissioners there were clear parallels to be drawn between legal and medical education. For both, a university degree could help lay a liberal and scientific basis for further professional training, thus making for more highly educated practitioners while mobilising the expertise and resources available in London – and, incidentally, supplying plentiful recruits for the University. Similar could be said for the applied sciences, for theology and even for music where the scientific rather than purely aesthetic sides were emphasised. The same case, however, could not be made for fine art, which was excluded. Here, witnesses insisted on the ‘predominant importance of executive mastery and of spontaneous imaginative power’,114 which appeared insusceptible of academic study, so the

A university for London, 1825–1900 85 commissioners were disinclined to include the subject in the University. Consideration of the fine arts, however, raised another highly pertinent issue about the University’s wider place. London had some of the finest collections of cultural and scientific artefacts in the world; how were these to be brought into connection with the University? As with the case of the independent professional organisations, it was not for the University to claim any rights over national public institutions; but the opportunities to promote systematic academic study in connection with these collections were too good to miss. It was suggested, then, that there be professors of history of art, and of archaeology, employed directly by the University, not any of its constituent schools, who could help to bring out the historic and cultural significance of London’s unparalleled resources and develop higher study and research. While making every effort to extend the role and functions of the University, the commissioners were also clear on certain areas that they felt did not belong. Birkbeck Institute was singled out for exclusion, as well as the polytechnics. Birkbeck started life in the 1820s as the London Mechanics Institute and enjoyed characteristically mixed fortunes.115 The institute was revived from mid-century by the advent of scientific and technical examinations, but Birkbeck also made a special effort to provide courses of preparation for University examinations. Although Birkbeck Institute made great play of its higher pretensions, its university-type work was only a small component of a mixed economy of technical and leisure courses for adult part-time students. The polytechnics were a peculiarly London phenomenon.116 The original Regent Street Polytechnic was a charitable venture, founded by Quintin Hogg in the 1880s, to offer general and technical education and healthy recreation for the working classes. At the same time, again somewhat fortuitously, another set of London charities were under investigation. Analogous to the Livery Companies there were numerous long-established charities in the parishes of the City of London that had long outlived their original objects. A Royal Inquiry into what to do with the accumulated funds led to the City Parochial Charities Act of 1883, which pooled a vast sum of £3 million. Hogg’s Polytechnic was identified as a worthy recipient of the charity and, from the early 1890s, a series of new polytechnics was founded, also with the object of education and healthy recreation for the working classes. Somewhat against its will, Birkbeck Institute was incorporated into a new, tripartite City Polytechnic in 1891. With the polytechnics adjudged ‘chiefly concerned with evening instruction, the greater part of which is not of a University type’,117 they were excluded from the commissioners’ plans. Unsurprisingly, secondary schools did not have a place in university education, but it was also recommended that universities should not take on the task of organising secondary education. Following Oxbridge examples, the University of London inspected selected secondary schools.118 Although some kind of co-ordinating and grading body for

86 A university for London, 1825–1900 secondary schools was seen as important, the Cowper Commission argued against universities doing it.119 Residential teacher-training colleges were also ruled out of connection with the University, since most of their work was elementary and practical. Complicating the matter, however, was the emergence of Day Training Colleges, in association with university colleges, and the number of people from the residential colleges who went on to take degrees.120 As in the case of fine art, it was suggested that University lecturers on history and methods of education could provide courses for trainee teachers. One of the difficulties the commissioners had with teacher training was that the work of the residential colleges was very much directed by the state Education Department. Residential colleges had no control over their curricula or teaching, and the commissioners felt that a school of the University could not subordinate its academic autonomy to an outside authority, not even to the government. It was a similar problem to that of medical degrees: however eminent, the Royal Colleges were professional, not academic bodies, and so could not sit in judgement on the nature of an academical qualification such as a degree. There was a wider question here, though, of the relationships between the University and the state. It was not addressed directly, and the Commission trod a delicate line whenever the subject arose. In one respect, one of the underlying purposes of the inquiry was to pull the University away from direct government appointment towards academic democracy. To bring about the great extension of the University’s role, endow posts and provide facilities, however, would require large funds that were only, realistically, available from the state. It was also clearly recognised that the University had public, national and imperial responsibilities. For example, scientific research required substantial state funding but would have to demonstrate its utility. The efforts made by University and King’s colleges, together with the Imperial Institute, to develop oriental languages deserved considerable state support, given their enormous imperial implications. Large-scale state funding, however, did imply government monitoring. The attempt to reconcile these competing principles lead to tortuous convolutions of language, illustrated in the discussion of the potential extension of education in law to public servants generally: It will be very desirable that the University should come to some understanding with the Civil Service Commissioners, to obtain from them recognition of its degrees gained in the department of Jurisprudence and Political Science. The University cannot undertake to prepare its students for examinations over which it has no control, but it is obviously advantageous to the State to encourage its servants to get the best tuition, and towards attaining this object the co-operation of the State and the University will offer the best guarantees.121

A university for London, 1825–1900 87 By the late nineteenth century there was a vast market for higher education in London. Political, governmental, professional, artistic and cultural life was all concentrated in the capital. London was the largest commercial and financial centre, had the largest and most varied industrial base in the country, and an enormous and wealthy population. Each aspect of London life needed general and specialist knowledge and expertise, and a bewildering variety of educational provision had emerged to cater for the kaleidoscopic demands. The Cowper Commission recognised the potential value of this educational wealth and presented a view of a reconstituted University as a unifying and co-ordinating body that would bring together and, in the process, define the highest education in London. Teaching, examining and scholarship would be brought into association, scientific research would feed into applied fields, all appropriate professions would have an underlying basis of liberal education and the immense cultural resources of the capital would be mobilised for higher study. At the same time, university education would be clearly distinguished from lower levels: technical, evening and leisure classes and elementary teacher training. Nor would the immensely valuable external examining role of the University be lost. Altogether, an independent academy, supported by the state, would supervise and regulate the provision of higher education for public, national and imperial service. It was the established role of the University of London, extended and translated to the institutional complexities of the metropolis.

The reconstituted University, 1900 To obvert the tortuous process of drawing up yet another draft charter that would almost inevitably lead to further internecine wrangling, the Cowper Commission suggested that their recommendations be put into effect by legislative authority to create a statutory commission, which could settle arrangements in consultation. It was surely sound advice, but the path ahead was not yet smooth. Numerous Bills to establish statutory commissioners were defeated before an Act was passed in 1898. That legislation was ultimately achieved was due in no small part to the efforts of R. B. Haldane who, in the process, launched a long-running and highly influential role as unofficial minister for higher education. He was joined by Sidney Webb, who already exercised considerable material patronage in the capital as chairman of the London County Council Technical Education Board. The principal thrust of the Cowper recommendations was largely implemented, although some aspects failed to materialise. Several new features were incorporated, noticeably aligned to schemes supported by Webb and Haldane. R. B. Haldane, a philosophical Germanophile, cuts a hugely important figure in the development of universities from the turn of the century.122 He came from a wealthy Scottish family and became a distinguished

88 A university for London, 1825–1900 London barrister before becoming a Liberal MP with a radical bent. Undoubtedly the most important feature of his background was a profoundly formative experience as a young man at Göttingen University.123 He studied Hegelian idealism, which thereafter furnished him with a deepseated idealist world-view; he also acquired enormous respect for German organisation and administration. Haldane’s idealism consisted in searching for the rational principles underlying all forms of phenomenal experience, which would then form the basis of reasoned and efficient action. He was also committed to public service as a means of living out the fundamental principles on which everyday social activity was ultimately based.124 Haldane was drawn to higher education as the embodiment of the search for ultimate truths. He had taken a more practical interest in the University of London from the late 1880s.125 With the Liberals out of office and the attempts to reform the University of London seemingly going nowhere, Haldane decided to take up the issue as a personal crusade. If ever there was a worthy issue that needed to be restructured on a sound basis, this seemed to be it.126 Haldane was aided and abetted by his friend Sidney Webb. As the leading light of Fabian socialism, Webb approached problems from an almost diametrically opposite direction to Haldane.127 Webb was interested in concrete facts, which he believed would lay the evidential foundations for incremental progress towards practical, collective improvement. By the late 1890s, Webb was already deeply involved with the University of London, and becoming more so. As chairman of the Technical Education Board of the London County Council he had authority over considerable funds and steered useful sums towards University, King’s and Bedford colleges. He also supported the polytechnics and his own alma mater Birkbeck Institute. In 1894, a remarkable windfall allowed him to embark on a pet project, when he was made chief executor of a will in which some £10,000 was left to promote the purposes and propaganda of the Fabian Society.128 Webb used the legacy to found a school of social and political science, arguing that, more than anything, the cause of socialism needed facts on the nature and condition of modern social and economic life and well-educated advocates who could use this knowledge to buttress their arguments for collectivism. The London School of Economics and Political Science was opened in 1895 on a modest scale in rented rooms, with part-time lecturers and mainly part-time students. Webb wanted people who were actively involved in London life to study the issues they engaged with every day. He also used the fund as leverage to extract further money from the LCC, which became the principal source of annual income. The school proved to be an immediate success, with rapid growth of student numbers. A library of political science was launched alongside the school and a series of publications of original investigations started to roll from the press. It was perhaps unlikely that a wealthy and patrician socialite with a

A university for London, 1825–1900 89 highly metaphysical world-view should find common cause with a very practical and rather austere self-made man. Haldane and Webb shared, however, a concern for consequential improvement for the community at large, which they both believed could be best achieved through rational and co-ordinated organisation of activity. Haldane and Webb worked on the Bill that would put the Cowper recommendations into effect; but it struggled to progress.129 The Bill was opposed by bishops who objected to a clause that required the removal of all religious tests, which would have a serious effect on King’s College. Another attempt to pass the Bill ran out of parliamentary time. Ever ready to co-operate across the political spectrum, Haldane persuaded the Conservative prime minister, A. J. Balfour, to adopt the Bill as a government measure. This time Irish MPs threatened to obstruct it, arguing that university education in Ireland was in more urgent need of attention. Haldane assuaged their concern by conducting an investigation on behalf of the government into the problem.130 Even in the final stages, it appeared that the Bill might be lost in the face of opposition, not least from the University’s own MP, who objected to several key features.131 Haldane later claimed that only a bravura performance by himself rescued it from defeat.132 The University of London Act created a body of statutory commissioners to draw up the details of how the Cowper recommendations would be implemented.133 It was laid down in the Act that a new senate be elected, consisting primarily of representatives of convocation and of the faculties, with representation from the medical Royal Colleges, the legal bodies, University and King’s colleges, the Corporation and County Council of London and of the City and Guilds of London Institute. To finally deal with the question of internal and external responsibilities, there were to be three standing committees of senate: one each to cater for internal and external students, and one to promote extension teaching. Examinations for internal and external students were to be separate, and certificates of qualification would indicate the status of the student, but they were to represent the same standard of knowledge and attainment. Faculties, with boards of studies, would be formed from teachers at institutions within a thirty-mile radius of the University buildings who were recognised by the academic council as teachers of the University. Finally, there were to be no disabilities imposed by sex or religion. By the time the statutory commissioners reported, in 1900, there were several notable departures from the vision outlined by the Cowper Commission.134 Music had lost its place. Neither the Royal College nor the Royal Academy of Music were prepared to become schools of the university except under unacceptable conditions, so it was decided not to include the other colleges either. Some of the staff at the colleges were recognised as teachers of the University, which meant that it was possible to study music as an internal student. More seriously, the legal bodies once again refused to commit to the University; this was a subject of profound regret

90 A university for London, 1825–1900 in the commissioners’ report. Despite having invited the four Inns of Court, at least to engage in dialogue, the commissioners’ overtures had been declined in decidedly short terms. Without co-operation from the legal bodies, though, there was little valid basis for a faculty of law and the commissioners could only ‘submit to Your Majesty’s gracious consideration whether any further inquiries shall be made or steps taken to secure such co-operation’.135 The commissioners also made suggestions about rationalising and co-ordinating preliminary medical education. Although music and law had been dropped, two new faculties appeared in the scheme, in engineering and in economics and political science, both of which bore the hallmark of Webb, Haldane and allied interests. Clearly, economics and political science were dear to Webb and he lobbied hard to have the subjects admitted in the University.136 He was in a position of considerable power, refusing to sanction grants from the LCC to the University unless he had his way. Since most of the teaching in the faculty would be conducted at the LSE, his particular project would also be boosted. A distinct faculty of engineering was also in the Haldane/Webb mould. Both would approve of rationalising and upgrading the facilities for engineering and developing the applied sciences independently. In another important shift of emphasis, teachers would be eligible for recognition by the University, whatever institution they happened to work in. Specifically, Webb wanted the polytechnics to come under the purview of the University, where the Cowper Commission had clearly excluded them. In part, this may derive from Webb’s own higher educational background via the Birkbeck Institute, but he also saw a slightly different role for the University, which was set out in an article written shortly after the Act was passed.137 He envisaged the University reaching out across Greater London, bringing undergraduate education within reach of the suburban centres of population. To achieve this, suitably qualified teachers in outlying institutions would have to be eligible for recognition by the University. Conversely, postgraduate education and research would be concentrated in the central London institutions. Neither Haldane nor Webb were entirely satisfied with the settlement they had worked so assiduously to bring about.138 Haldane felt that the senate was too large to be effective and that convocation and the external side still had too much influence. Webb was suspicious of the influence of the institutions, which he thought tended towards fragmentation of effort as each one attempted to become separate Lilliputian universities. Their emphasis on the faculty structure and notable bypassing of institutional interests were an attempt to circumvent this problem. In the late 1890s, however, both Haldane and Webb were primarily concerned with achieving a new constitution for the University. At the turn of the century, it appeared that a suitable compromise had been reached. For the metropolis, there was something like a recognisable teaching university with faculties, boards of studies and academic representation, albeit vastly

A university for London, 1825–1900 91 complicated by having the teachers of the University distributed across a large number of independent institutions. A much wider range of educational and cultural bodies had been brought into association with the University, which now had a role in mobilising, co-ordinating and consolidating the highest-level education and research in the capital. Nor had the external examining function been lost. Although distinct, internal and external examinations were required to be of an equivalent standing and, while the external teachers still had no say in the nature of the examinations, at least they were set by people who were teachers. Whatever the achievements, disenchantment with the way the reconstituted University turned out, not least by Haldane and Webb, soon set in.139 As it transpired, this reorganisation was just another staging post in a continuing attempt to find a stable form for the University of London.

Conclusion When the University of London was created by the state in 1836 it offered an admirably utilitarian solution to a number of problems. It overcame the sectarian rivalries between the ‘university’ and King’s College, while providing a means of fostering the development of a cheap, useful and accessible form of university education as an alternative to Oxbridge. The examining University provided a framework and maintained a standard within which higher education throughout the country, and indeed the world, could develop. It worked extremely well; so well that the distinction between examining and teaching was made almost complete. Although derived from the Cambridge model, an examining university was predicated on the view that what mattered in a university education was the end result, and the function of a university was ensuring the standards of qualifications. From a state, bureaucratic point of view, it was important to know that professional persons and others possessing a degree, emerging from unknown and untried institutions, had demonstrated a certain level of knowledge and ability. Through the mid-nineteenth century, however, this conception of the university came to be regarded as increasingly restrictive. The emphasis of university education steadily shifted onto the process rather than the outcome. What mattered most to teachers was the interaction between tutor and taught and, to institutions, the freedom to develop courses of study as they saw fit. The protracted debate over the organisation of the University of London began as an internecine controversy between teaching, professional and institutional interests, each trying to stake a claim in the operation of the University. Since the University was a creation of the state, it fell to the state to try to reach some kind of settlement. While recognising the value of a teaching university for London, the examining function of the University was too useful to lose, so the state-sponsored solution was always going to be a compromise between the teaching and examining

92 A university for London, 1825–1900 ideas of the university. The state inquiries, however, highlighted another aspect of the proper work of a university. On this view, the University should act as a pivotal point, co-ordinating, consolidating and enhancing all higher-level education and cultural activity in the capital of the nation and Empire. Thus there were three aspects: the examining function of the original University of London, the pastoral tutoring increasingly emphasised at Oxbridge colleges, and the civic identity developed by the provincial university colleges. The Selbourne Commission indicated the possibilities, which the Cowper Commission explored in depth. Not surprisingly, it would prove difficult to implement such a vision against entrenched interests. At the same time, higher education continued in a state of flux as institutions of university education proliferated, which reiterated questions about the nature of what a university was for.

3

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900

During the second half of the nineteenth century, a new set of institutions which aimed to provide higher-level forms of education up to university standard was founded in the principal industrial and commercial towns and cities. They originated at the nodal points of a complex of national educational movements and local urban factors. To a large extent, they emulated the pioneer of modern urban university education, University College, London, in providing cheap, relevant and accessible curricula to the middle classes. These provincial colleges also gave local expression to the two great educational campaigns of the mid-Victorian period to expand scientific and technical education, and disseminate Oxbridge extension lectures. Certainly, a large number of institutions across the country took on aspects of these educational initiatives, but only the largest towns were able to support colleges with the resources and facilities necessary for more advanced study. While embracing a wide range of educational activity, the colleges in the principal towns were able to aspire to higher things. Civic pride added a virtuous circle of competition between the major towns to make possession of a university college a hallmark of civic status and identity. Thus, around a dozen institutions emerged as an identifiable cohort and constituted a significant new sector of university level education, yet each one bore the impression of the local social, political and economic circumstances surrounding its birth. The provincial colleges were able to develop their university-type work within the framework provided by University of London external examinations. But the great provincial cities yielded little to London dominance and the most ambitious colleges soon looked towards fully independent university status. Not surprisingly, Owens College in Manchester led the way, and its application for a charter in the 1870s reiterated questions about the changing nature of the English university, already under widespread debate. Owens’ audacity, however, demanded that the questions be answered. Could an institution raise itself to university status and, if so, what exactly was required before the state offered legal recognition of the achievement in a charter to grant degrees? What was the place of modern subjects in the curriculum? What was the proper relationship between

94 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 teaching, examinations and research? Did technical and vocational education belong in a university? Was it really possible that a university could exist in the hellish confines of an industrial city? Many of these questions reprised those raised by the foundation of the original ‘London university’, but other issues were introduced as well. Owens College made great play of its local relationships, but universities were conceived of as national institutions. Could a university have a local character; could the number of universities in the country safely be multiplied? Ultimately, only the state could determine the answers to these questions, as only the state had the power to approve a charter to award degrees. To begin with, a compromise was reached, similar to that arrived at for London, whereby Owens College did not get its own charter but formed the first constituent college of a new federal institution, the Victoria University, which later incorporated the colleges in Liverpool and Leeds. Gradually, however, the state was drawn further into the debate, as relationships between the provincial colleges and the state went beyond legal formalities. Although they owed their origins and characteristics to local circumstances, it quickly transpired that voluntary local munificence could not meet the exponential requirements of modern university-level education. Another source of income was needed and the colleges identified the central state as the most viable option. Remarkably, if reluctantly, the Treasury agreed to provide grants in aid, which proved a crucial lifeline. Public funds, however, had to be publicly accountable and the Treasury had to ensure that grants given for university work were being spent appropriately. This entailed decisions on what counted as university work, and advisers from Oxbridge were recruited to adjudge what this consisted of. Through the late nineteenth century, the colleges continued to develop a mixed economy of work and to extend a range of services to their local communities that gradually approached a form recognisable to Oxbridge inspectors as being of a university character. At the same time, having been admitted as of a university level, the colleges were allocated regional educational responsibilities by central government appropriate to higherlevel institutions. Thus local relationships continued to be the dominant characteristic, these arising out of the interaction between the colleges and local and central authorities. For this reason, the common term ‘civic universities’ is slightly misleading and is not used here.1 Strictly, it is anachronistic, certainly for this chapter, as none of the colleges achieved university status before the turn of the century, and the teleology of identifying origins belies the uncertain existence of the colleges in their early decades. More importantly, it masks the role of state grants and the regulations that went with them in helping significantly to mould the provincial colleges as local versions of established models of the university.

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 95

The emergence of the provincial university colleges There had been proposals for universities and colleges in the provinces for centuries, but Owens College in Manchester was the first really successful institution for higher education in a major English city outside the metropolis.2 Owens, coming at the mid-point of the century, was first by some distance; a more concerted wave of institution building came in the 1870s, which saw the foundation of a sector recognisably devoted to higher learning. Each college had its own set of originating circumstances, yet shared a family resemblance derived from commonalities of experience or direct copying. To begin with, it is worth considering the common urban context in which the colleges emerged before addressing the peculiarities of each institution. Owens College was pioneering, and will be discussed at greater length. Two great national impulses, from the promotion of science, and university extension, combined with civic rivalry, fuelled the development of the others. Liverpool University College was, remarkably, one of the last to be formed in this wave, but, drawing on the advantages of a late entrant and its own individual ethos, was the next most successful exemplar of the provincial college. To traditional cultural elites, founding a university college in a provincial industrial town must have seemed distinctly unpropitious. How could institutions of higher learning, of liberal and humane culture, exist in the inhuman conditions of an industrial centre? The provincial middle classes were philistines, too preoccupied with the dull machinery of getting and having to appreciate the higher ends of life: truth and beauty, sweetness and light.3 Even when they sought some aesthetic veneer, they did so with such deplorable taste it simply highlighted their lack of cultural refinement.4 Arnold’s and Ruskin’s criticisms, however, failed to appreciate the kind of culture that had been generated in industrialising provincial urban society. Indeed, cultural societies played a key role in the forging of middle-class identity, providing a forum where political, economic and social interests and ideas could be debated.5 Undoubtedly, the principles and practice of political economy was a central focus, yet there was a wider, sustaining intellectual culture, built on practical, reforming and natural knowledge, notably at the prominent literary and philosophical societies. Natural knowledge was helpful in being inclusive, rational and realist; it could be practically useful or aspire to religious, though not sectarian, truths.6 For the makers and overseers of industrialisation it may also have been more accessible and pertinent. A general concern with practical, rational and improving culture was further encouraged by the high proportion of non-conformists, especially Unitarians, among the prominent members of provincial urban society. This very grounded culture was expressed most forcibly in the campaigns for economic and political reform of the early nineteenth century, and into these the collective energies of the urban middle classes were poured.7 Other significant

96 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 outlets were the statistical societies and improvement commissions, which wrestled with the horrific social and moral problems of urban centres.8 The relationships between this rational, natural and practically improving culture and formal educational structures, however, were ambiguous. Clearly, the traditional classical curriculum had little relevance for modern industrial or business life, either at secondary or university level.9 Besides irrelevancy, the ancient universities were expensive and kept young men from productive life to an unconscionably late age. They were also, of course, barred to non-conformists. Even natural knowledge did not fit in easily. Science barely featured in standard educational curricula, and the mechanical inventions on which industrialisation was based owed more to empirical innovation in the workshop than derivation from theoretical principles.10 When scientific and technical instruction was formalised in the Mechanics Institutes, it was intended primarily for artisans, to make more effective skilled workmen.11 There were a variety of means for offering lectures to the middling ranks, but which were more like the informal renditions of literary and philosophical societies than systematic education. In the first half of the nineteenth century then, although scientific, technical and commercial knowledge was clearly more pertinent to industrial society, it did not necessarily provide the basis of new higher educational forms. A sound basic education and early practical experience formed the best preparation for industrial life. Formal education was much more important for the professional middle classes, which were a significant feature of industrial cities and more so in commercial towns.12 In this respect, it is noticeable that Liverpool did establish an educational institution of a higher character early in the century, and two substantial secondary schools.13 The old liberal professions, the Anglican clergy, barristers and physicians, of course, rested on an Oxbridge university education in association with the London professional power bases. Through the nineteenth century, the newer professions sought to emulate them by establishing their own professional organisations and educational and certification systems. We have already considered the model of the new professionalisation provided by medical practice.14 In the early nineteenth century, most major towns acquired one or more medical schools to prepare students for the myriad qualifications and licences to practise on offer. Other professions followed suit, generating a market both for a higher level of preliminary education and practical training. Large concentrations of population also created a demand for education simply for personal interest. Prominent in this category were middle-class women, often not particularly wanting qualifications but seeking some outlet for their talents and energies.15 When they were barred from established institutions or prevented by the dictates of propriety from travelling long distances or living away from home, women provided an important local demand. By the middle of the century, then, prospects for the emergence of uni-

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 97 versity-level education in the provinces were somewhat mixed. Most decentsized towns could boast a range of cultural institutions, both for middle-class interest and working-class improvement, which might include more or less formal lectures, some post-elementary scientific and technical education and one or more medical schools. There was also likely to be a pool of potential candidates for occupational certificates as they acquired ever-greater value in the growing mid-Victorian bureaucracy, and for general higher-level education. A major stumbling block was that university education, conceived as literary cultivation, had a very tenuous place in provincial urban society and culture. What is perhaps more surprising is that there were few concerted attempts to found the equivalent of University College, London before the middle of the century. Presumably, provincial middle-class energies were preoccupied with more pressing political and economic matters. When the movement to found colleges for higher-level education was set in motion, however, it could draw on the scientific and practical tradition of the provincial towns and the demand for professional and general education, and also an enormous self-confidence that it could be done. Most of the colleges struggled to gain a foothold, but, by the mid-1880s, a handful had managed to establish themselves in a variety of ways. Manchester led the way. There were discussions in the 1830s about setting up a college in the city, prompted by local MP James Heywood’s criticisms of Oxbridge, but little of substance came from them.16 In 1851, a much more promising situation transpired when John Owens, a wealthy Manchester merchant, left half his estate, a huge legacy of nearly £100,000, to provide for university education to males over the age of fourteen of any religious denomination. It is unclear why exactly he chose this object for his philanthropy; an associate, George Faulkner is often credited with the suggestion, and Faulkner was prominent in establishing Owens College. A committee of the trustees was formed to interpret Owens’ will and quickly decided that the Scottish and London universities were a much more appropriate model for Manchester than Oxbridge.17 Their curricula were more relevant and were more accessible to the kind of student envisaged. An Owens student might well not want a complete course of instruction, but did seek some further education beyond school level before starting a career. Accordingly, the committee drew up a curriculum that combined new and old subjects, including mathematics and natural philosophy, mental and moral philosophy, English and modern languages. A distinctly practical course of applied sciences was rejected, although instruction in bookkeeping, the geography of commercial products, history of arts and manufactures, and principles of commercial jurisprudence was allowed. Classics was also accepted as an important element for a commercial city, precisely because it was remote from everyday application. It was suggested that there be a short course for those seeking some higher education before entering work, and a full course, perhaps leading to London external degrees.

98 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 Faulkner bought a house to accommodate the college, staff were appointed and students recruited.18 The college made a promising start, with very healthy evening provision, but limited numbers of day students, even fewer of whom took a full-time course. Facilities were reasonable for chemistry and in engineering. A crisis of recruitment in the 1860s, however, prompted a change of principal, which brought in the dynamic J. G. Greenwood who, together with a new professor of chemistry, Henry Roscoe, and the professor of history, A. W. Ward, set about revitalising the college through a dual appeal for funds to the region and to the government. For both applications they emphasised the scientific and technical sides of the college. Addressing the government, Owens College was pitched as an operational science school of the type recently recommended by the Royal Commission on Scientific Instruction, which had indeed praised the college.19 For a relatively small outlay of money, it was argued, the state would acquire a facility of national importance, responding to prevailing concern about scientific education in the wake of the 1867 Paris Exhibition. The government declined to be drawn into the matter. Appealing to regional interests was much more successful and a very important innovation. Again highlighting its useful features, this time Owens was billed as a college for South Lancashire or, more broadly, a college for the Manufacturing Districts; there were even suggestions that it might go on to become a university for the same.20 Coming in a period of prosperity, this designation was clearly something with which benefactors in the region could identify, and over £200,000 was raised.21 As just noted, science and economic development were prominent issues in the late 1860s, and Roscoe’s consultancy work for local chemical manufacturers added substance to the college’s claim to relevance. Mancunians were also expressing their civic identity in institutional form in other ways, notably the monumental town hall.22 Slightly paradoxically, the funds allowed the college to move out of the insalubrious centre of town to more suburban environs, and begin erection of a suitably imposing gothic pile.23 A legal sleight of hand enabled some inconvenient terms of Owens’ original will, particularly regarding the exclusion of women and the power of the trustees, to be overcome. Thus, the college was relaunched with a new constitution in 1871 and a new location by 1873, and began to consolidate its position as the premier provincial institution. Total numbers of students increased from around 650 in 1880/1 to almost 1,000 by 1892/3, taught by seventeen professors and thirty-two lecturers.24 Women were only actually admitted in 1883 and remained a minor component of the student body, but still numbered almost one hundred in the early 1890s. A mixed portfolio of work spanned evening classes for artisans to preparation for London external degree examinations via lectures for occupational groups, consultancy for firms and helping maintain a public museum. Substantial philanthropic donations continued to feed into the college coffers, with over £130,000 raised during the 1870s for science subjects. Individuals could be

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 99 staggeringly generous; the engineer Charles Beyer bequeathed nearly £112,000 in the course of his lifetime and had an engineering laboratory named after him as a memorial. Roscoe and Ward were both keen exponents of the German research ideal, and activity was encouraged through endowments for fellowships. Other trappings of university-like life were two halls of residence – one an Anglican foundation, the other maintained by the Society of Friends – which, although independent of the college, were intended for Owens students. A field for athletics was leased in 1880 and an Athletic Union formed in 1885. Owens College had to be entrepreneurial, seeking out potential markets and clienteles. An obvious one was medicine, which had proved so important to the London colleges.25 Indeed, the prospects were somewhat better in the provinces as there was no great tradition of hospital medical schools. In London, medical education had grown out of the practice of walking the wards, and so emerged within the large hospitals. By the 1830s, they were somewhat more prestigious than the upstart University and King’s colleges. In the provincial cities, hospitals had not created their own medical schools, and medical training developed in private institutions, preparing students for the various qualifications available. Both sides saw the potential benefits of collaboration. Medical schools could have significant numbers of students engaged in higher-level work for a widely recognised and increasingly respected profession with liberal university traditions. Colleges had scientific and laboratory facilities, larger staffs and more subjects, and an aura of academe that might help to overcome the residual overtones of disreputability pervading medical education. For both parties there was an element of pulling each other up by the bootstraps, but the possibilities were very promising. Negotiations between Owens College and the Manchester Royal School of Medicine began during the 1860s, and the school was incorporated with the college in 1872. Owens stood to gain a wider basis, an influx of students and breadth of tuition, while the medical students would have ‘the advantage of Collegiate discipline, and will be surrounded by the means of attaining that higher culture which is so important to members of a liberal profession’.26 Students at Owens College could prepare for University of London external examinations, although few were able to complete a course of study long enough to gain a full degree. The college offered its own examinations and certificates as spurs to industry and rewards of attainment, but most attended as occasional students taking a limited number of individual courses. Nevertheless, Owens was intended as a higher-level educational institution and saw university rank as a not unreasonable goal. Medics were always interested in degrees and part of the allure of collaboration with a college was the prospect of medical degrees that might be somewhat more accessible than the rare trophies offered by the University of London.27 Owens’ application for a charter during the 1870s will be

100 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 discussed more fully later (see pp. 112–14), but it is worth briefly indicating what transpired, since it served as an important stimulus to several other nascent colleges.28 A new institution, the Victoria University, was chartered in 1881; but it was a federal organisation. Initially Owens College was its only constituent member, although it was clear that other provincial colleges would, sooner or later, be admitted. Originally, the Victoria University was chartered to award degrees in arts, science, law and music, but a supplementary charter in 1883 authorised the granting of medical degrees. Immediately, the attraction of Owens College for medical students was redoubled and, seeing the direct threat to its own medical school, Liverpool University College made a concerted effort to meet the requirements of admission to the Victoria University, which it achieved in 1884. Although a sponsor of the charter for the Victoria University, the Yorkshire College in Leeds was only admitted as the final member of the federation in 1887. Owens College proved a pioneer and an exemplar. Its emergence in probably the most important of early nineteenth-century provincial towns is hardly surprising and could be regarded as an expression of Mancunian assertiveness, though perhaps somewhat belated. Nevertheless, and despite the advantage of a substantial initial endowment, it was not, initially, very successful. Effectively, it was intended as a more modern, and accessible, northern version of an Oxbridge college, but the demand for that kind of experience was limited in Manchester. Roscoe, Ward and Greenwood, however, set it on a more promising route when they associated the college with local industrial and commercial interests. This was something that could be identified with; the timing was propitious, coming when there was considerable national debate about scientific education, and economic prosperity that could help to support it. A regular flow of donations helped to build up a new site with expensive educational equipment and some of the other trappings of a university-like existence, which, in turn, attracted healthy numbers of students. Owens’ application for a charter as a fully independent university, considered later (see pp. 112–14), dramatically raised its profile still further. During the 1870s, a number of similar colleges emerged in the other principal English cities, which, while rarely enjoying the same kind of largesse as Owens, and varying significantly among themselves, were still recognisably related. There were two key movements of the 1870s that fuelled their growth: the development of scientific education and the advent of university extension. The natural sciences held a curiously ambivalent place in national life.29 With industrialisation so clearly founded on natural knowledge and understanding it seems often to have been assumed that science flourished and needed little further encouragement. Yet, in the 1830s, the founders of the British Association for the Advancement of Science claimed that science as formal, systematic investigation was being neglected. Such protestations were, in part, a professionalising strategy and the triumph of British manu-

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 101 facturing in the showcase Exhibition of 1851 seemed ample testimony to British industrialists’ superior acumen. Building on the Exhibition’s success, several initiatives helped support scientific and technical instruction. The proceeds were used to establish a base for British science in South Kensington, and to fund scientific investigations. A government Department of Science and Arts was also created to finance and organise classes of scientific instruction. Science re-emerged as a matter of moment in the wake of the 1867 Paris Exhibition. One of the British jurors, Lyon Playfair, publicised his concern that British manufactures no longer held undisputed dominance and had put in rather a poor performance. If Britain was to maintain its industrial pre-eminence, he maintained, then there had to be much greater attention to promoting the scientific and industrial arts and education. Playfair’s concerns seemed to have substance and prompted a Select Committee inquiry into the state of science in Britain, which led to a fullscale Royal Commission headed by the Duke of Devonshire.30 This was a wide-ranging review that found significant deficiencies in scientific education at the elementary schools and in the work of the Department of Science and Arts, resulting in schoolchildren being inadequately prepared in science subjects. At higher levels, the Commission felt that undoubted progress at the ancient universities was still too limited, but was clearly impressed by the work of University and King’s colleges in London, Owens College and also the College of Physical Science in Newcastle upon Tyne. Such initiative, urged the commissioners, should be recognised and encouraged with state support. As we have seen, Owens College was inspired by these endorsements to approach the government, but without success. Nevertheless, the prevailing concern about scientific and technical instruction in the first half of the 1870s inspired the foundation of several other colleges. When the Devonshire Commission commended the college in Newcastle, it had only just opened, and discussion of its provenance must encompass the abortive University of Durham.31 A university was established in Durham in 1832 making it, theoretically, the first provincial university. Its inauspicious origins, however, were very different to those of the other provincial colleges, and its impact so minimal that it cannot take precedence over Owens College. The University of Durham was an entirely Anglican foundation, modelled on Oxbridge, restricted to members of the Church of England, and built on funds donated by the Cathedral. The Dean and Chapter liberally endowed the institution but put most of the funds into fellowships and scholarships tenable exclusively by Anglicans, and retained complete control of the university. Effectively, it was an attempt to divert some of the Cathedral’s wealth to a worthy end, which might avert too close a scrutiny by the reforming governments of the 1830s, while in fact preserving it for Anglican purposes. There was a sop towards modernity in the form of a school of engineering, but which

102 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 failed conspicuously to prosper. A Commission appointed to inquire into the educational poverty of Durham University served up a damning indictment of arrangements there, but which elicited no commensurate action, and the venture endured miserably.32 As a chartered university, however, it had the power to award degrees, which, as we have seen, was very attractive to medical schools, and the College of Medicine in neighbouring, vital and prosperous Newcastle became connected with the University of Durham in 1852.33 Medical education remained located in Newcastle and the college gained certain rights from the university, including admittance of non-Anglicans in 1854 and faculty status in 1870. Finally, acknowledging the limited progress achieved in Durham, and recognising the much-better prospects for higher education in a major industrial and commercial city, the Warden of the university entered into negotiations with some leading figures from the Newcastle Mining Institute and Literary and Philosophical Society. The university agreed to suppress some of its fellowships and use the income, matched by funds raised locally, to launch a College of Physical Science.34 Its primary function was to provide applied scientific education, especially for the mining industry, which in turn formally recognised attendance at the college. An appeal in the early 1880s raised enough funds to start building on a new site. A complex and shifting series of interactions between the three institutions characterised higher education in the northeast well into the twentieth century. For the rest of the nineteenth century, the two colleges in Newcastle remained independent of each other, with the College of Medicine being in formal association with the university and the College of Physical Science being sponsored by the university. The poor showing at the Paris Exhibition was a spur to the founding of the Yorkshire College of Science in Leeds, which was intended primarily to provide instruction applicable to the manufacturing, mining, engineering and agricultural industries of the region.35 It opened on a very modest scale in 1874, but struggled against poverty for the rest of the century. Unlike Owens, or even Newcastle, the Yorkshire College did not have the benefit of a substantial initial endowment or influential sponsor, nor did it inspire much civic philanthropy. Leeds was not as wealthy a city as its Lancastrian counterparts, and, while industrialists in Leeds may not have identified with a college for Yorkshire as a whole, those in other towns may have been reluctant to support a Leeds-based institution. Indeed, the Yorkshire College found its most significant early backers in several Livery Companies of the City of London. By virtue of Leeds’ position in the woollen trade, the Drapers’, and Clothworkers’ Companies gave large sums for posts and investigations in textile industries, dyeing and art. Later, the Leatherworkers’ Company also contributed to the college. Although the Yorkshire College managed to get a mention in the charter for the Victoria University, it was rejected as a constituent college, partly because of its narrow curriculum but also because of its equally slim

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 103 financial basis. During the 1880s, the college expanded its arts and science sides, and the local medical school was integrated in 1884. Admission to the Victoria federation was finally achieved in 1887, although it remained something of a poor relation. A high proportion of its assets were in buildings and fixed capital, leaving little income-generating endowment. The technical aspects continued to dominate, although this attracted important funding from the county councils of all three Ridings. Mason College in Birmingham was also primarily concerned with scientific instruction. It was founded through the energy and wealth of Josiah Mason, who had risen from humble circumstances to amass a fortune from the manufacture of pen nibs and electroplating.36 With no immediate family, he found an object for his philanthropy in providing for the people of Birmingham the education of which he had himself felt a lack, and to build an institution that could rival the science schools of the Continent. There were two educational establishments that might have received his consideration: Queen’s College, which was associated with a hospital and school of medicine and surgery, and the Birmingham and Midland Institute. The former, however, was primarily Anglican, and the latter, perhaps too literary, whereas Mason envisaged a large-scale new project, originally intended solely for scientific instruction. He was persuaded to alter the terms of his bequest to embrace a broader curriculum that could prepare candidates for London or Victoria degree examinations, which required a proportion of humanities. At the formal opening in 1880, the doyen of scientific education, T. H. Huxley, famously praised its scientific bent. Yet Mason College, too, failed to elicit much of a local response during the 1880s. It became established with a broad range of work, but operated at a loss and Mason personally had to bail the college out of financial crises on several occasions. Science was a useful basis on which to build higher education in provincial towns. Although its precise relationship with industry was uncertain, it could be seen as, at least, pertinent to industry, and certainly much more relevant than traditional university subjects taught at Oxford or Cambridge. Thus, scientific and technical education and investigations could form a reasonable object of individual philanthropy for a wealthy industrialist and appeal to local or regional interest and pride when related to industries of immediate concern. Even then, engaging local industrialists in the 1870s was not straightforward. A concern with practical studies, however, was not the sole impetus driving the foundation of provincial colleges. In almost direct opposition was the movement for university extension.37 As previously noted (see p. 42), extension was a campaign led by reformers in the ancient universities, partly to redefine their role as national institutions and fend off continuing criticisms, but also fuelled by paternalist impulses to bring liberal culture to the benighted provinces. University extension grew quickly through the 1870s, primarily through itinerant lecturers from Oxbridge travelling to towns in the regions.

104 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 Schemes to try to establish settled, regional centres for extension work helped in the formation of several university colleges. In the early days of Oxford extension, the energetic and visionary Master of Balliol College, Benjamin Jowett, conceived of a plan to plant institutional offshoots of Oxford throughout the country.38 This was put into practice in the support given to the nascent university college in Bristol. The initial impetus to develop higher education in Bristol came from the Medical School.39 In 1872, the managing faculty of the Bristol Medical School proposed an appeal for new buildings, which turned into a plan to establish a school of science catering for the industries of the south-west, of which the Medical School would form a department. Jowett got wind of this initiative and offered to support the movement, providing that it was extended to include literary subjects in the curriculum. This became a definite offer from both Balliol and New Colleges in Oxford of £300 a year each for five years. The intervention seems to have turned the heads of the steering committee. ‘This offer gave a new character to the movement, and from this point it must be considered to have been taken out of the region of merely local endeavours and to have involved issues of national importance.’40 Very quickly, the movement upgraded and the title ‘University College, Bristol’ was registered under the Companies Act in 1876.41 Unfortunately, the merely local aspect remained largely unmoved and the college, despite its august sponsors and wide-ranging curriculum, struggled for funds. Although located in a major industrial city, Firth College in Sheffield was conceived, initially, as a centre for university extension.42 Inspired by a series of Cambridge lectures in the city, steel-maker Mark Firth gave £20,000 to provide a building to serve as a local centre. When it was opened in 1879 there were plans that it should aim to become more than simply a location for lectures and classes, but it began in a fairly modest way, with extension lectures a central feature. A movement to establish a technical school in association with the college started in 1881, but, despite help from the City and Guilds Institute and some local donations, very little else came from other concerns in the city. Nevertheless, it began work in 1884, albeit with a rather narrow base. Meanwhile, the Sheffield medical school, also struggling for existence, saw Firth College as a lifeline and discussions about amalgamation started in the early 1880s. This time, an appeal for funds for new buildings was more successful and the medical school moved into close proximity with the college in 1888. All three branches were very modest and endured a precarious financial existence, but managed to keep their income closer to their expenses than many other institutions. Extension lectures were also the basis for the foundation of two very different university colleges in Nottingham and Reading. In 1873 and 1874, programmes of university extension lectures in Nottingham induced an anonymous donor to offer £10,000 to the Corporation as an endowment

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 105 for the building and maintenance of a permanent site for them.43 The Corporation decided to take up the offer and, in the all too familiar absence of interest from the local hosiery and mining industries, devoted considerable revenues to establish and support a university college, library and museum. Funds were diverted from a civic charity, from the corporation gas and water companies, and from the rates. When the Technical Instruction Act and Whiskey Money were introduced in 1889 and 1890, 80 per cent of the money raised went to the college, providing over a quarter of its total income.44 Nottingham Corporation went to extraordinary lengths to preserve its college, making it, effectively, a municipal undertaking governed by the municipality. The college in Reading began life in 1891 as a University Extension Centre sponsored by Christ Church College, Oxford and intended as a physical location for extension lectures to diffuse liberal higher education to the provinces.45 Through the 1890s, work in agriculture, the principal local industry, was added together with some teacher training. More importantly, and most distinctively, there was a concerted effort to create a college, like an Oxbridge one, with residences and an animating ethos of a higher liberal kind. Many of the colleges struggled to begin with, but the early history of the Hartley Institution in Southampton presents a particularly sorry spectacle and shows that substantial endowment did not necessarily make for a successful college.46 In the same year as John Owens, Henry Hartley left over £100,000 for lofty educational purposes in his home town, but the will was contested and, by the time the lawyers had finished, only some £40,000 remained, which was too little to finance the hiring of staff or the purchase of much equipment. Southampton was a fairly small town with no substantial middle class or commercial magnate to offer further funding. Almost as debilitating was the continued uncertainty as to what exactly the benefactor hoped to achieve. Hartley was an eccentric recluse, more an eighteenth-century philosophe than a Victorian educational philanthropist, and seems to have envisaged providing a meeting house for literary philosophical pursuits, with a library, lecture rooms, and observatory and perhaps botanic gardens to promote polite learning among a select few. Through the second half of the century, the institution was caught between trying to develop as a literary institute, which might have aspirations to higher culture, or broaden its scope as a technical college. Local scandals did not help its situation and it struggled to keep afloat. Nevertheless, despite a distinct paucity of higher-level activity, Hartley Institution managed to generate the sense that it might yet have a lofty purpose, and it clung to this aura tenaciously. All the provincial colleges had points of distinctiveness about their origins, but the remaining one to be considered here – that in Liverpool – deserves fuller consideration. It was the last one to be formed in the wave of institution building of the 1870s, which in itself is surprising for such a major city, but it was also one of the most successful. Its success came

106 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 partly through learning lessons from previous foundations but also by taking local connections in a new direction and becoming the most genuinely civic of the colleges, which in turn became an example for others. Despite the notoriously bitter sectarian divisions in the town, Liverpool also had a long tradition of municipal activity, from the Dock Corporation to sanitary reform and the support of two well-regarded secondary schools.47 Indeed, the last may have supplanted the attention given to higher education elsewhere (and may have been of a not dissimilar level to some of the other provincial colleges). Liverpool had also established a literary Queen’s College but, as in Birmingham, it had not thrived. Interest in university-type education in the town grew during the mid-Victorian period. Anne Clough, the original germ for Cambridge extension, was based in Liverpool, and a Society for the Promotion of Higher Education in Liverpool was launched in 1874 to sponsor lectures. The medical school was expanding, but apprehensive about developments in Manchester, and was a prime instigator behind a public meeting convened by the mayor in 1878 to consider the forming of a university college. The chief sponsors of the proposal were both ambitious in their conception of what they hoped to establish and realistic as to the scale of funding and support necessary to bring that vision into effect. Concern at developments in Manchester was widespread, not just as a matter of civic pride.48 Dr Waters of the Medical Institution felt the need of a place that would fit men for university distinction. Although his institution offered a complete technical training, degree-awarding bodies increasingly wanted a more thorough scientific grounding and, to find it, Liverpool students were drawn to Owens College or London, and did not return. Others echoed the theme; promising men, often brought through the excellent Liverpool schools, were being lost to the city as they went elsewhere to seek higher education. Liverpool’s primarily commercial economic base, with its greater demand for highly literate workers and professionals, also put a premium on education. Merchants could no longer rely on taking fourteen year olds and bringing them through the office; they needed more systematic training. Surprisingly, although there was a clear intention of aiming for university-level education, the prime movers were reluctant to claim that a full university was their immediate goal.49 With the backing of the public meeting, a committee was formed to forward matters, which drew up a scheme involving seven professors and two lecturers, which, if they were to be properly paid, required an annual income of £3,000 or a capital of £75,000, plus the costs of buildings etc.50 This was considered a moderate minimum that could be added to. Despite maintaining that a university was not the object, it was felt that the title ‘University College, Liverpool’ most appropriately reflected the level they were aiming for. In the late 1870s, the response was not fulsome.51 Trade was bad, and considerable effort among the Anglican community was devoted to raising £100,000 to create a bishopric. At the start of the 1880s,

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 107 however, there was a remarkable transformation in the situation, led primarily by the prominent Unitarian businessman William Rathbone. By his own account, he was inspired by a speech delivered by the Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity at Cambridge and native of Liverpool, Canon Lightfoot, who described a dream in which a university college was founded on the munificence of local individuals who would endow chairs and posts that would bear their name.52 Rathbone and his brothers promptly offered £10,000 to endow a chair of history, providing that £80,000 was raised in all, then set about persuading and cajoling their fellow citizens to do likewise.53 In astonishingly quick time the £80,000 was achieved and exceeded, and the success used as the basis for a new public meeting.54 With such substantial financial commitment, the college was able to make an extremely good start, and further contributions came through the 1880s. At the inaugural meeting, the mayor had pledged both material and moral support to the project. In 1881 the city council made good on the material commitment by buying the site and buildings of the former Lunatic Asylum for some £30,000 and making it over to the college.55 At the instigation, again of the Medical School, University College, Liverpool applied for membership of the Victoria University.56 Assessors from the university deemed the college to have a satisfactory governing body, staff and financial basis, but that the level of teaching in some aspects of arts and sciences needed upgrading if they were to prepare candidates for university examinations. A further public appeal raised another tranche of funds to supply these wants and the college was admitted as the second member of the federation.57 More large-scale donations by local businessmen Walker and Harrison provided around £25,000 for engineering laboratories, while the Liverpool Technical Instruction Committee made grants to the college for technical subjects. The civic connections were crowned in 1887 when the committee charged with furnishing the city with an appropriate monument to mark the Queen’s jubilee decided to use the funds they had collected to add a bell tower to the college’s new Victoria Building.58 Appealing to local interests was not original to Liverpool (all the other colleges had made similar requests), but the scale of the response and the nature of the actual civic involvement were unprecedented. Liverpool did not have a massive initial endowment or an external patron on which to draw, but was founded on the combined efforts of local businessmen and the city council. Perhaps because it was emphatically non-sectarian, and the college wrote into its regulations a refusal to accept any donations for religious purposes, it attracted widespread encouragement.59 Coming late to the field allowed the founders to appreciate how much support was required, and they did not get underway until sufficient was secured. Once large sums were promised posts could be adequately endowed and the college launched without eating into capital. Philanthropy was also spread noticeably wide, with chairs in classics, modern history and moral sciences,

108 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 besides the more usual ones in chemistry and engineering.60 For merchants, an immediate connection with industrially related subjects was not a priority; there was greater appreciation of wider cultivation and perhaps more scope to indulge personal fancies. It helped give the college a broad curriculum that stood it in good stead when it came to establishing its claim to university level. What, though, could be inferred by the term ‘university level’? By the late 1880s, about ten institutions were recognised as having differentiated themselves from the mass of post-elementary schools, colleges and technical institutes. Their claims to higher status were based largely on offering university extension lectures, a more advanced form of technical education, or preparing students for external examinations run by the University of London or professional bodies. Even then, most of the London examinations were at matriculation or intermediate level, rather than for full Bachelors degrees, which remained extremely rare. A common feature of the emerging colleges was their acquiring some kind of sponsorship from a wealthy benefactor, civic authority or external agency that enabled them to provide the facilities necessary for degree work, or a measure of recognition that they were a cut above the norm. Thus, any differentiation from other post-elementary institutes was still one of degree rather than kind. All the colleges accepted students from age sixteen, sometimes younger, and prestigious grammar schools could look down on a local college. Much of the work comprised occasional lectures to popular audiences, short courses to occupational groups, or technical instruction that could span a spectrum of academic levels. There seem to have been no restrictions on claiming the title of university college, but could they be accounted university institutions by the wider educational world, or by the state, which, alone, had authority to grant the defining power of a university – a charter to award degrees?

The provincial colleges and university status Owens College launched a bid for academic independence during the 1870s, with a concerted campaign to canvass the idea of a provincial university in Manchester. It was an audacious move which focused attention on a number of questions concerning the changing nature of the university. The University of London had broken the mould of English university education by divorcing it from religion, introducing degrees in modern subjects, non-residence and part-time study. But Oxbridge was undergoing far-reaching reform that was re-establishing the collegiate ideal of the university experience, while questions were being raised about the relationships between the University of London and the colleges that prepared students for examination – especially those in London itself. Scientific and technical education was a renewed matter of concern and there was continuing reorganisation of secondary schools. The emergence of the

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 109 provincial colleges added further dimensions of uncertainty, with their very mixed economy of work, local and vocational characteristics. In a transitional phase, when terms acquired different meanings and connotations, there was considerable debate about what kind of institution could be a university and of what a university education really consisted. At a definitional level, a university had to denote the highest form of educational endeavour, but universities were clearly not the same as they had once been. New boundaries had to be drawn between what was to be included and what excluded. This section begins to draw together some of the threads spun in previous chapters, in the context of Owens’ appeal for university status. The question of what exactly counted as university education in the provinces will be continued in subsequent sections. Uncertainty about what should or should not feature in a university revolved around several overlapping issues. A key area of debate concerned the curriculum: specifically, the place of science and the related matter of vocationalism. That the natural sciences should feature in a university was generally admitted, although some maintained that they were still of lesser importance. Similarly, professional education was a staple, but the scope of professional training was being expanded into uncharted territory. A growing concern was the relationships between teaching, examination and research. Examinations dominated the University of London and took precedence at the old universities, yet many were beginning to feel that examinations intruded in the educational encounter between tutor and tutee. Moreover, an emphasis on undergraduate tuition and the transmission of knowledge militated against the higher purpose of advancing knowledge. These issues had been raised in connection with Oxbridge and the University of London, and they applied in equal force to the provincial colleges. A new question was the proliferation of universities, especially in provincial towns. There had been little soul searching in creating the University of London, a third English national university to make up for the deficiencies of the existing ones. It was anomalous that London, the cultural capital of the country and world-class metropolis, should not have a university, and the proper role of the university as national cultural flagship was maintained; moreover, an eminent body of examiners had been appointed to ensure proper standards. Manchester and Liverpool, by contrast, were philistine hell-holes of industry and commerce. Could a local institution in such an environment really be a university without doing violence to the definition of the term? More serious was whether standards could be protected against the encroachment of local interests or institutional rivalry. At the opening of Mason College in 1880, T. H. Huxley took the opportunity to commend the high significance afforded natural science in the college’s curriculum, although he was careful to note the wisdom of the further charter that broadened its scope beyond science exclusively.61

110 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 He was immediately contradicted by R. W. Dale, the prominent Birmingham non-conformist minister, who reiterated the centrality of humane studies.62 Huxley’s views were also criticised by Matthew Arnold.63 Natural science occupied an ambiguous place in traditional conceptions of the university. There were chairs in science subjects at Oxbridge but, until the mid-nineteenth century, they did not form part of the degree course and were consequently neglected.64 Universities had played no part in the spectacular developments of the scientific and industrial revolutions. Indeed, an important part of Oxbridge reform was to try to provide for the sciences, and some headway was made with the recognition of new degree programmes. Natural sciences were included in the curricula of the London and provincial colleges from the beginning. Curricular fragmentation and specialisation proceeded apace, so it is somewhat surprising that science was still a matter of contention in the 1880s. Much of the dispute, however, concerned the relative importance of the subjects. Arnold did not negate the role of science but argued that literary subjects were more important as vehicles for appreciating higher truths about humanity; Huxley urged that science was equally as important. Much of the controversy around science did not really relate to the subjects themselves, but came from conflating natural knowledge with mechanical and vocational instruction. Again, it is somewhat surprising that there was still dispute surrounding vocational education. From medieval times, universities had been centres of professional training and, even in their unreformed state, Oxbridge sent men into the established Church, to the bar and the practice of physic.65 The old liberal professions, though, rested on a foundation of book learning that distinguished them from empirics and craftsmen and gave them an entrance into the cultivated circles of elite society.66 By contrast, the London and provincial colleges prepared students for the newly emerging professions of general medical practice, chemistry and engineering – areas that were only just distinguishing themselves from a craft basis and which still overlapped with empirical techniques and training by apprenticeship. This was perilously close to training working men for jobs, rather than gentlemen for careers. Newman’s restatement of the ideals of liberal education pointed to the distinction.67 Liberal education, he maintained, stood on its own pretensions, admitted of no sequel or utility and was diametrically opposed to mechanical or servile knowledge. It made the gentleman, a man of cultivated intellect, delicate taste, possessed of a candid, equitable and dispassionate mind, and a noble and courteous being: ‘these are the connatural qualities of a large knowledge; they are the objects of a University’.68 Even the old Utilitarian, J. S. Mill, in his Rectorial address at St Andrews University, declared emphatically that universities should not be primarily places of professional education.69 The notion that a university education should not have some definite end in view also informed the growing objections to the emphasis placed

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 111 on examinations. The problems were particularly acute under the University of London, where the overbearing dominance of examining left institutions with no autonomy to develop innovative courses of study, and teachers with little influence over the academic development of their students.70 While Oxbridge tutors discovered a sense of vocation as personal mentors to their tutees, nurturing the academic and moral qualities of the whole man, teachers preparing students for London examinations merely went through a prescribed syllabus. Under the 1858 charter, candidates for London examinations did not need to resort to a teacher at all. Much of the interminable wrangling over a teaching university for London revolved around these issues. Increasingly, however, the right of teachers to draw up their own syllabuses and have greater input to undergraduate tuition was itself seen as an inadequate basis of academic professionalism. A teaching model might degenerate into a burdensome drudgery of steering dull undergraduates through routine examinations, echoing the grind of the old Oxbridge crammer. Mark Pattison was prominent in arguing that research was a higher calling even than teaching, in that it communed directly with the nature of knowledge itself and provided the foundations on which teaching was built.71 To him, universities should not be primarily places of undergraduate education at all. This struck a chord with those Oxbridge tutors who saw research as a means of distancing the academic’s role from that of school mastering, and restoring to it something of the status of the independent, gentleman scholar previously enjoyed by Oxbridge fellows.72 Ironically, research was of much greater significance in the natural sciences, which were being built on the staggering rate of original laboratory discoveries, and the provincial colleges were more assiduous in establishing a research ideal than those at Oxbridge. During the mid-1860s, an ambitious conception of what the provincial college could provide was articulated by Owens College. When the college was campaigning for funds, several of the professors went on a tour of German universities and technical institutes. They discovered not only that substantial state funding paid for multiple professors in each subject, research students and extensive facilities, but that the combination of teaching and research was cherished, not only with a view to the advancement of science, but because by this union in one body of students, teachers, and discoverers, a school is made, students are drawn from a wider area as to an acknowledged centre of intellectual action, and an espirit de corps is created, which reacts with incredible effect on the energies of teachers and learners alike.73 Thus, higher education should not consist merely of preparation for examinations and degrees, but be a collective enterprise in advancing and

112 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 transmitting original knowledge and understanding. Research was promoted at Owens and other provincial colleges through fellowships and through investigations carried out by the technical departments for industrial concerns.74 The debate had come full circle; Owens may have reached down towards technical instruction, but it also pioneered the development of a research community. Much of the debate about the nature of the university revolved around the need to differentiate it from other kinds of institution in the midVictorian educational flux. There had to be some means of distinguishing the higher responsibilities of the university from the potential encroachments on their status by institutions of higher-level technical instruction and secondary schools. Restating the ideals of liberal education offered a convenient expression of the higher purpose of the university. Liberal education was the traditional goal of the university, devoted to cultivating high mental faculties. It also distanced the university from lower forms of purely mechanical instruction. The growing centrality of the tutorial relationship, criticisms of an examination culture, as well as the increasing emphasis on research were all facets of the same concern. The emergence of the provincial colleges, however, threatened to bridge the divides being put in place; they spanned a spectrum of academic levels, emphasised scientific, technical and vocational education and celebrated their relationships with local interests. Debate was given a specific focus as Owens College, chafing against its continued pupillage to the University of London, began to look towards independence as a new kind of university in the provinces. Owens College launched an appeal for a university charter in the mid1870s by drawing up a pamphlet setting out the grounds of its claim, which was distributed widely to canvass opinion and drum up support.75 It was argued that the college was already offering university-level education but was becoming stifled by its subservience to London University examinations. London examinations could not really cater for local needs, and held little cachet in Lancashire. All Owens’ students who completed a full course of study sought the college’s own certification of Associate. The pamphlet pointed out that the college already bore comparison with other universities in Britain and abroad. In 1874/5 there had been 534 day students, 159 of whom were medics, which compared favourably with St Andrew’s. Only 5 per cent of its students were under age sixteen, whereas Glasgow University had 11 per cent below that age. There was the basis of a faculty of arts. Sciences (including a department of engineering) held particular distinction, and there was a strong case to be made for professional faculties, especially medicine, and also, in time, law. University status would further encourage the demand for higher education, which the existing institutions could not really cater for. Over and above the quantitative advantages to be derived from university recognition was the elevation with which it would be accompanied.

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 113 The national stamp which would be set upon the institution, the totally new and improved position it would assume in the public eye, the cessation of enquiry as to what position the College really has and what position it seeks, could not fail to react upon the exertions and the self-consciousness of its members.76 A sub-committee reviewed the responses to the circular and was pleased with the generally positive tone, estimating that sixteen out of twenty-five comments from individuals, and seventeen out of twenty-two newspaper articles, were supportive.77 Prominent figures such as Arnold, Pattison and Huxley were encouraging, although Huxley hoped that the concern for examinations and degrees would not subvert attention to the broader interests of knowledge; Bryce and Playfair were cooler, but also largely in favour. Locally, the Manchester Guardian thought that a good case had been made but that ‘[t]he proposal to turn a provincial college into a national university is so novel, and will no doubt in some quarters be considered so audacious, that the more it is sifted and tested and pulled about the better’.78 Nationally, The Times was not quite convinced by the argument.79 The Scotsman, however, could see no reason why Manchester should not have a university any more than Glasgow.80 Opposition to the proposal took several forms. Spokesmen from London University did not want to see another degree-awarding body come into the field.81 Some queried whether a university really could exist in an industrial city – ‘Pegasus was about to be yoked to a Cotton Mill’!82 Proper university activities, such as bicycling, swimming and boating were hardly pursuits for Manchester and, if there was to be university, it ought to move to more salubrious quarters.83 More serious charges were that Owens was not really ready yet and that multiplying the number of universities raised questions about safeguarding the value of degrees. On the first, The Times perceptively remarked that Owens seemed to want legal recognition as a university, with a promise that it would then become one in fact.84 For the second, a valid concern about a teaching university, especially a small one, was that relationships between student and tutor might become too close and undermine impartiality.85 Various counter-proposals to meet Owens’ ambitions were mooted: it could become affiliated with Oxbridge, or take a place on the examining boards of London University, or participate in a new federal university of the north combining all the new provincial colleges. The college sub-committee felt the force of the comment in The Times, but reiterated their view that it was lack of independence that was impeding their natural development.86 To obvert the question of impartiality, it proposed adopting the Scottish system of external examiners. On the question of multiple universities, the sub-committee noted that there did not appear to be any other viable applicants, and that it had taken Owens twenty-five years to reach the point of applying for a charter.

114 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 The existence of a number of other similar colleges, however, could not be so easily dismissed and the question of federation assumed increasing significance. In November 1876, the sub-committee carefully rebutted proposals to affiliate with other institutions and pointed out that there had not actually been any invitations; there had been no definite proposal from Oxbridge, neither were there viable prospects of somehow playing a role in London University. Rather: [t]he primary or immediate work of Owens College is to supply Manchester and its district with genuine academical culture for its future merchants and manufacturers and for others who by reason of good parts and aspiring nature may seek such culture. It likewise has to maintain and develop its character as a place of research and learning, where teachers and students shall in conjunction pursue the several branches of academical study with a view to their continuous advance in the world of science and letters.87 By March the following year, however, the principle of union with other colleges in a proposed university was conceded, despite the lack of obvious candidates.88 The eventual memorial praying for a charter went further and suggested that Owens be the first named college in a structure that could admit other institutions in due course.89 This turnaround was primarily to head off specific objections from other provincial colleges. Opposition was led by the Yorkshire College, which objected to Owens gaining a charter on its own, and was supported by Liverpool and Firth Colleges.90 The Yorkshire College was prepared to support Owens if it applied for a federal institution and, when this transpired, earned itself a mention in the draft charter as a potential recruit by way of reward.91 Federation proved a successful tactic and the Victoria University was founded in 1880 with its seat in Manchester and Owens College as its sole constituent member, though it was open to the admission of other colleges. At the insistence of other institutions, powers to grant degrees in medicine and surgery were not initially included, but were gained in a subsequent charter a few years later, following the recommendation of the Royal Commission on Medical Education.92 At this stage, debate focused on whether there should be more universities and whether Owens College was ready to become one. Underlying these concerns was the issue of local relationships. In their application to the Privy Council, the petitioners from Owens College pointed out that Oxbridge would never really appeal to people of the north. ‘The industrial and scientific life of these districts possesses a character of its own, to the requirements of which full justice is rarely done by those who as young men, have been in a greater or lesser degree dissociated from it.’93 Similarly, University of London examinations imposed too rigid a framework for an institution to mature its academic work, or respond to its local cir-

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 115 cumstances. Essentially the same arguments would be made later by the London colleges. Certainly, granting independence might encourage an institution to foster a genuine academic community and allow it the flexibility to respond to its local needs. On the other hand, it also risked subservience to local interests and a downward spiral of standards. There was also the question of whether a local university was not a contradiction in terms: universities were national institutions. A compromise was reached in the resulting Victoria University, which effectively constituted a university for the northern industrial and commercial regions – a recognition of a certain distinctiveness and of a piece with other federal universities, for London, Ireland and Wales. No doubt the government was reluctant to see a proliferation of new universities, and full academic autonomy was not going to be given to an individual provincial institution, especially since several more were waiting in the wings. It was a significant acknowledgement, though, that Oxbridge and a Leviathan University of London could not provide for the whole of England. The industrial towns and cities had made enormous efforts to raise their educational and cultural standards, deserving of some recognition. Although a very important signal, the creation of the Victoria University was largely symbolic. Through the 1880s, more material demands would be made of central government, which raised new questions as to what kind of universities the provincial colleges could become.

The parliamentary grant Owens College celebrated the importance of its local relationships but, by the mid-1880s, local and civic goodwill notwithstanding, all the provincial colleges were under financial pressure. Philanthropic donations were erratic and no basis for planned development, while appealing to local authorities for rate support, if successful, might indeed entail unwelcome intrusion. With the large sums of money going towards Irish, Scottish and Welsh university education, and the increasing costs to the exchequer of elementary schooling, a more attractive proposition seemed to be central state funding: grants that would provide a regular income, hopefully, without too many strings attached. A concerted campaign was launched, although not without institutional rivalries, that yielded a grant from the Treasury in 1889. For its part, the Treasury had first to decide whether to allow the grant then, if it did, to determine what exactly it was for. Funding for university work meant reaching a decision on what counted as university activity. To decide these issues, the Treasury sought advice from representatives of the existing universities, which helped substantially to influence the character of the provincial university colleges. During the late 1880s, two parties mobilised to seek government support: a constellation of smaller colleges (led by University College, Bristol and Firth College, Sheffield) and the Victoria University. Early in

116 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 1886, principals Ramsay of Bristol and Hicks at Sheffield canvassed their fellow heads of the major provincial colleges to try to form a united front to approach the government for a grant in aid of ordinary educational expenses.94 They gathered the support of prominent figures, such as Jowett, Roscoe and Playfair, local worthies in the various towns, and orchestrated a campaign of letters to the press and MPs, public meetings and well-publicised speeches. A memorial was submitted to the Chancellor of the Exchequer in June 1887, to preface a deputation.95 Owens College declined to join a combined representation, indicating that it did not think action for government aid was desirable.96 As the undoubted leader, perhaps Owens did not want to associate too closely with the other provincial colleges. At the same time, however, the Victoria University, of which Owens was the sole constituent college, prepared its own application for state support.97 Strictly, the Victoria appeal stood on firmer precedent. Since London University received a parliamentary grant to cover the expenses of running degree examinations and conferring awards, the Victoria University thought it should have the same privilege. It was argued that the work of the university and its usefulness as a centre of higher education would be impeded ‘unless, as in the case of other Universities of this country, its resources can be supplemented by a grant from the public funds’.98 Somewhat reluctantly swayed by the argument, the Treasury awarded £2,000 to the university to aid its expenses.99 Opinion in Treasury circles on the petitions was divided. A note on the application from the Victoria University argued that any grant to it would be a new departure and that the north of England could hardly plead the absence of a university, since there was one in Durham, which was not state endowed.100 A month later, however, following the deputation from the smaller colleges, it was felt that there was a problem in raising funds for everyday expenses and that the Scottish, Irish and Welsh universities offered appropriate precedents.101 Perhaps to help establish the principles of the case, a collection of previous comment on the question of the grant to London University was collated.102 In the late 1870s, the notoriously parsimonious chancellor Lingen had objected to the grant.103 London University, he opined, only got state funds as an appeasement to dissenters (as Maynooth and the Queen’s Colleges in Ireland had done the same for Roman Catholics), but now that the Test Acts had been removed from Oxbridge, non-Anglicans could no longer claim to be excluded from university education. Universities, Lingen argued, had to have their own funds from endowments and fees if they were to maintain their independence and high intellectual calling. If a university could not raise moderate funds of its own, however deserving the case, state aid was mischievous in principle. Lingen tried to keep a tight rein on educational expenditure. Still he despaired, presciently: ‘If Owens College, Manchester, gets its separate charter (which it ought not but, no doubt, will), another very vigorous claimant (the first of a family) for State aid will come into the field.’104

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 117 By the time Hicks and Ramsay led the rest of the family into the field, Lingen’s austere regime was declining, but they too heard a range of views on their prospects.105 The recently deposed Chancellor of the Exchequer, Hicks-Beach, was opposed. He thought that local, even London, colleges were a mistake; if people could afford the luxury of education they should go to Oxbridge, where it was available.106 A. J. Mundella, President of the Board of Trade, thought that the localities should do more to aid their colleges.107 The current chancellor, Goschen, however, seems generally to have been sympathetic. His secretary, Milner, although writing unofficially, encouraged the campaign with a suggested plan of action.108 Milner thought that a direct appeal would probably not be successful, but a planted motion in parliament could provide the basis for a review of the matter and an excuse for the chancellor to yield to friendly pressure. There needed to be some explanation of the difference between their university colleges and technical colleges or schools, but, Milner thought, the chancellor was merely waiting to be pressed. In the event, a deputation to the chancellor in June 1887 was not successful, and only after another two years of tortuous negotiation, hope and disappointment was a grant finally awarded.109 Formally, Goschen recorded that the grant was intended to benefit a class of colleges that had emerged to meet a demand for higher education in the great centres of population among people who were unable to attend the old universities and which provided teaching of a university standard in arts and science.110 These colleges had done educational work of much value that had prompted considerable local support but which still did not meet their needs. Although local in orientation, the state recognised that those institutions that had developed a higher character did have a national significance. So, where local endeavour had founded a going concern, but which was now struggling, the state would offer its support to help the college establish itself and further encourage local help. Even though only a somewhat miserly total of £15,000 was made available for the whole sector, it was an important precedent. The grant to the Victoria University was in virtue of its degree-awarding functions, similar to the University of London, not for actual university teaching. Scottish, Welsh and Irish colleges received funds that could pay for teachers and facilities, but this was to help sustain their national cultural functions. In awarding the grant, the English provincial colleges persuaded the Treasury that the national character of a university could be expressed, at least in part, at a local level. Having made the grant in aid, though, there was the further question of determining exactly what it was for. The provincial colleges embraced a wide range of activities, not all of which could be accepted as of university level, so how was the Treasury to ensure that its grant designated for university work was not being misappropriated? What, then, was university work? To consider the question a committee was appointed to determine what the grant could be spent on and to make

118 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 recommendations on how it was to be apportioned between the twelve claimants: King’s College and University College in London; Owens College, Manchester; Mason’s College, Birmingham; Firth College, Sheffield; The Yorkshire College, Leeds; the University Colleges of Liverpool, Bristol, and Nottingham; Durham College of Science, Newcastle upon Tyne; The Hartley Institute, Southampton; and University College, Dundee.111 To guide the committee’s deliberations, Goschen suggested five possible criteria: the quality of the teaching; the amount of work done, and what more could be expected with extra funding; the colleges’ income and how far it fell short of expenditure; the proportion of income to the average number of students; and finance from local sources, with the key aspect being local support. Significantly, he suggested excluding the medical faculties from the equation and concentrating solely on arts and sciences, with which the committee concurred. The committee, while encouraging evening work, also gave priority to students taking a connected course of study in those subjects. To try to balance the different features of an institution’s situation, the committee suggested calculating its portion of the grant under two heads: assistance for apparatus and staff, and a sum calculated in proportion to local support and the amount of work done, the latter indicated by fee income. It also urged occasional visits to the colleges to become better acquainted with their activities. Eleven institutions shared the grant with totals ranging from £1,800 for Owens to £1,200 for Firth College. Hartley Institute was excluded as having an inadequate staff and no representative governing body. Dundee was, exceptionally, given £500 on the expectation that it would soon be brought under the Scottish universities’ vote. The Treasury approved the recommendations and awarded the grant for an experimental period, but demurred on the proposal for visitation.112 This smacked of inspection, which might draw the government into taking responsibility for institutions that might quickly prove a ‘most inconvenient’ addition to state expenditure. Despite this undoubtedly welcome addition to the colleges’ recurrent income, the grant did not alleviate their financial predicament. As soon as 1890, Mason College was circulating the others with a proposal for a further application.113 There was little immediate support, but by the following year there was renewed activity and a Treasury review was implemented to ascertain whether the grant, in the two years of its operation, had been ‘efficacious in stimulating local effort . . . and whether the country is receiving an adequate return for the amount contributed out of general taxation’.114 The appointed committee confirmed that the grants had indeed been stimulating and beneficial and urged that it be doubled for the remaining three years of the trial period, when a more general revision should take place. In part because of the grants, student numbers and curricular development were running ahead of resources so a substantial

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 119 addition would allow some security and laying-down of really adequate equipment. No increase in the grant was forthcoming. When the first quinqennium drew to a close, the colleges united to ask for the grant to be renewed, and hopefully increased. A memorial requesting the chancellor to receive a deputation pointed to the recommendation for doubling the grant and carefully noted that neither the Technical Instruction Act of 1889 nor the 1890 Whiskey Money was really applicable to university-level institutions.115 Similarly, the memorial highlighted the considerable endowments available to the well-to-do, leisured classes at the ancient universities, while their own industrious day and evening students, some rising from the elementary schools, had to make do with poorer facilities. If they were to enjoy comparable educational facilities in the great centres of industry, then it fell to the state to provide the equivalent of endowments. The committee commissioned by the Treasury to report on the situation was unmoved.116 In slightly more sceptical vein than the interim reviewers, this report acknowledged the undoubted progress, but felt that, without some kind of inspection, it was difficult to tell if the grants really were going to university purposes as opposed to more elementary work. It recommended the continuance of the £15,000 grant for a further five years, unless inspection gave grounds for removal of an institution, with the inclusion of an extra claimant: Bedford College, London. The Treasury accepted the report, conceding the principle of inspection. A more insistent appeal was launched in short order. In the months before the grant was renewed, even Owens College was running an annual deficit of some £5,000; others were in worse straits.117 Another, by now regular, deputation waited on the chancellor, in December 1895 and was featured in The Times.118 It was emphasised that local support had not been deterred by state funds, and the need to promote scientific and technical subjects, especially given the comparison with Germany, was urged. While the chancellor was not unsympathetic, and promised that he would institute a more thorough inspection before considering the question further, he was not entirely sympathetic either. ‘As an old Oxford man myself,’ he was reported to have said, I must confess to a feeling, which you may call a prejudice, that University education, in the full sense of the term, can hardly be obtained except at our old Universities, because they alone, at any rate for the present, have those traditions and sentiments attached to them which, to my mind, have enormous influence on what I call University education. That University teaching can be given elsewhere is undoubted, that there is no University teaching in places such as you represent, among classes who, whether from want of time or means, cannot obtain the benefit of our old Universities, I should be the last to deny.

120 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 A full inspection was set in train, preoccupied with the question of how far the colleges really were doing university work.119 To ensure that proper standards were applied, the inspection was headed by representatives of the ancient universities: T. H. Warren, President of Magdalen College, Oxford and Prof. C. D. Liveing, Fellow of St John’s College, Cambridge. Initially, they too were unsure as to whether they should consider subjects such as medicine, engineering, architecture, music or fine art, which, although recognised by universities, were rather of a professional or technical character and, as such, distinct from real ‘ “University work” ’. The Treasury agreed and the investigation was, again, confined to arts and sciences only.120 On the whole, Warren and Liveing were favourably impressed by what they found, with much evidence of good, universitylevel work, dedicated staff and decent facilities for the sciences, although the arts sides and libraries were more poorly served.121 In general, the colleges agreed on what counted as university level, with the London University examinations, mirrored by those of the Victoria University, exerting an important influence. Degree qualifications provided a valuable goal, and Warren and Liveing even recommended a limited expansion in the number of degree-awarding bodies. Altogether, they felt, the colleges were becoming rallying points of science and learning, ‘centres of intellectual enlightenment and culture’ in the commercial communities of the country.122 Throughout their review was a pervading sense of what a university ought to be, against which they compared the provincial colleges. This was most manifest in their approval of how technical subjects were addressed: One of the most creditable and valuable influences which the University Colleges have exerted is, in our opinion, to be found in their desire and attempt, when dealing with the more technical subjects which naturally come within their province, to do so in a truly scientific spirit, and to make those subjects in themselves part of a liberal education.123 In engineering, for example, there was a thorough training in sciences, without any attempt to teach the practice of the profession; indeed, some of the examination questions would not be out of place in a Cambridge mathematics tripos. Similarly, the teaching of modern languages had kept in sight the ‘ideal of literary, philological, and scientific treatment, as opposed to mere grammatical and linguistic training for utilitarian purposes.’124 Reviewing the colleges individually, Owens and University College, Liverpool emerged as the most complete of the provincial institutions. Owens was now beyond comparison with the Manchester Grammar School, and some arrangement was being reached with the city’s new Technical College. Professional courses had a higher and more liberal

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 121 character, and there were plans to reduce non-university-level evening classes. Although a recent development, Liverpool had benefited from others’ experience and was well planned and energetic, with women treated much more equally. Another positive feature was the number of clubs and societies for students. It was also to the credit of Owens and University College, Liverpool that some of their staff had even been appointed to professorships at the old universities. Mason College, the Yorkshire College and the Durham College of Science betrayed their origins in having relatively limited provision in the arts, but the science work was high quality with good student achievement. A positive feature of Mason College was the six research scholarships that not only benefited the recipients but the institution generally: ‘the tone of the place is raised by them, for all students are influenced by what they see going on around them’.125 In Newcastle, the connection with Durham University was made immediately apparent by the students and staff wearing gowns. More practically, having degrees to aim for encouraged the, admittedly rough, students to follow regular courses of high standard. At Leeds, however, the Yorkshire College had only just begun to draw to it students with a larger view of learning, not a utilitarian one. Proximate goals were a problem benighting University College, Nottingham and Firth College. Warren and Liveing seemed unsure about Nottingham. Although they praised the support given the college by the municipal corporation, amounting to a 1d rate, the low fees seemed to attract students who did not really want a degree but had a definite object in view, whether teaching or scientific inspection, and simply wanted some post-school education accompanied by a college certificate. Firth College was still struggling with insufficient equipment but was trying hard to raise itself enough to apply for membership of the Victoria federation. Two other institutions were considered, the University Extension College, Reading and the Technical and University College, Exeter, which had been launched by the corporation with Whiskey Money in combination with extension work. Both were deemed premature for funding, but were judged interesting experiments and worthy of future consideration. A financial report which detailed the pecuniary constraints was prepared by a Treasury official. Despite efficient running, all the provincial arts and science departments were in deficit, only Exeter, Owens and Firth showing a surplus for the college as a whole. There were, however, disparities in the relative proportion of the parliamentary grant to local income between the colleges. Reassured by Warren and Liveing’s report, the Treasury acknowledged that the colleges were fulfilling their responsibilities and deserving of further encouragement, and the grant was raised to £25,000 in 1897.126 New criteria were suggested to guide the apportioning of the increased grant: no individual grant was to exceed a quarter of the local income given for arts and science, the maximum grant was to be £3,000, and colleges with denominational tests on the teachers were to be

122 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 excluded. A new table of quinquennial grants was drawn up, with Owens, exceptionally, receiving £3,500, to which the Treasury acquiesced. It added that in any future inspection Reading, Exeter and Hartley College should be included, together with any other institution located in a populous district that could claim full equipment in arts and sciences. Two further provisos were that any new applicant had also to demonstrate a local income of over £4,000 per annum of which £1,500 had to come from fees. The parliamentary grant was a lifeline for the colleges. All were in debt and local support was not meeting their needs; indeed, it was often indirectly adding to the problem. All too commonly, local munificence was for prominent projects, such as buildings that could be named and stand as a monument to a donor’s philanthropy, but which also carried extra costs of maintenance, equipment and staffing. The Treasury grants were a regular contribution that could be devoted to everyday purposes and which often formed a significant component of recurrent income. But there were strings attached, which pulled in somewhat contradictory directions. First, the grants were solely for arts and science subjects, not the technical, vocational or professional work of the colleges. To an extent, this was an actuarial issue. The grant was designated for university work and so had to be distinguished from the other activities of the colleges. Since technical subjects spanned a wide spectrum of levels it was better to exclude them, whereas arts and science subjects were more likely to be at an appropriate level. Defining university work as arts and sciences, however, carried significant implications about what a university could be and reemphasised the centrality of academic education. Oxbridge exponents, Warren and Liveing, confirmed the view that although the colleges undoubtedly did other work this was not part of their university status. If the colleges wanted to be like real universities they had to eschew applicable work as much as possible. There was room for technical subjects, but they should not be directly vocational. Similarly, the grants carried important implications for the colleges’ relationships with their localities and, again, there were contradictory messages. Local support provided the bedrock of the colleges and probably helped persuade the government to accept the new expense. Although the Treasury never liked spending money, the position of the colleges could be regarded favourably. Large sums of public money were being given for university education in other parts of the kingdom, and huge amounts were going to other aspects of education. The comparison with the Welsh colleges was telling, Aberystwyth and Bangor got £4,000 each to make up for the paucity of local support, while those in Manchester or Liverpool, with enormous local backing, got nothing. Acknowledging and encouraging worthy local effort was a reasonable object for a fairly minimal government grant. Aberystwyth and Bangor, though, received state support in virtue of their nationalist cultural role. Allocating public funds and creating the Victoria University suggested that the provincial colleges were

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 123 demonstrating national significance, but the stipulations surrounding the parliamentary grant returned them to a local sphere. The 1897 regulations confirmed the situation. Treasury grants were firmly linked to local funding and no institution that was not already locally established would receive a grant. While it might be acknowledged that the provincial colleges fulfilled something of the national functions of a university, they retained a primarily local character. There was no question of the Treasury endowing a whole new set of national institutions, but the state was prepared to supplement local activity, to the extent that it copied Oxbridge-style studies. Thus, the grants aided those colleges that provided education of, as Warren and Liveing put it, ‘an advanced and University kind to those who cannot go to the Universities to seek it’.127

The role and functions of the university colleges Although referring them back to the local sphere, the parliamentary grant provided much-needed regular income for the university colleges; it also thereby confirmed the distinctiveness of a particular set of institutions, despite the differences between them. Bolstered by official recognition, the colleges expanded during the last decade of the nineteenth century, and consolidated their positions as centres of higher education. Financial security remained precarious and each college had to be entrepreneurial in seeking new areas of work of an appropriate kind. They were still, essentially, private ventures and could not have assumed that their future was assured. In a virtuous circle, however, as the colleges acquired further functions and recognition, more agencies sought the cachet of universitylevel association. A complex system of interacting bodies, therefore, provided a mixed economy in which the colleges began to thrive. Materially, there were three key components. First, courses had to meet, or engender, a local demand, primarily for career prospects but also for personal enlightenment. Philanthropy remained an important element, especially for strategic development. Gifts could be idiosyncratic, though by the end of the century colleges began targeting potential donors much more systematically. A third factor was state involvement, not just the Treasury grant but others from the Education Department, Board of Agriculture and local authorities. Frequently, the various stimuli intersected; a state initiative, perhaps mediated through the local authorities, might create a demand for an area of work that formed the object of a philanthropic donation. It was important, though, that the work was of a higher nature and there was a clear upward drift in the character of the colleges’ activities, and their aspirations. Situated in the principal industrial and commercial cities, the colleges had rooted themselves in the manufacturing and business interests of their hinterlands, and their relationships with local economic concerns remained close. Technical subjects were a mainstay, with chemistry and

124 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 engineering routinely among the most popular courses, gearing students for careers in local firms. Liverpool made a concerted effort during the 1880s to put its engineering education on a sound footing in its trademark fashion of securing substantial endowments for chairs and laboratories from local benefactors.128 The technical departments were by far the strongest at the Yorkshire College.129 Bristol invested, somewhat beyond its means, in engineering, partly in response to council prodding.130 Local authority funds became available for technical education under the Acts of 1889 and 1890 and, although primarily devoted to post-elementary level instruction, most of the colleges benefited. As indicated, Bristol Technical Instruction Committee gave the University College ten studentships tenable in engineering, chemistry or applied science. Owens and the Yorkshire College each received £1,000 from their technical committees. Newcastle College of Science was supported by grants from the city and also by three of the northern county councils. Uniquely, Nottingham was sustained primarily through the technical funds provided by the town council. Scientific and technological subjects remained convenient objects of philanthropy for wealthy businessmen. Whether they expected any particular technical or economic returns from their donations is unclear, but many departments developed specialities in aspects relevant to their immediate locales and, especially from the end of the century, did feed useful results back to their supporters.131 Roscoe’s consultancy for Manchester chemical firms had provided the model from the 1860s; chemists at the Yorkshire College investigated the chemistry of dyestuffs, encouraging a shift from plain to fancy work in the Leeds textile industry. Oliver Arnold, at Firth College, Sheffield, made considerable contributions to the development of new types of steel, while white metallurgy for fine work and jewellery was important at Mason College, Birmingham. Engineering at Newcastle fostered a speciality in naval architecture, which eventually emerged as an independent subject area. Naval engineering was also a feature at Liverpool. Industrially related education had long been a staple of the university colleges, and a crucial component of their local relationships, to which, slowly but increasingly, research was added. Steadily, a variety of initiatives saw other areas of life draw on the expertise available in the colleges or, vice versa, the colleges offer services to local occupational organisations. Although full legal training remained outside the universities, Liverpool and Owens colleges offered courses designed to reinforce and improve the educational facilities for solicitors in articles. Liverpool formed a board of legal studies through liaison between representatives of the college, the Incorporated Law Society and the Law Students Association to maintain systematic lectures.132 It was part-time, supplementary training, not a full degree course, but a number of law firms raised a fund to provide for a professorship and the establishment of a law faculty in 1892. Fifty-five students were registered in the Liverpool law school in

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 125 1894, increasing slightly to sixty-nine in 1899.133 Similarly, Owens College had forty-eight people studying legal courses in 1899. Offering part-time or occasional courses for those who wanted to improve their qualifications and job prospects was a common feature. Liverpool, again, had special day courses on banking, which attracted forty-one students in 1894, while a special evening course on law and practice of banking brought 121. A few years later, a school of commerce was set up, also through the co-operation of the college and city organisations. A similar venture brought together the college, local authority agencies and neighbouring firms to arrange courses in architecture.134 One of the most significant forms of professional training remained medicine. When the Victoria University was granted powers to award medical degrees in 1883, connections between medical schools and the colleges strengthened rapidly. Both Owens and Liverpool invested heavily in medicine during the 1890s.135 Liverpool created three new chairs, liberally endowed in its usual way, and established courses in dentistry, pharmacy and veterinary medicine. In Leeds, the Yorkshire College also devoted large sums to rehousing the medical school.136 Other colleges moved as quickly as they could. The faculty of medicine in Birmingham joined with Mason College in 1892, but was still unable to award degrees of its own; this, as much as anything, forced the college’s campaign for university status.137 Similarly, the Sheffield School of Medicine amalgamated with Firth College and moved into new buildings on a site close to the college, although, there too, degrees in medicine could only come from the rarefied London University external examinations.138 Medical faculties brought large numbers of full-time degree students onto the colleges’ books, sometimes forming a massive component: Owens College recorded 418 medical students in 1899, and 546 day students in arts and sciences; Bristol had 157 day students in arts and sciences and ninety in the medical faculty.139 Such numbers also brought influence, and Owens was embroiled for many years with the Manchester Royal Infirmary over relocating to a new site closer to the college.140 For the most part, though, both parties benefited. Medical schools were always interested in the professional kudos offered by degrees in medicine, while colleges welcomed large numbers of full-time, degree-level students onto the books. Closer association was also encouraged by legislation. The 1886 Medical Act required registered practitioners to have completed a course of preliminary studies, which the General Medical Council increasingly stipulated should prominently feature medical science and laboratory work.141 In the provinces, the university colleges had much better laboratory facilities than the independent medical schools. Medical training, however, was not just a matter of preparing students for private professional practice. A predominant concern throughout the Victorian period was public health, as local authorities wrestled with the mortal problems of rapid industrialisation and massive urban growth.142

126 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 A series of public health reforms, at both local and central level, had begun to bring the worst of the problems under control and to regularise arrangements for the maintenance of the public health. Under the 1875 Public Health Act, appointment of Medical Officers of Health by local authorities was made compulsory. From the 1888 Local Government Act, Medical Officers of Health were required to have a sanitary diploma if supervising a district with a population over 50,000.143 Colleges moved to offer the necessary training courses, particularly the Diploma in Public Health when it became the key qualification for public health officials. Even closer relationships were forged between university colleges and local public health authorities through refinements in bacteriology.144 By the end of the nineteenth century, laboratory methods had a good chance of identifying many of the most lethal infectious diseases, which was the basis for making the major ones legally notifiable. Entrepreneurial bacteriologists at several of the university college medical schools offered identification services for their local authorities. Such procedures were easily adaptable to other work for city analysts. Chemists and bacteriologists, with their laboratory facilities, could equally be used for agricultural and dairy-related diagnoses, and agricultural work was another case of collaboration between central and local authorities and university colleges.145 With the advent of greater support for technical instruction in the early 1890s, the newly created Board of Agriculture decided to concentrate its educational activities on more advanced work. Newcastle College of Science and the Yorkshire College were major recipients, with the Board paying for a chair in agriculture and providing an annual grant at the Yorkshire College.146 Even more importantly, the three Ridings gave substantial sums to the department for agricultural work, amounting to almost £4,000 by the end of the century.147 Health-related areas provide an important example of how state regulation, often mediated via local authorities, opened up areas of work that the colleges could colonise, whether through providing specialist expertise or through courses of instruction. Entry to professions that were in the national interest was increasingly regularised and, since such formalisation was usually achieved through examined qualifications, educational institutions could build on the opportunities created. For medicine, the state helped establish a regulatory framework in which the profession operated, to the benefit of the colleges. A much more direct example of state action that gave the colleges a highly significant new role was in the training of elementary school teachers. Elementary education had slowly been accepted as a major government responsibility through the Victorian period.148 By the end of the century, the Education Department provided for half of elementary education itself, via local school boards, and subsidised the other half provided by voluntary organisations. Traditionally, there was a close association between universities and secondary teaching, with a revolving door between Oxbridge fellows and public school head-

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 127 masterships, and schools employing graduates as teachers.149 Elementary teacher training, however, was achieved primarily by a system of pupilage, also subsidised by the state.150 Pupil teacher grants enabled promising scholars to stay on at school, where they would help the teacher in the classroom and receive extra lessons. At eighteen, they could apply for a scholarship to attend a prescribed two-year course at a residential training college for a certificate of proficiency, before returning whence they came. By the late 1880s, there was some concern that the closed loop of elementary teacher training was yielding diminishing returns. After the graft of pupil teaching in an elementary environment, a scholar went to a residential college populated by people who ‘had passed through the same groove’ where he or she received a rigid and routine training before returning to the elementary system.151 It was a dispiriting and mechanical experience that limited teachers’ horizons and perpetuated the Gradgrind tendency of elementary education. The Royal Commission on Elementary Education in 1888 recommended that the university colleges take on responsibilities for training school teachers, and in 1890, a new initiative, the Day Training College (hereafter DTC), was authorised by the Education Department.152 DTCs had to be attached to a university or college of university rank, but were, formally, separate institutions and did not offer degree courses in education. Students followed a syllabus laid down by the Education Department leading to a professional qualification, but took academic subjects as well, alongside other students studying arts and science subjects. This enabled trainee teachers to study higher-level courses and meet other kinds of students, which would help to broaden their intellectual, cultural and social horizons. Although DTCs trained only a small proportion of elementary school teachers, and were initially regarded somewhat sceptically by candidates, they were given a high priority by the Education Department.153 Regulations were altered to allow students in training to take degree examinations alongside their professional studies, which might ultimately lead to a degree. This opportunity was opened to students in the residential colleges as well, but those in DTCs were much better placed to take advantage of it. The academic year at the residential colleges was reorganised to come into line with the university year.154 Special grants were awarded to provide hostel accommodation for students at DTCs, to allow them to participate in university life more fully.155 In the best cases, the desired effect was apparently soon achieved. At Liverpool DTC, the majority of students took intermediate-level degree exams and lived in a wellappointed hostel, thereby smoothing and polishing the student ‘even against his will, and the action of a healthy vigorous public spirit unconsciously seizes upon the individual and moulds him to a higher type’.156 Even at some of the smaller university colleges, the Education Department felt that DTC students had something of the university stamp impressed upon them. By the end of the decade, however, the inspectors

128 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 feared that degree work was displacing the actual training and it remained the case that students at a DTC had to commit themselves to entering elementary school teaching.157 All the provincial colleges moved quickly to establish DTCs, sometimes in conjunction with other agencies in their towns.158 Although some did not last, for most of the university colleges student teachers were a very useful bonus. Generally, the DTCs did not actually make money and often needed some investment, since many student teachers needed extra tuition to be able to cope with undergraduate classes. On the other hand, the grant they brought with them usually met the expenditure incurred and there were important side-benefits. Trainee teachers counted as full-time day students in arts and science classes, which in turn counted towards the Treasury grant and enhanced the academic role of the colleges. DTCs were also an indication that the university colleges were performing work of national importance. At some of the smaller colleges, student teachers constituted a large component of their higher-level work. By the end of the decade, Newcastle had 114 in its DTC, Nottingham 101.159 For the lessprestigious colleges especially, recognition by the Education Department of a higher, university-like character was very welcome. As with medical training, all parties stood to benefit from the incorporation of elementary teacher training with university colleges. The Education Department got better-educated and more culturally refined elementary schoolteachers, the university colleges got an influx of students and state recognition, and the students, although often looked down on by other undergraduates, did have opportunities for higher-level education and a broader experience. The wider educational role of the provincial university colleges was also endorsed by the Royal Commission on Secondary Education, chaired by Bryce, which reported in 1895.160 Noticeably, when the Commission discussed the relationships between university and secondary education, all the universities and university colleges were included. All had accepted a role in the organisation and co-ordination of secondary education and it was recorded that ‘the efforts which have been made by the universities to fulfil these responsibilities, during a period of educational change, have met with the success and public recognition which they fully deserve’.161 Thus, the provincial colleges were fulfilling a proper university-type function in acting as a co-ordinating principle for educational activity in an area. As Oxbridge had done for the nation, so the provincial colleges were doing for their localities. Also to the benefit of the provincial colleges, the Bryce report favoured the incorporation of technical subjects into the universities, rather than the German model of putting them in separate institutions. Day Training Colleges helped considerably to broaden access to the university colleges, which, while enduring cultural condescension for their more career-oriented ethos, recruited primarily from the comfortably off. Pupil teachers, too, tended to come from the more financially secure

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 129 working classes, but they still came from the elementary schools, which were designed for the working classes.162 DTCs were also extremely valuable for women students.163 All the provincial colleges admitted women, more or less from the beginning, although the position of women was often uncertain. In principle, there were few distinctions of sex: women were excluded from medical degrees until late in the century but, otherwise, were admitted on formally equal terms, attended classes in common with men and could graduate in degrees other than medicine. Women could be a notable presence, constituting a majority of the total number of day students at Mason College, although a proportion between a quarter and a third of day students in arts and sciences was more common.164 How many courses these women took is not clear and graduation was relatively rare.165 Many were of a higher social background, attending out of interest or to seek a better quality husband, although, as mentioned, the DTCs brought in many of a relatively lower status with a clear view to independent employment. Inevitably, informal barriers persisted, and there was much concern about maintaining propriety. When most students lived at home this was less of an issue for college authorities, but social facilities were still segregated and women’s tutors were appointed to assist and supervise the female students. The increasing presence of women and day training students encouraged the development of social facilities.166 Separate facilities for women, including some kind of social space, were often provided, if sometimes minimally. Female students, usually excluded from existing unions, formed their own, and Queen Victoria herself donated £2,000 for women students at Owens. Where women could not live at home, the colleges felt a greater imperative to act in loco parentis, and the Education Department was particularly keen to see hostels built for their female student teachers. Warren and Liveing highlighted the importance of a sense of community as contributing to the indefinable but essential ethos that was so important for a proper university experience.167 This was expressed most clearly in the liberal approach adopted in the curriculum, but it was also to be found in the social life of the colleges. Few institutions had enough resources to invest heavily in these areas before the twentieth century, but there were some moves in that direction. Unions were commonly formed, aping the famous Oxbridge examples, playing fields were acquired and some residential developments set in train. During the 1890s, the provincial colleges increasingly fixed their aspirations on full university status. Although they continued to develop a wide range of work, they steadily shifted their emphasis towards that of a more advanced nature. At most of the colleges there was a move away from occasional evening classes towards full-time day students.168 Evening classes remained important, especially for the smaller Nottingham and Newcastle, but the Yorkshire, Liverpool, Owens and Bristol colleges had fewer evening students at the end of the decade than at the beginning.

130 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 More of the day students attended more classes, and the numbers taking only one course, or attending for less than twenty-five hours, dwindled; conversely, those attending three courses, or for over 125 hours, rose considerably. There was also an increase in the number of examinations passed and degrees taken, especially at the three colleges of the Victoria University, but there were more degree successes at Mason College and Newcastle as well. While defending the place of technical subjects, the colleges increasingly emphasised that they were based in the pure sciences. At the Yorkshire College there was some concern at the dominance of the applied departments, and at the end of the decade, dyeing and mining courses were given a more substantial chemical component.169 Momentum gathered pace during the second half of the 1890s. Owens, closely followed by Liverpool, was rapidly acquiring a distinctly higher tone, and the Yorkshire College made considerable progress once admitted to the Victoria federation.170 Firth College’s application for admission to the Victoria University, however, was rejected on several occasions.171 Undeterred, a new initiative was launched by in 1897, amalgamating Firth College, the Sheffield Medical School, and the Technical School that had been hived off earlier in the decade, as the reconstituted University College, Sheffield. A renewed appeal to the city was more successful than previously and brought in £47,000. Similarly, a private bill secured the Mason University College Act, also of 1897, this time propelled by the medical school that had been deprived of students unable to gain degrees in Birmingham, but soon to be taken up by Chamberlain’s campaign for a midland university.172 Both retitled university colleges made statements of their revised objects, which indicate their own perceptions of their role.173 First, they existed to provide higher education; second, they promoted scientific and technical studies relevant to their districts; finally, they provided the means of original research. Designed for somewhat defensive purposes, these statements indicate perceptions of the ways in which the provincial colleges were being regarded. There is also, perhaps, a measure of self-confidence in their polyvalent role. Both Mason and Sheffield University Colleges were prepared to stake a claim to university status on their local industrial importance, as well as on their higher level and research work.

Conclusion By the turn of the century, the provincial university colleges were pretty well established. They had carved out roles as local and regional centres of higher education in the populous industrial and commercial districts of England. Born of a combination of provincial urban assertiveness, civic competition and national educational movements, institutional dynamism soon took over to seek supporters, audiences and clienteles wherever possible. For the most part, these supporters were found in their own hinter-

The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 131 lands and the colleges nurtured them assiduously, in turn being credited as objects of local philanthropy, as the means to improved career prospects or for personal improvement. Only the largest towns were able to launch a college with an appreciable degree of higher-level work, and colleges’ fortunes varied considerably as many found it difficult to generate civic enthusiasm. Even the successful few soon found that they could not achieve their aspirations on local resources alone. In the first place, an institution could not award itself the defining feature of the highest education: the power to award degrees. Nor could the exponentially voracious requirements of modern subjects for staff, buildings and equipment be sustained solely on voluntary local activity. For both forms of support, the colleges looked to central government. When Owens College petitioned for a charter as an independent university, a number of issues surrounding the nature of the university were thrown into relief. Could an institution that was so oriented towards scientific, technical and vocational education be recognised as a university? What was the proper relationship between teaching, examination and research? What were the implications of creating more universities? Could a university exist at a local level? Most of these were far from novel, but had been raised by Oxbridge reform and the emergence of the University of London. Debate had gathered pace during the 1860s as the collegiate ideal was reasserted at Oxbridge, and the growing emphasis on research prompted a reassessment of the relative roles of teaching, examination and research in higher education. Owens’ petition appeared in the midst of the mounting discussion. To begin with, concern focused on the general uncertainty about multiplying universities, as well as Owens’ local connections. In creating another federal structure, the state fell back on a familiar compromise. The overarching Victoria University would prevent too much independence being devolved to a single institution, with its danger of provincial local interference, while also containing any further applications from other colleges that might lead to debilitating competition. Full local autonomy was not granted the provincial colleges in the nineteenth century, but it was conceded that there was scope for a new university institution. Oxbridge was still the preserve of a select few, while it was increasingly doubted that an examining mill did constitute all that was required of a university. The Victoria University, then, was a new kind of English university – not entirely a local institution, though not a national one either. Invaluable though this measure of formal state recognition was, the provincial colleges needed more material support. After years of hard lobbying, the state allowed another educational grant to assist the everyday work of the university colleges. Similar grants to the Celtic institutions were a precedent. A large new initiative for technical education was also underway. Given the results achieved by local effort, some form of minimal central encouragement was perhaps not unreasonable. The

132 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 parliamentary grant proved vital, but in ensuring their survival central government also confirmed the role of the university colleges. The exchequer was certainly not going to endow them to Oxbridge levels, or to the extent of the other national universities. The provincial colleges were not national institutions but, with minimal funding, they could make decent local imitations of a university for those who could not go to the real ones. If they were going to be higher-level colleges, though, they had to provide a recognisable version of university education, and here some of the other questions about the nature of the university were addressed. The provincial colleges had to develop as much full-time, daytime, degree courses of liberal arts and sciences as possible. Having acknowledged them as of a local university type, however, central government agencies assigned to them duties of regional significance appropriate to their status, which further enhanced their position through their roles in training elementary school teachers, co-ordinating secondary education, providing medical and other professional education, and offering important services for local authorities. Armytage’s description of these institutions as community service stations is quite apt, but it was a role as much allocated to the provincial colleges as acquired from the community.174

4

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914

By the end of the nineteenth century, there were three broad sectors of university education in England. Oxford and Cambridge remained the premier national institutions offering a collegiate experience with a complete package of residence, tuition and pastoral care for full-time students. It was a revamped, reinvigorated and somewhat more efficient form of the old ideal of liberal education in which the whole person was nurtured and finished. This updated version of the traditional conception of the university retained considerable cultural cachet and was still regarded as providing a suitable preparation for leadership roles. The University of London had a dual aspect. As a utilitarian examining body it supervised the standards of university education across the country and throughout the world. Reforms were also fashioning appropriate institutions in the capital into a teaching university in and for London. These institutions had pioneered a new form of higher education that was more accessible, modern and vocationally oriented, but the Oxbridge-style association of teaching and examining was being reasserted in the formation of a teaching university. Formally, the provincial university colleges were modelled on the original London ones and developed under the aegis of the University of London, although three had acquired greater autonomy under the Victoria University. In many respects, the provincial and London colleges shared much in common. The metropolitan context, however, gave a distinctive character to the London institutions, which was considerably enhanced by the creation of the teaching university, while the provincial colleges increasingly constituted a separate sector of university-level education. In the emergence of English university education through the second half of the nineteenth century, the state played an important role. Royal Commissions on Oxford and Cambridge provided a spur and support to reform, and offered a framework within which the ancient universities could justify their presumptions to national pre-eminence. The University of London was a creation of the state, and a huge amount of state-sponsored inquiry sought a new form for the university that would cater for the imperial metropolis. The provincial colleges were built on local initiative and enterprise, but when this proved wanting it was the state that provided

134 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 essential means for their continued existence, with notable conditions attached. Nevertheless, state intervention had been tentative. The Oxbridge Commissions followed internal leads and were reluctant to probe too deeply or make too stringent demands. There was even greater reluctance to provide material support, and the parliamentary grant for university work was limited in size and scope. The situation was somewhat different with the University of London, which was, effectively, a state body. Even so, a series of state inquiries struggled to reach a satisfactory solution to its problems. To a large extent, this hesitancy accorded with prevailing ideals of minimal state intervention in national life, but there was also a particular reluctance to interfere with universities. Since Oxford and Cambridge had been formally independent of the state, especially for finance, for so long, it had become part of the definition of the English university that they be autonomous corporations. Too close an association between universities and the state called into question the nature of the university. From the turn of the century to the First World War, the scale of state involvement in university education expanded dramatically. Most remarkably, six new universities were chartered in the chief provincial cities. There was yet another, and even more searching inquiry into the role of the University of London, and there was renewed interest in Oxford and Cambridge. Besides such scrutiny there was a substantially increased level of state funding, which, in turn, demanded more stringent accountability. Pervading this series of inquiries was a growing appreciation of the importance of the universities to the nation, which meant that they deserved greater state resources. Alongside this, however, was the view that, to meet the public good most effectively, the universities had to be brought into closer alignment with national interests and with each other. There was still a fine line to be negotiated. Preserving a sense of autonomy remained crucial, but universities were too important, and expensive, to be left entirely to their own devices. During the Edwardian period there were increasing pressures, usually subtle but occasionally quite overt, to try to bring the universities into a more unified and integrated system. Two people played a particularly important part in the debates surrounding higher education in these years. Leading a personal crusade to bring the universities more prominently into national life was R. B. Haldane. Although perhaps not quite as important as he thought himself to be, he was a highly influential figure and articulated most fully a coherent conception of what the modern university should be.1 In typically (and typically somewhat obscure) idealist terms, Haldane envisaged the universities as acting as the intellectual underpinnings of modern society, pervading the regions and nation with an elevated tone and purpose. Operating from a more formal power base was R. L. Morant, secretary to the Board of Education. Although also influenced by idealism, Morant had a stronger sense of administrative efficiency and sought to bring the univer-

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 135 sities into an ordered national educational structure that he had helped significantly to create. While approaching from different directions, Haldane and Morant converged on common courses of action to try to bring the universities more firmly into the national education system. One should not place too much emphasis on the roles of individuals but, between them, they exerted considerable influence over the development of universities before the war and epitomise key modes of thinking. Education in England had been the subject of considerable controversy through the late nineteenth century so, to begin with, it is worth considering briefly the wider context of educational development and the nature of the system into which campaigners wanted to see the universities take their place. One of the principal means by which the state had influence over university education was through financial support. As the parliamentary grant multiplied several fold, the questions around how it was to be spent and what form of government supervision was appropriate for the new level of expenditure became more pressing. Morant identified a means of extending the authority of the Board of Education over the universities and actively sought to transfer administration of the grant from the Treasury to the Board. The principals of the colleges, however, were very wary of Morant and resisted his machinations. A rather confused debate ensued, which was still unresolved when war broke out. Thus, there is an extensive discussion of the growth of the parliamentary grant. The remainder of the chapter reviews the development of the three sectors of English universities and the increasing functional differentiation between them. Most notable in this period was the creation of six new provincial universities, a very important recognition that local institutions could also serve the national interest. London University was, once again, subjected to intensive investigation, ironically by some of the very people who had just negotiated its last settlement. Haldane’s review of the situation produced a tour-de-force of idealist analysis with enormous potential implications, which also recast the imperial role of the university. Meanwhile, reformers within and without Oxbridge also revisited the traditional function of the ancient universities. If their task was to educate the nation’s future leaders, this now ought to include the leaders of the working classes.

Organising education Education was a subject of increasing national concern during the last decades of the nineteenth century. Campaigners had long pointed to Germany where an impressive state-run system of technical and higher education turned out vast numbers of experts to operate their dominant science-based industries. With Germany’s steadily encroaching economic, imperial and military presence, the message was brought home with evermore insistence. Closer to home, the emerging labour movement also

136 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 demanded that something more be done to provide for the educational development and aspirations of the working classes. A series of Royal Commissions was launched that investigated virtually all aspects of educational provision: elementary, secondary, technical, and for those with a variety of disabilities. The issue was not simply one of expansion; possibly more problematic was the disorganisation of education and administrative confusion. Educational provision had evolved in an ad hoc fashion, leaving fragmented and disconnected authorities. In the conclusion to the report of the Bryce Commission on Secondary Education, it was noted that a chief aim had been ‘to simplify by way of organisation and consolidation; and in modifying existing authorities and agencies, we have sought to increase their usefulness by bringing them into harmonious relations with one another’.2 At the turn of the century considerable efforts were made to establish a more co-ordinated educational system. The sense of disorganisation pervaded most areas of education.3 Elementary education was divided between state and denominational providers, each catering for about half the elementary school population. State schools enjoyed the benefit of rate support, but were managed by ad hoc and fragmented School Boards, which did not cover the whole country. Voluntary schools struggled with lack of funds, but any attempt to offer rate-aid was denounced as an infringement of religious liberty. Towards the end of the century, though, the voluntary sector was becoming more vocal with a resurgent Anglican Church, backed by the Tory Party. Scientific and technical education had been boosted by rate aid and the windfall ‘Whiskey money’, but was still a demand-led and part-time adult activity which occupied an ambiguous position. It was too advanced and expensive for elementary schools, but was more suited to the working classes and did not fit into the traditional secondary schools. Secondary education constituted a particularly difficult issue. As commonly conceived, full secondary education was private, geared to the small minority that could pay for it and predominantly classical in orientation. From the 1870s, School Boards fostered a variety of initiatives that provided more advanced and vocational education for those pupils coming through the elementary system who wanted some further education. These developments were objected to by the private secondary schools, which claimed that if people wanted education beyond elementary level they should pay market costs and attend their schools, not be supported by state subsidies from the rates. Strictly, the School Boards were acting illegally since, under the 1870 Act that established them, they were only allowed to provide elementary education, which was defined in minimalist terms. Before any kind of coherent educational expansion could be brought about, then, a whole range of legal, administrative and organisational difficulties had to be negotiated. The view that organisation as well as expansion was necessary was supported by two sets of ideas that informed educational debate in the late

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 137 nineteenth century: idealism and efficiency. We have already encountered idealism in the influence of T. H. Green and the Balliol set.4 Education was a central feature of Green’s philosophy. An individual’s life was a purposive journey of self-realisation, of moral growth and spiritual perfection achieved through an arduous process of self-education and reflection. In so doing, the eternal verities of the universe that underlay the superficial phenomena of everyday life could yet be realised in the actual and ordinary living world. Idealism, however, was not just an individual journey; it found its highest expression through collective activity. The community, polity or state was constituted by individuals who in turn could realise their personal, and by extension the eternal, consciousness mostly fully through the collective. In practical terms, idealists emphasised the importance of education – especially the higher moral value of education, not just its material function in securing a livelihood – and the need to extend education as widely as possible so the whole community might share in it. They also urged for a greater involvement by the state, as an expression of the community, in providing education. Equally, idealists, in seeking to put into effect the underlying principles unifying the variety of phenomenal experience, campaigned for cohesion and co-ordination of educational provision. Green’s ideas found expression through movements for university extension and settlement, and in inspiring a cohort of Balliol graduates to enter public service, notably in the Education Department. Through the late nineteenth century, idealism influenced a number of key educational reformers, including Acland in his support of technical education, Sadler on university extension and Bryce in his reform of secondary education. Morant, too, was affected by idealism. Perhaps the most overt and prominent idealist was Haldane, who came to it direct from German Hegelianism rather than via Oxford. Haldane’s idealism particularly emphasised the need to establish the underlying principles that should guide practical policies and so bring a diverse variety of activities into rational and coherent order. The quest for national efficiency had considerable popular currency at the turn of the century.5 It was less grounded in philosophical principles, yet complemented the basic premises of the idealists. A loose political grouping of younger liberals sought to turn away from the individualism and free trade of Gladstonian liberalism and fashion a more ordered, expert and collective polity centred on the imperial nation and state. Politicians such as Rosebery, Lloyd George, Haldane and the Webbs were more interested in co-operating with like-minded Tory counterparts such as Churchill and Balfour, to focus on rational and practical policies, than be bound by party tradition and dogma. More generally, in the context of foreign competition, particularly from the machine-like German economy and administration, the call for national efficiency was a plea for modernisation, to overcome backward-looking traditionalism and replace it with rational and expert decision-making. Although in some respects quite

138 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 opposite, a number of educationalists were influenced by both sets of ideas, and idealism and efficiency converged on several common points: educational expansion, a greater role for the state and, especially, the need for rationality and rationalisation in policies and administration. Moves towards introducing a greater sense of order into education progressed in 1899 with the creation of the Board of Education, which brought together central state agencies responsible for both elementary education and secondary schools.6 Morant was made permanent secretary of the new Board and he immediately set about unravelling the administrative confusion surrounding the post-elementary work of the School Boards. A test case was engineered to establish that the School Boards were acting illegally in offering anything other than elementary level education, which paved the way for new legislation that would reorganise the whole educational system. The 1902 Education Act abolished the School Boards and replaced them with a smaller number of local education authorities (LEAs) that covered the whole country. LEAs were empowered to offer rate-support to all kinds of elementary school and to develop other sorts of education. Thus, unitary local authorities, acting under the supervision of the central Board of Education, had control over elementary, secondary and technical education, allowing for the expansion of state-supported education in a co-ordinated and administratively streamlined fashion. The 1902 Act was certainly efficient, but proved hugely controversial. Most anger was directed at allowing rates to be used for church-run schools. There was also concern at the way the accessible and useful popular initiatives sponsored by the School Boards were so ruthlessly swept away, to be replaced by selective secondary schools that were explicitly modelled on the classical public school curriculum and ethos.7 Morant, however, wanted a very traditional state secondary school sector and felt that whatever had been lost was a price worth paying for the purpose of establishing a more ordered educational system. In the wake of the 1902 Act, state-supported education expanded considerably across the range of elementary, secondary, technical, special and adult education. At the top end of the spectrum, the state was also rapidly developing more systematic provision for scientific research.8 The National Physical Laboratory was established. Research into agricultural science was given an enormous boost under the Development and Road Improvement Act of 1909. This scheme was intended as a means of rural regeneration, and agricultural research was recognised as one way of improving agriculture. It was a very national efficiency type undertaking – scientific investigations would provide the knowledge and expertise for rational agricultural development, and large sums of money were put into it. Similarly, under the 1911 National Insurance Act, 1d per insured person was set aside for research into tuberculosis, although this was quickly diverted into a more general scheme of fundamental medical research. On the eve of the First World War, a further project was being planned for a co-

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 139 ordinated programme to extend and organise education and research that would be in direct connection with industrial concerns.9 From the 1890s to the outbreak of war, then, there was enormous state effort to expand and organise all kinds of education, resulting in a reasonably coherent educational system. Elementary education for the masses was improved and could lead, for a few, to secondary schooling, for some others to technical education; there was even greater provision for adult education for those who had previously missed out. There were the origins of an organised scheme of state scientific research. Where, though, did the universities and colleges fit in? The very highest level of education was enthusiastically endorsed by idealists for its high tone and purpose and by efficiency types for its wider utility, and it was strongly urged that it was in the national interest to expand the highest kinds of education. Of course, it was generally acknowledged that to achieve the highest levels of educational endeavour required independence and autonomy. But, to fulfil their roles as the culmination and pinnacle of national educational endeavour most effectively, the universities had to engage more closely with the national educational system. Through the Edwardian period, university education was significantly expanded with substantial extra funding and enhanced recognition. There were also attempts to try to bring the universities into alignment with the education system and to gear them more to national priorities.

The parliamentary grant At the start of the twentieth century, the parliamentary grant in aid to eleven English university colleges amounted to £24,000, although they received other state funds for non-university work.10 There were further grants to assist the Victoria and London Universities in their role as examining and degree-awarding bodies. It was not a large sum, but proved a lifeline of regular annual income for the hard-pressed university colleges. Inevitably, there were conditions attached. In principle at least, the grant was solely for higher-level education in pure arts and science subjects and, to be eligible, an institution had to demonstrate a local income for those subjects of over £4,000, of which £1,500 had to come from fees. Thus, state funds were designed to acknowledge and encourage local support for academic study. A decade later, the grant had multiplied to £200,000, marking a significantly enhanced appreciation of the national as well as local functions fulfilled by the university colleges. Although the colleges still had to look to local resources for most of their finance, central state grants grew to around a third of recurrent income. The new scale of funding made the question of regulation and supervision much more insistent, and a permanent advisory committee on university matters was appointed, formally institutionalising a degree of state supervision of university activity. But who was it to advise? Highly unusually, the universities’ grant was

140 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 administered directly by the Treasury. This was anathema to Morant and he assiduously manoeuvred to bring this remaining educational responsibility under the Board of Education, to position the universities in the national educational system he had done so much to create. The principals of the colleges were highly suspicious of the Board, not much better disposed to the Treasury, and caught between protecting their autonomy and their need for state funds. A rather confused situation arose between the three parties, which remained unsettled when interrupted by the outbreak of war. An indication of the Treasury’s views on the universities’ grant at the turn of the century was set out when Joseph Chamberlain inquired whether his proposed university might benefit from government largesse.11 In reply, Hicks-Beach suggested that if the new university continued the educational work of Mason College it would probably still share in the grant to university colleges. On the other hand, he warned, there should be no assumption that just because an institution received a charter it was entitled to government funds. He pointed out that the Victoria University received a grant because it formed the centre of education for a large district and so was really a national institution not a merely local one. Similarly, the University of Wales and the University of London fulfilled the functions of a national institution and so were entitled to public money, but, consequently, had to admit a good deal of Treasury interference. Even so, Hicks-Beach noted, the University of London only got state support in the first place because dissenters were excluded from the old universities, and it might not get one now. If not, however, it would probably attract enough private support to keep it going. He concluded: ‘the question of State-aid to Universities is a very large and thorny one: its difficulties are always present to us at the Treasury’. Hicks-Beach may have relished the opportunity to denigrate the cherished project of a political rival, but he gives an insight into official thinking.12 An institution might have a claim on state resources if it served the national interest, but, in accepting public money, had to submit to public scrutiny. Universities were in a difficult position; if they fulfilled national functions they might be eligible for state funds, but really universities ought to be independent of external finance and consequent interference. This minimalist position was borne out in the next quinquennial review of institutions in receipt of an exchequer grant, conducted in 1902.13 On the whole, the colleges came out with a fair bill of health. Positively, there was an increase in the numbers of day students over the period from 7,186 to 7,825 and in the numbers gaining degrees from 1,437 to 2,186, with a general expansion of higher educational activity. Less tangibly, there was evidence of a continuing transformation of the colleges from primarily technical institutions that did some university work to places infused with a university idea, albeit still carrying out some technical work. Colleges were increasingly serving as centres of intellectual life and mental culture

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 141 in their areas and were helping to co-ordinate local educational bodies, inspecting secondary schools, steadily absorbing medical education and teacher training and co-operating with technical colleges. On the downside, staff, especially below the professorial level, were poorly paid and overworked, and only Manchester and Birmingham had pension arrangements. Accommodation was still restrictive and there were few facilities for students. Financially, it was in fact the arts and science departments that were most in debt, sometimes being subsidised by the technical departments. Reassured that it was receiving value for money, the Treasury continued the grant, merely adding another £2,000, which was divided between Reading University College and the Hartley Institution, Southampton.14 Expenditure at the colleges, however, continued to run well ahead of income and soon Oliver Lodge of Birmingham University circulated his fellow principals to lobby the government.15 Lodge felt that the country now recognised that the university colleges had justified their existence, but that poverty was hindering their work. A side benefit of the 1902 Education Act was that local authorities could devote rate aid to higher education, and Lodge noted that the towns were gradually making useful contributions but that the state grant ‘has never yet been commensurate with, or worthy of, the local effort’. A deputation waited on the Chancellor of the Exchequer to argue for progressive increases of the grant and for the whole nature of the grant to be reconsidered, its allocation and which subjects were to be included.16 In justification, it was suggested that the role of the university colleges was changing: ‘[T]he work of the Colleges is not local only, but National, in educating and turning out competent professional men and in carrying on research work and sometimes making important and fruitful discoveries.’ If they were serving the national interest, the colleges had a legitimate claim to adequate national resources. It was an opportune moment. The Chancellor, Austen Chamberlain, replied that he attached great importance to the work of the university colleges and wanted to see them extended so far as possible.17 He insisted that state grants should still only be regarded as stimuli to local effort and that they had to be used for university work and not any other activity conducted by the colleges. Nevertheless, he undertook to double the grant for the coming year, to raise it to £100,000 the following year and to establish a committee to review the question of allocation. His precise reasons for quadrupling the grant were not recorded, but numerous contributing factors can be cited. The 1902 Education Act helped to fashion a more coordinated and stable educational administration, which was fostering the emergence of secondary education. More defined secondary schooling helped to differentiate the university colleges as higher-level institutions and provided a larger and better-prepared market. In turn, across a range of activities, the colleges were acquiring substantial functions at a

142 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 local/regional level, but which ultimately served the nation: co-ordinating secondary education, training teachers, doctors, engineers and other professionals and providing expert services to local authorities. Meanwhile, the local authorities were supporting colleges more liberally. Advocates of education and efficiency were being vocal in their concern and the wider question of imperial and economic competition was becoming evermore pressing. Altogether, the colleges, steadily being recognised as independent universities, were proving their worth to both nation and locality and deserved greater generosity. A committee was established, with Haldane as chairman, to consider how to spend the extra funds and whether the new financial situation required a new approach.18 It was recommended that a portion of the grant still be allocated according to local income, as this was a measure of the work done by the colleges and the extent of local interest. The committee suggested that the grants be made available to a wider range of subjects. Many technical or professional areas, such as law, medicine, engineering or architecture, were of a sufficiently advanced character to be appropriate to a university. Similarly, work done under grants from the Board of Agriculture, or Board of Education, was often also of a suitably high standard. Although it would take careful inspection to determine the matter, these aspects were not out of place in a university and should be included in assessments of university-level work. There had to be more attention, however, to defects in provision for postgraduate work, in equipment and in staff pay, all of which undermined university activity. The committee also urged that a permanent advisory committee be appointed that would take over the allocation and administration of the grants and report to the Treasury. In general, the principals of the colleges welcomed the proposals, but were somewhat alarmed at what exactly the proposed advisory committee might entail, fearing detailed interference.19 Others, too, were concerned that the committee might become too directive, but Haldane maintained that a strong central power would serve as a stimulus, especially to stagnant governing bodies.20 The Treasury agreed to set up a permanent committee and insisted that there was no intention that it would interfere with colleges’ internal administration.21 The grant, however, remained confined to arts and science subjects. The advisory committee was appointed in January 1906 and continued to review the criteria for allocating the grant.22 Loosening some of the regulatory framework, it proposed that revenue from the rates be included in calculations of local income, and abandoned the principle that the parliamentary grants could not exceed one-quarter of that local income. A new maximum of £10,000 per institution, however, was imposed, which unfortunately resulted in £2,000 being deducted from Manchester University’s grant. The committee indicated that it was time the colleges dropped their pre-matriculation work and emphasised the value of an extended degree course, although the place of the occasional student taking a single

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 143 course was defended. This nod towards access was perhaps inspired by their impression that the university colleges had arisen out of university extension, which was built around students pursuing individual courses rather than a full degree programme. Beyond the basic, material requirements of what should or should not feature in a university, the advisory committee was impressed by the extent to which the colleges were inspired by an appropriate ethos: There is a University spirit incapable of definition which pervades the several University Colleges in a greater or less degree, influencing the intellectual growth of their students and producing, as we think, results of the highest importance which are not capable of expression in tables of examination successes.23 One manifestation of this guiding light was the arrangements for developing the corporate spirit through provision of common rooms, athletic grounds or encouragement of student societies. Another key to vitality was the extent of research. New applicants for the grant were invited and the advisory committee received several enquiries from London medical schools, but these were rejected as too specialist. The London School of Economics was also adjudged to be too specialist for inclusion. In addition, it was decided that unless an institution was located in a region without existing provision it would not be considered for funding either. Sheffield, Reading and Nottingham were narrowly deemed acceptable, although Nottingham received a cut in funding. Despite not having met all the requirements, Hartley Institute was retained on the list since it was thought harsh to remove it after having made serious efforts to improve. To be eligible for the parliamentary grant, then, an institution had to have no near rivals, provide university-level instruction in arts and sciences, attract a reasonable number of students, and have adequate facilities and sufficient local income, supplemented by government grants, to maintain efficient teaching and a superannuation scheme. These, however, were necessary not sufficient conditions; more important was the underlying animating principle. In the end, there were no new additions to the Treasury list. Several questions relating to the general policy of the grants were deferred to a later meeting.24 It was decided that although a simple scheme of administration would have been desirable, university institutions required a degree of freedom to function effectively. There was no doubt, however, of the importance of the place the university colleges now occupied: The co-ordination of the institutions which provide higher education in the country in accordance with the principles of administration embedded in the Education Act, 1902, is proceeding apace, and the

144 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 Universities and University Colleges have taken the initiative in connecting themselves with the local education authorities most closely related to them by locality and communications. Universities, however, are non-local as well as local institutions, and it is of importance that this two fold aspect should be appreciated by the central administration which has to dispense the State subvention for higher education by way of grants to this or that locality, and which must at the same time pay due regard to the interests and necessities of the country as a whole.25 The university colleges were taking on national responsibilities and so deserved to be appropriately rewarded. Despite the extra funding and the formation of a permanent administration, there was much continuity from the previous, ad hoc relationship between the university colleges and the state, and a number of difficulties remained outstanding. Reserving the grants solely for pure arts and sciences was becoming both anachronistic and impossible to police. University colleges were also receiving increasingly large funds from other government agencies, especially the Board of Education, but there were no full and systematic accounts of what each institution received from where or how they spent it. Nor did the Treasury wish to get any closer to the colleges. It insisted that the various grants and their respective purposes were kept separate and that local income was still a primary consideration.26 The Treasury feared sliding into accepting too much responsibility for the university colleges and so resorted to maintaining familiar financial channels. But a new situation had arisen and its implications were indicated in the committee’s conclusions. National responsibilities deserved public funds, but did state supervision of the national interests amount simply to ensuring proper accounting and exhortatory proclamations? Was there not a positive requirement for the state to assess what was the national interest as regards universities, to ensure that it was being effectively and efficiently met? This was no work for the Treasury; indeed, it was highly anomalous that the grant came direct from the Treasury without passing through any department of state. Admittedly, when it was first awarded in 1889 there were no other obvious candidates for the task. The Education Department dealt only with elementary schools, and the Department of Arts and Sciences with examinations in technical subjects. Moreover, formally to assign responsibility to a government department might have implied a more permanent arrangement than the Treasury initially envisaged. With the advent of the Board of Education, however, educational administration had been consolidated and co-ordinated in a much larger and more influential state apparatus. The Board had overall jurisdiction over elementary, secondary, technical and adult education, as well as teacher training and other professional education, and was steadily fashioning them into a rationalised system. Only university education

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 145 remained beyond the pale. Such flagrant administrative inefficiency was anathema to the permanent secretary of the Board of Education, R. L. Morant. Whatever else could be said of Morant, he was formidably efficient.27 He maintained that practice had to be based on clear and considered principle and procedure, which sometimes meant that historic sensibilities or quaint tradition had to be laid aside. Influenced by Oxford idealism, and having spent time at Toynbee Hall, Morant had a strong sense of public duty. It was the Board’s responsibility to spend its large budget wisely in order to supply the nation with properly educated citizens and well-trained experts and professionals. Since the universities were the linchpin of the educational system and the principal providers of higher expertise, it was nonsense that they float entirely free of the national educational framework and negotiate direct with the Treasury for state funds. With the structures of the Edwardian educational reforms in place, Morant pursued several avenues to try to bring the university colleges under the aegis of the Board. Morant seized the opportunity to rail against the anomalous role of the Treasury when a draft of the advisory committee’s report was circulated for comment.28 In a long and detailed memorandum, he pointedly criticised the report’s confused thinking and ignorance of educational practicalities. On the committee’s own principles and by its own admission, he noted, Hartley Institute should not have received a grant – but it had. On the other hand, an otherwise commendable college, for example in Sunderland, might be rejected simply because there was another one in Newcastle. It was all very well to exclude work below matriculation level, but how was this to be achieved? From actual experience with trainee teachers, the Board had found it difficult to maintain and ensure parity of entry standards, so leaving it to voluntary co-operation between institutions was not going to work. Similarly, having noted the problems, how did the committee propose distinguishing the work done in arts and sciences under the Treasury grant from that under the Board of Education’s grant for trainee teachers? Again, there had to be a close watch of competing interests: universities were more interested in undergraduates as arts and science students than as future teachers, students preferred getting a degree to a professional training, yet the Board had to secure well-trained teachers. Morant was also very keen on full-time degree courses, arguing that, while evening classes could be of university level, one could not really obtain a university education by evening study alone; the advisory committee, on the other hand, had praised part-time evening classes. Altogether, it seemed that the Treasury’s committee had little idea of how things worked in practice and had no conception of the educational system as a whole. A single authority, he agreed, was required, pointing out that one ‘which is successfully to cope with this task would have to be in touch not only with the several University activities concerned but also . . . in intimate touch

146 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 with the secondary schools and with technical instruction of sub-university standard’. While the current advisory committee should be continued to maintain stability, it should be made answerable to the Board of Education. The Board was not without connections with the university colleges, making grants for technical work and for training elementary teachers at the Day Training Colleges.29 In a concerted policy, Morant steadily expanded the grants available from the Board for the university colleges. When the Treasury committee refused to entertain applications from the London medical schools, the Board stepped in.30 Having criticised the Treasury’s lack of grip on the situation, however, Morant was dismayed to discover a less-than-perfect system operating in his own department, nor any real conception of the importance of the work.31 On investigating the grants operated by the Board more closely, he found scant evidence of procedure or proper consideration of applications where there were often important points of principle involved. In a stinging memo on the matter, he noted that Liverpool University had received funds for architecture, perhaps not wrongly, but there had been no real thought about whether such a subject was appropriate for funding. He found it almost impossible to follow how decisions about Sheffield, Nottingham or Leeds had been reached. In a handwritten diatribe appended to his findings, Morant despaired that although supporting the work of university colleges was one of the most important issues ever handled by the Board, ‘its administration as shown in the files is really a most deplorable exhibition of entire lack of organised procedure, of careful supervision of recorded stages, or of methodical arrangement.’ To remedy the problem, administration of the existing grants was brought together under a new universities branch of the Board, headed by F. Heath.32 In 1911, a new statement was issued with revised regulations for technological and professional work at universities, removing some of the restrictions governing applications for funding. 33 By 1911, grants were made to ten medical schools, and to the Manchester Municipal College of Technology and the Bristol Merchant Venturers’ Technical College, which effectively formed the engineering faculties of the corresponding universities. 34 With this leverage, the Board encouraged the development of higher technological education at the universities. It also brought about an important reconstitution in medical education. On closer inspection, it was discovered that the London hospital medical schools had a highly inadequate legal basis and the Board required a clearer definition of responsibilities between the University and the medical schools. Equally, the Board demanded that the provincial universities have much more say in the appointment of clinicians at their medical school hospitals. The Board also began to make clear what it expected of the universities. From the inception of the Treasury grant, all recipients had to submit an annual return to the Education Department (subsequently Board of Education). Although heads of return were issued, the information was

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 147 published much as submitted by the university colleges, with considerable variability. With the report of the year 1908/9, however, an introductory section set out a summary of the year’s achievements and what, in the Board’s view, remained to be done.35 Signed by the President of the Board and the other permanent officials, the terms were Morant’s. An emphasis on the importance of full-time degree courses was a familiar refrain. So too was the impossibility of distinguishing arts and sciences from other subjects and the need to consolidate grants to the universities under a single authority. Laying out playing fields and building residences for students were applauded, but spending too much on buildings and scholarships was not. After Morant’s fall from grace, the reports took on a less-hectoring tone, but evermore refined information was compiled for comparison between institutions and across years.36 It is difficult to say how much real pressure to conform was intended, but it was there. In the report for 1910/11, it was noted that ‘[t]here does not appear as yet to be any sign of a decrease in the amount spent by the English Colleges on scholarships out of income and it is to be hoped that the comments of the Advisory Committee on this subject will tend to bring about a decrease in the amount of this expenditure’.37 At the universities, the principals did feel increasing pressure and were very wary of Morant’s machinations. They feared that the Board of Education would exercise too close control, with frequent and intolerably intrusive inspections, performed, rumour had it, by school inspectors.38 Under such a regime, the universities would become mere departments of state, undermining freedom of thought and development.39 Symptomatic of the trend was a request for a detailed account of the number of hours professors lectured.40 The principals railed against the intrusion, but, lured Heath, the returns were very similar to those recently asked of the Scottish Universities which had presaged an increase of funding. Funding was never far from the principals’ minds and the reference to the Scottish universities perhaps touched a raw nerve. All of the Scottish, Irish and Welsh universities and colleges were once more under review, with the prospect of new funding, and the continuing contrast between what they already enjoyed and what the English institutions received was forcefully set out by A. Headlam, Principal of King’s College.41 In England, he calculated, there was £1 for university education per 244 people, whereas in Wales £1 was shared between fifty-five people, in Scotland sixty-one and in Ireland fifty-four. Queen’s College Belfast was built out of public funds, and the new university had a capital grant of £60,000 plus £28,000 annually. Manchester, by contrast, got £15,200 per annum and had never had a capital grant. While voluntary effort had yielded some £6 million for the English colleges, with the local authorities contributing over £90,000 a year, there was less than £150,000 parliamentary grant for all the English universities. Bitterly, he claimed that those responsible were still too wrapped up in an Oxbridge mentality and did not realise the wider needs.

148 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 More funds were on the way. Early in 1910, Chancellor Lloyd George, while sympathetic, could not help; but later in the year the situation was more promising.42 He felt that local authorities should do more, and suspected that the principals were trying to get their capital debts paid off, however much Lodge maintained that they were merely trying to balance the annual accounts. Nevertheless, Lloyd George was disposed to raise the grant by a further £50,000, but expected there to be an increase of local funds as well, and that the universities show they were accomplishing more with the extra resources. A new scheme for allocating the grant was devised in consultation with the principals, based around the three headings of output, needs and development. Extra funds, however, inevitably reiterated the question of administration and supervision and whether or how all state grants should be consolidated. Meanwhile, in response to the principals’ suspicions, the Board launched a charm offensive. Early in 1911, Heath drew up a comprehensive list of all the ways in which the Board was involved with universities, ‘to show uninitiated colleagues the extent of the entanglement’.43 Most directly, the Board paid for teacher training, which brought in £120,000 a year and covered around a half of arts and a third of science students at the six provincial universities. There were the technological and professional grants, grants for student teacher hostels, for evening work. In addition, the Board provided large sums for Imperial College. Altogether, the Board supplied over £190,000, against the £200,000 coming from the Treasury. Otherwise, universities were almost entirely responsible for secondary school examinations, tying them inextricably with the whole educational system run by the Board. Heath conducted a series of interviews with vice-chancellors to try to allay their fears of the Board.44 Continuing the courtship, the Board of Education made a new arrangement for trainee teachers.45 Previously, the Board provided three years of grants and maintenance for day training college students who could study towards a degree while also doing their professional training. This was now felt to undermine the principle of full-time connected courses and could lead to overstrain. To encourage more students to train at the university colleges and take degrees, henceforth the Board would provide grants and maintenance for four years, the first three devoted to gaining a degree and the fourth for professional training. That this would enhance the numbers in the crucial arts and science departments, while beholding the universities to the Board, was surely not lost on the principals. Several of the principals remained unconvinced, but the existing advisory committee did not seem to be that much better.46 Manchester University was still smarting from the reduction to its grant, simply to meet an arbitrary administrative requirement, and the principals pressed for an agreement that, so long as institutions were performing efficiently, there would be no cuts in their grants. The place of Imperial College was another concern. The Board of Education granted £20,000 a year plus

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 149 another £12,000 in scholarships, which far exceeded anything any other individual institution received from the Treasury.47 In the wake of the extra £50,000 announced by Lloyd George, however, Imperial College seemed ready to stake a claim in that as well.48 Several of the provincial principals suspected that the London colleges might make off with the lion’s share of the extra money, especially since one member of the advisory committee was closely connected to Imperial. If the universities’ grant were to be brought under the Board, there might be fairer distribution.49 In a series of meetings with the principals, Heath reported that they were coming round to accepting the role of the Board.50 There is little to suggest that the Treasury actually wanted direct relations with the universities; it was an inherited anomaly. In bizarre circumstances, however, the Chancellor seemed to pass over responsibility to the Board, then claw it back. From July 1910 the Board of Education was in negotiation with the Treasury.51 Transferring the grant was apparently accepted by the Chancellor in May 1911 and was announced by W. Runciman, the President of the Board.52 In August, however, the Chancellor claimed to know nothing about the arrangement, and renewed negotiations required that allocations made by the Board had to receive Treasury consent.53 Morant queried the new provisos, but Runciman passed them off as an arrangement between ministers with no practical effect.54 Before the end of the year both Morant and Runciman had been removed and the incoming permanent secretary, Selby-Bigge and president, J. A. Pease, were infuriated at the Board’s acquiescence.55 Even worse, the advisory committee had not been told that the grants still, effectively, came under two authorities; nor had the principals. Heath, still in place, noted that the universities were suspicious enough of the Board without this apparent subterfuge.56 The arrangement, however, seems to have stayed in place with its ambiguities going unrecognised; certainly the Board was identified at the universities as having the authority. The rapid multiplication of the universities’ grant, together with the creation of a permanent advisory committee, were important markers of the greater importance afforded the university colleges. No longer were they private, local institutions, they were now performing valuable national functions and so deserving of additional public funds. Although there had always been regulations attached to the Treasury grant, the enhanced role of the universities necessitated more formal supervision. Morant certainly appreciated the significance of the universities to national life and wanted them to take their place as the capstone of the educational system. As a logical culmination of the 1902 reforms, this required incorporating the universities into the co-ordinated administrative framework of the Board of Education, most conveniently achieved by bringing the Treasury grant and advisory committee under its own control. Somewhat alarmed, the principals feared for their institutional autonomy but knew that regulation would have to come from somewhere and that the Board of Education

150 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 was the likely agency. It is difficult to say how far the Board would have attempted actually to direct the universities. The most blatant example, concerning King’s College, will be considered (on pp. 61–2). In the event, Morant fell from grace at the Board of Education in 1911 and with him went a considerable driving force for assimilation. Soon afterwards, the situation was transformed by the outbreak of war.

The creation of the provincial universities While the financial and regulatory framework of the university colleges was being revised during the Edwardian period, the condition and status of the provincial institutions altered dramatically. In quick succession, six colleges were recognised with charters as fully independent, degreeawarding universities. Surprisingly, Mason College was the first, drawing on powerful political backing to leapfrog the leading institutions and emerge as the University of Birmingham. University College, Liverpool was the first to file for separation from the Victoria University, which led to the most significant debate about the meaning and implications of the changing situation. Ultimately, the federation was dissolved into the universities of Liverpool, Manchester and, by default, Leeds. The recently constituted University College, Sheffield seized the opportunity to gain recognition, which, notwithstanding the opposition of its Yorkshire neighbour, it readily received. Finally, University College Bristol, following the lead of its sister institutions, gained its charter. Armstrong College in Newcastle maintained its connections with the University of Durham, but arrangements were reconstituted under a new Act. Southampton and Nottingham remained the poorest relations, increasingly surpassed by Reading. The creation of the provincial universities was a significant event, transforming the organisation of English higher education and establishing a new kind of English university. Through the last decade of the nineteenth century, Mason College was struggling.57 With the advent of the Victoria University, there was another degree-awarding body to draw students, especially medics, from the industrial provinces.58 Liverpool’s medical school had grown from being smaller than Mason’s to being twice as large within a few years of its admission to the Victoria University. This did not improve the financial position of the Birmingham college, which, despite Mason’s generosity, continued to accumulate debts. The key to solving the financial problem was to gain university powers and so attract students. If the college did not get these powers, either independently or through joining the Victoria University, the governors could only foresee decline. Early in 1895, the college began to consider how to proceed.59 Initially, associating with the colleges in Bristol and Nottingham to form a Midlands counterpart to the Victoria federation seemed the most promising option.60 As a first step, Mason College itself had to be incorporated, which was achieved in 1897. At the

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 151 end of the year, however, the situation was transformed when Birmingham’s leading citizen, Joseph Chamberlain, announced that he must have a ‘University of Birmingham, pure and simple’, and if it was not for Birmingham alone he was out of it.61 Chamberlain had expressed interest in a midland university in the early 1890s, but felt that it was probably premature.62 Nevertheless, he joined the discussions on the future of Mason College. His dramatic conversion to the cause was probably occasioned by his investiture as rector of the University of Glasgow in 1897.63 Here he beheld a fully independent university, closely associated with its urban and industrial locality, an ancient foundation but providing modern and accessible higher education.64 Chamberlain galvanised the campaign for a university that would explicitly cater for the needs of the west midlands. Bristol and Nottingham were brushed aside.65 A public meeting was arranged and a list of requirements necessary to turn Mason College into a new university was drawn up, together with estimates of how much it would cost.66 Raising funds was quickly left to Chamberlain, none had his local influence or national profile, and he assiduously worked on potential donors throughout the region and beyond.67 Initially, a capital sum of £200,000 was sought.68 An anonymous benefactor offered £25,000 if the total reached £250,000, which was then doubled if £300,000 was raised.69 Most of the funds came in large amounts. Charles Holcroft promised £20,000 of the fortune that he made in the area if the university was intended to benefit local industries.70 Further afield, Chamberlain interested Andrew Carnegie in the scheme, and he contributed £50,000 to develop scientific facilities.71 Chamberlain intended that his university would be geared to the local, especially industrial, interests of the midland region. There were two million people in the area, he pointed out, most of whom were engaged in industrial pursuits, and on such not only the prosperity of the region but the welfare of the nation relied.72 While older learning should not be neglected, there was no point in making poor copies of the ancient universities. There was scope for new institutions with new forms of education, oriented to local needs. The audience, then, would be the ‘managers, advisers & experts in manufacturing & other commercial undertakings’, a little disparagingly described as the second-class positions.73 For them, however, might be forged a profession in the same way as had been achieved for medicine and law.74 The new principal of Mason College, Oliver Lodge, echoed the theme.75 Whereas technical institutes produced practical men and the older universities highly scientific men, Birmingham University would wed theory and practice. Such an alliance might finally meet the threats to imperial supremacy that those versed in book learning alone had failed to address. When the petition for a charter was sent to the Privy Council in June 1899, these factors were highlighted.76 The city of Birmingham was the proper seat of a university for the wider midlands region, which would in

152 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 turn benefit from such an institution. At present, higher education in the area was being impeded by its reliance on external agencies such as London or Victoria Universities. ‘It is proposed’, continued the petition, to so organise the University if established and direct its teaching and activity as that it will especially meet the needs and stimulate and advance the industries of the Midlands Districts while not neglecting wider interests or any branch of education and with that view it is proposed to establish in the first instance faculties of Science and Commerce in addition to faculties in Arts and Medicine.77 There appears to have been remarkably little debate at the Privy Council about what might have been seen as a major new development in English higher education. The only other papers kept by the Privy Council on the matter was a letter from University College, Bristol asking that its previous interest in a federation with Mason College be recorded.78 Neither, in the absence of substantial opposition, did the Privy Council take it upon itself to order an inquiry into the implications of the application, nor to reject it as undesirable. Chamberlain’s influence was undoubtedly important, and there was a sense of urgency about submitting the application while he was still in government.79 Thus the charter was granted and Birmingham became the first of the provincial university colleges to achieve independent university status. Chamberlain continued to work on behalf of the new university, raising funds and generating enthusiasm. In July 1900, Lord Calthorpe offered the university twenty-five acres of highly desirable land in Edgbaston.80 Brushing aside more cautious voices, Chamberlain saw it as an opportunity for a showcase development that would serve as a monument to the nascent university, the city of Birmingham and the midlands region.81 He calculated that it would be worth investing the funds raised for the university so far in a magnificent construction project, as this would attract further interest and support. An imposing crescent was planned, centred on a great hall of cathedral proportions, counterpointed by a Renaissance-style campanile that would grace the most assertive Italian city-state, yet executed in industrial redbrick. When Chamberlain was floored by a stroke, however, the vital impulse propelling the movement faded and the university was left on a split site: one in the city centre with little room to manoeuvre and the other with a prime estate and a decorative hall, but lacking the funds to develop the actual educational apparatus. In most respects, the University of Birmingham followed a well-trodden path, appealing to and offering to serve regional industrial interests. It was a strategy first devised by Owens College in its idea of a University of the Manufacturing Districts; the University of Birmingham, then, can be seen as the culmination of a process begun by Owens College in the 1860s.82 But the scheme was on a previously unimagined scale (beyond what even

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 153 Haldane could envisage), and perhaps only a figure of the stature of Chamberlain, with his commitment to provincial development, could carry it off.83 Certainly, the University of Birmingham was Chamberlain’s creation. Similarly, despite its title, Birmingham University was pitched in regional rather than civic terms. Yet Birmingham was a new kind of university, the first one to be an independent and unitary entity, subject to no external validating authority. Chamberlain’s successful innovation was arguing that an institution geared explicitly to regional requirements was worthy of becoming a full university. When the authorities of Mason College began looking towards university status to solve their recruitment and financial problems, they visited University College, Liverpool, which was already chafing at the restrictions of the Victoria federation.84 Although the three constituent colleges were theoretically equal, the University itself had its seat in, and the focus of university life centred on, Manchester. It was not long after the creation of Birmingham University, then, that the court of governors of University College, Liverpool resolved to seek independence.85 The administrative and publicity paraphernalia of a campaign to raise funds, plan reorganisation and to negotiate the legal complexities were swiftly set in motion.86 From its inception, University College, Liverpool had recognised the necessity of establishing a firm financial foundation, and Birmingham’s experience offered an indication of the kind of sums now required. An initial target of £330,000 additional capital endowment was set to be able to expand the educational facilities and subject range, but it was also essential to secure the extra annual income for routine expenditure.87 The college also had long-established associations with its home city and these were vigorously pursued to enhance the profile of the college across all sectors of the community.88 Liverpool’s ambitions, however, had far-reaching implications for, if independence was achieved, what was to happen to the other members of the Victoria University? It was a question not only for the northern neighbours but also for the future direction of the English universities. Should an apparently successful organisation be broken up? How many separate universities could there be? When the court of Owens College considered the resolution from Liverpool, they recorded their opinion that if there was to be a university created out of one of the colleges, it should be in Manchester, as they had wanted for longer than anyone.89 There was greater concern at the Yorkshire College, which was still the weakest link and must have feared for its future if it had to survive on its own.90 Consequently, it argued that it would be detrimental to break up the federation and, as Liverpool’s plans progressed, the Yorkshire College appealed to the Privy Council for a Royal Commission to look into the matter.91 The secretary to the Privy Council, Almeric Fitzroy, privately canvassed opinion on the desirability of a Royal Commission.92 The principal of the Yorkshire College reeled off a list of issues that he wanted investigating,

154 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 although Fitzroy felt that the only substantial items were whether a single college could maintain an adequate academic staff, and whether the multiplication of universities might lead to a lowering of standards, especially in professional subjects. The principal of Owens, however, could not see the value of a full inquiry.93 A Royal Commission might postpone a decision for years and he was concerned that any continued uncertainty about the situation would only make things worse for everyone. Reviewing the series of petitions that accompanied Liverpool’s application, Fitzroy counted five from Liverpool bodies that were in favour and five opposed, four of which were from Yorkshire and one from graduates of the Victoria University who feared that their degrees might be devalued.94 The Victoria University itself expressed guarded approval, but wanted some sort of review of the matter. Owens College’s petition was similar, but indicated that if Liverpool got a charter it did not want to be left in a federation with the Yorkshire College. There was also one from University College, Sheffield, which hesitated to express an opinion but registered an interest in the proceedings. The Lord President of the Privy Council took the matter to the Cabinet.95 Although a Royal Commission had the advantage of distancing the government from a decision that must be unpopular in either Lancashire or Yorkshire, there was little enthusiasm for one; they often led to inconclusive reports, witnessed by the interminable wrangling over the University of London. An alternative was to hold a hearing before the Privy Council at which the rival cases could be presented. This suggestion seems to have emanated from the familiar figure of Haldane who managed to weave his way into the picture.96 He was never far from discussions of higher education, and this form of proceedings would have suited his preference for small coteries of wise men making definite decisions. Thus, the question of provincial universities would be determined by a legalistic trial of the merits of the case before a jury of the Privy Council. Liverpool’s case amounted to an impassioned plea for a genuinely civic university that would also serve the national interest.97 Although the college had made considerable progress and achieved a great deal under the federation, there were several problems. The administrative structures of the Victoria University were now too large and unwieldy and, with all the meetings taking place in Manchester, it was difficult for Liverpool representatives to attend. Important differences were masked, which impeded natural development; Manchester and Leeds were primarily industrial cities, whereas Liverpool was a commercial centre. Healthy competition could generate virtuous emulation, not necessarily a vicious downward spiral of standards. Pointing to comparative statistics of universities at home and abroad, the pressing need for an expansion of higher education was highlighted. Yet, given that the state was still making inadequate provision for secondary schooling, Liverpool’s case argued that the need for higher education could only really be met by corporate action, and the city

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 155 of Liverpool, as it always had, was ready to act. The people of Liverpool were alive to the importance of the university idea, but the community wanted ‘a University that it feels to be its own; in the business of which it can take part; at the ceremonies of which it can assist; a University for the city, of the city, and in the city’.98 Haldane was prepared to act as counsel for Liverpool, but he was elevated to the Privy Council before the case was heard, making him ineligible.99 He did, however, serve as chief witness on the college’s behalf. In his evidence, Haldane presented a view of the local university slightly different to Liverpool’s civic vision.100 He described a kind of federal effect in which an independent university exerted a co-ordinating influence over the whole educational system in its area. As usual with Haldane, it was an idealist position, arguing for the underlying unity of the educational system, which needed a proper university to weld it together as a complete and purposeful whole and inspire it with the highest ideals. To have a real, direct and elevating effect, however, such co-ordination could only be achieved over a relatively limited area, thus necessitating more universities. The Victoria University covered far too large an area to have the necessary influence, while the sustaining importance of local patriotism could also only be generated in a restricted area. Haldane’s evidence perhaps had greater value in undermining the opposition. Supporters of the Yorkshire College argued that the break up of the Victoria University would only lead to a descending spiral of competition between weak colleges. Haldane showed, however, with the aid of carefully prepared statistics, that there was no reason why Yorkshire should not have several of its own thriving local universities. After three days the Privy Council called a halt to proceedings.101 It recommended that universities be established in Liverpool and Manchester but that, before any charters were drawn up, the Yorkshire College be allowed to submit a draft charter of its own, that all the institutions should consider areas of joint action and that there be careful provision for direct inspection by an outside visitor and for independent external examiners.102 Although perhaps not entirely an inevitable result, there was considerable momentum towards it. Federal arrangements were increasingly criticised and the only remaining support for the Victoria University came from its weakest component. Well before the hearing, Fitzroy, on reviewing the petitions he had received, recorded that the point has been reached where the federal tie between places so widely apart and so differently situated works rather as a hindrance than as an aid to development and that it would be unwise to maintain an organization, which fetters the growth of its constituents in matters essential to the highest aims of a university, in order to secure uniformity in others, which however important, are of secondary significance.103

156 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 Perhaps the most telling argument was made when the Marquis of Ripon, on behalf of the Yorkshire College, pleaded with the Privy Council that the multiplying of universities was a major issue of public policy requiring lengthy consideration.104 Somewhat scathingly, it was pointed out to him that he had made no objection to the creation of the University of Birmingham. Indeed, once there was a university in Birmingham it is difficult to see how more would not follow. Effectively, the debate about the desirability of civic universities took place several years after one had already been created; the issue at stake was a fait accompli. Lancashire was now promised two universities. Sorting out the situation in Yorkshire, however, was far from straightforward and led to some illhumoured wrangling between the colleges in Leeds and Sheffield. The Yorkshire College, based in Leeds, was in an awkward position. It had never enjoyed the same level of support as its Lancastrian counterparts, receiving as much recognition from London livery companies as from local interests.105 Regional circumstances played a part. Leeds was not as wealthy a city as Liverpool or Manchester, which, although near neighbours, were still very distinct and dominant over separate districts, generating local sympathies. East of the Pennines was a constellation of towns, of which Leeds was only arguably the leader. Hence, the Yorkshire College pitched itself as catering for the county as a whole, perhaps not advisedly. Leeds’ interests may not have identified with a county institution, while other towns may not have supported a Leeds-based college, although the three county councils had begun to steer significant funds towards the Yorkshire College. Having been decidedly dumped by its former partners, however, the Yorkshire College held to its vision of a countywide remit, and planned for a university for Yorkshire with its seat in Leeds. University College, Sheffield saw things differently.106 Through the late 1890s, educational bodies in the city had worked hard to raise standards in preparation for entry to the Victoria University. Firth College, the medical school and the technical school forged a solid, if somewhat complex, amalgamation into a university college, which, they felt, was of not dissimilar standing to the Yorkshire College. When University College, Sheffield applied to the Victoria University, however, it had been, somewhat peremptorily, rejected. In the breakup of the federation, University College, Sheffield hesitantly made its case to the Privy Council.107 It knew that it was probably not able to take on university independence itself, but nor was it prepared to allow the Yorkshire College to claim suzerainty over the whole county and suggested a joint university on two sites. The Yorkshire College maintained that it was only prepared to admit other institutions as junior partners of a Leeds-based federation.108 Thus, if Sheffield was to avoid limiting its own higher educational development in subservience to Leeds, the only option was to petition for a university of its own. Self-deprecatingly, the college admitted it was less well developed,

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 157 but argued that there was as much to sustain higher education in Sheffield as in any other major city. It was a massive centre of industry and mining with a growing educational system and large population. Despite protests from the Yorkshire College, and subject to some stringent conditions, the Privy Council accepted Sheffield’s claim and two more universities were created.109 Bizarrely, the Yorkshire College was vastly disappointed. ‘The world is out of joint. I hope you are not so disappointed as I feel about “The University of Leeds”. It is difficult to accept defeat with becoming humility or the stolidity of the Yorkshire sportsman.’110 To the Privy Council, proceedings had taken on their own momentum. Fitzroy wrote that the Council could ‘see no reason to modify their opinion that the proper title to be assumed by a University with its seat at Leeds is “The University of Leeds” . . . both on the score of precedent and convenience’.111 There were important conditions, however – chiefly financial. Both new institutions had to raise substantial sums of money before they could receive their charters. Leeds had to find £100,000, while Sheffield raised £110,000 and also secured a 1d rate from the local authority.112 Once the principle of independence was conceded, it was largely a matter of funding to bring staffing, buildings, equipment and subject range, both quantitatively and qualitatively, closer to levels appropriate to university status. In short order, then, five new universities were created. Of the remaining provincial university colleges, Nottingham, Hartley and Reading could not, realistically, stand alone. Nottingham University College was doing some higher-level work, although, within this, teacher training assumed enormous significance; much of its activity, however, was still nondegree.113 There was also considerable suspicion of the college’s relationship to the municipal council, which provided most of the funds but also had a majority on the college’s governing body and, in theory, could close it down on a whim. Hartley College only just held onto the status of a university college.114 Most of its higher work was in the Day Training Department, but the Board of Education issued several warnings of its dissatisfaction and threatened to withdraw recognition. An inspection of the college recommended that its best prospects were as a local technical college. Nevertheless, and in spite of breaking its own rules, the Treasury kept it on the list of university colleges, partly out of sympathy and perhaps also because it would be too complex and expensive to relaunch it properly in another direction. Meanwhile, Reading University College was making quiet but significant progress under its new principal, W. M. Childs, who charted a careful course of concentrating on doing a few things as well as possible.115 Large donations from local biscuit manufacturer, Palmers, notably improved its financial situation. In the north-east, the situation was complicated by a confusing triangular relationship.116 The College of Physical Science in Newcastle and the Newcastle College of Medicine were each associated with the University

158 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 of Durham, which was itself a collegiate body. Through the late 1890s, the College of Physical Science established a Day Training College, which allowed the development of an arts side, launched an appeal and rebranded itself as Armstrong College, after the local industrialist. Negotiations between the three institutions led to a new constitution under an Act of 1908, which helped to strengthen the identity of each of them and clarified their respective relationships.117 All three elements continued as autonomous, self-governing institutions, but the two Newcastle colleges formed a closer association while still coming under the University of Durham. Functionally, they formed the equivalent of a provincial university with three, rather more independent than usual, faculties. The Durham colleges taught almost no science, Armstrong College did not have much arts or degree-level work, while the medical school had a semiindependent status. That left University College, Bristol, and there is a sense of inevitability about its application for a charter. Such things could not be a foregone conclusion, but there was a good body of precedent on which the college could draw to guide its progress. University College, Bristol did have some ground to make up. Like the other colleges founded on university extension, it had a wide subject range but struggled to attract local support. Only in the early twentieth century did the Wills family of cigarette manufacturers become hugely generous benefactors.118 Another part of the problem was the existence of a rival institution, the Merchant Venturers’ Technical College. Although technically oriented, it did high-level work, was liberally supported by a wealthy local charity and gave no precedence to the novel University College.119 From the late 1890s, the University College looked for federal partners, initially to Mason College, but that plan was overturned by Chamberlain’s dash for independence. In 1902, Haldane suggested that Bristol look to Southampton and Exeter as the basis of a federation for the south-west.120 Neither potential partner was nearly as well developed as University College, Bristol; in any case, federations were fast losing their currency, so it was apparent that the line to pursue was civic autonomy. A sense of urgency was injected in 1907 when H. E. Wills promised £100,000 if a charter was achieved within two years.121 Haldane retained an interest in the movement, and the college authorities looked to him for advice.122 He noted that Bristol’s position as a regional centre and that University College was a going concern were both favourable factors. Funding would be crucial and he indicated that the Privy Council would require them to raise at least as much funding as Sheffield had, and would probably expect the city to provide something from the rates as well. Haldane claimed that Liverpool and Sheffield had got their charters on the assurance of rate subsidy and reinforced the point: ‘[t]he view taken is that the future of the University and its expansion to the requisite dimensions turns upon local interest’.123 Armed with

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 159 Wills’ promise of capital, the college turned to the city council.124 Opinion was divided; some were prepared to support the university scheme, but not with rates. Others felt that the people of Bristol would gain little from the venture. In the end, some sort of financial assistance was assured and the college petitioned the Privy Council.125 Familiar arguments were adduced to justify the position, including the need to expand higher education in the national interest, the regional, cultural and economic benefits that a university would bring, and also that Bristol was the largest population centre in the country without a university of its own. It was noted that the city had promised some sort of financial assistance, but the Privy Council reserved judgement until it heard what exactly was going to be provided.126 The college returned to the city council and, with university status seemingly resting on it, a resolution in favour of rate aid was carried with few dissentients. It was not exactly a formula stating that rate aid bought a university charter but, once it was accepted that there could be more universities, finance was the crucial factor that could bring a potential university into being. Central government made a vital contribution but was not going to shoulder the burden alone; if a city wanted its own university it would have to make a commensurate contribution. University status and increased finance followed each other in a virtuous progression that expanded the range and extent of higher education in the provincial cities before the war.127 Colleges were required to improve their capital and annual incomes to achieve university distinction, but civic philanthropists and local authorities were more prepared to make donations for a proper university. All the new universities raised substantial sums through appeals, which allowed them to establish new subjects, erect new buildings and to improve staffing and facilities in existing areas. Local authorities also assumed much greater importance. In the first years of the twentieth century, local government agencies provided a little under 10 per cent of the annual income of most university colleges, which rose to 15 per cent by 1908 and remained around that level until the war. Rate aid was a significant new form of income, representing an enhanced scale and nature of local support. It was not given lightly or, in several instances, very willingly, and it is worth noting that it was often pressure from the Treasury, Board of Education and Privy Council that bounced local authorities into accepting greater responsibility for their local universities. A large proportion of local authority grants, moreover, was designated for scholarships for local students. The Board of Education did not like this; since fees did not fully cover costs, scholarships in fact amounted to a net burden on the universities, but they did help to expand access to higher education. Drawn by the prospect of locally available degrees, student numbers increased across the sector, with a notable expansion of those taking full-time degree courses. The new charters also furnished the provincial institutions with revised constitutions.128 Typically, there was a large court with formal representa-

160 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 tion of a wide range of local economic, cultural and educational interests. Everyday running of the university was vested in a smaller council. Importantly, senates, or their equivalent, were created as forums of academic opinion, and academic representation on the governing bodies was enshrined in statute. Yet in some respects safeguards were written into the charters to ensure that the new universities did not depart too far from accepted university activity, or become too beholden to local interests. A common clause was included in all the charters stating that powers were awarded to grant degrees to those who had pursued an approved course of study and passed the requisite examinations, ‘[p]rovided that Degrees representing proficiency in technical subjects shall not be conferred without proper security for testing the scientific or general knowledge underlying technical attainments’.129 Technical subjects were allowed, so long as they had a proper liberal basis in pure or theoretical science. In an unprecedented burst of activity, the state created six new universities, transforming the organisation of English higher education. The premier provincial university colleges had served their pupillage and were now recognised as fully independent universities with the autonomy and rights of institutions fulfilling national responsibilities. University powers were devolved from a few overarching authorities to a larger, if still small, number of regional institutions. Relationships between the provincial universities, their localities and the state were complex. All the institutions drew heavily on their local support base, yet it often required central government prodding to help mobilise local resources. Recognition as a university meant that an institution was deemed to be fulfilling national functions, yet it was clear that the new universities did so in a limited and locally oriented fashion. While firmly tying the provincial universities to their localities, however, the Privy Council also tried to ensure that they did not come under too close local control. The provincial universities’ civic identity was undoubtedly a positive affirmation of local pride, but it also confirmed them in a centrally designated place.

University education in London At the turn of the century, it appeared that after almost twenty years of tortuous debate the University of London had finally achieved some semblance of stability.130 The 1900 reconstitution was a complex settlement that tried to co-ordinate the myriad higher education institutions in the capital into an internal teaching university for London, while retaining the University’s role as an external examining body for the Empire. Internally, the University was organised into faculties and boards of studies. Individual institutions, or sections of institutions, within a defined metropolitan area could be recognised as constituent colleges in the faculties. Individual teachers in the same area could also be recognised as qualified to prepare candidates for internal examinations. Through the faculties and

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 161 boards of studies, teachers were able to influence the examinations and so ensure that the proper associations between teacher and student were brought into play. In principle, this structure cut across institutional rivalries and extended university education throughout the metropolis. The external side continued to supervise the standards of syllabuses and examinations at numerous institutions across the world. Although the outlying centres had no input into devising the examinations, the examinations were, at least, set by practising teachers rather than a body of remote examiners. Under the more settled conditions, university education in London was consolidated and expanded, but the period of stability proved short lived. Almost as soon as the statutory commissioners finished work, there were criticisms that the University and colleges of London were still unfit to serve the academic needs of the Empire. Ironically, two of the chief critics were Webb and Haldane, who had worked so hard to reach the 1900 agreement. Using a review of higher technical education as a vehicle, Haldane engineered the formation of Imperial College. This deposited a vast cuckoo in the London nest, which prompted a third Royal Commission. As chairman, Haldane turned it into yet another root and branch reinvestigation and produced a powerful statement of the nature and purpose of the modern university, although, once again, proceedings were interrupted by the outbreak of war. In the wake of the 1898 Act, there was some development of central university facilities and some co-ordination of activity between institutions, but the individual colleges remained the principal organising factor of the University in London.131 Most of them benefited from the same circumstances that led to a marked expansion at the provincial universities and colleges. After the uncertainty of the previous decades, the colleges held a clearer position, which attracted students and philanthropists. When the provisions of the 1902 Education Act were extended to London in 1903 a more regular secondary education and scholarship system fed better-prepared, and better-financed, students to university level. Those institutions receiving Treasury grants played a full part in the lobbying for increased state resources, and were as concerned at the encroachments of the Board of Education. Student numbers at University College grew, and more of them studied full-time and took degrees.132 As the senior London college and original university, University College also looked to consolidate its position by incorporating itself with the University, thereby placing its facilities at the disposal of the University. To achieve this, the college had to hive off its preparatory school and medical school as independent organisations. It also raised a substantial sum from the Draper’s Company to pay off its accumulated debt of £30,000. King’s College began the century in a precarious position; in the early 1890s, student numbers and debts were such that the college considered closing altogether.133 The Treasury reviewers in 1894 recommended that

162 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 the grant to King’s College be withheld until it removed its religious tests, and the college was only rescued by the timely advent of a Tory government, which waived the objection. It was, however, increasingly anomalous that a state grant went to a discriminatory institution, and it was recognised that the reprieve could only be temporary. Indeed, the 1898 Act required that all religious tests in the University be removed. King’s College finally abolished religious tests under a private Act in 1903, although retained them in its theology department, which was formally separated from the rest of the college. With a more open access policy, clearer orientation to the University, and Treasury and London County Council funds secured, King’s College began to revive. When University College opted to incorporate with the University, A. C. Headlam, Principal of King’s, thought it best to follow suit. In part it was to register support for the University, but also to ensure that the college was no longer left behind. King’s, too, had to separate off its non-university functions, the school, medical school and civil service classes, which was achieved under its Transfer Act of 1908 – although King’s had a harder job paying off its debts. For both University and King’s colleges, incorporation led to greater focus on university work, but at the loss of some autonomy. Another of King’s College’s many offshoots was its sister college for women. Although formally an integral part, King’s College for Women existed on a separate site with its own complement of staff. Its semi-autonomy was confirmed when it was incorporated separately with the University in 1908. By the Edwardian period, the cause of higher education for women was well established.134 Bedford and Royal Holloway Colleges were recognised as constituent colleges of the reorganised University on its inception, and Westfield College shortly afterwards, once it had improved staffing and facilities.135 A windfall donation enabled Bedford College to move to a splendid new site in Regent’s Park and, at all the colleges, student numbers grew and the subject range expanded. Progress was still precarious, philanthropy was hard to come by and although fee income rose many students needed financial assistance themselves if they were to study at all. Bedford College was the only one to receive a Treasury grant before the war. Thus, facilities remained limited and there was recourse to lectures at other mixed and men’s colleges. The main exception to such parsimonious existence served only to prove the rule. At King’s College for Women, a scheme to promote higher education in household and social science was showered with an embarrassment of riches.136 This, it seemed, was still regarded as far more appropriate education for women, and the department took on its own semi-independence within the college. The University’s system of recognising individual teachers, as well as whole or parts of institutions, helped to foster higher education across the metropolis. A recognised teacher enabled his or her students to prepare for internal examinations and did bring the institution into the University’s

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 163 orbit. The women’s colleges benefited from the arrangement and another general college in the east end was gradually elevated to full constituent status. East London Technical College had been engineered from the technical education sides of the People’s Palace in 1894, assisted with funds from the Draper’s Company.137 Several of its teachers were recognised by the University and, in 1906, it applied to be recognised as a constituent school. The University was keen to develop higher education in the east end, but put the college through several probationary periods before giving it permanent recognition. In 1908, the college was awarded a Treasury grant; it fulfilled the criteria of having the requisite financial support and offering a range of subjects to an area largely unserved by higher education.138 Extending access to higher education in London was one of the key aims of the reconstituted University. But reformers also wanted to mobilise the unparalleled resources of the capital more effectively in the imperial interest. This object was strikingly promoted in the creation of a new School of Oriental Studies.139 Oriental languages were studied at existing colleges but, in 1906, a deputation urged the Chancellor of the Exchequer to expand facilities much further. Favourably disposed, the Chancellor ordered a committee to look into the matter, which confirmed the views of the deputation. Other countries had much better resources for oriental studies, and it was in the national interest to meet this challenge through the creation of a designated institution that would consolidate and increase provision. It was essential that living languages be catered for, not just the academic study of classical oriental languages. Although vocational as well as academic, it was also deemed necessary that the proposed new school be incorporated with the University, and the committee pointed to the precedent of applied sciences, which were included in British universities rather than hived off into separate institutions. Conspicuously, the school would also be largely state financed since various government departments already made grants to train officials in oriental languages. These would be transferred to the school, but more would be required to meet the committee’s estimate of some £12,000 a year besides the cost of building. Ultimately, the government acquired the old London Institution for the purposes of the School of Oriental Studies in the University of London.140 The School of Oriental Studies was exactly the kind of initiative reformers had sought for some time. It was a state-led, specialist institution that was integral with the University and which mobilised the capital’s superb resources for the service of the Empire. A similar undertaking, with more far-reaching implications, was the creation of the Imperial College of Science and Technology. Although based around an association of the existing Royal College of Science, Royal School of Mines and the Central College of the City and Guilds Institute, Imperial College was nevertheless a dramatic initiative.141 Behind the scheme were the familiar

164 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 conspirators Webb, Haldane and Morant, weaving together idealist and efficient motivations. They envisaged Imperial College as a technological powerhouse for the Empire, producing large numbers of highly trained experts and applying advanced research to industrial progress. The imperial function of London University was not to be found in the utilitarian bureaucracy of policing examinations, but in advancing knowledge and fostering expertise that would have a direct effect on the material and moral life of the colonies. The creation of Imperial College was also a way into renewed reform of the University of London and its advent threw the University into further turmoil. Webb and Haldane had been central to the reconstitution of the University, but soon turned against what emerged. Webb was made a senator of the University, but was quickly disenchanted.142 What he felt should have transpired was set out in an essay in June 1902.143 He envisaged university teachers distributed throughout the metropolis bringing undergraduate education to tens of thousands, while the central institutions would be devoted to a massive expansion of advanced teaching and research, geared to practical issues of modern life. It would require previously unimagined sums, more than a £1 million capital expenditure and an annual income of £30,000, but given that this amounted to only a half of the amount that one American philanthropist had given to one university in the US, this was really a minimum if the country was to keep up. Picking up on Haldane’s latest and consuming pet project, Webb indicated that the kind of facility London needed was a London Charlottenburg. Charlottenburg was one of the German technical high schools that had been built up with huge state expenditure and which turned out large numbers of highly trained experts to go into the German science-based industries. In April 1901, Haldane visited the institution and was captivated with the possibility of creating something similar in Britain.144 Webb and Haldane fell to plotting. Applied science featured in University and King’s colleges from the early years, and engineering was one of the new faculties of the University.145 Haldane’s plan, however, was to establish a great new showcase institution devoted to advanced technical education and research.146 The potential components lay conveniently close together in South Kensington, where the City and Guilds’ Central College neighboured the Royal College of Chemistry and Royal School of Mines. Haldane sought funding of the level envisaged by Webb, and influential backing, inveigling Rosebery, the Duke of Devonshire and even the King into supporting the venture. He personally persuaded W. Beit & Co. to divert the £100,000 that they were about to give to University College to his proposed new scheme. London County Council was induced to promise a maintenance grant of £20,000 a year. The Royal Colleges came under the jurisdiction of the Board of Education, where Morant indicated that it, too, would cooperate. The Board also provided a vehicle to bring things to fruition. A committee had been appointed to inquire into the education of mining

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 165 engineers to cope with the demand from South African gold mines, which was upgraded into a Departmental Committee on the operation of the whole Royal College of Science, including the Royal School of Mines. When the original chairman conveniently fell ill, Haldane slid into chairmanship of the committee. Although ostensibly a review of the Royal Colleges at South Kensington, Haldane geared the inquiry towards establishing a great new initiative for applied science. In 1905, a preliminary report was issued, setting out a lengthy list of requirements to bring such an undertaking into existence.147 They were nothing if not ambitious. First on the list was a large capital donation, then extra land at South Kensington, the Board of Education and City and Guilds to allow their institutions to come under the scheme, co-operation from the University of London, and everybody to continue to provide funds. Morant declared publicly that the Board would pass over the buildings, maintain them, and also grant £20,000 a year for laboratory and staff expenses.148 The City and Guilds was also prepared to participate in the scheme. With most of the components secured, the committee proceeded to a final report.149 In a broad survey, the committee suggested that although technical education, in the sense of preparing a student for employment, was reasonably well served in Britain, what was lacking was the highest technological education that applied science to industrial processes. Thus, the new institution was not simply to produce more graduates but to gear science directly to industry through research and advanced teaching, such as engineering applied to railways, docks and hydraulics. Strangely, South Kensington was deemed a suitable site for a college of applied science because London was the financial centre of engineering, mining and metallurgical industries in the colonies. With sufficient assurances to make a start, Imperial College was chartered in 1907, but there remained some outstanding issues.150 While the City and Guilds Institute was prepared to participate, it was not ready simply to hand over entire responsibility of its expensively established Central College to a new governing body. Similarly, the Board of Education kept a watch over its substantial financial commitment. Thus the constituent parts of Imperial College retained something of their independent identities. There was also the question of the relationship between the new college and the University. A division of opinion was recorded in the Departmental Committee.151 Some felt that it should remain independent and flexible, concentrating on preparing students for work rather than degrees, and catering for the Empire at large, not just the capital. Others argued that, having only just achieved a unitary authority for higher education in London, it should not be undermined and the college incorporated with the University. If it remained independent, educational organisation would be split again, inevitably leading to friction. The Committee fudged the issue by urging the need to make a start rather than get bogged down in further constitutional wrangling and suggested the matter be referred to another inquiry.

166 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 Friction there was. As noted above, to every other university college principal, Imperial was unbelievably well endowed.152 It embarked on a substantial building programme and expanded student numbers, yet managed to stay in the black. Even so, its voracious appetite was apparently not assuaged. Imperial’s relationships to the University were of particular moment for the other London colleges. University and King’s colleges had sunk some of their identity with the University, partly as a mark of support but also reasoning that Imperial College would be incorporated as well. When Imperial continued splendidly isolated, the other London interests agreed that some sort of further inquiry was necessary to settle its position.153 The other colleges envisaged a fairly restricted review of the issue of incorporating Imperial into the University. With Haldane once again at the helm, what transpired was a full-scale Royal Commission seeking root and branch reform under terms of reference distilled as: ‘To examine the existing provision for university education in London in the light of what we think ought to exist, and to make practical recommendations towards the realisation of the ideal.’154 The report produced by the Commission was a tour de force of idealist logical analysis and rationalising efficiency. Haldane claimed later that it was a joint work, but it bears a heavy imprint of his way of thinking – and also of Morant, who Haldane insisted be included on the Commission.155 The question of university education in London was analysed down to first principles of what a university was, from which far-reaching recommendations for a vast restructuring followed.156 Two main problems were identified, the relations of the internal and external sides of the University, and the great variety of institutions that were combined with the University in various ways. To solve the problems, one needed to understand what a city university really meant. According to the Commission, the purpose of a university education, properly conceived, was the attainment of truth. It was undertaken by young people, full time, in a community of their fellows, their teachers and postgraduates. Degrees were not the real end of a university, and examinations alone could not ensure that a university education had in fact been acquired. It was the process and the experience that constituted the ultimate value of a university education. From this analysis, all else followed. To begin with, it was a direct assault on external examinations and degrees. On Haldane’s view, the whole external side completely missed the point of what a university was really about. It was acknowledged that the external activity could not immediately be abandoned as logically irrelevant but, it was argued, as universities multiplied and became more accessible, the need for external degrees would naturally dwindle away. In the meantime, external candidates should take the same examinations as internal students, since they were at least connected with actual courses of study. Nor was the role of external examinations overseas a defence. The Commission suggested that some inquiry be made as to whether colonial administrations actually

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 167 wanted London examinations. Indeed, it was argued that the imposition of examinations geared to English students was hampering attempts to create real university education in the Empire. While the external side of the University was systematically undermined, university extension was praised, particularly the higher-level tutorial classes which were actually closer to a proper university experience than simply taking examinations. If proper university education was to be brought about in London, the University had to take complete financial and educational control over the activities that came under its aegis. A large court would have ultimate jurisdiction over the University and its component parts, but policy would be steered by a powerful central authority of senate and academic council. Typical of Haldane, these would be small, unelected bodies that could make clear and definite decisions. The various London institutions would have to submerge their identities completely in the University, allowing faculties to emerge as the fundamental unit, to which most of the everyday organisation of the educational work would be devolved. To facilitate interaction among and between students and teachers, and to give a greater sense of physical reality, the Commission recommended that the University be located, as far as possible, on a single site, probably in Bloomsbury. Meanwhile, the colleges would pass over control of their finances and educational policy to the University. Institutions of an appropriate level would be admitted as constituent colleges in the relevant faculties. Those with more restricted scope might be admitted as a department of the University. Others, where useful work was being done, might become schools of the University, somewhat outside the faculty structure, with a view to their eventually becoming constituent colleges. Applying these principles would have enormous implications. It was recommended that University and King’s colleges become constituent colleges in the faculties of arts and science, but lose their evening work. This would be adopted by an upgraded Birkbeck College, which would become the constituent college for evening students. Bedford College might be admitted if it enhanced its work and made more use of inter-collegiate lectures from University College. King’s College’s buildings were deemed unsuitable, and the whole college was advised to move to Bloomsbury. King’s College for Women would cease to operate in arts and sciences and become a specialist Department in Household and Social Science. The London Day Training College and the School of Oriental Studies would both become departments of the University. Royal Holloway and Westfield Colleges would not be admitted. Imperial College should become a constituent college in the faculty of technology, but also offer courses in science. With appropriate development East London College might also be admitted in the faculties of science and technology, but the polytechnics were definitely excluded. A large section of the inquiry extended the analysis of the nature of the university to examine the proper connection between a university and

168 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 medical education. The discussion was informed by evidence from Abraham Flexner, the influential representative of the Rockefeller Foundation, which had poured colossal sums into medical research and education in the US and abroad.157 Flexner maintained that proper university-level education had to be predicated on research and that university teachers had to be active researchers.158 It followed that university education in clinical subjects could only be achieved if the clinical teachers were also university professors engaged in advancing knowledge in the subject, not simply hospital consultants oriented primarily to private practice. Thus clinical teachers, and the hospital units that were the basis of their research work, also had to be incorporated under the university. The Commission endorsed the view but recognised the difficulties of applying it in the complex organisation of London hospital medical schools. Ideally, the University would develop a medical school of its own, perhaps based on one of the existing schools, but there was no immediate prospect of bringing this about or of reorganising an entire hospital on unit lines. Similar arguments applied to law. There ought to be a faculty of law, organised by professors and under University financial and educational control. Once again, though, there was little chance of bringing this about with the continuing dominance of the Inns of Court and Law Society over legal education. It is hardly surprising that the report was controversial.159 Doubtless, it was an astonishing piece of analytical policy-making, breathtaking in its scope and arrogance. In the interests of logical administration based on pure principle, it rode roughshod over the historic foundations and sensibilities of a dozen institutions. Colleges across London were horrified by the potential implications. King’s College especially was devastated by the damning indictment of its site, while also being told to drop its successful evening work and abandon the women’s college, which itself seemed on the verge of independence.160 Whole subject areas, such as music, which had received but cursory consideration, bitterly complained of the gross inaccuracies in the report.161 The medical schools were extremely worried at the implications of Flexner’s evidence. Convocation established a series of committees to investigate the recommendations, but was overtaken by the Board of Education, which moved swiftly to establish a Departmental Committee to translate the Royal Commission’s recommendations into effect.162 In this is probably the clearest indication of the worst that might have happened to the universities had the Board assumed full authority over them. Headlam made a pointed attack on the peremptory and highhanded behaviour of the Board in an open resignation letter.163 As with many other areas, the Departmental Committee was interrupted by the war, to be taken up again in the 1920s. Neither Haldane nor Webb had been particularly satisfied with the 1900 reconstitution, though they agreed that it was better than nothing.164 Subsequent experience indicated that their hoped-for revisions had not mate-

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 169 rialised. The senate seemed too unwieldy to be effective, and incorporation of the leading colleges had done little to limit institutional fragmentation and rivalry. The opportunity to run an inquiry of his own allowed Haldane to rethink the whole issue from first principles and carry through the really fundamental reforms he thought necessary. In several respects, the recommendations of the Haldane Commission took to a logical conclusion some of the suggestions from earlier reviews. A re-emphasised metropolitan faculty organisation would cut across institutional differences and weaknesses to inject a sense of coherence, while a strong centre would husband resources more effectively and exercise overall control. Haldane’s negation of the external side, however, turned vehemently against the provisions of the 1898 Act. The situation in 1913 was also quite different to that at the end of the nineteenth century. Through the Edwardian period, higher learning had been more definitely recognised as a national good – not only in terms of producing graduates but also by generating new knowledge in the service of the nation. Haldane’s Charlottenburg experience reinforced a vision of how the university could serve the nation; particularly how the University of London could fulfil its imperial functions – not merely as an examining body but also as a powerhouse of research and expertise energising the whole Empire. As the civic universities would have a real and elevating effect on their regions, the University of London would influence the metropolis and Empire. For all its logical clarity and high ideals, however, the recommendations generated renewed turmoil among the London institutions. Having only recently achieved some semblance of stability and begun to expand, the situation was, once more, up in the air.

Oxbridge revisited Compared to the dramatic changes taking place throughout the rest of the university system the situation at Oxford and Cambridge was relatively quiet, but there too, during the Edwardian period, there were renewed calls for reforming investigation. As usual, these came from both inside and outside and were more insistent regarding Oxford than Cambridge. Through the last decades of the nineteenth century, both universities had undergone significant change.165 A new generation of college tutors and university professors devoted their energies to educational endeavour. Growing numbers of students studied an ever-expanding range of subjects for equally diverse degrees and diplomas. Both universities extended their activities beyond their walls through examinations, extension and settlement movements. Thus, the ancient universities had done much to reinterpret their national roles from narrow religious sectarianism to educational leadership of a much wider sector of society. For reformers there was still much progress to be made, to continually adapt the universities to everchanging conditions, but debate focused on the relationship between the

170 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 universities and the working classes. In the early twentieth century, the universities, especially Oxford, reasserted their role to educate the leaders of society, which now encompassed the leadership of the working classes. From the 1870s, Oxford reformers made strenuous efforts to reconnect the university with the wider nation, combining a sense of self-preservation with missionary zeal. If the university were to fulfil its responsibilities as a national institution, it had to demonstrate educational leadership through initiatives such as local examinations and university extension; but it was no mere expediency that drove idealistic graduates and dons into punishing provincial lecture tours or into slum settlements. Inspired variously by Benjamin Jowett’s broadly evangelical Anglicanism and T. H. Green’s idealist philosophy, there was a mission to disseminate the moral value and liberal humane ethos of Oxford education. Alongside seeking to extend its influence outwards, there was also a growing emphasis on bringing people into Oxford to have personal experience of a proper university. Newman waxed lyrical about the ‘genius of the place’ and the peculiarly formative influence exerted by Oxford’s environment in the 1850s. The continuing dominance of the colleges re-emphasised the importance of place, community and the complete experience of university education, not merely tuition, study and examination. Oxford education was still geared to the formation of the whole man, not just his mind. Oxford’s special role of providing a particular finish to future leaders was given a remarkable boost through the legacy of Cecil Rhodes.166 Himself a former, if intermittent, scholar at Oxford, and living in lodgings while resident, Rhodes came to identify collegiate Oxford education as the best kind of preparation for leadership. He left a massive sum to provide scholarships for young men from the colonies, Germany and the United States to study at Oxford. There they would be fitted to return to positions of authority in their own countries, united in a common bond of fellowship. Candidates had to demonstrate qualities of sportsmanship and moral character as well as intellectual attainments. Although initially intended for men with a public-school type education, the scheme was altered to award scholarships to people who already had some experience of higher education. With some seventy scholars a year in the first few years, they had a significant impact on Oxford life, raising the average levels of college educational and sporting prowess as well as the general tone of maturity. The Rhodes scheme also placed a further premium on the value of the collegiate experience. At the other end of the scale, neither university had had much to do with the working classes. Concern about poor students in the nineteenth century referred to those who were unable to afford the full cost of university education without some form of financial support and did not mean the actual poor of society. Yet, by the end of the century, select members of the working classes were beginning to enjoy some elements of the Oxford experience.167 From 1888, extension students had the opportunity

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 171 of attending a summer meeting at one of the universities, where physical contact with the dreaming spires could cement the contact with higher things. In 1898 a remarkable initiative by Americans Charles Beard and W. W. Vrooman and his wife established Ruskin Hall to enable working men to stay for short periods of study in Oxford. Despite the practical difficulties there was an enthusiastic response. Ruskin Hall, reconstituted as Ruskin College in 1903, was independent of the university, although reformers were supportive. Vrooman’s wife provided most of the finance until trades unions began to offer scholarships. University extension was intended to reach out to a wider population, but it was always difficult to touch the working classes. Nor, despite its virtues, was it full university education. A large part of Oxford’s success in extension rested on Sadler’s innovation of short six-week courses. These offered a glimpse of higher education, but, with the need to pay their way, tended towards popular subjects, frequently repeated. There was little chance of a complete, in-depth or connected university level course. A new direction in extension was opened with the launch of a scheme that became the Worker’s Educational Association in 1905. The initial impetus came from Albert Mansbridge, sometime co-operative worker and resident of Toynbee Hall. He wanted to connect university extension, the Cooperative Movement and the trades unions to infuse the Labour movement with the moral values of higher education. With powerful backing from his connections at Toynbee Hall, and sympathy from Oxford extension types, there was considerable support. A committee was established to investigate the higher education of working men, and two experiments were made with tutorial classes in Rochdale and Longton. Tutorial classes were longer, went into greater depth and were supposed to be of proper university standing, potentially leading on to the university itself. In 1908, an ambitious scheme of classes was begun at centres throughout the country, this time with actual financial backing from the university. Tutorial classes became very successful, although, again, few working men made it to the university. Observing the interest generated by these initiatives, a conspiracy of Toynbee Hall reformers decided to use the opportunity to agitate for a larger inquiry into the universities.168 A series of letters to the press pointed to the need for further modernisation, and a well-publicised speech in the House of Lords by Charles Gore, Bishop of Birmingham, outlined remaining problems.169 There were still issues surrounding the relationships between the colleges and the University, and about sinecure fellowships. More topical, however, was his claim that endowments were not being devoted to their proper purposes. When the 1850s commissioners removed the geographical restrictions on scholarships and opened them to merit, the effect had been to take funds intended for the poor and give them to those expensively educated in public schools. Moreover, the universities had a responsibility to train the governing classes, particularly

172 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 in its distinctively humanistic ethos, but, since the working classes now had a role in governance, it was incumbent upon the universities to train them as well. Gore asked that a Royal Commission be appointed, although in a few years to give the universities chance to think about what they wanted from it. Reading the not-indecipherable signs, Lord Curzon, Chancellor of Oxford University, produced a lengthy memorandum on the question of reform.170 In many respects it reprised issues that had engaged previous inquiries, including the nature of the governing body, the relationships between the colleges and the University and the general need for greater co-ordination and rationalisation to promote efficiency and to create the opportunities for research. Much space was devoted to dispelling myths surrounding finance and access for the poor. Curzon explained that most people in receipt of financial assistance did in fact need it, although he acknowledged that this did not necessarily mean they were poor. Several possibilities for improving access were discussed, including the non-collegiate system, cheaper hostels and a working men’s college open, like Ruskin College, all year round with plenty of scholarships for tuition leading to diplomas. He was adamant, however, that while there was a need to open avenues to the poor, the rich should not be excluded. Oxford had to educate all strata of society. ‘It is as desirable that Oxford should educate the future country squire, or nobleman, or banker, or Member of Parliament, or even the guardsman, as it is that it should sharpen the wits of the schoolmaster or the cultivated artisan.’171 On two other issues Curzon was clear that obstacles had to be removed. Women had to be allowed to take the degrees for which they had studied and been examined, although he did not think they should be entitled to all the rights of a graduate to play a part in the governing bodies. And compulsory Greek had to go. Greek featured in the first university examination that students took and was a requirement for progressing in the university. It pleased virtually no one; the level demanded was too little to test the classicists but far too much for the student who had not studied the language before and who had no intention of proceeding in classics. Reactionaries maintained, however, that all undergraduates should have some demonstrable acquaintance with the ancient languages. Although, as usual, most of the debate about reform focused on Oxford, the place of women and compulsory Greek were problems at Cambridge too.172 Cambridge had made much more progress in developing new subjects and degrees, especially in the sciences, achieved in large part through a more effective reordering of relationships between the colleges and the University. Even so, there were those within the university who thought there was scope for further development. Despite being, initially, more welcoming, there had been a backlash against women. Similarly, diehards twice rejected the removal of compulsory Greek, even for scientists. Augustine-like, Gore called for a Royal Commission, but not yet, and

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 173 the government concurred in the delay.173 Even those in favour of reform were wary of a full-scale Royal Commission. They were large and longwinded and, since they generally had to include representatives of different interests, results could be anodyne or unpredictable. Despite continued debate, however, there was little discernible progress and agitation mounted once more during 1911. The Co-operative Movement called for an inquiry into university finance and the use of endowments.174 Finding accurate information on the old universities was very difficult, and when available there appeared to be no correlation between income and number of students. Even the Board of Education found it hard to collate complete financial accounts for Oxford and Cambridge and opinion there felt that some sort of inquiry was necessary.175 Discussion about the question of a further inquiry into Oxbridge finances rolled on and, at the end of 1912, the parameters of a possible Royal Commission were drawn up.176 To an extent, the Board regarded the diversion of endowments from the poor to the rich as a red herring. Selby-Bigge, the new permanent secretary, suspected that the old universities did have surplus wealth, but probably not as much as people suspected.177 Even if this could be demonstrated, though, it would be unlikely to remove the sense of injustice. More important to the Board was that the uncertainty surrounding Oxbridge finances hindered its own efforts to support higher education generally. For Selby-Bigge, the key question was whether the old universities were: filling the place in the life of the nation which they ought to fill. Are they doing the best work of which they are capable in the best way and under conditions which make the advantages of their wealth, prestige, and tradition accessible to all who are really able to profit by them?178 Reform, he concluded, was necessary and unlikely to come from within. Once again, nothing came of this renewed pressure from both inside and outside government. How long it could have been resisted is questionable, for both the ancient universities were entering a new relationship with the state. In 1912, the Oxford department of engineering, and in 1913 the Cambridge medical department, applied for and received funds under the Board of Education’s grants for technological and professional subjects.179 The debate about working-class access to the ancient universities was a means by which, Oxford especially, could reassert its claim to be the premier national institution, with a special responsibility to train the nation’s leaders. Since working men now had a role in running the country, it behove Oxford to ensure that their leaders were properly educated as well. This meant bringing them to the environs of a real university and offering the complete collegiate experience, which still furnished the essential hallmark of a university-educated man. Working-class

174 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 movements tacitly concurred in this estimation. Although justly pointing to the ancient universities’ sequestration of funds intended for the poor, the argument also pleaded for access to the kind of experience that Oxbridge offered. Provincial universities were all very well, but the ancient ones were still special. Any controversy around Oxford and Cambridge left the government in a familiar quandary. The Board of Education was becoming interested in the unique role that Oxbridge had to play in the national educational and university system. They were too important to be left alone, but there were few means of direct influence. With no financial leverage, the Board of Education could not interfere too closely, although a first chink in the armour was revealed in the grants for engineering and medicine.

Conclusion Through the nineteenth century, higher education could be generally acknowledged as being a good thing. Central government agencies acted to encourage educational reform at Oxbridge, created and monitored the University of London to cater for those unable to attend the old universities and, eventually, helped to support worthy local effort in the major provincial cities. During the Edwardian period, university education came to be seen as much more positively in the national interest for the economic, cultural and educational welfare of the nation and Empire. Thus, the state became a far more active agent in promoting the universities. A markedly enhanced scale of state funding was allocated and permanent advisory structures were put in place to consider overall development. Moreover, a whole new sector of universities was established in the chief provincial cities. There was an appreciable effect: student numbers rose, of whom more completed degrees, and postgraduate work and research increased. There were important implications though. While it was of the essence of a university that it be independent and autonomous, institutions receiving significant public funds and operating in the public service could not be given entirely free rein. Universities were the linchpin of the educational system, and if they were to fulfil their responsibilities they had to take their place in the educational order. Effectively, there were two processes at work, operating mainly through implicit, although sometimes overt, pressure that was by no means always objectionable to the universities and university colleges. First was an attempt to set the parameters of how university education should develop. There was increasing emphasis on full-time, connected degree courses for school-leavers, and less on part-time adult classes. Postgraduate work and research, and facilities for student welfare, were also highlighted. More directly, charters clearly indicated that technological subjects should develop along liberal lines. Undoubtedly these were familiar refrains, but rearticulated particularly clearly in Haldane’s idealist terms. University

Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 175 education sought ultimate truths, realised through the university community’s devotion to research and the endeavour of an arduous educational process, not merely through passing examinations. Second, university education had to be ordered into a coherent system, aligned with the national educational framework. Oxford and Cambridge remained the premier national institutions, which position they both – especially Oxford – strenuously reasserted. There was little influence any state body could exert over Oxbridge, although pressure was mounting for another inquiry. The purpose of any investigation, however, would be to ensure that the ancient universities continued to fulfil their pre-eminent position. London University still had a dual purpose: to cater for the metropolis of Empire and, in so doing, serve an imperial function. A third Royal Commission, however, sought to recast the imperial role from superintendent of examinations to powerhouse of research and expertise. For the new universities it was acknowledged that civic institutions could also serve the national interest, but at a limited regional level; they were versions of national institutions, writ small. These two processes were never articulated in so many terms, and were never implemented with precision or effective force. It was also the case that the universities and colleges remained autonomous institutions, resistant to direction and always drawing the majority of their income from independent sources. Yet the tacit intention to co-ordinate the universities into a national framework clearly existed and, in the last months before the war, initiatives were underway to inquire into Oxbridge, reform the University of London, recast the regulation of the parliamentary grant and enhance state research. The outbreak of war, however, ushered in a completely different situation.

5

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939

As with so many areas of national life, the First World War had a profound effect on higher education. Its immediate impact on the universities was catastrophic, as young men flocked to join up and much normal activity was suspended. More urgent priorities supplanted the Edwardian initiatives to reorder relationships between the universities and the state. As the conflict ground on, however, the increasing reliance of the war effort on scientific and technical expertise steadily highlighted the significance of higher learning. Claims about the importance of education and research were not just rhetoric, but absolute necessity – and not only in the short term, but for long-term national survival as well. Thus, the nation had to recognise that higher education was essential to modern life, requiring support from public funds. By the same token, universities had to acknowledge that they had responsibilities to the nation, and that if they were to enjoy enlarged state benefits they had to accept a level of state direction. From the middle of the war, then, the government began to revisit the role of the universities and research. Wartime experience bore out the arguments articulated before the war about the significance of the universities, but there were no thoughts of simply taking up pre-war moves. The context was quite different, and a new relationship between higher education and the state was put in place. Britain was worryingly exposed by its apparent lack of scientific and technical resources, and the lesson was learned that high-level research had to be systematically promoted. Even during the war, foundations were laid for the long-term cultivation of the nation’s scientific capacity through the creation of the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research (DSIR). This was added to the nascent research agencies for medicine and agriculture, initiated before the war and also boosted by wartime experience. Although intended for the national interest, there was still a great deal of hesitancy about state-funded research getting too close to specific economic concerns and a pattern quickly emerged of concentrating on long-range research on fundamental problems, effectively constituting a strategic research resource. The DSIR, Medical Research Council (MRC) and Development Commission (superseded by the Agricultural

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 177 Research Council (ARC)) worked partially in conjunction with the universities, providing grants for researchers located in university departments and postgraduate scholarships, but also established their own institutions to supplement existing provision and focus attention on particular problems. These independent facilities were usually placed in close proximity to university departments, particularly at Oxford, Cambridge and in London, and these privileged universities enjoyed an enormous addition to their research capacity, overall funding and academic prestige. Knowledge could not be expanded without skilled practitioners, and the primary role of the universities was to meet the demand for highly trained personnel, throughout industry, government and society. But there was a dark side to this requirement, and another lesson from the war that was even more important. Germany, for so long looked to as the doyen of science and education, was indicted as guilty of warmongering. German scientists and technologists, it seemed, had all too readily acquiesced to a warlike state, to the devastation of European civilisation. Nor was it just technical expertise that the nation needed. There also had to be leaders of vision, inspiration and moral courage throughout the social spectrum, not least to replace a lost generation. It was not simply that science and education had to be expanded; a particular kind of university education was required. Scientists had to be humanised and leaders of all kinds imbued with civic ideals. How, then, was the state to ensure that academia was organised but free, and that the nation’s future leaders were highly trained yet open-minded? To maintain the semblance of academic autonomy, an independent body, the University Grants Committee (UGC), was created that would intercede between the universities and the state, passing on the state’s desiderata for institutional development without laying down actual dictates. To produce the right kind of graduates, the solution was to bring students together in corporate communities, where they could acquire larger views beyond their own specific subjects and appreciate the wider values of learning, culture and civilised society. Thus the intertwining features underlying the development of higher education between the wars were the promotion of technical knowledge and expertise, within a healthy and humane student society. With these priorities, Oxbridge was resurgent. Its unique collegiate system was identified as the epitome of what a university education was really about. When a Royal Commission was appointed, therefore, it was not to reappropriate their wealth for the poor but to add to it considerably from the public coffers. Against the tenor of the nineteenth-century reforms the colleges re-emerged as the most important feature. Since Oxbridge furnished the proper environment for advanced learning it was deemed desirable to associate as much research capacity in the sciences as possible with the ancient universities. Large amounts of government funds were diverted to Oxbridge, and vast sums of charitable donations were

178 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 channelled there as well. The other key area of development was the final production of a workable solution for the University of London. Yet another Select Committee returned to the question during the 1920s, but turned against the fundamental institutional reorganisation advocated by the Haldane Commission. The University was given much greater authority over the institutions, and the University itself acquired a magnificent sense of its own identity; the colleges, though, retained their individual existences. Meanwhile, the other university institutions were consolidated as regional centres. Their work was increasingly co-ordinated, but also systematically upgraded to a standard level. One of the most notable developments at the provincial universities between the wars was the emphasis on promoting student corporate life, through unions, societies and halls of residence. While never reproducing an Oxbridge-type experience, it was steadily reinforced that this was what real university education involved. The policy is exemplified in the case of the only new university chartered between the wars. Reading University College was elevated, in no small degree, on its remarkably well-developed residential system; on its humane society as much as its academic standing.

Science, universities and the war It was all supposed to be over by Christmas; there was no need for any special provisions to meet the requirements of war. Volunteers would supplement the professional forces, which would be supplied as normal by approved munitions manufacturers. But the war was not short and its demands quickly exceeded anything previously imaginable. Worse, the country had become reliant on its enemy for much of the requirements of modern warfare. Thus, a perilous deficiency of scientific and technical equipment and expertise was painfully exposed, which needed to be remedied rapidly. Steadily, more and more of the nation’s human, industrial and inventive resources were mobilised for the war effort, and the deficiencies were met remarkably well. As the immediate crisis was overcome, it was increasingly acknowledged that scientific and technical capacity was a resource that had to be nurtured for the long-term national interest. Research capacity in the sciences had to be significantly enhanced and a larger body of highly trained experts prepared to take their place in a modern economy and society. From the middle of the war, then, plans were laid for the expansion and co-ordination of both knowledge and personnel. Although Germany’s threat had to be countered, her example was not to be slavishly copied. At the outbreak of war a system was in place whereby the military worked in conjunction with a selected ‘army list’ of private manufacturers to provide munitions and develop weapons. 1 There had been a good deal of investigation to produce such technological marvels as dreadnoughts, submarines and warplanes. Agencies to research on weapons and muni-

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 179 tions at the Royal Arsenal in Woolwich worked in conjunction with the ‘army list’, and on aircraft at the National Physical Laboratory and the Royal Aircraft Establishment. Received wisdom, though, held that weapons development stopped in wartime and, given the expectation of a short conflict, there seemed little chance to bring on new devices. Similarly, it was confidently expected that the existing munitions manufacturers would suffice. It soon became apparent, however, that the usual channels were inadequate to the task that unfolded. One of the first deficiencies to be revealed was a desperate lack of organic chemicals, crucial to the production of high explosives. Other science-based industrial products proved equally scarce – optical glass, magnetos and electrical equipment. These were, of course, the very areas that had been held up since the 1870s to indict Britain’s neglect of science, compared to its then industrial, now military, opponent. In Germany vast new science-based industries had emerged, utilising the graduates from its state-supported universities, which now, literally, bombarded allied forces. Scientists berated the government for its culpable failure to appreciate the importance of science, tragically symbolised in the fate of H. G. J. Moseley, one of the most promising physicists of his generation, recruited indiscriminately into the forces and killed at Gallipoli.2 The woeful inadequacies of existing arrangements shocked the government into recognising the need to mobilise and develop scientific resources, and plans began to emerge through 1915. By then the war had ground to a stalemate of indeterminate duration and allied forces were assailed by what seemed a constant barrage of fiendish new weapons.3 Somehow they had to be countered and some means of breaking the deadlock devised. One initiative was to enhance more systematically inventive capacity in the military. A Board of Inventions and Research was established for the navy, the Ministry of Munitions created an Inventions Department and an Air Inventions Committee soon followed.4 Scientists were recruited from the universities, although at first they were set to sifting through the thousands of suggestions for warlike devices submitted by the public, most of which were completely worthless. Eventually, more active programmes of research were instituted, which ultimately gave rise to important developments in anti-submarine detection and anti-aircraft gunnery. There was a clash of cultures, however, between the military, which wanted quickly useable results and the long-term development required for any substantially innovative project. It was only in the last phases of the war that research undertaken by these bodies produced practically useful weaponry. A more fruitful co-operation seems to have been achieved at the Air Inventions Committee, which was geared more closely to producing a fighting machine, and yielded significant progress in lightweight material, transportable wireless and synchronised gunnery. Of more immediate importance to the war effort was the need to supply the armed forces and meet the desperate shortage of routine science-based

180 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 products. To begin with, the government established a committee to explore new sources of chemicals and co-ordinate what native organic chemical industry there was.5 A new advisory council for scientific and industrial research was also appointed to review the situation and make grants for promising projects. That existing provision remained inadequate was clearly demonstrated by the shell scandal of 1915, which prompted the creation of the Ministry of Munitions and an entirely different approach.6 The problem facing the Ministry was twofold: the need to find new sources of raw material and equipment through research activity, and the need to increase massively the output of highly sophisticated products which required expanding expert processes on an enormous scale. The Ministry of Munitions grew to Leviathan proportions, coming to control vast swathes of British industry as well as running its own factories and introducing innovations, from accountancy to workers’ welfare, that profoundly affected industrial production and organisation.7 Through systematically encouraging innovation, development and refinement in design and process, the Ministry of Munitions found the resources necessary to wage the war.8 Operating technical production on such a scale also required proficient workers in huge numbers for manufacture, testing and quality control, and vast amounts of precision instruments such as gauges and measures. Ultimately, it was the prodigious scaling up of specialised equipment and relatively small innovations, rather than dramatic new inventions, that constituted the scientists’ war. By the time it was recognised that specialist knowledge could serve the war effort as much as raw courage, it was already too late for a great many whose contribution, like that of Moseley, was total, if ill-directed. At the outbreak of war, young men, steeped in militarist patriotism and eager to have a share of the adventure, abandoned their studies and rushed to join up. There were no restrictions or reserved occupations and students and younger staff made prized officer material, so the military authorities avidly recruited them.9 The effect on numbers at the universities was catastrophic. At Oxbridge colleges such as Corpus Christi, Oxford, with a preponderance of ex-public schoolboys, 70 per cent of junior members joined up by the end of 1914.10 Undergraduates at provincial universities had to think more carefully about the implications of giving up their courses, but at Birmingham numbers dropped by a quarter in the first year of the war.11 A tragically high proportion never returned. Almost one in five Oxbridge volunteers were lost – a quarter from Corpus Christi.12 Losses were slightly less among provincial recruits since over the course of the war more of them went into specialist technical areas rather than the notoriously hazardous ranks of junior officers. Nor was there initially much attempt to utilise the universities’ facilities; several had convenient buildings requisitioned for use as hospitals.13 As the demand for expertise steadily increased, however, the universities made more appropriate contributions to the war effort. Research was

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 181 carried out on organic chemicals, submarine motors, aeroplane wireless and leather tanning.14 Laboratories were pressed into service as production plants for sophisticated products such as gauges or anaesthetic drugs. Provincial universities located in industrial areas had a particularly important role in training scientific workers and providing co-ordination for local firms.15 With its strong background in metallurgy, Sheffield University liaised between the Ministry of Munitions and firms in the city.16 A notable number of inquiries from glassmakers revealed a significant industry in the area with little scientific basis. To mobilise this strategically vital area, a new department of glass manufacture was created, supported by the Ministry of Munitions, that began to investigate common problems in the industry. Nor was it just the technical departments that contributed: the head of geography at Manchester University was recruited by the Admiralty, the Professor of Russian from Liverpool went to the Foreign Office. Economists from Leeds University studied the woollen trades, and statistics were collected by students from Manchester University for the Board of Trade. Staff from humanities departments offered popular lectures on the origins, nature and morality of the war, which attracted large audiences.17 Despite taking on important war work, the condition of the universities steadily declined. The wholesale disappearance of male students was partially offset by a great influx of women.18 King’s College, London was rescued by the timely arrival of the women’s department in the Strand.19 Women became a more noticeable presence at Cambridge, and even at Oxford women made significant progress.20 Nevertheless, it was clear that the universities would be badly affected by declining numbers, especially the provincial institutions that were already operating at the financial margins. The president of the Board of Education urged the Treasury to look kindly on the universities, arguing that ‘it will be cheaper in the long run to make provision to carry them on rather than allow them to succumb’.21 After a review of the situation, the Treasury made a special non-recurrent grant to most institutions on its list and increased the annual award for the remainder of the war.22 Four years of war, however, took its toll. Despite the increasing numbers of women, admissions were still lower than pre-war levels. Fee income declined and local authority grants were also reduced. War work was not always fully financed and most universities found themselves in increasingly dire straits. The universities in 1918 may well have been exhausted and in a desperate financial condition, but the war years had brought about a fundamental transformation in how they were regarded. At the beginning, they were simply sources of officer material and offered useful buildings; by the end they were acknowledged as the source of a crucial contribution to the national effort. From a state of parlous deficiencies, the nation had met the challenge of a scientific and technological struggle of hitherto unimaginable proportions against a foe of acknowledged scientific superiority. The

182 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 lesson had been forced home that scientific and other intellectual forces were a national resource that had to be nurtured and garnered for the national interest. Britain should not again have to rely so heavily on external sources for vital scientific prowess, the country would have to generate its own knowledge base. At the same time, more people would have to be trained to undertake this work and to meet the increasing demand for highly trained personnel in industry, government and society. Thus, while immediate shortages were the government’s first priority, the need for a longer-term programme was clearly recognised and higher learning featured significantly in the plans for post-war reconstruction that were developed from early in the war. There were two aspects that emerged in parallel: to develop state-sponsored scientific research and to plan for a general expansion and upgrading of higher education. In 1916, the scientific advisory council established early in the war was upgraded into the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research (DSIR), with an annual vote from Parliament and £1 million of additional funds to give its work a firm foundation.23 Although it made grants for some work during the war and kept a watching brief on what was happening throughout the country, its objects were longterm. It was to provide grants for postgraduate training and research, co-ordinate and sponsor research either through grants for independent researchers or in its own facilities, and encourage and initiate industrial research. There were, however, several problems for such an agency. A central issue for a statesponsored industrial research organisation was how to provide useful findings without the government getting too close to individual private firms.24 On the military side, it was readily accepted that the state directed investigations, often in conjunction with certain firms. Indeed, at the end of the war the military research bodies were continued and expanded, although divested of civilian scientists and absorbed into the forces’ structures. In civil research, however, it was still deemed unacceptable for the state to cater for product or process development of direct commercial value. Another very serious concern, given the circumstances of the war, was the association of scientific and technical expertise with Germany.25 Germany was acknowledged as leader in these areas, yet German scientists had all too readily supported a warlike state in its assault on civilisation. If this was the kind of mentality that a scientific and technical culture generated, how could the British government promote research necessary in the national interest yet avoid Germanic barbarism? The solution was to give the DSIR an independent status under the Privy Council and for it to concentrate on long-range research on fundamental problems affecting whole sectors of industry. Effectively, the role of the DSIR was to provide a strategic research resource offering generally useful findings that individual firms could adopt and adapt into commercial lines.26 For example, one of its first initiatives was to establish a fuel research board to co-ordinate existing work in the area, and to found

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 183 a research station that would focus on problems of fuel efficiency and economy, and search for new sources such as power alcohol. Very quickly an issue was identified that was ‘even more fundamental for the existence of an industrial people than that of fuel or the conservation of its mineral resources – the problem of food and the prevention of its waste’.27 A major new institution was created for food research in the Low Temperature Research Station, built near the bio-chemical and botanical laboratories of Cambridge University. In 1920 the role of the DSIR was expanded as it was given responsibility for co-ordinating all fundamental research undertaken throughout the country. Through the inter-war period, research boards that would help to organise investigations on areas such as radio or chemicals proliferated for a diverse range of areas.28 Alongside the research boards, another series of research associations was set up to cater for those firms that were too small to carry out even limited investigations. Research associations had more direct applicability but still dealt with fairly generic problems.29 They enjoyed mixed success: if a firm was too small to fund its own research it was unlikely to be able to take the stillgeneralised results from a research association and convert them into something useful. The overall orientation of state scientific research had, in fact, already been rehearsed in several other areas. In 1914 the Board of Education investigated how to achieve a coherent expansion of education, postgraduate training and research that would be clearly geared to economic and social development.30 After a good deal of interdepartmental wrangling, the Board’s co-ordinated scheme did not come to pass. Only the research aspect was developed: the advisory scientific committee, out of which the DSIR emerged. A similar debate characterised the emergence of state research schemes for agriculture and medicine. The Development Commission (DC) was created in 1909 to promote research for agriculture under a large scheme for rural regeneration, while the Medical Research Committee (MRC), later Council, was established under the National Insurance Act of 1911 to serve a similar function for medicine.31 Both A. D. Hall at the DC and W. M. Fletcher for the MRC placed considerable emphasis on fundamental research in pure science. Both were products of Cambridge science and more interested in scientific issues than practical problems. As with the DSIR, which largely followed the pattern already laid down by its forerunners, the DC and the MRC made grants to university researchers and established independent research institutions. Although the DC had a regional development dimension, which ensured that educational and advisory work was distributed throughout the country, the great majority of its funds was devoted to a series of institutions conducting research on aspects of agricultural science. Cambridge University and Rothamsted Experimental Station, of which Hall had been director, garnered the lion’s share. Much of the MRC’s work was conducted in its Institute of Medical Research in London, but Fletcher

184 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 managed to steer huge sums towards Cambridge. Neither the Board of Agriculture nor the Ministry of Health were especially pleased with this ivory tower approach, but, as with the DSIR, the decision was taken to give the research councils considerable independence from direct government influence. A policy of quasi-autonomous, fundamental investigations accorded with the post-war imperative to preserve the moral probity of scientific research rather than ensure immediately useful results. The principle of separating fundamental research from executive departments was enshrined in the report of the Machinery of Government Committee, headed by Haldane and invested, typically, with an idealist slant. Haldane’s star had waned during the war; in the wave of hysterical anti-German feeling his well-known Germanophilia had cost him his Cabinet post.32 He was brought back in by the Committee on Reconstruction as the ideal candidate to chair a fundamental review of the whole workings of government. Previous fellow-conspirators, Morant and Mrs Webb, also sat on the Committee.33 The Committee found a great deal of confusion in the operation of government, arising as a result of ad hoc evolution over time, and recommended reallocating functions more logically according the class of service offered. If government was to be made really effective, much more attention had to be given to investigation, information gathering and preliminary thought before policy was formed. Research and intelligence thus took on a crucial role. Although each government department had to have its own investigative and information agencies for everyday purposes, there also had to be organisations that could conduct fundamental research of a general and long-term nature. Fundamental research had to be kept separate from administrative departments to prevent narrowing the scope of the work and to give it free-rein to reach a natural conclusion, not one set by a specific or immediate problem. As usual for Haldane, it was an idealist position which held that principles had to be in place before practice could proceed. Most universities benefited indirectly from the research organisations. As we shall see below (pp. 185–6), a favoured few saw their facilities considerably improved. There were important new funds available for university researchers, and grants for postgraduate training made a widespread difference. Postgraduate study was given a more organised basis with the advent of the Doctor of Philosophy (Ph.D.). degree in British universities after the war.34 Previously, students had to go to Germany for a researchbased qualification. Introducing it in Britain meant that postgraduates, both from Britain and other countries, could avoid the unhealthy atmosphere of Germany. The primary role of the universities, however, was to provide the personnel required for a more knowledge-based future and, from the middle of the war, a series of inquiries considered how the universities would contribute to post-war reconstruction. Again, the immediate priority was to ensure a supply of home-produced experts essential for a modern industrial economy and society. In 1916, the Prime Minister

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 185 himself instituted two parallel inquiries into the position of natural sciences and modern languages in the educational system, and what measures were needed to promote them in the interests both of liberal education and economic requirements.35 The inquiry into natural sciences acknowledged that some progress had been made, but reiterated the message for increased numbers of trained scientific workers of all grades, and for more and better-organised research: Our producing power can only be increased by well-directed research, better training and the more skilful use of scientific methods of manufacture and distribution . . . Unless the resources of the country are sufficiently developed, neither the nation as a whole nor any of the classes in it can look for efficiency or prosperity.36 If anything, the position of modern languages was even worse.37 Humane studies were so dominated by classics that other areas were probably in a less well-developed state than the sciences. Language teachers were historically badly paid and poorly regarded. Even in French, the bestprovisioned language, there were relatively few staff, while the situation for other major European studies was minimal. Complacency, born of economic supremacy, beset modern languages as well as the sciences – not just in linguistic aspects but in studies of history, geography and culture as well. Again, the Committee recommended a substantial expansion of modern languages in the national interest, and made no apology for concentrating on practical aspects. Although material benefit was certainly not the only or principal purpose of education, in a comment reproduced from another government review it was noted that before one could live well one first had to live. The report also contained a powerful statement of the role universities would be called upon to play, which is worth quoting in full: The Universities are the keystone of the whole structure of higher education. To them we must look for the continuous rebirth and renovation of modern studies. In them should be consummated scholarship, learning, and the final product of research into every element of national life among the great peoples of the modern world. From them should spread the stimulus of that enthusiasm which comes from aspirations realised. By them must be trained, not only the staff of highly qualified teachers who are needed by every institution for the instruction of childhood, adolescence, and maturity, but also publicists, statesmen, journalists, administrators and executive officers for home and foreign service, and at least a proportion of those who are to be responsible for the national interests in finance, commerce and industry. Without a high standard of knowledge and training in the Universities we shall look in vain for the men and women whom we need for a thousand specialised duties in the modern world.38

186 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 If the universities were to fulfil this brief there would have to be a great expansion of student numbers, but this was unlikely to happen unless men and women had the means to attend. The Consultative Committee of the Board of Education had begun to consider the question of scholarships in 1913.39 In a repeat of a familiar pattern it had been shelved on the outbreak of war, but, as the war showed no sign of an early conclusion, the matter was taken up again to lay foundations for the new situation that would follow the end of the war. Once again, an interim report focused on the need to strengthen the position for the sciences from secondary school all the way up to postgraduate study. There were probably ample resources for humanities, albeit skewed towards classics. After the war, the Board of Education implemented a system of state scholarships, with no particular bias towards the sciences. In 1920, 180 scholarships were made available, covering fees and up to £80 maintenance, to be distributed equally among girls and boys.40 Besides generating a larger base of qualified people there was a need to make good on the losses of wartime, both for those who had postponed university study and for those who had fallen. A scheme of grants for ex-servicemen was introduced, paying fees and £175 maintenance,41 which was widely taken up and massively boosted the universities in the post-war period. Planning for post-war reconstruction extended to professional areas as well. Considering the time opportune, the Board of Education asked Sir George Newman, its adviser on grants for medical education, to make a personal assessment of the situation.42 Newman pointed to the role of medical science and research during the war and endorsed the findings of the Royal Commission on the University of London in urging closer connections between medical education and the universities. Medical teaching needed to be of university standard, the various parts of the curriculum needed greater co-ordination, and there had to be much closer association between clinical education and research. He also argued that the undergraduate medical curriculum was seriously overcrowded. Much of it would be better postponed to postgraduate study, but for which there was very little provision. The clamour for greater recognition of science even made it to the civil service commissioners. A major Royal Commission had been investigating the civil service from 1912; one issue of debate was the examination for entry to the senior, Class I level.43 Entrance on competitive examination had been a growing policy from the 1850s reforms, which recruited for the highest levels from the universities (effectively Oxbridge) on an examination testing the results of a general higher education (effectively classics and mathematics). Other subjects had gradually been incorporated into the examination scheme, producing something of a hydra, and some sort of rationalisation was thought to be in order. At the same time, there were complaints that the archaic emphases of the examination prevented people with scientific qualifications from gaining entrance to the highest

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 187 levels of the civil service. The committee appointed to review the system vigorously defended the classical and Oxbridge bias of the examination, but did propose a significantly revised and streamlined scheme which incorporated more natural science and allowed candidates to specialise in a wider range of subjects. At the other end of the scale it was urged that universities should also play a much larger role in general adult education. A Committee to review this topic was appointed under the Ministry of Reconstruction in 1917.44 It was acknowledged that the universities had been prominent in this regard, through extension lectures and tutorial classes, but the Committee wanted them to take an even bigger part. All universities should create full extramural departments and adult education should be seen as a much larger aspect of their work. For once, technical and vocational education was actively excluded from the terms of reference and the importance of humane studies was reaffirmed. While recognising the crucial importance of German scientific education, there were dangers: We see how much the German machine left lacking of individual initiative, of varied forms of development, of buoyancy of spirit – qualities which can only grow up in an atmosphere of freedom. But some of the best lessons are those taught by the enemy, and the lesson we have to learn is how to combine this essential freedom and individuality with a good deal more efficiency and organisation.45 This indeed was the lesson of the war. Not simply the need to make good on the neglect of science, and to increase higher education and research, but how to achieve these ends without conjuring the perversions of national intellect and culture suffered in Germany. For scientific research, the solution was found in semi-independent agencies focusing on fundamental investigations; funded by the state, they were geared to national needs but not dictated to by government or commercial interests. An analogous organisation was created for the development of higher education in the University Grants Committee (UGC).

The University Grants Committee The UGC was a quasi-autonomous body designed to mediate between the university institutions and their increasingly important paymasters in central government. It superseded the old advisory committee and took on an extended brief to include all universities in the UK, taking it out of even the nominal jurisdiction of the Board of Education. The Board only had authority in England and Wales, whereas the UGC, like the DSIR, was intended to have a fully national profile. Removing the UGC from a policy-making department and having it report directly to the Treasury also gave it a measure of independence. Thus, the constitutional position

188 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 of the UGC allowed for the gentlemanly understanding that universities were independent and not subject to government dictate to be maintained, while ensuring that there was some overall supervision of university development. During the inter-war period, the UGC watched over a notable expansion of university education. Its main aim, however, was consolidation. Special initiatives for the national interests were targeted on specific institutions, primarily Oxbridge and London, and will be dealt with further (on pp. 195–6). For the most part, the UGC concentrated on upgrading existing universities to a properly higher standard. In March 1918, A. H. Kidd, a senior civil servant at the Board of Education, decided that it was time the advisory committee took up the question of university development after the war.46 He wrote a lengthy memo to the chair of the committee, William McCormick, outlining the current situation and some of the points that had to be dealt with. The complex system of grants was recapitulated, noting that the pre-war wrangle between the Board of Education and the Treasury had not been fully resolved, nor officially explained either to the universities or even the advisory committee. Encouragingly, he felt, since grants had largely been maintained during the war, the position of the universities was not as bad as it was feared it might have been, although a good deal of work had probably been postponed and there was a need for large sums if they were to pick themselves up again. For the future, it was clear that the war had quickened interest in the universities, not only in technical and commercial areas but in social questions and humanistic study as well. There were questions over how to meet the likely increase of demand. Should there be more degree-granting institutions? What was the place of the remaining university colleges? How were the existing institutions to be co-ordinated? Kidd reaffirmed that it was essential that there be no hint of ‘even the most enlightened despotism’, yet any development of university education had to be on a comprehensive national basis. Institutions could not be allowed to compete or play the government off against each other, and past experience gave little hope of voluntary co-operation. Sensing the opportunity of a new beginning, the university principals were sufficiently co-operative to seek a deputation to ask for enhanced funding.47 Initially, it was intended that the deputation would consist of representatives from institutions sharing in the existing universities’ grant. Agreeing that it was time to review the situation, however, the President of the Board of Education, H. A. L. Fisher, thought that something much wider ranging was necessary and he began negotiating with representatives of the Welsh, Scottish and Irish universities and also Oxford and Cambridge.48 The whole question of the universities, he felt, would gain weight if it were presented as a national issue.49 Thus, a substantial deputation met with Fisher and the Chancellor of the Exchequer in November 1918 to argue that the universities had proven their value during the war and needed further expansion and development.50 Once more, the import-

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 189 ance of preserving a humane ethos to avoid the perversions of German academia was emphasised. With Fisher in support, the Treasury asked for detailed submissions of requirements from each institution. For the government, the question of control was vital. Kidd’s initial memo was reproduced prior to the meeting with the deputation and it was recorded that there was still ‘a long way from even a plausible philosophy of the relations between State and University’.51 Although it was noted that the dual authority over the grants between the Board and the Treasury helped to insulate the Board from accusations of control, with so much funding coming from the state there had to be some influence. Negotiations set in between the Board and the Treasury. Fisher pressed for a substantial increase in the annual grant, and also for capital grants which had not previously been made to the English universities.52 Eventually, an annual sum of £1 million was awarded for universities throughout the country, with a special grant of £500,000 to help re-establish them after the war.53 Against the concern of some in the Board, it seems clear that Fisher wanted a new, independent agency that would cater for university development across the country, and the Treasury agreed.54 The situation was directly analogous to that of the DSIR. University education had to be dealt with on a national basis, but mediated through a quasi-autonomous body, not directed by a full department of state. Again, since the Board of Education dealt only with England and Wales, it could not fulfil the role for the whole UK. Memories of the overly zealous interest of the Board before the war were also too close for comfort. To cement the connection, McCormick was retained as chairman of both the UGC and DSIR. The University Grants Committee was formally appointed by Treasury minute in July 1919, with terms of reference ‘[t]o enquire into the financial needs of university education in the United Kingdom and to advise the Government as to the application of any grants that may be made by Parliament towards meeting them’.55 The task of the UGC was to press the claims of university education on the Treasury and to distribute the money that was provided, together with any advice and recommendations thought fit for the overall development of the universities. An annual sum was made over to the UGC, which it apportioned as block grants between the institutions, retaining a small amount as a non-recurrent reserve fund for exceptional purposes. After a short interval during which the UGC made a comprehensive survey of each university and college, the Treasury fixed the annual grant each five years, although this became subject to the economic vicissitudes of the times.56 Nevertheless, government funding steadily increased. For the first quinquennium, £1.5 million was promised, although with the immediate post-war slump the full sum never materialised. In 1921, however, a special award of £500,000 was made to supplement the pension fund.57 A little over £1.5 million was restored in 1923/4 and made up to £1.8 million in 1928/9.58 The earlier amount, however, did not cater for Oxford and

190 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 Cambridge, while the latter did, resulting in a net decrease for the other universities.59 During the crisis years of the early 1930s the Treasury threatened to hold back the additional grant it had promised, but after vigorous protestations by the UGC the Treasury agreed to retain only the £150,000 left in the UGC’s non-recurrent fund.60 When the worst was over, the non-recurrent balance was restored, plus an increased annual grant of £2.1 million.61 Although the UGC continually exhorted the universities to build up their endowment income as the only guarantee of autonomy, central government funding levelled at around a third of annual income.62 Eventually, the UGC were content to observe that local sources of revenue had at least not been undermined by state funds.63 On average, universities’ annual incomes stabilised in an equal three-way split between local support, including endowments and rates, parliamentary grants, and fees. With the help of the increasing central government grants, the UGC superintended a notable expansion of student numbers. There was an immediate influx of students after the war, boosted by the scholarships for ex-servicemen, which brought in over 26,000 people across the whole country in the early 1920s.64 Altogether, the number of full-time students in England, including Oxbridge, was 33,868 in 1920/1, compared to 19,617 a decade before.65 Even with the conclusion of the ex-servicemen’s scheme, numbers held up through the rest of the 1920s. By the mid-1930s there was a further increase to 36,892. Developments in secondary education fuelled university expansion, while an extended system of scholarships encouraged access, with around 40 per cent of students receiving some kind of assistance by the early 1930s.66 There were 300 state scholarships a year, mostly going to Oxbridge entrants.67 More were helped by local authority scholarships. The Board of Education offered grants to those who would pledge themselves to go into teaching, although the arrangement was much criticised. Financial support was uneven across the country, and many families had to scrimp to send a son or, more rarely, daughter to university. Indeed, the number of women students actually declined in the early 1930s.68 While shortages of jobs may have encouraged more men to enter university, economic problems probably inhibited women. Both Oxford and Cambridge also turned against women between the wars.69 Although there was certainly a noticeable increase of student numbers, expansion was not the primary concern of the UGC. Throughout the interwar period, the overriding tenor of UGC policy was to consolidate the system on existing institutions, while bringing them all up to an acceptable level of university standing. It was more important to enhance what was already being done than to extend into new areas; quality took precedence over quantity. An immediate issue for the UGC, then, was the remaining university colleges.70 Most of the provincial institutions on the old Treasury list had been made into full universities before the war, but this left

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 191 those in Nottingham, Southampton and Reading, with Exeter not actually on the list but coming to be thought of alongside the others. Their position raised important educational and administrative concerns. These colleges could still only offer higher education under the auspices of outside examining bodies, but this flew in the face of the idea of the university as an autonomous institution integrating teaching, examining and research. Reading was seen as being close to university status, and was on the verge of applying for a charter, but the others were far from being able to sustain academic independence and the UGC did not envisage making any new universities once the position of Reading was decided. The UGC thought that the remaining university colleges did not fit into their remit and asked whether the Board of Education would take them over, but they did not fit into the Board’s system of local colleges either. Ultimately, it was decided that, since there were only three of them, it was better to keep them under the UGC as a historical anomaly rather than create an entirely new administrative category. A related matter was the continuing problem of the place of technical and vocational education and, here again, parameters of what counted as a university had to be established to provide a conception towards which institutions could aspire. There was no suggestion that technology should not feature in a university, but the UGC had to be able to differentiate between what was proper to a technical college and what was appropriate for a university.71 A general rule obtained that there had to be greater attention to underlying scientific principles at a university, but the issue was referred to a special committee for further consideration. When the special committee reported, however, it was a rogue voice. It recommended that universities should not prepare people for careers at all, but should be devoted solely to fundamental research and training of minds.72 Any kind of professional or vocational study should come after a threeyear degree course. Sceptically, officials at the Board felt that ‘[t]his doctrine is rather high. The Practice of some of the Universities e.g. Manchester and Leeds is rather low’.73 Such suggestions were far too removed from the realities of the provincial universities and, indeed, what was expected of them, for the UGC insisted that universities located in industrial areas engage with local concerns. The report of the technology sub-committee was quietly dropped; instead, the UGC maintained that what really mattered about a university education was not so much the subject as the spirit in which it was conducted. ‘A well designed course in a branch of Technology can leave a student, at the end of it, an educated man as well as a properly grounded technologist, just as a badly designed course in a subject labelled “humane” can leave him an illiberal pedant.’74 It was to be a leitmotif of UGC exhortations: modern universities had to relate to the exigencies of modern life, while preserving a special and elevating ethos. Central to improving the quality of university education were the staff

192 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 and facilities, and developing these became a recurring theme of UGC pronouncements. Whatever the attractions of scholarly life, professors had to enjoy a reasonable standard of comfort and family life, with sufficient income to afford books and travel.75 It was becoming especially important to develop the lecturer scale as a career grade with decent pay, pension, and prospects, opportunities for private study and a voice in university government, and not see those in it as just assistants to the professors. Their position did improve, as did staffing levels, but the increasing emphasis on Oxbridge-style tutorials, while valuable educationally, tended to maintain workloads on junior academics. Similarly, the growing importance of research added to pressures on ordinary lecturers. The UGC, however, resisted calls by the emerging Association of University Teachers for national pay scales, believing that transference between institutions for better pay or promotion was healthy for the system. It also felt that junior staff should be employed on temporary contracts, terminable if there was no prospect of a full career, but in time to give them the opportunity to pursue another calling. There were also calls for more administrative staff, and for improvements in library provision and facilities. It was a constant battle, though, to try to get institutions to concentrate on enhancing what they had rather than seeking new areas of development. There was one area where the UGC did want to see considerably expanded provision. This was in facilities for enriching student life, particularly the development of halls of residence, where students might enjoy a full corporate experience.76 That it assumed such significance between the wars says a great deal about the perception of the university held by the UGC. At their inception, one of the key features of the London and provincial colleges had been a lack of residence, which allowed for lower fees and helped circumvent religious difficulties. The Oxbridge advisers to the Treasury, however, had urged from the late nineteenth century that there should be greater attention to the corporate life of students as a crucial element of proper university experience. Some of the larger provincial colleges had made a start, assisting with unions and athletic clubs, and some had supported hostels, especially for women students; but, when resources were so slim, they were a low priority. Immediately after the war, the UGC noted an increasing demand from students, especially ex-servicemen, for better social facilities and expressed their own desire to promote student life. In 1922, the UGC decided that it would earmark the non-recurrent grant – the portion of the quinquennial grant it held back to support special projects – for initiatives in this area. During the rest of the period, the UGC directed its own funds into the development of student unions, athletic clubs and facilities, health provision and halls of residence. Following their lead, universities tapped local philanthropists, adding considerably more for the same purposes. Improving facilities for the students had a very practical aspect. When most students lived at home it was important to provide opportunities for

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 193 refreshment and recreation for those who might spend long days on site before travelling home in the evening. Equally, it was acknowledged that the opportunity to live at home or in lodgings was a key feature of the new universities. But the UGC worried whether a grinding routine of urban travel, single-minded attention to classes and laboratories, and return to family commitments or lonely lodging in the evening really constituted a university education. The problems were most pronounced among poorer students in the industrial cities where there was pressure to pass examinations and start a career, omitting the apparent superfluities of athletics, debate or cultural societies that were actually essential to a university experience. In this context, the hall of residence took pride of place. In a well-designed hall, students from all walks of life and pursuing all manner of subjects could meet equally and share a common experience. They could engage in a civic community writ small, and debate with each other the problems and issues of life, each contributing the perspectives of their background and area of study. While acknowledging that the London and provincial universities were never likely to become wholly residential, it was seen as highly important to improve opportunities as far as possible. Provision for men grew faster, since there was a longer tradition of providing for women. Between 1923/4 and 1928/9, accommodation in halls outside Oxbridge increased from 3,333 to 3,563 for women, but from 1,516 to 2,188 for men.77 Growth subsided in the early 1930s, when the Treasury clawed back the non-recurrent grant. From the mid-1930s, there was slightly less enthusiasm for halls of residence as it was recognised that they were only going to be a minority provision in the provincial universities. The importance of the student experience, however, remained a central concern. The emphasis on social facilities was part of a general drive to enhance the quality of university education, and gives a useful insight into what the UGC thought a university education was about. Clearly, it was a conception derived from the Oxbridge ideal of forming the whole person, still contributing to notions of a liberal education. It is important to note, however, that these ideals came from the tenor, the ethos and the circumstances of university education, not from the nature of the subject studied. Science, technology and commercial subjects were vital in a modern university, and a university located in an industrial city had responsibilities to its local economy and society. It was essential that experts in a whole range of fields were produced on a larger scale. Yet the UGC was concerned that a university education was not simply a preparation for a career; that there had to be a higher and elevating element. Although present beforehand, this dual conception emerged substantially after the war in reaction to the apparent one-sidedness of the German university, where the demands of technology had superseded the constraints of humanity. By the mid-1930s, the potential threat to civilisation, emanating from Germany again, was becoming sinisterly apparent:

194 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 In a world which at the present time seems to be experiencing a series of shocks to civilized life comparable in violence to those of earthquakes in physical nature, and in which confidence in the power of human reason to control the course of human affairs seems to be roughly shaken, it is hardly possible to exaggerate the crucial importance of the training to be received by those from whom in the next generation leadership in the various spheres of life may naturally be expected . . . To ensure conditions of training which will enable them to go out into the world with minds richly informed, unsleeping in the exercise of a critical intelligence, and imaginatively alive to the human issues underlying the decisions they may be called upon to make, is perhaps the highest form of service.78 It was in the development of students’ humane and civic sensibilities, acquired and honed through social interaction and engagement, on the sports field, in the union debates or in late-night discussions at the hall of residence, that the future leaders of the country could best withstand the seismic convulsions shaking the modern world. It was imperative that the universities be free from onerous state intrusion, yet the UGC also had a responsibility to mould the development of the universities. The UGC liked to see itself as a mediator, not an instrument of control. At times, UGC reports were reduced to tortuous convolutions of language to avoid any impression of direction, yet the Treasury was intent on ensuring that public money was properly spent. An example was the continuing effort by the UGC to secure better salaries and library facilities. Eventually, the UGC publicised the message that the Treasury, while increasing the grant once again, had noticed that the repeated exhortations for improvement in these areas had not been exiguously heeded. ‘We feel’, said the UGC, ‘that the fact that such a criticism should have been possible deserves the attention of many Governing Bodies . . . we shall be profoundly disappointed if, at the end of another quinquennium, we have once more to inform [the Treasury] that it is for expenditure upon these two items that additional income is in general most urgently required.’79 In the following report, the UGC was pleased to note a substantial improvement in library facilities.80 A more pugnacious view of the relationship came in a private communication between the chairman of the UGC and the Treasury: It is true that we do not as a Committee in our relations with the Universities write the sort of formal despatches which emanate from Government Departments. At the same time when we intimate a line of policy the Universities take our word rather as the Law and the Gospel and expect us to implement it . . . I think therefore it follows that though we shan’t proceed in a very formal way, the consequences of our intimation will in effect have the character of a promise.81

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 195 This was perhaps over assertive; the universities remained private institutions with substantial independent resources and considerable inertia to intimations. Yet it is clear that, for the most part, the universities did follow UGC policy in consolidating on core activities, upgrading staff and material resources and promoting facilities for students. It is also apparent that different universities enjoyed very different fortunes, according to how the UGC and other state bodies saw them contributing to the nation’s higher education.

Oxford and Cambridge Oxford and Cambridge universities were probably more profoundly affected by the war than any others, certainly in terms of the tragic sacrifice of their students and staff. More prosaically, the historic endowments on which they relied lost a large amount of their value; but it was not simply a material question, for independent endowment income was the foundation of university autonomy. If the ancient universities were to approach the state, there were potentially far-reaching implications. On the other side of the equation, it was in the interests of national university development that the largest, best-provisioned and most prestigious institutions be brought into the fold. There could not really be a national, coherent approach to the universities if Oxbridge was left out, but this too raised issues of how to deal with them. Oxbridge and the state needed each other, but, as it turned out, Oxford and Cambridge set the terms of engagement for they provided the vision of higher education that, as noted above, was seen as particularly desirable in the post-war context. Oxbridge had the collegiate tradition that offered the possibility of developing sophisticated expertise under humane circumstances. Their position as the most privileged institutions was enhanced yet further as state, and other, resources were funnelled towards them. The first chinks in the ancient universities’ self-sufficient financial armour appeared before the war. Cambridge medical school and Oxford engineering applied for, and received, grants under the Board of Education’s regulations for technological and professional subjects.82 In the event, the question of more significant state aid arose partly by accident. When Oliver Lodge was organising the deputation of principals during the middle of 1918, a circular letter advising on progress arrived on the desk of H. E. D. Blakiston, Vice-Chancellor of Oxford. It was the first he had heard of the deputation and he wrote cautiously to Fisher about it, wary of seeming either too interested, or not.83 For his part, Fisher wanted attendance from all institutions, but was equally tentative, and he extended an obsequious invitation to both Oxford and Cambridge.84 Each university sent representatives to the deputation, but made it very clear where they stood, what they expected and the ‘principles on which further assistance might be accepted’.85 Oxford preferred grants to specific departments,

196 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 rather than a block grant, with additional capital funds to act as endowments for new areas that did not already have them. Blakiston suggested that the government put aside £100,000 a year for capital developments at Oxford and Cambridge, to be drawn on as required. This, he argued, would constitute a reasonable recognition by the state ‘of the magnificent lead given by Oxford men, young and old, in every direction during the war, and especially of the acknowledged service rendered by the Oxford laboratories and their staff’. T. C. Fitzpatrick, acting Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, surpassed even Blakiston’s presumptions.86 Twenty thousand pounds a year was required for stipends, £3,000 for pensions, £30,000 for established departments and, for further developments, a capital expenditure of about £750,000. In his opinion it seemed ‘not unreasonable . . . that the University should receive a substantial grant from National sources provided that the conditions under which it is given do not interfere with the autonomy to which throughout the long history of the University the Senate has always attached the utmost importance’. Both Vice-Chancellors must have been aware that, having effectively conceded that they needed state support, they were on the brink of a new chapter of their universities’ histories and wanted to try to assert their traditional independence. Nevertheless, it was a breathtaking list of demands, to which even a well-disposed government could not accede. Privately, and somewhat acerbically, Kidd dismissed Oxford’s claim for separate grants to separate departments: ‘[i]f they want State grants, they must get them on the same terms as other universities’.87 Fisher was more placatory and noted to the Vice-Chancellors that there had been no recent financial investigation to see just what their position was, what they wanted to do, and what it was reasonable for the state to provide.88 After consulting with the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Privy Council, then, it was decided that before state grants could be allocated there had to be a full inquiry into current resources. If the universities were prepared to co-operate, an interim grant could be awarded. Co-operation was forthcoming and each received £30,000 out of the UGC’s non-recurrent grant, which was renewed until the ensuing Royal Commission, chaired by the former Prime Minister, Asquith, reported its recommendations.89 When he had been in office, Asquith was reluctant to pursue legislative reform of Oxbridge, preferring to leave it to internal forces.90 Thus, it was never likely that the Commission would urge swingeing interventions, and the resulting report was a justification for state funding of a system that, it was felt, worked most effectively largely as it was. A lengthy opening historical sketch to the report of the Royal Commission outlined a story of reform from within, supported by state involvement where necessary, which benign progression had given the ancient universities a special value to the nation.91 Now, it was recorded, Oxbridge graduates were increasingly sought by the world of business, scientific and other experts were at a premium and research was more and more a prior-

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 197 ity. Overseas students, especially postgraduates, were going to Oxbridge rather than Germany and university studies had been opened to women. The importance of these developments had been amply demonstrated during the war. There was no indication in the report that all of these areas had actually been pioneered and developed more fully at the other British universities, nor that Oxford had only just admitted women to degrees (and Cambridge not even that). What emerged as the most truly distinctive feature of the ancient universities, which gave a special tenor to these aspects, however, was the collegiate system, the student democracy it inspired and the character it gave to Oxbridge graduates. It was this moral tone that business sought, the largeness of view and flexibility of mind that was of most value during the war and which prevented scientific studies from descending into mindless automation. It was this that distanced the ancient universities from the others. Thus, Asquith’s Commission reaffirmed the centrality of the collegiate system, in conjunction with which all other developments found their apotheosis. Having identified the special value of Oxbridge to the nation it was vital to preserve and extend it. Both universities needed extra funds, primarily to improve the salaries and pensions of existing staff, and to recruit more to retain the intensive tutorial system while giving time for research. Laboratories and libraries also needed to be maintained and enhanced to keep pace with developments in knowledge and to allow the emergence of new subjects. If funding was not made available then there was a danger that income would be sought from increased fees, which would limit access to the universities. Although private benefaction remained the best source of funding, the Commission recommended that there be a substantial annual state grant to each university of £90,000 plus £10,000 for libraries. There should be a lump sum for pensions and an extra £4,000 a year for ten years to relieve the impoverished condition of the women’s colleges. In return, there had to be some modernisation, including amendments to the governance of the universities, the creation of full secretariats and further organisational and administrative reform. As usual, detailed revisions were reserved to statutory commissioners. All the state funding, however, was to go to the Universities, not to the colleges, yet this too was intended to preserve the position of the colleges. If they received any money from the state, they might be subject to too-intrusive inquiry that might undermine their autonomy. The Commissioners did make some recommendations to try to limit the costs of college life as an attempt to improve accessibility. Overall, though, Oxbridge had a special status, which it was now the duty of the state to preserve. Having approved the principle of state grants to the ancient universities and put a figure on it, it was left to the UGC to implement it, which created considerable problems.92 It was the middle of a quinquennial funding period and the recurrent grant was already committed. Recognising that some action was necessary, the UGC calculated that the most

198 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 urgent requirements could be met by adding a further £30,000 to the emergency grant each university received, with an additional lump sum for pension arrears. A portion of this could come from the non-recurrent grant, although the UGC was reluctant to bleed this fund since it was actually part of the grant that had already been promised for the other universities. The Treasury, however, seemed disinclined to provide the extra money that the Asquith Commission had recommended and proposed taking the whole sum out of the non-recurrent balance, with no assurance that it would be replaced.93 The UGC was alarmed by this manoeuvre. To Kidd, the Treasury was guilty of raiding ‘the funds belonging in equity to the provincial Universities’94 The problem continued into the next quinquennium, for the UGC had already submitted its request for an increased grant, without taking into account the requirements of Oxbridge, which were then unknown.95 Thus, when the Treasury decided to raise the Oxbridge grants by another £25,000 each, it had to be found out of the £1.5 million it had already allocated for the rest of the British universities. The situation posed something of a dilemma to the UGC. Since the role of the UGC was to superintend the whole British university system there should be no place for favouritism to any particular institutions, but it was difficult to evade the perception that Oxbridge was different. ‘Oxford and Cambridge are the greatest of our Universities and the most valuable centres of culture and investigation which the country possesses. Money invested in Oxford and Cambridge will be money well laid out . . .’96 Although its needs were not so glaringly apparent as, for example, at Swansea college, ‘from the broad national point of view it may be really better policy to give Oxford another 10,000 a year to spend on the Bodleian than to give Swansea what it needs to bring its library up to a modest standard of adequacy’.97 The UGC was aware that there might be complaints that Oxford and Cambridge had so large an increase, especially since their work was already supplemented by the colleges. Since there had not actually been any notable objections, and all institutions had enjoyed a reasonable increase, ultimately the UGC agreed with the policy of liberal support for Oxford and Cambridge, whatever the implications for struggling provincial institutions. UGC grants to Oxbridge grew spectacularly through the inter-war period. The £30,000 interim grant was doubled in 1923/4; by the next quinquennium Oxbridge shared £179,000, rising to almost £300,000 in the mid-1930s.98 This represented an increase in their share of the government grant from nothing before the war to 14 per cent in 1923/4 and almost 20 per cent ten years later, while their proportion of full-time students stayed roughly the same.99 The undiminished perception of Oxford and Cambridge as the preeminent academic institutions attracted enormous sums from other sources during the inter-war period as well. As noted above, the newly established funding bodies for state scientific research, the DSIR, Development Commission and MRC, all promoted a policy of fundamental

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 199 research. If this work were located at the old universities it would help to ensure that state science was conducted in an atmosphere generated predominantly by the humane collegiate tradition. All three agencies had exCambridge men in prominent positions, and a considerable portion of the funds at their disposal found its way to Cambridge. The leading DSIR institute for food research, the Low Temperature Research Station, was located at Cambridge – partly to be near the animal nutrition station and the botanical and biochemical laboratories, but also as a conscious decision that its work would be fundamental research.100 Directing the DSIR food research programme was a devoted Cambridge man, W. B. Hardy. Some £35,000 was provided by the DSIR to establish the station, which was equalled by the Empire Marketing Board in 1926.101 Cambridge was a principal beneficiary of the funds for agricultural research distributed by A. D. Hall.102 The largest proportion of the MRC funds went to support the central National Institute of Medical Research in London, and the London hospitals were major beneficiaries.103 But Fletcher was also keen to develop the medical schools at Oxford and Cambridge, founded on a basis of fundamental medical research. Since MRC funds were used principally as grants to individuals, there was little to support major new initiatives outside its own institute, so Fletcher worked assiduously to attract philanthropic interest and helped to channel huge sums to Cambridge and Oxford.104 Medical research was becoming an increasingly popular focus for philanthropy.105 The relief of suffering was, of course, a traditional object of charity, but from the turn of the century this began to encompass investigation of the underlying causes of death and disease. With the spectacular discoveries of the bacterial agents of the major infectious killers of the nineteenth century, medical science could be seen as a worthy recipient of charitable funding, and the notion of ‘preventive philanthropy’ held out the promise that not merely individual sick people could be relieved but future generations could avoid sickness and disablement. Fletcher used such arguments to persuade the Dunn Trustees that biochemistry at Cambridge was just such a deserving cause and extracted generous funding to endow the work of F. G. Hopkins. At Oxford, Fletcher tried to identify an equivalent to Hopkins as a pivot around which research in pathology could be developed, but he made a poor choice and, although funds from the Dunn Trustees were also diverted to Oxford, little came of it.106 Much the biggest and most influential proponent of the idea of preventive philanthropy was the charitable empire founded by oil magnate J. D. Rockefeller. From the turn of the century, Rockefeller had diverted some of the colossal profits made by his organisation into philanthropic endeavour.107 To avoid dissipating the vast resources on fragmentary schemes, general principles of engagement were laid down which emphasised both the search for causes rather than individual relief of suffering and involvement with major institutions to promote further effort rather than support of

200 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 local enterprises. It was a policy for long-term development, backed by hundreds of millions of dollars, which clearly favoured fundamental scientific research and eminent institutions. Initially, the Rockefeller agencies concentrated on work in the US, but in 1913 an international arm, the Rockefeller Foundation, was created to extend the work overseas, with a central concern with medical education and public health. The Foundation was interested in activities in Britain because of its imperial connections to many of the countries with which the Foundation was primarily concerned. As discussed further (on pp. 207–8, medical education in London was a primary focus of attention, but Cambridge was also relevant to the Foundation’s concerns. A notable proportion of recruits to the London medical schools completed their preclinical instruction at Cambridge. Cambridge also had a long-standing reputation for biomedical scientific research, which was being further expanded by the Dunn trustees. Obviously, Fletcher was keen to promote this interest, with the result that funding was secured for a substantial development of work in pathology. The Foundation was interested in the possibility of supporting the creation of a full medical school at Oxford, but seemed to find no one they could properly negotiate with; little came of the larger plan, although the Foundation provided £75,000 for the development of biochemistry.108 Medical research at Oxford emerged spectacularly during the 1930s when Lord Nuffield gave some £2.5 million for the clinical departments. Medical and related scientific investigation was the principal concern of the Foundation but, from the 1920s, there was greater interest in humanistic education and, once again, Oxford and Cambridge were major beneficiaries.109 Both universities were confronted with expanding their libraries to keep pace with their roles as copyright repositories, and with the ever-expanding and diversifying nature of academic studies.110 In the 1920s Cambridge library received £250,000, while Oxford was offered a grant of $2.3 million towards remodelling the Bodleian. With such enormous investment, Cambridge’s reputation for scientific pre-eminence was redoubled, while the sciences established a presence at Oxford that had barely existed before. Flourishing research schools, especially in the biomedical sciences, produced results of international importance at both universities.111 Yet, for all these initiatives, the predominant concern at the ancient universities remained the education of undergraduates, principally in a collegiate environment and, especially at Oxford, in humanistic subjects. By 1938, only 14 per cent of Oxford honours finalists took degrees in pure sciences, with 3 per cent in applied areas.112 There was even some concern that the Rockefeller donation risked turning the Bodleian into a research facility rather than a resource to support the liberal arts.113 It remained more important for college tutors to know their students than engage in research, and the centrality of collegiate tuition encouraged general competence in tutors rather than specialist expertise. The growing emphasis on individual student supervision, and the continu-

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 201 ing popularity of the traditionally wide-ranging ‘greats’ and the new degree of Philosophy, Politics and Economics, only encouraged this tenor.114 There were about as many places as applicants, and undergraduates might still choose not to study or aim for a gentleman’s pass, while tutors often had to exert schoolmasterly qualities. Although the concern with academic attainment acquired during the nineteenth century continued between the wars, up to 15 per cent of students, primarily women, still did not take degrees.115 The colleges were less autonomous at Cambridge and central university facilities played a larger role; nevertheless, the collegiate experience was fundamental to undergraduate education and most university lecturers were also college teachers.116 Between them, Oxford and Cambridge taught about a third of English undergraduates, the proportion dropping slightly during the inter-war period.117 Oxford students were drawn overwhelmingly from London and the South East.118 Although there was a slight broadening of the social spectrum, by the end of the period some 96 per cent of Oxford recruits were drawn from independent, direct grant or maintained schools.119 Women enjoyed a slight improvement in their position, followed by a violent backlash.120 Early in 1920, women were admitted to degrees at Oxford and by 1925 constituted almost a quarter of undergraduates. Soon afterwards, however, hostility towards the presence of women became more noticeable and a quota was imposed to restrict numbers. Although the women’s colleges modelled themselves increasingly on the male ones, enjoying increasing academic success and losing some of their former homely domesticity, many women felt on the margins of a great male public school. Part of the reaction at Oxford came from an influx of women following the bizarre refusal by Cambridge to admit women to degrees. Despite its long-standing sympathy for the higher education of women, when a vote on the matter was held, also in 1920, forces against the move had mobilised to defeat it and women were not formally admitted to degrees at Cambridge until after the Second World War.121 New statutes in the mid-1920s removed many of the limitations on women tutors and undergraduates, but the basic imposition remained in force. Such was the strength of opposition that the Asquith Commission acquiesced by suggesting that Cambridge should remain a men’s university, though of a mixed type.122 Oxford and Cambridge could not be anything other than exceptional. There was too much weight of tradition and authority behind them, together with the reality that they were the largest and best-provisioned institutions in the country. Yet it was a self-perpetuating cycle, and a range of factors combined to reaffirm Oxbridge’s pre-eminent position between the wars. It is difficult to avoid the impression of a degree of nepotism, alongside conscious policy decisions, in the way Hardy, Hall and Fletcher channelled state and charitable funds towards Oxbridge. While Cambridge did have a reputation for scientific excellence, an enormous investment of

202 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 research funding considerably reaffirmed it. A huge injection of money to develop the sciences at Oxford, however, yielded comparatively little return. The research organisations, however, wanted state scientific research to be conducted, as far as possible, in conjunction with the environment and ethos of the ancient universities. Similarly, it is unclear how far the UGC made an entirely impartial calculation as to whether it really was worth starving provincial institutions to allow Oxbridge to become fatter still. Nevertheless, the UGC decided that maintaining two institutions at a higher level was for the national good. For the Rockefeller Foundation, the historic position of Oxbridge, and London, was important as it was not prepared to deal with local agencies; rather, it would only engage with major national institutions. Underlying the massive concentration of resources on Oxbridge, however, was the perception that their distinctive organisation did have exceptional qualities. The corporate system provided a uniquely valuable context for higher education and for the development of research, which it was in the national interest to maintain and extend as much as possible.

The University of London With the acknowledgement that developing higher education was a strategic necessity, it was inevitable that attention would once more return to the perennial problem of the University of London. For over thirty years governments had tried to find a way of mobilising London’s unparalleled educational and cultural resources into an institutional form worthy of the capital, which would also retain the valuable external examining functions of the University.123 A series of Royal Commissions had wrestled with the Byzantine range of interests, with limited success. The most recent, headed by R. B. Haldane, attempted a complete rethink of the situation by starting from first principles and formulating a conception of what the reformed university ought to be on the basis of thoroughgoing idealist logic. It was a radical vision and was roundly opposed by most of the institutional interests that the Commission hoped to circumvent. Cutting through the controversy, the Board of Education had moved to start implementing the proposals, only to be interrupted by the outbreak of war. When the matter was returned to, the context was quite different and most of the Haldane recommendations were quietly dropped. Some were retained, including the creation of a central site for the University in Bloomsbury. There could not be large-scale investment, however, without some overhaul of the governance of the University. Therefore another inquiry was set in train and a more lasting settlement was finally achieved. With a more stable situation, London finally emerged as the national centre for higher education it was always intended to be. Haldane had recommended that university education in London be

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 203 located as far as possible on a single, central site.124 Since a fundamental purpose of his report was to give greater authority to the central University, rather than the component colleges, a unitary site would give a more formidable sense of identity to the University, while allowing ease of cooperation between institutions. Haldane favoured Bloomsbury for the location, in proximity to University College and the British Museum. Some elements of the University senate were prepared to move from the cramped conditions of the Imperial Institute in South Kensington, but parties representing the external side of the University were wary of the potential influence of University College.125 A more serious matter than relocating the University’s administrative machinery, however, was the proposal to move King’s College entirely from the Strand to Bloomsbury.126 Besides the moral question of institutional autonomy and the emotional factor of severing King’s College’s historic associations with its site, such a move involved large material questions of how it would be financed. The Departmental Committee appointed to see how Haldane’s recommendations could be put into effect suggested that the government buy land in Bloomsbury for the purpose, since it was still legally responsible for housing the University.127 Apart from a good deal of rancour, however, the Haldane Commission achieved little before the outbreak of war. Fisher took up the question of the University of London again in July 1918.128 The deputation of principals was being organised and he wanted to know from the Cabinet whether it was worth resurrecting the Departmental Committee on London. He argued that it was going to be difficult to spend money on the provinces without addressing London’s problems, but there was little point in doing so without an indication of what the government was prepared to do. Fisher felt that a central site might help to overcome institutional rivalries, establish advanced study and encourage medical education. He also noted that there would be opposition and that extra spending would be wasted without further constitutional reform. Fisher estimated that a contribution to the site of about £250,000 would be required, which would have to be justified – not least to the other universities and colleges. Still, he reasoned, the University served almost a third of the population of the country and deserved some special consideration by virtue of its capital location. Since the Chancellor seemed disposed to treat all universities generously, he hoped that there would be few objections if London was treated more generously.129 London University was indeed treated generously as the government paid the Bedford Trustees £425,000 for a large site in Bloomsbury and offered it to the University, provided the site was used by 1926.130 Even so, some elements of the senate were opposed to accepting the offer, which did not, perhaps, augur well. By 1926, some University facilities, including the new Institute of Historical Research, had been located on the Bloomsbury site.131 A crucial

204 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 element of the overall plan, however, had fallen through, as King’s College had not moved.132 Despite pressure from the University, King’s was reluctant to leave its home on the Strand anyway, but was particularly concerned about the potential costs. The government had offered a site and maintenance, but not to put up new buildings. If King’s was to move, then, it had to find funds to rebuild and equip the college on the new site, which, given King’s historic lack of endowments, could only come from the sale of its own estate. The principal potential buyer was the government, but when it only offered £370,000 for the Strand site, which would not possibly pay for new buildings, even the University accepted that it was ridiculous and all prospects of King’s being able to move were terminated. With the breakdown of the possibility of locating the University, its central facilities and the principal colleges in the one place, torpor seems to have set in and the Bloomsbury site remained mostly undeveloped. Under the terms of the original agreement, then, the Crown returned the land to the Bedford Trustees early in 1926. Besides puncturing the aspirations to University identity and co-ordination, this was a considerable material problem for the Institute of Historical Research, which now found itself housed on private land with no income to pay a commercial rent.133 Belatedly, a deputation from the University visited Churchill, then Chancellor of the Exchequer, to try to impose a moral obligation on the government to remedy the situation.134 Churchill was incredulous that the University had allowed such an opportunity to pass them by. After roundly condemning all involved, however, he offered to see what could be done. A staggeringly serendipitous rescue was, in fact, effected by the Rockefeller Foundation. In late 1926, W. H. Beveridge, former director of the LSE and, since earlier in the year, Vice-Chancellor of the University of London, visited New York to try to obtain funds from the Foundation for his former institution.135 He returned with money for the LSE, but with an offer of a huge sum for the University to buy back the Bloomsbury site as well. Even at this stage there were those on the senate who thought it undesirable to accept such an offer, but the prevailing view recognised the fortuitous escape route from a very sorry situation.136 The Bedford Trustees were prepared to sell the original site again and Beveridge formally asked the Rockefeller for £400,000 that would make possible ‘a development of first rate importance in the life of the University of London and so it may be hoped in the facilities for higher education and research available to students of all nations’.137 In reply, the Foundation similarly emphasised the international dimensions of supporting the University of London ‘because we firmly believe that the development of a university center in London has an importance which extends beyond the metropolitan area and the boundaries of the British Isles’.138 The undertaking accorded with the Foundation’s principles of financing projects, in conjunction with major national institutions, of potentially long-term and far-reaching significance. The Treasury similarly backed an initiative of

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 205 such clear national importance with £212,000 to make up the full purchase price, with any excess going towards buildings.139 The entrenched recalcitrance of some elements of the senate can have served only to confirm the view that revision of the University’s constitution was essential if fundamental change was to take place and massive government investment consigned to competent hands. In 1924, a new Departmental Committee was created to return to the final report of the Haldane Commission and see what could be made of it under present circumstances and subject to further consultation.140 Under its chairman, Hilton Young, this Committee was much more conciliatory, yet confirmed that serious alterations to the governance of the University were required. Having acknowledged the impressive ideals underlying Haldane’s recommendations, the Hilton Young Committee did not pursue them. They felt that an attempt to impose an entirely new constitution was unnecessary under the circumstances of a decade later. It was better to pursue more evolutionary reform that built on existing foundations and sought to streamline statutes rather than completely reconstruct. Finding no one really opposed to the external role of the University, and evidence of much more co-operation between it and the internal side, the committee quickly decided to retain external examinations. Similarly, it was left to individual institutions to decide whether to incorporate legally with the University. On the other hand, the principle that the University had to have overall direction over the policy of higher education in the capital was upheld. To achieve this, a new body, Court, was recommended that would control the finances of the University. State grants would go to the University Court, which would decide how to allocate them to the various colleges and institutes according to a strategic plan. A fairly large senate would continue to have charge of educational matters, and have significant representation on the financial council. Admission as a school of the University would become a more onerous step, involving acceptance of University authority, and not every institution would necessarily be represented on the senate. Other recommendations covered the formation of standing committees, faculties and boards of studies, and a general streamlining of the statutory framework. The Hilton Young Committee discarded most of Haldane’s theorising on the nature of the university that had put austere logical principle ahead of historic independence and autonomy. Under the new scheme, institutions retained most of their existing forms and identities and the external side continued its mission to the world. Nevertheless, the University was vastly strengthened and the crucial control of finance – and, hence, real educational policy – was given over to a central authority, cutting through institutional rivalries. Unsurprisingly, many London academic interests remained opposed, but the government pushed through an Act in 1926 to create a body of Statutory Commissioners to draw up the revised constitutional framework for the University.141 The commissioners worked

206 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 diplomatically, however, and built a reasonable level of consensus behind the new statutes that were approved by the Privy Council in 1929. There was, at last, a unitary agency in the Court of the University, with whom the state could deal, that could give overall direction to the development of higher education in the capital. Constitutional stability and the opportunities presented by a large new site confirmed and continued the expansion of university studies in London. During the 1930s, the University itself began to acquire a physical sense of identity in the monumental edifice erected in Bloomsbury on the proceeds of substantial gifts and large contributions from the London County Council. Gradually, central University facilities were consolidated on the site.142 All through the protracted wrangling over the site and constitution there had been a notable expansion of facilities and student numbers at the various colleges. Although the UGC deplored having to deal with the institutions separately, until a central University Court was established it had no option, and the UGC steadily brought more applicants onto the grants list.143 Gifts and endowments also flowed more freely, which allowed new initiatives and capital developments. As with other universities and colleges, there was an influx of students just after the war, then a marked increase in the mid-1920s. Almost a third of English fulltime students studied in London. Although the individual colleges may have lost elements of financial autonomy under the revised constitution, their independent identities were assured and they, too, benefited from more stable conditions. Student numbers rose again by the mid-1930s, bringing London’s total share to just over a third. There was the common concern with improving facilities for student life and welfare in the most urban of universities, and the separate colleges – as well as the central University – devoted considerable effort to establishing athletic unions and societies and building student residences and social facilities. From the beginning of negotiations for a University site it was clear that disproportionate amounts of government money were being allocated towards London.144 Even without the extra funding for the site, during the 1920s London institutions received over 40 per cent of the annual UGC grant, while teaching less than 30 per cent of full-time students.145 In 1930, the UGC acknowledged that London received an unduly large share of the grant, and the gap between grant and numbers did narrow during the next decade. Yet the UGC still maintained that London had a special status, deserving of additional funding.146 To an extent, there was a sense that university education in London should enjoy facilities of ‘a manner befitting the University of the Metropolis’.147 Increasingly, however, advanced work was being concentrated in London in conjunction with the superb collections and resources of the capital.148 The School of Oriental Studies was an early initiative, which was complemented by the establishment of a School of Slavonic Studies. Just after the war, the Institute of Historical Research was created, and during the 1930s the Courtauld Insti-

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 207 tute of Art and the Institute of Archaeology were founded. These constituted not only an imperial centre for advanced study, notably in the humanities, but were increasingly used by overseas students.149 A clear majority of advanced students studied at London institutions.150 London’s other key claim to special consideration came from the concentration of medical students. Medical education was undergoing farreaching reconceptualisation, led by initiatives in the US and heavily sponsored by the Rockefeller agencies, which sought to bring it into much closer connection with universities and medical research.151 The principle was for medical education to be led by full-time university professors who would combine research, teaching and clinical treatment, without the diversions of private practice. This idea of clinical units had been explored at length by the Haldane Commission, with witnesses from the Rockefeller Foundation, but there were problems in implementing the scheme because the London teaching hospitals were not, for the most part, university institutions.152 Further support for clinical units was offered in Newman’s report to the Board of Education, and the UGC was keen to explore the possibilities.153 An opportunity to put the principles into practice arose, once again, through the munificence of the Rockefeller Foundation. In 1920, the Foundation gave $5 million to University College and Hospital for a combined development of laboratory facilities in conjunction with wards, a remodelling of the hospital and new arrangements for nurses’ and resident physicians’ quarters.154 University College Hospital was the only one that worked with a university-level institution, and the Rockefeller hoped it would act as a model for the English-speaking world outside the US.155 There were smaller projects at other medical schools. A further ‘memorable gift’ from the Rockefeller contributed to new premises for the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, an area with which the Rockefeller was particularly associated.156 Even after the Hilton Young reforms, the University of London remained a particularly complex institution, with myriad independent colleges and specialist institutes distributed across the city, together with the unique external examining system. A central site, monumental buildings and greater financial authority, however, gave the University a more physical sense of identity and provided a way of finally bringing the various educational functions into some semblance of co-ordination. At the same time, the series of advanced institutes allowed metropolitan resources to be mobilised for serious and systematic academic study much more effectively. The essential aims of reformers from the end of the nineteenth century had been largely achieved. Haldane’s rather too ruthlessly Teutonic logical principles had been discarded, although much of his conception of the essential priority of the university in integrating academic and educational functions had been retained. At root, the key to reform was, once again, through financial control. The UGC wanted a more effective university establishment in London that would serve as a centre of higher,

208 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 professional and advanced study for the metropolis, nation and Empire, and was prepared to support it with disproportionate amounts of public money. In return, it needed an authority it could deal with, one that could provide the strategic leadership necessary.

The ‘Other University Institutions’ In its report for the academic year 1928–29, the UGC enthused about the enormous gifts from the Dunn Trustees and the Rockefeller Foundation to Oxford and Cambridge, it recorded the outstanding acquisition of the Bloomsbury site for the University of London, then turned to the modest achievements of the ‘Other University Institutions’.157 Although much was achieved at the provincial universities between the wars, based substantially on state funding, the UGC’s somewhat disparaging term captures a sense of relatively limited progress. The UGC’s continual emphasis on consolidation and upgrading of a narrower range of activity towards an acceptably higher standing was aimed primarily at the provincial universities, and much of the developments affecting the provincial universities have already been discussed. Thus, there were few dramatic episodes during the period, more a story of incremental change. Provincial institutions retained close links with their local hinterlands, and there were important differences of experience between them. However, they gradually matured into a fairly uniform pattern, defined largely by the UGC. As argued throughout this chapter, the model was provided more explicitly by Oxbridge ideals, especially with respect to the student experience, but the local, technical and vocational features of the civic tradition were also important. One signal event was the award of a charter to the University of Reading, which provides a useful case study of what the provincial university was now supposed to be. As always, the foundation for university development was funding, but, although the overall financial health of the provincial universities improved between the wars, funding remained a continual source of concern. Immediately after the war, Grant Robertson, Vice-Chancellor of Birmingham University, was filled with ‘deep and justifiable anxiety’, and Fisher was in demand to help launch fund-raising campaigns.158 Most of the provincial universities made appeals, which could yield significant sums, although sometimes well below aspirations. Birmingham raised £300,000 towards a target of £500,000; Liverpool managed £350,000 but was aiming for £1 million.159 Located in the chief industrial centres, the provincial universities were inevitably affected by the depressions of the 1920s and early 1930s. Philanthropy revived during the 1930s, with some quite dramatic individual donations, such as those from Brotherton and Parkinson to Leeds; Wills, as ever, to Bristol; or the great investment by Jesse Boot into Nottingham University College.160 Gifts and endowments were the principal source of capital development, and most such income

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 209 went into bricks and mortar. A problem with this kind of largesse, however, was that buildings entailed extra costs of equipping and maintenance and often added a burden of annual expenditure. Local authorities continued to be an important source of recurrent income. Leeds and Sheffield Universities and Nottingham and Southampton university colleges derived over 20 per cent of their income for 1928/9 from local authority grants; Birmingham, Bristol and Liverpool Universities received closer to 12 per cent.161 The UGC appreciated local authority contributions, but these could fluctuate during the volatile depression years; for example, Leeds was hit by a sudden reduction of local grants in 1931.162 There was a long-running debate between Sheffield University and its local authority over grants for technical education.163 Historically, the University had provided a good deal of pre-degree technical education, for which it received grants from the local authority. When the UGC objected to the University engaging in such low-level work, its technical work had to be distinguished into pre-matriculation and degree kinds. Discrete sources of funding had to be identified, which led to an accounting nightmare and a resulting loss of income to the University that, ultimately, the UGC had to make good. Increasingly, and however much it deplored the situation, the UGC became the chief source of annual income for the provincial universities.164 As the grants increased through the period, most universities came to enjoy a reasonable state of recurrent financial health, even allocating portions of annual income towards sinking funds to pay off capital debts.165 The UGC remained concerned, however, and regularly monitored the financial conditions of the provincial institutions.166 With central state funds assuming even greater significance, the UGC was able to exert considerable influence over developments in the provinces, and its underlying priority was to consolidate existing activities on a sound basis in order to improve the overall quality of university education. The UGC’s priorities have been discussed in a previous section (pp. 194–5), and their chief target was the provincial university. Thus, there was a common pattern of gradually increased staffing in established areas, with better salaries, pensions and conditions. Postgraduate study and research grew in importance. Most of the building allowed by donations went towards replacing old stock, although there was greater attention to libraries and considerable investment in social facilities and residential accommodation for students. The principal purpose of the provincial university was to provide the basic academic subjects to as high a standard and in as appropriately academic an environment as possible. There was no doubt, however, that the provincial institutions had a special role to play in promoting applied sciences and technology, but it needed to be properly co-ordinated in order to avoid wasteful civic rivalry.167 Oceanography at Liverpool emerged between the wars; oil engineering and nuclear studies were supported at Birmingham; the Home Office experimental station on mine safety was transferred to Sheffield; the

210 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 national fruit and cider research station at Long Ashton was associated with Bristol.168 At Sheffield a rare opportunity to develop a clinical unit was seized with the appointment of Edward Mellanby as Professor of Pharmacology, who made pioneering studies of nutrition.169 Altogether, the provincial institutions contributed a notable measure of internationally important research work. The essential orientation of the provincial universities, however, remained local and regional. In the late 1920s, a large majority of their students came from within a thirty-mile radius, with over half receiving some kind of financial assistance, usually from local sources. The UGC estimated that by the mid-1930s almost half of provincial students had begun their education in elementary schools.170 Local authorities made an important contribution to income, and universities continued to provide essential services such as public health and advisory work. When Leeds University undertook a vast remodelling of its main site it provided the opportunity for a larger redevelopment of that part of the city in conjunction with the local authority.171 Hospitals were another crucial point of contact and Birmingham University had long negotiations over the reorganisation of hospital provision and medical education.172 Industrialists looked increasingly to the universities for detailed and practically relevant research work.173 Education remained a central concern for the provincial institutions: Birmingham arts graduates went predominantly into teaching, as did a significant proportion of pure science students.174 Universities were increasingly called upon to send representatives to local educational and cultural organisations, such as Bristol, which became associated with a range of secondary schools, agricultural colleges and seminaries in the surrounding area.175 Although the UGC recognised the importance of universities serving their local hinterlands it was reluctant to see institutions go too far in this direction. When the Board of Education moved to bring teacher-training colleges into closer association with their neighbouring universities, the UGC was unsure.176 It feared that universities might be called upon to take on too many responsibilities, so, while acknowledging that modern universities had to play a part ‘in the life of a progressive industrial nation’, there had to be a ‘satisfactory balance between what may be called the claims of the “cloister” and the claims of the “market place”.’177 Ultimately, of course, the UGC maintained that it was the cloister that was paramount. Although provincial universities were supposed to supply teachers to local authorities and expertise to industry, and local authorities and industries were supposed to support their university, at root, the best way a university could serve its region was to stay true to the ideals of autonomy and freedom. The UGC was able to exert its view of university independence over competing interests. A continual irritant to the UGC, as it had been to its forebears, was the role of the local authority in the governance of Nottingham University College. In 1936, the UGC decided that ‘the time

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 211 has come when some pressure must be brought to bear’, and it threatened to withhold additional grants until there was progress towards a new charter.178 A revised constitution more in keeping with other universities was achieved in 1938.179 The most significant constitutional change of the period was the granting of a charter to a new University of Reading, and its award exemplifies the desired model of the inter-war provincial university. Reading college began life as an Oxford university extension centre, but from early in the twentieth century its principal, W. M. Childs, had higher ambitions and forged a distinctive identity for the college by building an extensive residential system.180 He argued that the community ideal, derived from the Oxbridge collegiate tradition, was essential to higher learning. ‘If the College was to be no more than a mechanism to produce teaching and research, it could do without a hall. If it meant to be a real society, an association of comrades, a hall was a necessity.’181 Childs persuaded local philanthropists to support his ideal, and several halls were established before the war. He also concentrated on a limited range of work, primarily in arts and pure science, but also in agriculture, the most important local industry. Reading’s position was boosted when the Development Commission located its research work in dairying in association with the college. An appeal for university status in 1920 was rejected, but the Privy Council noted promising indications and it was recognised that Reading was distinct from the other university colleges.182 Childs was encouraged to continue and he worked assiduously to expand the college’s financial basis and student numbers. When a second appeal was made, in 1925, the UGC was still unsure as to whether a charter should be granted.183 The college’s reserves were limited and it was reliant on state income, student numbers were low and the work was academically fairly weak. But there were important positive signs: A University which, though small, is yet large enough to ensure the mingling of teachers and students working in a reasonable variety of subjects, and which in addition provides the benefits of the residential system, on a scale unknown except at Oxford and Cambridge, may actually have the advantage as an educational instrument over bigger Universities, where students are so numerous that close personnel contact between teachers and taught is impossible and where corporate life is less highly developed.184 On balance the UGC recommended in favour of the college, and the Privy Council noted that it was the residential system, combined with the clear intention to concentrate on arts, pure science and agriculture, that had swung the case. ‘The human side of our work’, concluded Childs, ‘had carried the day.’185 Although the UGC may well have had

212 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 misgivings, Childs’ conception of the university had come into its own. There was room for specialisation and applied research that catered for the needs of local industry. Of prime concern, however, was the concentration on core academic subjects in an environment resonant with ancient university traditions. As Childs again put it: a university ‘with a fine quality of life, doing a few things well under agreeable conditions and at a moderate cost to the student.’186 It might have been written by the UGC itself, for this captured its perception of what the provincial universities ought to be.

Preparing for war From late in 1938, preparations began for the war that was almost certainly coming. A Committee of Vice-Chancellors and Principals, in association with the UGC, drew up a memorandum on the organisation of the universities for wartime.187 They had been spurred into action by the chaotic experience surrounding the crisis of September 1938, which had been enveloped in such excessive secrecy that there had been no sense of overall strategy. The memorandum urged that for the universities to play the vital part that they should, decisions about mobilisation of students, reserved areas or utilisation of research teams had to be taken in advance and in consultation with the whole university sector. At the same time, the universities had to preserve their humane mission; it was ‘unthinkable that the Universities should not also keep their lights burning’.188 Initially, the War Office was dismissive of the committee. It had already consulted representatives from Oxbridge and London who had not expected any normal university life to continue.189 Gently, the UGC asserted its authority, cautioning the War Office that ‘it would be a mistake to lay too much emphasis on the participation of one or two distinguished representatives of certain Universities’.190 A much more productive meeting with the government followed, when preliminary arrangements for evacuation were made. The DSIR was set to compiling a list of research centres, provision was made to keep research teams together, and recruiting boards were set up at once – although finalists and postgraduates in science and engineering would be reserved.191 Medical students well on with their courses would be reserved at the discretion of Vice-Chancellors. Nor was there any suggestion that university teaching should cease; the universities should continue to teach such students as remained.

Conclusion The UGC and its sister DSIR were born out of wartime experience, the desperate need to expand scientific, technical and other higher expertise. Universities were critical national resources that had to be developed and co-ordinated in the national interest. Through the 1920s and 1930s, the

Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 213 UGC, together with the research agencies, steadily fashioned a national system of higher education and research. It was essential to bring Oxford and Cambridge into the fold; they were so pre-eminent in resources and personnel, besides sheer weight of tradition, a national policy really made little sense without them. The UGC had a clear view that investment in Oxbridge would be well spent and, whatever the unfortunate potential consequences elsewhere, channelled funds towards the ancient universities to maintain them at optimal levels. Similarly, it was vital that the unrivalled resources available in London be properly mobilised, and the UGC’s equal priority was to sort out the constitutional complexities of the University of London and relaunch it on a new site with clear authority to advance the highest international forms of education and research. The premier institutions also benefited from staggering levels of private philanthropy, steered towards them on the basis of their national eminence. It was the Matthew principle writ very large: to those who have, more shall be given. The provincial institutions were not left without; indeed, while catering for just over a third of English full-time students between them, they received over 40 per cent of the government grant.192 Yet this could not elevate average standards of provision to Oxbridge levels, there was no capital investment such as London enjoyed, the research agencies steered funds preferentially to Oxbridge and London, and the provinces were pretty much excluded from consideration by international agencies such as the Rockefeller Foundation. Thus, progress in the provinces was relatively limited, and geared more to upgrading what was already provided and offering a decent standard of university experience, accessible to students in the region. Improving the quality of the student experience was central, not only in terms of tuition and academic resources but also in the overall environment in which higher education took place. Commentators had emphasised the importance of the university environment from the late nineteenth century. To a large extent it was a reaction to the industrial utiltarianism of the provincial colleges by Oxbridge types, and, doubtless, an element of this carried over into the 1920s and 1930s. In the wake of the war, however, the collegiate tradition carried a much greater significance as a means of safeguarding the humanity of English university education, even while producing well-trained experts. Part of the imperative to build Oxbridge yet further was to ensure that science and research was carried out in an appropriate environment. Equally, aspects of the residential pattern had to be engendered at the provincial institutions. Perceptively, Principal Childs noted the change of mood that benefited his aspirations. The University of Reading, he argued, was of a new type. Other provincial universities took their example from London. ‘Universities upon this model seemed peculiarly suited to the big cities of nineteenth century England, and it is not to be doubted that the sufficiency of the plan, which was adopted widely in other countries also, seemed to be

214 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 confirmed by German practice and German ideas of the university function.’193 Initially, Reading followed this pattern, but then broke away to pursue the corporate life that was at the root of true university education. German practices and ideals had been found wanting and the solution was to temper the modern university with the humane ideals of the old English university. In the first months of the Second World War, F. Sibly, Chairman of the Committee of Vice-Chancellors and Principals, returned to the theme: We believe that the remarkable progress of the British Universities in the last twenty years, and the access which they have opened to all classes of students to the most advanced form of education, have been both a symbol and a condition of the development of a genuine and stable democracy. What has been gained here should not readily be surrendered.194 Given the nature of the regime that the country now faced it is difficult to regard the sentiment as mere hyperbole.

Conclusion

With war looming once more, the state laid plans for the automatic mobilisation of the universities for national service. There was to be no repeat of the neglectful waste that marked the early years of the First World War; the universities were now admitted as having a vital function. As in the previous conflict, universities made an invaluable contribution to the war effort, and managed to keep the lights of civilisation burning as well.1 Similarly, when it became possible to think about preparing for the post-war world, it was once again acknowledged that it was necessary to expand and organise higher education on an even larger scale. In the decades after the Second World War, the state became increasingly dominant in the finance and co-ordination of the universities in Britain.2 Even so, governments still seemed to maintain a hands-off relationship, continuing to channel funds through the UGC and the research councils and leaving detailed policy to these buffer organisations. Only in recent times, it appears, has the policy been abandoned. Others have taken up this part of the story, and it is not the intention here to consider the universities’ record of wartime service or the post-war expansion of higher education. The purpose of this study has been to analyse the role of the state in the development of the modern university system in England from the middle of the nineteenth century up to the outbreak of the Second World War. What should be apparent is that the state did indeed play a very important part in shaping the emergence of the English universities during this crucially formative period. One cannot identify a singular relationship; clearly, connections between the universities and the state have varied between institutions and evolved over time. Nor can one claim that the English universities were as closely connected with the state, as was the case in Germany or France. Nevertheless, the state was a crucial factor. Indeed, this has been recognised for the inter-war period onwards.3 The nature and extent of state involvement for most of the twentieth century, however, was built on, and shaped by, an evolving relationship that began in the mid-nineteenth century. By way of conclusion, there will be a brief summary review of the relationships between the state and the different kinds of university up to the arrangement reached by the 1930s. This is

216 Conclusion followed by some consideration of the potential implications of this settlement for post-war developments. The initial impetus to reform Oxford and Cambridge certainly came from within the Universities and colleges themselves. Equally, the extent and tenor of state involvement was highly tentative, and the ancient universities were given a great deal of leeway to reform themselves. It is doubtful, though, how much the internal reformers could have achieved against the still-powerful reactionary forces, and the problems of the labyrinthine legal morass into which the institutions had fallen, if there had not been outside intervention from the state. Although it took over a quarter of a century to complete, the Royal Commissions and statutory commissioners steadily required that the universities, and particularly the colleges, cease to function as closed and languid seminaries of the Church of England, but engage much more seriously with the demands of education and scholarship. The overall thrust of state intervention was bureaucratic and utilitarian in nature, designed to ensure that the wealth at the disposal of Oxbridge was utilised more efficiently and effectively for educational purposes, that there was some modernisation of the curriculum, and that the universities were made accessible, at least in principle, to all parts of the nation. The state wanted to extract from the English universities a reasonable measure of work, commensurate with their resources, and of a kind more appropriate to a modern society. A similarly utilitarian and bureaucratic ethos underlay the creation of the University of London, which, in many respects, complemented attempts to reform Oxbridge. While Oxford and Cambridge remained recalcitrant to change, religiously and socially exclusive, the University of London offered an alternative means by which higher education could be made available. At the same time, some supervision of standards was put in place. It was a regulatory mechanism that could help to foster and co-ordinate private endeavour, such as had given rise to University and King’s colleges in London. Very helpfully, the system was not restricted to London, but was capable of almost indefinite extension – and was indeed extended throughout the country and across the globe. In both these instances, state intervention was crucial for the modernisation and extension of university education, though limited to providing a framework within which private initiative could flourish, whether in the reform of the existing institutions at Oxbridge or in the establishment of new ones. The Oxbridge reforms were intended to go further: to shift the emphasis from the colleges to the Universities and from tutoring in dead languages to professorial lectures in modern subjects. Although there was some movement, state reformers consistently failed to achieve this end. So long as the colleges retained their independent wealth, however, there were no effective means by which the state could impose its views. Theoretically, the state could have sequestered the ancient endowments and redistributed them to other institutions, leaving the Oxbridge colleges

Conclusion 217 as the Anglican seminaries some of the conservatives wanted them to remain.4 To seize the private assets of independent corporations, with so much political and cultural support behind them, would have been an extremely radical move. Without the means, or will, to impose drastic reconstitution, the state resorted to working with internal reformers in a gradual process to remove the most flagrant abuses and to try to ensure that available resources were, at least, used more effectively. Nor, having established an alternative structure for university-level education in the University of London, was it the responsibility of the state actually to provide the means of higher education itself. If people desired the luxury of cultural adornment they had to provide it for themselves. Similarly, training for an elite profession was an investment that a young man might hope to recoup. With no means of financial control, then, the state could make no detailed requirements of the actual form that academic work took, but simply pressed for evidence that an adequate amount of educational activity was taking place, in terms of numbers of students matriculated, examinations passed or degrees taken. The precise character and orientation of higher education, then, emerged within the institutions themselves. At Oxford and Cambridge, a style of university education and experience was fashioned which focused on the nurturing of the individual through a close personal interaction between student and tutor. It drew on traditional ideals of liberal education and the ethos of Christian manliness of the Arnoldian public schools, and was related to German idealist notions of Bildung. This revamped form of liberal education appealed to the products of the public schools and offered a sense of secular vocationalism for tutors seeking an alternative professional orientation to that of clergyman. Ironically, this kind of experience was particularly suited to close-knit colleges. The timidity of the state reforms did not undermine the power of the colleges, which were able to reassert their place as the most distinctive and desirable feature of the ancient universities. The London and provincial colleges were private ventures, built on the demand for open and accessible higher education of a more modern kind and with an emphasis on professional, commercial and technical subjects. They provided the actual education superintended by the University of London examinations. To begin with, the form of tuition at the new colleges was quite different to that at Oxbridge. The new ones were modelled on Scottish and German examples, without paternalist overtones and based on professorial lectures rather than collegiate tutoring. This approach was reinforced by the external examination system of the University of London. Through the mid-Victorian period, although the role of the departmental professor remained important, academics at the London and provincial colleges gradually began to subscribe to elements of the Oxbridge-style relationship between teacher and student. For the most part, this was a professionalising strategy. The University of London examining system gave teachers very little say over actual curricula or

218 Conclusion examinations, leaving them in a decidedly subordinate position. Externally directed examinations and degree programmes also allowed very little initiative to institutions to develop new areas of work. From a different direction, the importance of close contact between teacher and student was also reinforced by the growing emphasis on research. The London and provincial colleges were more attuned to German notions of Wissenschaft, partly from their concentration on scientific subjects, and the idea of a school of study that combined teaching, examination and research in a coherent whole. Here, too, an external examining system inhibited innovation and natural development. Thus, the London colleges and teachers, especially, felt increasingly constrained by the framework of examinations and launched a campaign to try to achieve greater professional and institutional autonomy. When negotiations between the various interests ground to a halt, the state was brought back into play, as the ultimate instigator and guarantor of the University of London. By the late 1880s, the state was beginning to take a more positive interest in all forms of education, including technical and higher education. The continued wrangling over the constitution of the University of London was of some concern, and since the University was a government responsibility it fell to the state to resolve matters. It was also becoming apparent that a purely examining university was not meeting the academic and educational needs of the imperial metropolis. There had to be greater flexibility and autonomy to allow for the development of new areas of work, to promote research, improve professional education and generally mobilise the resources available in the capital more effectively for both London and the Empire. Through the Selbourne and Cowper Commissions the state offered a much larger vision of what a teaching university in London could achieve than the sectarian perspectives of the competing parties. In the end, it proved difficult to engage all the various elements in the revised plan for the university; law, for example, continued to hold aloof, although other areas, such as theology, were more successfully incorporated. What is more generally noticeable is the level of state involvement with the University of London, and the positive sense by the late nineteenth century of the role of the university. With common origins and, for a while, subject to the same regulations, the London and provincial colleges continued to share many characteristics, but there was an increasing sense of differentiation as the metropolitan colleges began to regain their special status with the University of London. At the same time, while modelled on the London pioneers, the provincial colleges were distinctive in their origins and identity. In the principal provincial towns and cities there was an attempt to gear the colleges to local industrial, professional and civic interests. This strategy tended to emphasise scientific and technical subjects and the colleges were rewarded, in some instances, with phenomenal levels of local philanthropy. Science and technology, however, was enormously and increas-

Conclusion 219 ingly expensive to provide and the provincial colleges soon found themselves struggling to make ends meet. Since fees and charity could not supply the needs, the only other potential source of funds was the state. When the colleges turned to the exchequer in the late 1880s, the state was on the threshold of a significant expansion of education across all areas, particularly in scientific and technical education, so some funding for technically oriented institutions is, perhaps, understandable. The nature of the parliamentary grant, however, was ambiguous. Technical subjects were explicitly excluded and the scale of the grant was decidedly minimal. Nor was there any investigation of provincial higher education comparable to the level of interest given to Oxbridge or London. Ultimately, the provincial colleges were private concerns and it was no business of the state to make up for the endowed wealth or prestige that the old universities had accumulated for themselves over centuries, or that the University of London had been afforded on the basis of its metropolitan importance. Overall, then, the grant was a reluctant acknowledgement of worthy efforts in the provinces that might be stimulated further by a limited state grant. While noting the limitations, it must also be recognised that the grant formed a notable precedent as the first state funds that actually paid for university-type education. The grant also proved a lifeline for the hardpressed colleges and it is difficult to see how they could have survived without state intervention. Through the second half of the nineteenth century, the state had played an important role in the reform of Oxford and Cambridge, in the creation and development of the University of London, and in the survival of the provincial colleges, including the establishment of the Victoria University. Nevertheless, for the most part, the state had remained somewhat remote, its principal concern being with access to, and standards of, university education and the proper utilisation of available resources. The state acted as a regulator, trying to ensure that the work that universities set themselves was carried out in an efficient and effective manner. Towards the end of the century, a more positive conception of the role that the state wanted the universities to play began to take shape. By this time, many of the state’s officials and advisers had come through a common public school and Oxbridge experience, often specifically inspired by Jowett’s Balliol or Green’s idealism. Rather than the utilitarian emphasis of the mid-nineteenth century, these civil servants urged the high moral and cultural value of education for the individual and the community. The most important programmatic statement came in the Cowper Commission’s report on the University of London, in which the university was pitched as the co-ordinating principle of a wide array of higher-level cultural, scientific, professional and artistic activity. The university was also distinguished from lower kinds of technical, leisure or remedial work. Similar directives came from the Oxbridge advisers on the allocation of the parliamentary grant, who steadily reinforced the message that proper university education was

220 Conclusion restricted to the non-vocational arts and sciences and had to be conducted in an appropriate environment and ethos. A generation of education officials steadily insinuated the idea that only Oxbridge provided a proper university experience, circularly defined as that provided by Oxbridge; everything else was necessarily inferior. The presumption was affirmed by the late Victorian intelligentsia, profoundly ignorant of mechanical knowledge and mistrustful of provincial culture. From the turn of the century, the state became much more active in influencing the form that university education should take and how it should be organised. Idealism remained a powerful force, highlighting the higher purposes of the university. Haldane attributed an almost mystical significance to the universities as the linchpins of national material and moral progress. His more Teutonic notions of idealism, however, gave greater prominence to the state and to the need to impose rational principles of organisation. This was complementary to the prevailing demand for national efficiency in pressing for the expansion and organisation of the educational system. At the Board of Education, Morant was driven by such a combination of idealism and a zealous sense of efficiency whereby the universities would realise their full potential only when integrated into the wider educational system. Haldane and Morant were highly influential in leading a concerted move to expand and organise a university system. The importance of the universities was increasingly recognised and state funds grew exponentially, while the formal charting of new universities out of the leading provincial colleges transformed the profile of English higher education. It was also acknowledged by the principals and vice-chancellors that greater state funding entailed closer supervision. They were very wary, however, of the rather too close interest expressed by the Board of Education, and Haldane’s stunning review of the University of London was far too coldly logical to be welcome. Most of the attempts to bring the universities more closely under state supervision were interrupted by the outbreak of the First World War, and when they were resumed it was under quite different circumstances. Wartime experience proved to have a paradoxical effect. It quickly became apparent that the universities had a crucial function in producing both knowledge and expertise and had to be expanded and co-ordinated by the state in the national interest. On the other hand, it was feared that too narrow a focus on technical expertise and too close an alignment between universities and the state was the thin end of a wedge made in Germany that might, ultimately, open the way to barbarism. The solution was partly through establishing buffer agencies, such as the UGC and the DSIR, which would mediate between the state and the universities. Another part was to promote a humane ethos for university education as much as possible. The Oxbridge collegiate tradition was reaffirmed as the model of a university education and the ancient universities enjoyed a huge injection of state funds, while the provincial universities were

Conclusion 221 encouraged to follow the pattern as far as they could. A good deal of state scientific research was also located at Cambridge and Oxford, where it might come under the influence of the collegiate environment. Between the wars, one can identify more clearly the emergence of a university system, with the state playing a more obviously co-ordinating role, as well as an increasingly dominant financial one. Funding rose considerably, but was also channelled differentially to various institutions, with Oxbridge and London very obviously favoured. Certainly, Oxford and Cambridge possessed large staffs, student numbers, resources and facilities that had to be mobilised in the national interest, and which could readily be built on further. As importantly, Oxbridge also offered the environment in which governments wanted higher education and research to be conducted, so, in addition to generous funds from the UGC, state scientific research money and charitable funds were steered preferentially to the ancient universities. Similarly, London received injections of additional money to help buy the Bloomsbury site and to develop specialist research institutes. London, too, had the resources to be utilised, but there was also a sense that the capital deserved special consideration simply by virtue of being the capital. Not that the provincial universities were ignored. In fact, they received a higher UGC grant per full-time student than Oxbridge or London, but there was no additional funding of the kind received by the others and nothing like the historic endowment income available to Oxford and Cambridge Universities and colleges.5 The watchword for the provincial institutions between the wars was consolidation, and there was an undeniable sense of relative neglect.6 The settlement reached between the universities and the state during the inter-war period, however, both built on, and reacted against, previous experience. There was a reaction against the pre-war efforts by the state to create a co-ordinated university system. State intervention post-war was much less Germanic, keeping a respectable distance from individual institutions. By the same token, the pre-war impetus behind the provincial universities drained away. Although the University of London remained a priority, the onus of post-war university development was quickly diverted to quintessentially English Oxbridge. It was perhaps not quite inevitable that Oxford and Cambridge should retain their premier positions, but it is difficult to imagine an alternative outcome. With the state unwilling to impose drastic reforms in the nineteenth century, the wealth, size, resources, tradition and cultural authority of the ancient institutions was bound to reassert their status. By the end of the century, state officials were actively proposing Oxbridge as the proper model of university education. When the old universities declared themselves prepared to enter into a system they were eagerly welcomed by the state, which was only too keen to confirm and consolidate the place of Oxford and Cambridge at the top of a differential hierarchy. Undoubtedly, the nature of the relationships established by the state

222 Conclusion with the universities had important implications. The continuing dominance of Oxbridge cemented the idea that a certain kind of university education was superior, while the resources preferentially allocated made it materially more attractive. In many respects, this policy was simply another manifestation of the assumption pervading English education that it was better to provide generously for a select few than bring the majority to a higher average standard. One effect was to denude provincial institutions of talent further when the opportunity to move south arose.7 That all the UGC could offer in return was to urge Oxbridge dons to show missionary zeal in taking posts in the provinces only confirmed the new universities as poor relations and served further to denigrate the urban, industrial and commercial environments in which they were planted.8 In shielding the universities against political exigencies, the UGC also, arguably, insulated them from the currents of everyday life. Similarly, the research agencies more or less removed state scientific research from direct practical applications. Numerous commentators suggest that serious consequences followed from this kind of phenomenon, contributing to Britain’s relative economic decline.9 As stated at the outset, there is no intention here of fully exploring these debates. There are too many alternative interpretations to be assessed, which would detract from the main aims of this study. What can be shown from this account is that technical knowledge and expertise were not neglected absolutely.10 Governments knew very well that these areas had to be developed in the national economic and military interest, and they were. That such realms were looked down on by national elites is difficult to deny, although the precise material and moral effects are equally difficult to determine. It would, moreover, be anachronistic to accuse the post-war planners of being misguided. In the wake of the barbarity of the Great War, maintaining a humane higher educational ethos was a worthy, politically and even economically desirable end. With the rise of an even more monstrous regime in Germany during the 1930s, the policy would appear even wiser. Economic development was important, but led nowhere if manufactured in a repressive culture. During the inter-war period, an arrangement settled into place between the universities and the state. The universities could not survive without the state and it was recognised on all sides that there had to be some measure of co-ordination and regulation; but the state did not want to take direct control of the universities. It was important to the state that the universities maintained a real degree of freedom and independence. Thus, the buffer agencies of the research councils and the UGC mediated relationships between the universities and the state. This understanding continued into the post-Second World War period. Although the number and scale of the universities expanded enormously, and the state became much the most dominant paymaster, the role of the UGC and the research agencies remained in place, preserving a sense of academic autonomy. This ‘handsoff ’ relationship between the British universities and the state has come to

Conclusion 223 be seen as the traditional and, indeed, proper condition. It is widely argued, however, that governments in the last decades of the twentieth century have steadily reneged on this understanding, systematically undermining university autonomy and academic freedom until little of it remains.11 From the perspective of a longitudinal study of the role of the state with the English universities, how do these arguments appear? One cannot argue that state involvement with the universities is a novel occurrence: the state has played a key role in shaping the development of the English university system from the 1830s. Nor, in one sense, is the state unambiguously playing a much greater part than previously. If state policy is now to expand higher education, formerly it assumed very limited university provision and, especially in the post-war period, artificially restricted the number of places available, thus maintaining a highly selective and elitist university sector. The move to a system of mass higher education, while proportionately reducing finance, has certainly dramatically changed the character of the university system; but both the previous elitist and current mass approaches were very much dictated by the state. Bureaucratic intervention is also not a new thing. The parliamentary grant was bound up with regulations whereby university colleges were required to show that they had used the money appropriately and efficiently. Detailed accounting was probably as irksome and de-professionalising in the late nineteenth century as it is now, but it is an established and perfectly reasonable principle that public funding entails public scrutiny. More generally, the ‘hands-off ’ relationship was a tradition invented, or at least reinvented, in the wake of the First World War. There are clear signs that a quite different kind of connection was envisaged during the Edwardian period, which would have tied the universities much more closely to the rest of the educational system and to national priorities. In the 1920s, the state chose not to pursue this line but to establish a more distal relationship. Although one might admit of a certain, if admittedly tenuous, kind of equivalence between a state policy of actively keeping a distance from the universities and one of actively becoming more interventionist, the effects are very different. In recent years, the state has taken much greater control over the universities. In some respects, this has revived aspects of former relationships, of regulation, bureaucratic scrutiny and detailed accounting. One feature that has remained constant throughout state involvement is the university hierarchy. Even with the development of a system of mass higher education, the assumption that some institutions are inherently superior to others, that the select few deserve a better quality education than the rest, still pervades higher education – as it does the rest of the educational system. Depressingly, this notion is now being argued evermore insistently, apparently without serious question. A quite new aspect of the relationships currently being forged between universities and the state is the overriding emphasis on the economic functions of the university. That universities have a crucial part to play in

224 Conclusion national economic development was recognised in the late nineteenth century. Similarly, the potential career value of a university education to the individual has also been conceded from the formation of the professional faculties of the earliest universities. At no stage in the period covered here, however, were economic factors regarded as the principal or dominant purpose of the university. Utilitarians may have wanted useful and efficient education – but alongside existing subjects. Bureaucratic officials may have demanded a just measure of work – but in the spectrum of subjects the university wanted to provide or the student wanted to study. Idealist conceptions of the university were predicated on the search for higher truths and values, in whatever discipline. After the desperate struggle of the First World War, state planners recognised that the health of the nation did not rest in economic regeneration alone; that to preserve a sense of rational humanity in a set of institutions free from direct state control was a positive good. Confronted by the inhumanity of Nazism, the universities were mobilised with the rest of the nation’s resources, a fundamental part of which was the moral imperative to keep the lights of civilisation burning. In the drive towards a purely economic model there is little sense of the balancing social, cultural and moral value of the university, either for the individual or for the nation. Throughout the period considered in this study, both universities and the state were quite aware of the fundamental tension charging the relationships between them. That universities were too important to be left entirely to their own devices was a central issue of the first Royal Commissions on Oxford and Cambridge. From the mid-nineteenth century onwards the value of the universities to the nation only increased, demanding closer involvement by the state. Yet it was also recognised that autonomy and independence formed the essence of a university. Higher education and research were inherently open-ended activities, and if the universities were to function effectively in the national interest they had to enjoy freedom from intrusive intervention. How to reconcile the two contradictory impulses has exercised the state from its first tentative steps into the arena: how to ensure that the universities were operating efficiently and responsively to national priorities, while leaving enough scope to discover and pursue priorities that no one had even thought of, or to criticise prevailing assumptions of what really constituted the priorities. The problem remains constitutive of state–university relationships to this day and has become an extremely pressing one, susceptible to no easy solution. Too distant a connection carries the danger that universities become divorced from the currents of everyday life and remote from the societies of which they are a part and that they are supposed to serve. Over-involvement by the state risks distorting the mission of the universities by emphasising only parts of their role and, in so doing, stifling the very elements that make them so valuable, to the ultimate detriment both of the universities and of national life.

Notes

Introduction 1 D. Warner and D. Palfreyman (eds), The State of UK Higher Education. Managing Change and Diversity (Society for Research into Higher Education and Open University Press: Buckingham, 2001). G. Williams (ed.),The Enterprising University. Reform, Excellence and Equity (Society for Research into Higher Education and Open University Press: Buckingham, 2003). 2 D. Maskell and I. Robinson, The New Idea of a University (Haven Books: London: 2001). B. Readings, The University in Ruins (Harvard University Press: Cambridge, Mass., 1996). For a more measured critique see R. Barnett, The Limits of Competence. Knowledge, Higher Education and Society (Society for Research into Higher Education and Open University Press: Buckingham, 1994). 3 N. Bennett, E. Dunne and C. Carre, Skills Development in Higher Education and Employment (Society for Research into Higher Education and Open University Press: Buckingham, 2000). Readings, University in Ruins. 4 T. Tapper and B. Salter, Oxford, Cambridge and the Changing Idea of the University. The Challenge to Donnish Domination (Society for Research into Higher Education and Open University Press: Buckingham, 1992). A. H. Halsey, Decline of Donnish Dominion. The British Academic Professions in the Twentieth Century (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1992). B. Salter and T. Tapper, The State and Higher Education (Woburn Press: Ilford, 1994). 5 H. Perkin, ‘The Pattern of Social Transformation in England’, in K. H. Jarausch (ed.),The Transformation of Higher Learning 1860–1930. Expansion, Diversification, Social Opening and Professionalisation in England, Germany, Russia and the United States (University of Chicago Press: Chicago, 1983), pp. 207–18. 6 E. Ives, D. Drummond and L. Schwartz, The First Civic University: Birmingham 1880–1980. An Introductory History (Birmingham University Press: Birmingham, 2000). B. Pullan with M. Abendstern, A History of the University of Manchester 1951–73 (Manchester University Press: Manchester, 2000). Work is also in progress on histories of Leeds and Sheffield universities. 7 A. Fowler and T. Wyke, Many Arts, Many Skills. The Origin of Manchester Metropolitan University (Manchester Metropolitan University Press: Manchester, 1993). T. Burgess, M. Locke, J. Pratt and N. Richards, Degrees East. The Making of the University of East London 1892–1992 (Athlone: London, 1995). 8 For a discussion of the potential pitfalls of university histories, see The Times Higher Educational Supplement, 15 August 2003. 9 The volumes most apposite here are: M. G. Brock and M. C. Curthoys (eds), The History of the University of Oxford, Vol. VI, Nineteenth Century Oxford,

226 Notes

10

11

12

13

14 15

16

17

Part 1 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1997). M. G. Brock and M. C. Curthoys (eds), The History of the University of Oxford, Vol. VII, Nineteenth Century Oxford, Part 2 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 2000). B. Harrison (ed.),The History of the University of Oxford, Vol. VIII. The Twentieth Century (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1994). P. Searby, A History of the University of Cambridge, Vol. III. 1750–1870 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1997). C. N. L. Brooke, A History of the University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 1870–1990 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1993). W. H. G. Armytage, Civic Universities. Aspects of a British Tradition (Ernest Benn Ltd: London, 1955). M. Sanderson, The Universities and British Industry 1850–1970 (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1972). M. Sanderson (ed.), The Universities in the Nineteenth Century (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1975). D. R. Jones, The Origins of Civic Universities. Manchester, Leeds and Liverpool (Routledge: London, 1988). R. D. Anderson, Universities and Elites in Britain Since 1800 (Macmillan: London, 1992). A. H. Halsey, ‘The Changing Functions of Universities’, in A. H. Halsey, J. Floud and C. A. Anderson (eds), Education, Economy and Society (The Free Press: New York, 1961), pp. 456–65. A. H. Halsey and M. A. Trow, The British Academics (Faber and Faber: London, 1971). J. Ben-David and A. Zloczower, ‘Universities and Academic Systems in Modern Societies’, Archives of European Sociology, III (1962), pp. 45–54. B. Wittrock, ‘The Modern University: The Three Transformations’, in S. Rothblatt and B. Wittrock (eds), The European and American University Since 1800. Historical and Sociological Essays (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1993), pp. 303–62. For a discussion of a range of such theories, see A. Green, Education and State Formation. The Rise of Education Systems in England, France and the USA (Macmillan: London, 1990). F. K. Ringer, Education and Society in Modern Europe (Indiana University Press: Bloomington, 1979). Jarausch (ed.), Transformation of Higher Learning. D. K. Müller, F. Ringer and B. Simon (eds), The Rise of the Modern Educational System: Structural Change and Social Reproduction 1870–1920 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1987). H. Silver, Higher Education and Opinion Making in Twentieth-century England (Woburn: London, 2003), also discusses a process of system-building, although from the somewhat different perspective of ideas and opinions about the English universities. Halsey, ‘Changing Functions of Universities’, in Halsey, Floud and Anderson (eds), Education, Economy and Society. R. Lowe, ‘Structural Change in English Higher Education, 1870–1920’, in Müller, Ringer and Simon (eds), Rise of the Modern Educational System, pp. 163–78. Anderson, Universities and Elites. S. V. Barnes, ‘England’s Civic Universities and the Triumph of the Oxbridge Ideal’, History of Education Quarterly, 36 (1996), pp. 271–305. For useful summaries of the decline debate, see M. J. Wiener, English Culture and the Decline of the Industrial Spirit 1850–1890 (Penguin: London, 1985). B. Collins and K. Robbins (eds), British Culture and Economic Decline (Weidenfeld and Nicolson: London, 1990). M. Dintenfass, The Decline of Industrial Britain 1870–1980 (Routledge: London, 1992). S. Pollard, Britain’s Prime and Britain’s Decline. The British Economy 1870–1914 (Edward Arnold: London, 1989). For useful, brief histories of Oxford and Cambridge, see V. H. H. Green, A History of Oxford University (B. T. Batsford: London, 1974). E. LeedhamGreen, A Concise History of the University of Cambridge (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1996). C. Harvie, ‘Reform and Expansion, 1854–1871’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds),

Notes 227

18

19 20 21 22 23

24 25

Nineteenth Century Oxford, Part 1, pp. 697–730. W. R. Ward, Victorian Oxford (Frank Cass: London, 1965). A. J. Engel, From Clergyman to Don. The Rise of the Academic Profession in Nineteenth Century Oxford (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1983). Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. S. Rothblatt, The Revolution of the Dons. Cambridge and Society in Victorian England (Faber and Faber: London, 1968). G. Weisz, The Emergence of Modern Universities in France, 1863–1914 (Princeton University Press: Princeton, 1983). C. E. McClelland, State, Society and University in Germany 1700–1914 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1980). R. O. Berdahl, British Universities and the State (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1959). C. H. Shinn, Paying the Piper. The Development of the University Grants Committee, 1919–46 (Falmer Press: London, 1986). Tapper and Salter, Changing Idea of the University. Halsey, Decline of Donnish Dominion. Salter and Tapper, State and Higher Education. Sanderson (ed.), Universities in the Nineteenth Century. Anderson, Universities and Elites. S. Rothblatt, ‘The Diversification of Higher Education in England’, in Jarausch (ed.), Transformation of Higher Learning, pp. 131–48. R. D. Anderson, Education and Opportunity in Victorian Scotland. Schools and Universities (Edinburgh University Press: Edinburgh, 1983). J. Gwyn Williams, The University Movement in Wales (University of Wales Press: Cardiff, 1993). P. Stansky (ed.), The Victorian Revolution. Government and Society in Victoria’s Britain (New Viewpoints: New York, 1973). G. Sutherland (ed.), Studies in the Growth of Nineteenth-Century Government (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1972). O. MacDonagh, Early Victorian Government 1830–1870 (Weidenfeld and Nicolson: London, 1977). R. MacLeod (ed.), Government and Expertise. Specialists, Administrators and Professionals, 1860–1919 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1988). W. A. C. Stewart, Higher Education in Post-War Britain (Macmillan: London, 1989). H. Silver, A Higher Education. The Council for National Academic Awards and British Higher Education 1964–89 (Falmer Press: London, 1990). Anderson, Education and Opportunity in Victorian Scotland. Gwyn Williams, University Movement in Wales.

1 The national universities, c.1800–1900 1 This opening sketch is based on the outline surveys given by V. H. H. Green, A History of Oxford University (Batsford: London, 1974). E. Leedham-Green, A Concise History of the University of Cambridge (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1996). 2 The national significance of endowments is discussed in C. Shrosbree, Public Schools and Private Education. The Clarendon Commission 1861–64 and the Public Schools Acts (Manchester University Press: Manchester, 1988). 3 This presents a terminological problem. For ease of exposition without, hopefully, loss of clarity, ‘University’ (with upper case) will be used to refer to the University as opposed to the colleges, and ‘university’ (with lower case) to refer to the university and colleges altogether. This avoids constant repetition of ‘the university and colleges of ’ for the latter. Sometimes ‘Oxford’ and ‘Cambridge’ will be used as shorthand. On the rare occasions when the towns are referred to, this will be made apparent. 4 Green, Oxford University. P. Searby, A History of the University of Cambridge, Vol. III,1750–1870 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1997). 5 J. McConica, ‘The Rise of the Undergraduate College’, in J. McConica (ed.), The History of the University of Oxford, Vol. III, The Collegiate University

228 Notes

6

7 8

9

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24

(Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1986), pp. 1–68. L. Stone, ‘The Educational Revolution in England, 1560–1640’, Past and Present, 28 (1964), pp. 41–80. M. C. Curthoys, ‘The “Unreformed” Colleges’, in M. G. Brock and M. C. Curthoys (eds), The History of the University of Oxford, Vol. VI, Nineteenth Century Oxford, Part 1 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1997), pp. 146–73. Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. V. H. H. Green, Oxford Common Room. A Study of Lincoln College and Mark Pattison (Edward Arnold: London, 1957). Curthoys, ‘The “Unreformed” Colleges’. Green, Oxford Common Room. Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. S. Rothblatt, Tradition and Change in English Liberal Education. An Essay in History and Culture (Faber and Faber: London, 1976). M. M. Garland, Cambridge Before Darwin. The Ideal of Liberal Education, 1800–1860 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1980). Traditionally, the Bachelor’s degree was preparatory to the higher faculties of Theology, Law and Medicine. L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘The European University in the Age of Revolution, 1789–1850’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VI, pp. 77–133. H. de Ridder-Symoens (ed.), A History of the University in Europe, Vol. II, Universities in Early Modern Europe (1500–1800) (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1996). A. H. T. Robb-Smith, ‘Medical Education’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VI, pp. 563–82. Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. W. Prest (ed.), The Professions in Early Modern England (Croom Helm: London, 1987). M. G. Brock, ‘The Oxford of Peel and Gladstone, 1800–1833’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VI, pp. 7–71. Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. W. R. Ward, Victorian Oxford (Frank Cass: London, 1965). Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. A. Haig, The Victorian Clergy (Croom Helm: London, 1984). Curthoys, ‘The “Unreformed” Colleges’. Green, Oxford Common Room. Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. P. B. Nockles ‘ “Lost Causes and . . . Impossible Loyalties”: The Oxford Movement and the University’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VI, pp. 195–267. S. Rothblatt, The Modern University and its Discontents. The Fate of Newman’s Legacies in Britain and America (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1997). M. C. Curthoys, ‘The Examination System’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VI, pp. 334–74. K. C. Turpin, ‘The Ascendancy of Oriel’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VI, pp. 183–92. L. Stone, ‘Size and Composition of the Oxford Student Body 1580–1910’, in L. Stone (ed.), The University in Society, Vol. 1, Oxford and Cambridge from the Fourteenth to the Early Nineteenth Century (Princeton University Press: Princeton, 1975), pp. 3–110. Leedham-Green, University of Cambridge. Brock ‘Oxford of Peel and Gladstone’. Ward, Victorian Oxford. Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. Green, Oxford University. A. Briggs, ‘Oxford and its Critics, 1800–1815’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VI, pp. 134–45. Ward, Victorian Oxford. Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. C. E. McClelland, State, Society and University in Germany 1700–1914 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1980). M. J. Hofstetter, The Romantic Idea of a University. England and Germany, 1770–1850 (Palgrave: London,

Notes 229

25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53

2001). S.-E. Liedman, ‘In Search of Isis: General Education in Germany and Sweden’, in S. Rothblatt and B. Wittrock (eds), The European and American University Since 1800. Historical and Sociological Essays (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1993). R. D. Anderson, Education and Opportunity in Victorian Scotland. Schools and Universities (Edinburgh University Press: Edinburgh, 1983). See Chapter 2. Briggs, ‘Oxford and its Critics’. Ward, Victorian Oxford. Garland, Cambridge Before Darwin. P. Slee, ‘The Oxford Idea of a Liberal Education 1800–1860: The Invention of Tradition and the Manufacture of Practice’, History of Universities, 7 (1988), pp. 61–87. Briggs, ‘Oxford and its Critics’. Ward, Victorian Oxford. Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. O. Chadwick, The Victorian Church, Part I (Adam and Charles Black: London, 3rd edition 1971). D. Newsome, Godliness and Good Learning. Four Studies on a Victorian Ideal (Cassell: London, 1961). J. R. de S. Honey, Tom Brown’s Universe. The Development of the Victorian Public School (Millington: London, 1977). T. W. Bamford, Rise of the Public Schools. A Study of Boys’ Public Boarding Schools in England and Wales from 1837 to the Present Day (Nelson: London, 1967). Hofstetter, Romantic Idea of a University. B. Knights, The Idea of the Clerisy in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1978). Nockles ‘Lost Causes’. O. Chadwick, Prince Albert and the University (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1997). Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. E. G. W. Bill, University Reform in Nineteenth Century Oxford. A Study of Henry Halford Vaughan 1811–1885 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1973). O. MacDonagh, Early Victorian Government 1830–1870 (Weidenfeld and Nicolson: London, 1977). P. Stansky (ed.), The Victorian Revolution. Government and Society in Victoria’s Britain (New Viewpoints: New York, 1973). This point is taken up Chapter 2. M. G. Brock, ‘Introduction’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VI, pp. 1–3. G. Faber, Jowett. A Portrait With Background (Faber and Faber: London, 1957). Report of Her Majesty’s Commissioners appointed to inquire into The State, Discipline, Studies and Revenues of the University and Colleges of Oxford [1482] 1852. [Hereafter, Oxford Report]. Report of Her Majesty’s Commissioners appointed to inquire into The State, Discipline, Studies and Revenues of the University and Colleges of Cambridge [1559] 1852–53. [Hereafter, Cambridge Report]. Oxford Report, pp. 3–17. Cambridge Report, pp. 2–15. Ward, Victorian Oxford. Oxford Report, pp. 19–54. Cambridge Report, pp. 16–19, pp. 145–9. Oxford Report, pp. 55–6. Cambridge Report, pp. 38–46. Oxford Report, pp. 56–124. Cambridge Report, pp. 74–114. Bill, University Reform. Oxford Report, pp. 149–68. Oxford Report. Chadwick, Prince Albert and the University. Oxford Report, p. 260. Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III.

230 Notes 54 Copies of Letters addressed to the Chancellors of the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge by the Secretary of State for the Home Department (27) 1854. 55 Correspondence respecting the Proposed Measures of Improvement in the Universities and Colleges of Oxford and Cambridge (90) 1854. 56 Oxford University Act 1854. Cambridge University Act 1856. 57 Oxford Report, p. 3. 58 Ward, Victorian Oxford. Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. 59 Report of the Commissioners . . . on Oxford University (343) 1857–8. 60 Green, Oxford Common Room. 61 Report of the Commissioners on Oxford University 1857–8. 62 Report of the Cambridge University Commissioners [2852] 1861. 63 D. A. Winstanley, Later Victorian Cambridge (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1947). 64 Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III. Bill, University Reform. 65 Report of the Cambridge Commissioners 1861. 66 R. MacLeod, ‘Introduction’, in R. MacLeod (ed.), Government and Expertise. Specialists, Administrators and Professionals, 1800–1919 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1988), pp. 1–24. 67 T. W. Heyck, The Transformation of Intellectual Life in Victorian England (Croom Helm: London, 1982). 68 Garland, Cambridge Before Darwin. 69 Ward, Victorian Oxford. 70 A. J. Engel, From Clergyman to Don. The Rise of the Academic Profession in Nineteenth Century Oxford (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1983). S. Rothblatt, The Revolution of the Dons. Cambridge and Society in Victorian England (Faber and Faber: London, 1968). 71 Heyck, Transformation of Intellectual Life. Engel, Clergyman to Don. Rothblatt, Revolution of the Dons. 72 Green, Oxford Common Room. J. Sparrow, Mark Pattison and the Idea of a University (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1967). 73 Ward, Victorian Oxford. C. Harvie, The Lights of Liberalism. University Liberals and the Challenge of Democracy 1860–86 (Allen Lane: London, 1976). 74 A. Desmond and J. Moore, Darwin (Penguin: London, 1991). J. R. Moore, The Post-Darwinian Controversies (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1979). 75 C. Harvie, ‘Reform and Expansion, 1854–1871’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VI, pp. 697–730. E. Abbott and L. Campbell, The Life and Letters of Benjamin Jowett, Vol. 1 (John Murray: London, 1897). Ward, Victorian Oxford. 76 Ward, Victorian Oxford. 77 ‘Petition of the Chancellor, Masters and Scholars of the University of Oxford, in First Report from the Select Committee of the House of Lords on University Tests (179-I) 1871, p. 584. 78 Ward, Victorian Oxford. 79 Report from the Select Committee of the House of Lords on University Tests (179) 1871. The Universities Tests Act 1871. 80 The University of Durham was also an exclusively Anglican institution, but will be considered further in Chapter 3. 81 M. Pattison, Suggestions on Academical Organisation. With Especial Reference to Oxford (Edmonston and Douglas: Edinburgh, 1868). 82 Letter from Gladstone to the Vice-Chancellors of Oxford and Cambridge Universities, 24 October 1871, in Report of the Commissioners appointed to inquire into the Property and Income of the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, and of the Colleges and Halls therein [C. 856] 1873. [Hereafter, referred to as the Cleveland Commission, after its chairman.]

Notes 231 83 MacDonagh, Early Victorian Government. 84 Shrosbree, Public Schools and Private Education. 85 J. Roach, A History of Secondary Education in England, 1800–1870 (Longman: London, 1980). J. Roach, Secondary Education in England 1870–1902. Public Activity and Private Enterprise (Routledge: London, 1991). 86 Gladstone to Vice-Chancellors, in Cleveland Commission. 87 Cleveland Commission, Preliminary letters Report p. 24. 88 Cleveland Commission, Report. 89 Memorial from R. Burn and H. A. Morgan to W. E. Gladstone, 25 April 1873. Cleveland Commission. 90 Resolutions from New College, Oxford. Cleveland Commission. 91 Return to an Address of the Honourable The House of Commons (349) 1876. 92 Copy of the Report . . . to Consider the Requirements of the University in Different Departments of Study (272) 1876. 93 Cleveland Commission, Report, p. 37. 94 The Universities of Oxford and Cambridge Act 1877. 95 Anderson, Education and Opportunity in Victorian Scotland. For a highly partisan version see G. E. Davie, The Democratic Intellect. Scotland and her Universities in the Nineteenth Century (Edinburgh University Press: Edinburgh, 1961). 96 Report of the Committee on Scottish Universities [Cd. 5257] 1910. 97 T. W. Moody, ‘The Irish University Question of the Nineteenth Century’, History, 43 (1958), pp. 90–109. Most of the following section is based on the historical survey provided in the Royal Commission on University Education in Ireland. Final Report [Cd. 1483] 1903. 98 R. F. Foster, Modern Ireland 1600–1972 (Penguin: London, 1990). 99 University Education in Ireland 1903. 100 Bill to make better provision for University Education in Ireland (183) 1878–9. 101 University Education in Ireland 1903. 102 This is discussed in Chapter 2. 103 R. B. Haldane, An Autobiography (Hodder and Stoughton: London, 1929). London University and Haldane’s role will be considered further in Chapter 2. 104 The Irish University Question. Memorandum written by Mr Haldane at the request of Mr Arthur Balfour 20th October 1898’. MS 6108 A. Haldane Papers. National Library of Scotland. 105 Draft Charter University of Leinster 27th July 1897. Draft charter Ulster University 30th July 1897. MS6108. Haldane Papers. 106 Haldane, The Irish University Question. 107 Irish Universities Act 1908. 108 J. Gwyn Williams, The University Movement in Wales (University of Wales Press: Cardiff, 1993). There is also a useful historical sketch in the Report of the Committee to Inquire into the Condition of Intermediate and Higher Education in Wales [C 3047] 1881. [Hereafter Aberdare Report]. 109 Aberdare Report, 1881. 110 Report of the Committee on the University of Wales and the Welsh University Colleges [Cd. 4571] 1909. 111 F. Temple, 1857, as quoted in J. Roach, Public Examinations in England 1850–1900 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1971), p. 72. 112 Roach, Public Examinations. M. C. Curthoys, ‘The Examination System’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VI, pp. 334–74. R. MacLeod (ed.), Days of Judgement. Science, Examinations and the Organization of Knowledge in Late-Victorian England (Studies in Education Ltd: Driffield, 1982).

232 Notes 113 Winstanley, Later Victorian Cambridge. 114 E. Welch, The Peripatetic University. Cambridge Local Lectures (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1973). J. F. C. Harrison, Learning and Living 1790–1960. A Study in the History of the English Adult Education Movement (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1961). T. Kelly, A History of Adult Education in Great Britain (Liverpool University Press: Liverpool, 3rd edition, 1992). 115 Faber, Jowett. Abbott and Campbell, Life and Letters of Benjamin Jowett. 116 MacDonagh, Early Victorian Government. 117 Abbott and Campbell, Life and Letters of Benjamin Jowett. 118 A. Ryan, ‘Utilitarianism and Bureaucracy: the Views of J. S. Mill’, in G. Sutherland (ed.), Studies in the Growth of Nineteenth-Century Government (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1972), pp. 33–62. 119 P. Gordon and J. White, Philosophers as Educational Reformers. The Influence of Idealism on British Educational Thought and Practice (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1979). 120 C. Harvie, The Lights of Liberalism. University Liberals and the Challenge of Democracy 1860–86 (Allen Lane: London, 1976). L. Goldman, Dons and Workers. Oxford and Adult Education Since 1850 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1995). M. G. Brock, ‘A “Plastic Structure” ’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 3–66. A. Ockwell and H. Pollins, ‘“Extension” in all its Forms’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 661–88. 121 Goldman, Dons and Workers. Ockwell and Pollins, ‘Extension’. L. Grier, Achievement in Education. The Work of Michael Ernest Sadler 1885–1935 (Constable: London, 1952). 122 S. Meacham, Toynbee Hall and Social Reform 1880–1914 (Yale University Press: New Haven, 1987). 123 M. Bryant, The Unexpected Revolution. A Study in the History of the Education of Women and Girls in the Nineteenth Century (University of London Institute of Education: London, 1979). 124 R. McWilliams-Tullberg, Women at Cambridge. A Men’s University – Though of a Mixed Type (Victor Gollanz: London, 1975). 125 J. Howarth, ‘ “In Oxford but . . . not of Oxford.” The Women’s Colleges’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 237–307. 126 Universities of Oxford and Cambridge Act 1877. 127 J. P. D. Dunbabin, ‘Finance and Property’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VI. 128 J. Howarth, ‘ “Oxford for Arts”: The Natural Sciences, 1880–1914’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 457–97. C. N. L. Brooke, A History of the University of Cambridge, Vol. IV, 1870–1990 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1993). 129 C. Harvie, ‘From the Cleveland Commission to the Statutes of 1882’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 67–95. J. Howarth, ‘The Self-Governing University, 1882–1914’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 599–643. 130 Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 131 Howarth, ‘Self-Governing University’. Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 132 P. R. H. Slee, Learning and a Liberal Education. The Study of Modern History in the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge and Manchester 1800–1914 (Manchester University Press: Manchester, 1986). 133 Howarth, ‘ “Oxford for Arts” ’. 134 Garland, Cambridge Before Darwin. Searby, University of Cambridge, Vol. III.

Notes 233 135 Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 136 G. L. Geison, Michael Foster and the Cambridge School of Physiology. The Scientific Enterprise in Late Victorian Society (Princeton University Press: Princeton, 1978). 137 Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 138 Howarth, ‘ “Oxford for Arts” ’. 139 Howarth, ‘ “Oxford for Arts” ’. Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 140 Haig, Victorian Clergy. 141 Prest (ed.), Professions in Early Modern England. 142 Oxford Report 1852. Cambridge Report 1852–3. 143 B. Nicholas, ‘Jurisprudence’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 385–96. Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 144 Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 145 Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 146 J. B. Morrell, ‘The Non-Medical Sciences, 1914–1939’, in B. Harrison (ed.), The History of the University of Oxford, Vol. VIII, The Twentieth Century (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1994), pp. 139–63. 147 R. Symonds, Oxford and Empire. The Last Lost Cause? (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1991). 148 Heyck, Transformation of Intellectual Life. 149 Engel, Clergyman to Don. Rothblatt, Revolution of the Dons. 150 Brock, ‘A “Plastic Structure” ’. A. G. L. Haig, ‘The Church, the Universities and Learning in Later Victorian England’, The Historical Journal, 29 (1986), pp. 187–201. 151 Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 152 M. C. Curthoys and J. Howarth, ‘Origins and Destinations: The Social Mobility of Oxford Men and Women’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 571–95. 153 J. R. de S. Honey and M. C. Curthoys, ‘Oxford and Schooling’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 545–69. 154 Brock, ‘A “Plastic Structure” ’. M. C. Curthoys, ‘The Colleges in the New Era’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 115–57. Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 2 A university for London, 1825–1900 1 To try to ease the terminological confusion, the original institution calling itself the university of London will henceforth be given in quotation marks. The new University of London of 1836 will be capitalised. 2 N. Harte, The University of London, 1836–1986. An Illustrated History (Athlone: London, 1986). 3 W. Prest (ed.), The Professions in Early Modern England (Croom Helm: London, 1987). 4 S. Rothblatt, Tradition and Change in English Liberal Education. An Essay in History and Culture (Faber and Faber: London, 1976). S. Rothblatt, ‘London: A Metropolitan University?’, in T. Bender (ed.), The University and the City. From Medieval Origins to the Present (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1988), pp. 119–49. 5 H. H. Bellot, University College London 1826–1926 (University of London Press: London, 1929). 6 H. Silver, English Education and the Radicals 1780–1850 (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1975). 7 Bellot, University College.

234 Notes 8 F. J. C. Hearnshaw, The Centenary History of King’s College London 1828–1928 (Harrop: London, 1929). 9 Bellot, University College. Hearnshaw, King’s College. 10 Hearnshaw, King’s College. 11 Hearnshaw, King’s College. 12 Hearnshaw, King’s College. 13 C. Newman, The Evolution of Medical Education in the Nineteenth Century (Oxford University Press: London, 1957). I. Loudon, Medical Care and the General Practitioner 1750–1850 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1986). 14 Loudon, Medical Care. 15 Newman, Medical Education. Loudon, Medical Care. 16 R. Porter, ‘The Gift Relation: Philanthropy and Provincial Hospitals in Eighteenth Century England’, in L. Granshaw and R. Porter (eds), The Hospital in History (Routledge: London, 1989), pp. 149–78. L. Granshaw, ‘The Rise of the Modern Hospital in Britain’, in A. Wear (ed.), Medicine in Society (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1992), pp. 197–218. 17 Newman, Medical Education. 18 A. E. Clark-Kennedy, ‘The London Hospitals and the Rise of the University’, in F. N. L. Poynter (ed.), The Evolution of Medical Education in Britain (Pitman: London, 1966), pp. 111–20. 19 W. F. Bynum, Science and the Practice of Medicine in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1994). 20 L. P. Le Quesne, ‘Medicine’, in F. M. L. Thompson (ed.), The University of London and the World of Learning 1836–1986 (Hambledon Press: London, 1990), pp. 125–45. 21 Bellot, University College. 22 F. M. G. Wilson, Our Minerva. The Men and Politics of the University of London, 1836–1858 (Athlone: London, 1995). 23 Hearnshaw, King’s College. 24 Wilson, Our Minerva. 25 Hearnshaw, King’s College. 26 See Chapter 1. 27 A. Desmond, The Politics of Evolution. Morphology, Medicine and Reform in Radical London (University of Chicago Press: Chicago, 1989). 28 Wilson, Our Minerva. 29 Wilson, Our Minerva. 30 Hearnshaw, King’s College. 31 Wilson, Our Minerva. 32 Harte, University of London. 33 Wilson, Our Minerva. 34 P. Dunsheath and M. Miller, Convocation in the University of London. The First Hundred Years (Athlone Press: London, 1958). 35 Dunsheath and Miller, Convocation. Wilson, Our Minerva. 36 S. Rothblatt, The Modern University and Its Discontents. The Fate of Newman’s Legacies in Britain and America (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1997). 37 Bellot, University College. 38 Hearnshaw, King’s College. 39 A. H. Manchester, Modern Legal History (Butterworths: London, 1980). 40 Bellot, University College. 41 W. L. Twining, ‘Laws’, in Thompson (ed.), World of Learning, pp. 81–114. 42 Bellot, University College. Hearnshaw, King’s College. 43 Hearnshaw, King’s College. 44 Bellot, University College.

Notes 235 45 Harte, University of London. 46 Bellot, University College. 47 A. L. Mansell, ‘Examinations and Medical Education: The Preliminary Sciences in the Examinations of London University and the English Conjoint Board, 1861–1911’, in R. MacLeod (ed.), Days of Judgement. Science, Examinations and the Organization of Knowledge in Late-Victorian England (Studies in Education Ltd: Driffield, 1982), pp. 87–107. 48 Bellot, University College. 49 Wilson, Our Minerva. 50 M. Bryant, The Unexpected Revolution. A Study in the History of the Education of Women and Girls in the Nineteenth Century (University of London Institute of Education: London, 1979). 51 M. Tuke, A History of Bedford College for Women 1849–1937 (Oxford University Press: London, 1939). 52 Bryant, Unexpected Revolution. 53 Tuke, Bedford College. 54 J. Sondheimer, Castle Adamant in Hampstead. A History of Westfield College 1882–1982 (Westfield College: London, 1983). 55 C. Bingham, The History of Royal Holloway College 1886–1986 (Constable: London, 1987). 56 G. Sutherland, ‘The Plainest Principles of Justice: The University of London and the Higher Education of Women’, in Thompson (ed.), World of Learning, pp. 35–56. 57 Bellot, University College. 58 Hearnshaw, King’s College. 59 Dunsheath and Miller, Convocation. Sutherland, ‘Plainest Principles of Justice.’ 60 Tuke, Bedford College. Sondheimer, Castle Adamant. Bingham, Royal Holloway College. 61 C. Blake, The Charge of the Parasols. Women’s Entry to the Medical Profession (The Women’s Press: London, 1990). 62 C. Dyhouse, No Distinction of Sex? Women in British Universities, 1870–1939 (UCL Press: London, 1995). 63 The complaints would become a familiar refrain. For a summary, see Preamble and Petition of University College, London and King’s College, London for the grant of a charter for a university in and for London to be called the Albert University, Royal Commission on London University [C. 5709] 1889 [Hereafter Selbourne Commission], Appendix 6. 64 Wilson, Our Minerva. Bellot, University College. 65 See Chapter 3. 66 Preamble to the Petition, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 6. 67 Mansell, ‘Examinations and Medical Education’. 68 Memorandum on the proposed changes in the University: By Lord Justice Fry, 2nd March, 1886, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 11. 69 Mansell, ‘Examinations and Medical Education.’ 70 Memorandum by Lord Justice Fry, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 11. 71 Statement of spring 1886 by the Executive Committee of the Association for Promoting a Teaching University in London, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 3. 72 Selbourne Commission, p. 218. 73 Selbourne Commission, Minutes of Evidence, Lord Justice Fry, Q. 1023. 74 Scheme for the Constitution of the University, 24th February, 1885, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 13. 75 Selbourne Commission, Minutes of Evidence, Lord Justice Fry, Q. 1023.

236 Notes 76 Scheme embodying the resolutions of the special committee for the consideration of the scheme for the constitution of the university, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 14. 77 Dunsheath and Miller, Convocation. 78 Memorandum by Lord Justice Fry, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 11. 79 Scheme laid before the Senate, 16th March, 1887, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 15. 80 Scheme Selbourne Commission, Appendix 15, p. 241. 81 Petition of the Association for Promoting a Teaching University for London, 19th July, 1887, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 27. 82 Preamble and Petition, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 6. 83 Owens College will be explored more fully in Chapter 3. 84 Preamble, Selbourne Commission, p. 225. 85 Preamble, Selbourne Commission, p. 226. 86 Petition, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 7. 87 Report of the Selbourne Commission. 88 Selbourne Commission, Minutes of Evidence, Lord Justice Fry, Q. 1026. 89 Letter from A. Milman (Registrar University of London), 3rd August, 1887, Selbourne Commission, Appendix 12. 90 Selbourne Commission, Minutes of Evidence, Lord Justice Fry, Q. 1028. 91 Report of the Selbourne Commission, p. 1. 92 Report of the Selbourne Commission, p. x. 93 Dunsheath and Miller, Convocation. 94 Report of the Selbourne Commission. 95 Report of the Selbourne Commission, Reservations. 96 Dunsheath and Miller, Convocation. 97 Draft of a Supplemental Charter, March 1891, Report of the Commissioners appointed to consider the Draft Charter for the Proposed Gresham University in London [C. 7259] 1894 [Hereafter Cowper Commission], Appendix 15. 98 Dunsheath and Miller, Convocation. 99 Hearnshaw, King’s College. It seems that no other London interests besides Bedford College were even called as witnesses to the Privy Council’s review of the petition. With some candour, Hearnshaw suspects that key members of the Privy Council were rather too close to King’s College. 100 Two petitions of University College, London and King’s College London for the grant of a charter for a university in and for London district, to be called Gresham University (73) 1892. 101 Hearnshaw, King’s College. 102 Letter from the committee for opposing the grant of the Albert University Charter, 2nd February, 1892, Cowper Commission, Appendix 58, Paper no. 5. 103 Dunsheath and Miller, Convocation. 104 Report of the Cowper Commission. 105 Tuke, Bedford College. 106 P. Alter, The Reluctant Patron. Science and the State in Britain 1850–1920 (Berg: Oxford, 1987). M. Argles, South Kensington to Robbins. An Account of English Technical and Scientific Education Since 1851 (Longmans: London, 1964). P. Summerfield and E. J. Evans (eds), Technical Education and the State Since 1850: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives (Manchester University Press: Manchester, 1990). The issue of scientific and technical education will be taken up more fully in Chapter 3. 107 A. R. Hall, Science for Industry. A Short History of the Imperial College of Science and Technology and its Antecedents (Imperial College: London, 1982). 108 B. Trowell, ‘Music’, in Thompson (ed.), World of Learning, pp. 183–207. 109 S. Evans, ‘Theology’, in Thompson (ed.), World of Learning, pp. 147–60.

Notes 237 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122

123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139

Report of the Cowper Commission. Report of the Cowper Commission, p. xxii. Report of the Cowper Commission, p. xxxix. Report of the Cowper Commission, p. xvi. Report of the Cowper Commission, p. xvii. C. Delisle Burns, A Short History of Birkbeck College (University of London) (University of London Press: London, 1924). S. J. Teague, The City University. A History (The City University: London, 1980). H. Silver and S. J. Teague (eds), Chelsea College – A History (Chelsea College: London, 1977). Report of the Cowper Commission, p. xxiii. Harte, University of London. Report of the Cowper Commission. The Day Training Colleges are considered further in Chapter 3. Report of the Cowper Commission, p. xlvi. E. Ashby and M. Anderson, Portrait of Haldane at Work on Education (Macmillan: London, 1974). In their exclusive attention to Haldane, Ashby and Anderson tend to overplay his role, but it was undoubtedly enormous, and we will come across Haldane repeatedly. R. B. Haldane, An Autobiography (Hodder and Stoughton: London, 1929). R. B. Haldane, ‘The Dedicated Life. A Rectorial Address Delivered to the Students of the University of Edinburgh, 10th January, 1907’, in Universities and National Life. Three Addresses to Students (John Murray: London, 1910). D. Logan, Haldane and the University of London (Birkbeck College: London, 1960). Haldane, Autobiography. E. J. T. Brennan (ed.), Education for National Efficiency: The Contribution of Sidney and Beatrice Webb (Athlone: London, 1975). S. Caine, The History of the Foundation of the London School of Economics and Political Science (G. Bell and Sons: London, 1963). Ashby and Anderson, Portrait of Haldane. The Irish University Question. Memorandum written by Mr Haldane at the request of Mr Arthur Balfour, 20th October, 1898. Haldane Papers MS 6108 A. See Chapter 1 for a fuller discussion. House of Commons Debates, 25th July 1898. Haldane, Autobiography. The arguments that he later claimed swung the day, however, bear little resemblance to what he actually said. University of London Act 1898. Report to Accompany Statutes and Regulations made by the Commissioners appointed under the University of London Act 1898 [Cd. 83] 1900. Report of the Commissioners, p. 3. Brennan, Education for National Efficiency. S. Webb, ‘London University: A Policy and a Forecast’, [1902]. Reprinted in Brennan, Education for National Efficiency. Logan, Haldane and the University of London. See Chapter 4.

3 The provincial university colleges, 1850–1900 1 W. H. G. Armytage, Civic Universities. Aspects of a British Tradition (Ernest Benn: London, 1955). 2 H. B. Charlton, Portrait of a University 1851–1951. To Commemorate the Centenary of Manchester University (Manchester University Press: Manchester, 1951).

238 Notes 3 M. Arnold, Culture and Anarchy (edited by J. D. Wilson, Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1937). 4 I. Webb, ‘The Bradford Wool Exchange: Industrial Capitalism and the Popularity of Gothic’, Victorian Studies, 20 (1976), pp. 45–68. 5 A. Kidd and D. Nicholls (eds), The Making of the British Middle Class? Studies of Regional and Cultural Diversity Since the Eighteenth Century (Sutton: Stroud, 1998). A. Kidd and D. Nicholls (eds), Gender, Civic Culture and Consumerism. Middle-class Identity in Britain, 1800–1940 (Manchester University Press: Manchester, 1999). 6 A. Thackray, ‘Natural Knowledge in Cultural Context: The Manchester Model’, American Historical Review, 79 (1974), pp. 672–709. I. Inkster and J. Morrell (eds), Metropolis and Province. Science in British Culture, 1780–1850 (Hutchinson: London, 1983). 7 D. Read, The English Provinces c.1760–1960. A Study in Influence (Edward Arnold: London, 1964). 8 D. Fraser, Power and Authority in the Victorian City (Blackwell: Oxford, 1979). E. P. Hennock, Fit and Proper Persons. Ideal and Reality in Nineteenthcentury Urban Government (Edward Arnold: London, 1973). 9 S. Rothblatt, Tradition and Change in English Liberal Education. An Essay in History and Culture (Faber and Faber: London, 1976). T. W. Heyck, The Transformation of Intellectual Life in Victorian England (Croom Helm: London, 1982). 10 C. A. Russell, Science and Social Change 1700–1900 (Macmillan: London, 1983). 11 T. Kelly, A History of Adult Education in Great Britain (Liverpool University Press: Liverpool, 1992). 12 W. J. Reader, Professional Men. The Rise of the Professional Classes in Nineteenth-Century England (Weidenfeld and Nicolson: London, 1966). 13 A. Wilson, ‘ “The Florence of the North”? The Civic Culture of Liverpool in the Early Nineteenth Century’, in Kidd and Nicholls (eds), Gender, Civic Culture and Consumerism, pp. 34–46. 14 C. Newman, The Evolution of Medical Education in the Nineteenth Century (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1957). Also, see Chapter 2. 15 C. Dyhouse, No Distinction of Sex? Women in British Universities, 1870–1939 (UCL Press: London, 1995). 16 Charlton, Portrait of a University. E. Fiddes, Chapters in the History of Owens College and of Manchester University 1851–1914 (Manchester University Press: Manchester, 1937). 17 Substance of the report of a committee of the trustees for educational purposes under the will of the late John Owens on the General Character and Plan of the College, 1850. UA/1/9A. University of Manchester archives. 18 Charlton, Portrait of a University. Fiddes, Chapters in the History of Owens College. 19 Owens College Extension, 24 February 1868. UA/1/23. University of Manchester archives. 20 Substance of a report . . . to consider the subject of obtaining new college buildings and connected subjects, February 1865. UA/1/13. Owens College Extension, n.d. UA/1/29. University of Manchester archives. 21 Charlton, Portrait of a University. 22 S. Gunn, ‘The Middle Class, Modernity and the Provincial City: Manchester c.1840–80’, in Kidd and Nicholls (eds), Gender, Civic Culture and Consumerism, pp. 112–27. 23 Charlton, Portrait of a University. Fiddes, Chapters in the History of Owens College. Moving to the suburbs was on the wish-list of the college authorities.

Notes 239

24

25 26 27 28 29

30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

40 41 42 43 44 45 46

Substance of a report, February 1865. UA/1/13. University of Manchester archives. Annual Report of the Principal, 24 June 1881. UA/1/60a. University of Manchester archives. Reports from University Colleges [C. 7439] 1894. It is difficult to be precise about what exactly these figures refer to, but they at least indicate a scale of expansion. Newman, Evolution of Medical Education. F. N. L. Poynter (ed.), The Evolution of Medical Education in Britain (Pitman: London, 1966). Medical School in Connexion with the Owens College, 3 May 1872. UA/1/46. University of Manchester archives. For the problems connected with University of London medical degrees, see Chapter 2. D. R. Jones, The Origins of Civic Universities. Manchester, Leeds and Liverpool (Routledge: London, 1988). P. Alter, The Reluctant Patron. Science and the State in Britain 1850–1920 (Berg: Oxford, 1987). M. Argles, South Kensington to Robbins. An Account of English Technical and Scientific Education Since 1851 (Longmans: London, 1964). D. S. L. Cardwell, The Organisation of Science in England (Heinemann: London, 1972). Royal Commission on Scientific Instruction and the Advancement of Science [Devonshire Commission] [C. 536] 1872. E. M. Bettenson, The University of Newcastle upon Tyne. A Historical Introduction, 1834–1971 (University of Newcastle upon Tyne: Newcastle, 1971). Report of the Commissioners appointed for the purposes of the Durham University Act, 1861 [3173] 1863. Bettenson, The University of Newcastle upon Tyne. Reports from University Colleges [C. 7439] 1894. P. H. J. H. Gosden and A. J. Taylor (eds), Studies in the History of a University 1874–1974. To Commemorate the Centenary of the University of Leeds (E. J. Arnold: Leeds, 1975). E. Ives, D. Drummond and L. Schwarz, The First Civic University: Birmingham 1880–1980 (Birmingham University Press: Birmingham, 2000). L. Goldman, Dons and Workers. Oxford and Adult Education Since 1850 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1995). I. Welch, The Peripatetic University. Cambridge Local Lectures (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1973). A. Ockwell and H. Pollins, ‘ “Extension” in all its Forms’, in M. G. Brock and M. C. Curthoys (eds), The History of the University of Oxford, Vol. VII, Nineteenth Century Oxford, Part 2 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 2000), pp. 661–88. Report of a Public Meeting held at Victoria Rooms, Clifton, Bristol, 11 June 1874 to promote the Establishment of a College of Science and Literature for the West of England and South Wales. DM219 Box 1. Bristol University archives. Report of a Public Meeting, 11 June 1874. DM219. Bristol University archives. Memorandum and Articles of Association of University College, Bristol, 9 August 1876. DM615. Bristol University archives. A. W. Chapman, The Story of a Modern University. A History of the University of Sheffield (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1955). Reports from University Colleges [C. 7439] 1894. B. H. Tolley, ‘University College, Nottingham, and the Nottingham Education Bill of 1901’, History of Education, 10 (1981), pp. 263–72. J. C. Holt, The University of Reading. The First Fifty Years (University of Reading Press: Reading, 1977). W. M. Childs, Making a University. An Account of the University Movement at Reading (J. M. Dent & Sons: London, 1933). A. T. Patterson, The University of Southampton. A Centenary History of the

240 Notes

47

48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72

73

Evolution and Development of the University of Southampton, 1862–1962 (University of Southampton: Southampton, 1962). T. Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. The University of Liverpool, 1881–1981 (Liverpool University Press: Liverpool, 1981). S. Harrop, ‘A New College for a New City: An Exploration of a “Genuinely Civic Enterprise” in Sectarian Liverpool in the Late-Nineteenth Century’, paper delivered at the ISCHE Conference on Urbanisation and Education, Birmingham, 14 July 2001. I am grateful to Sylvia Harrop for a copy of this paper. Daily Courier, 25 May 1878. S.2206. University of Liverpool archives. Daily Post, 25 May 1878. S.2206. University of Liverpool archives. Minutes of the Subcommittee, 17 October 1878. S.2206. University of Liverpool archives. Pamphlet setting out background and appealing for funds made up by 28 March 1879. S.2206. University of Liverpool archives. Letter from Wm. Rathbone [dated 5 May 1880] read out at public meeting, 21 July 1880. S.2206. University of Liverpool archives. Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. Liverpool Mercury, 22 July 1880. S.2206. University of Liverpool archives. Daily Courier, 25 May 1878. S.2206. University of Liverpool archives. Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. Report from the Council to the Court, on the Application of University College, Liverpool, for Incorporation into the University, n.d. UA/2/65. University of Manchester archives. Reports from University Colleges [C. 7439] 1894. Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. Harrop, ‘A New College for a New City’. Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. M. Sanderson, The Universities and British Industry, 1850–1970 (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1972). T. H. Huxley, ‘Science and Culture, an Address Delivered at the Opening of Sir Josiah Mason’s Science College, Birmingham’, [1880], in M. Sanderson (ed.), The Universities in the Nineteenth Century (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1975). Ives et al. Birmingham 1880–1980. M. Arnold, ‘Literature and Science’ [1882], in Sanderson (ed.), Universities in the Nineteenth Century. Cardwell, Organisation of Science. W. Prest (ed.), The Professions in Early Modern England (Croom Helm: London, 1987). M. M. Garland, Cambridge Before Darwin. The Ideal of a Liberal Education, 1800–1860 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1980). J. H. Newman, The Idea of a University, edited with an Introduction by I. T. Ker (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1976). Newman, Idea of a University, p. 110. J. S. Mill, ‘Inaugural Address Delivered to the University of St. Andrews, 1 February, 1867, in Sanderson (ed.), Universities in the Nineteenth Century. See Chapter 2. M. Pattison, ‘Review of the Situation’, from Essays on the Endowment of Research 1876, in Sanderson (ed.), Universities in the Nineteenth Century. A. J. Engel, From Clergyman to Don. The Rise of the Academic Profession in Nineteenth Century Oxford (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1983). S. Rothblatt, The Revolution of the Dons. Cambridge and Society in Victorian England (Faber and Faber: London, 1968). Report to Extension Committee, 1868. UA/1/21. University of Manchester archives.

Notes 241 74 Reports from University Colleges [C. 7439] 1894. 75 Pamphlet on the question of university status, 3 March 1876. UA/2/2. University of Manchester archives. 76 Pamphlet on university status, 3 March 1876, p. 12. UA/2/2. University of Manchester archives. 77 Correspondence on university issues. UA/2/4. Pamphlet commenting on letters received, 19 May 1876. UA/2/5. University of Manchester archives. 78 Manchester Guardian, 7 July 1876. UA/2/8. University of Manchester archives. 79 The Times, 22 August 1876. UA/2/8. University of Manchester archives. 80 Scotsman, 7 July 1876. UA/2/8. University of Manchester archives. 81 Daily News, 4 October 1876. UA/2/8. University of Manchester archives. 82 This comment was referred to at the First Meeting to Confer Degrees, 1 November 1882. UA/2/54. University of Manchester archives. 83 Saturday Review, 12 August 1876. UA/2/8. University of Manchester archives. 84 The Times, 22 August 1876. UA/2/8. University of Manchester archives. 85 Pamphlet commenting on recent contributions to debate, 18 December 1877. UA/2/25. University of Manchester archives. 86 Report of the Subcommittee, 20 November 1876. UA/2/14. University of Manchester archives. 87 Report of the Subcommittee, 20 November 1876. UA/2/14. University of Manchester archives. 88 Report to the Court of Governors . . . on the University Proposal, 22 March 1877. UA/2/20. University of Manchester archives. 89 Memorial to Privy Council (Draft), n.d. UA/2/22. University of Manchester archives. 90 Fiddes, Chapters in the History of Owens College. 91 Victoria University Charter, 20 April 1880. UA/2/41B. University of Manchester archives. 92 Fiddes, Chapters in the History of Owens College. Report of the Commission appointed to Inquire into the Medical Acts [C. 3259-I] 1882. 93 Memorial to Privy Council, 20 July 1877. UA/2/21. University of Manchester archives. 94 Ramsey to Hicks, 29 June 1886. DM 692. Bristol University archives. [Photocopies of originals held at Sheffield University Library.] 95 Ramsey to Hicks, 27 June 1887. DM 692. Bristol University archives. 96 Minutes of Council meeting of Owens College, 2 July 1886. RA/1/1. University of Manchester archives. 97 Statement to be submitted to the Chancellor of the Exchequer by a deputation from the Victoria University, n.d. UA/2/71. University of Manchester archives. 98 Statement, p. 2. UA/2/71. University of Manchester archives. 99 Fiddes, Chapters in the History of Owens College. 100 Note on application from Victoria University [signed ‘FNU’], 9 February 1887. UGC5/18. PRO. 101 Extract from Treasury files, 18 March 1887. UGC5/18. 102 Extract of Treasury Blue Notes dated 1888–89. UGC5/18. 103 M. Wright, ‘Treasury Control 1854–1914’, in G. Sutherland (ed.), Studies in the Growth of Nineteenth-Century Government (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1972), pp. 195–226. 104 Memo by Lingen, 12 January 1878, in Extract of Treasury Blue Notes. UGC5/18. 105 Wright, ‘Treasury Control’. 106 Ramsey to Hicks, 29 June 1886. DM 692. Bristol University archives.

242 Notes 107 Mundella to Wilson, 4 February 1887, enclosed in Ramsey to Hicks, 15 February 1887. DM 692. Bristol University archives. 108 Milner to Jowett, 14 February 1887, enclosed in Ramsey to Hicks, 15 February 1887. Ramsey to Hicks, 3 April 1887. DM 692. Bristol University archives. 109 Chapman, University of Sheffield. 110 Committee appointed to report on application of £15,000 grant to university colleges, 11 March 1889. UGC5/19. 111 Grant to University Colleges in Great Britain (250) 1889. 112 G. Bergus memo, 18 June 1889. UGC5/18. 113 Heath to Other Principals, 20 November 1890. 1/i/6. University of Birmingham archives. 114 Report of Committee on Grants to University Colleges in Great Britain (121) 1892, p. 1. 115 Memorial to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, n.d. 1/i/6. University of Birmingham archives. 116 Report of the Committee on Distribution of Grants to University Colleges in Great Britain (204) 1894. 117 Report of the Committee . . . to Consider the Financial Position of the College, 2 July 1894. UA/1/83. University of Manchester archives. 118 Extract from The Times, 21 December 1895. UGC5/18. 119 University Colleges, Great Britain – Grant in Aid (245) 1897. 120 Warren and Liveing to Mowatt, 30 March 1896. Mowatt to Warren and Liveing, 1 April 1896. UGC5/18. 121 University Colleges – Grant in Aid (245) 1897. 122 University Colleges – Grant in Aid (245) 1897, p. 3. 123 University Colleges – Grant in Aid (245) 1897, p. 7. 124 University Colleges – Grant in Aid (245) 1897, p. 8. 125 University Colleges – Grant in Aid (245) 1897, p. 33. 126 Treasury Minute of 5 April 1897 in University Colleges – Grant in Aid (245) 1897. 127 University Colleges – Grant in Aid (245) 1897, p. 3. 128 Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. 129 Gosden and Taylor, University of Leeds. 130 Reports from University Colleges [C. 7439] 1894. 131 Sanderson, Universities and British Industry. 132 Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. 133 Reports from University Colleges [C. 7439] 1894. Reports From University Colleges [C 9410] 1899. 134 Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. 135 Fiddes, Chapters in the History of Owens College. Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. 136 Gosden and Taylor, University of Leeds. 137 Ives et al., Birmingham 1880–1980. 138 Chapman, University of Sheffield. 139 Reports from University Colleges [C. 9410] 1899. 140 J. V. Pickstone, Medicine and Industrial Society. A History of Hospital Development in Manchester and its Region 1752–1946 (Manchester University Press: Manchester, 1985). 141 Newman, Evolution of Medical Education. F. N. L. Poynter, ‘Education and the General Medical Council’, in Poynter (ed.), Evolution of Medical Education, pp. 195–205. 142 A. Wohl, Endangered Lives. Public Health in Victorian Britain (Methuen: London, 1983). 143 Wohl, Endangered Lives.

Notes 243 144 K. Vernon, ‘Pus, Sewage, Beer and Milk: Microbiology in Britain, 1870–1940’, History of Science, 28 (1990), pp. 289–325. 145 K. Vernon, ‘Science for the Farmer? Agricultural Research in England 1909–36’, Twentieth Century British History, 8 (1997), pp. 310–33. 146 Bettenson, The University of Newcastle upon Tyne. Gosden and Taylor, University of Leeds. 147 Reports From University Colleges [C. 9410] 1899. 148 J. Hurt, Elementary Schooling and the Working Classes, 1860–1918 (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1979). 149 J. Roach, A History of Secondary Education in England, 1800–1870 (Longman: London, 1986). 150 Hurt, Elementary Schooling. 151 Report of the Committee of Council on Education 1890–91 [C. 6438-I] 1890–91, p. 420. 152 Final Report of the Royal Commission to Inquire into the Working of the Elementary Education Acts [C. 5485] [Cross Commission] 1888. Report of the Committee of Council on Education 1889–90 [C. 6079-I] 1890. 153 Report on Education 1890–91 [C. 6438-I] 1890–91. 154 Report of the Committee of Council on Education 1894–95 [C. 7776-I] 1895. 155 Report on Education 1889–90 [C. 6079-I] 1890. 156 Report on Education 1894–95 [C. 7776-I] 1895, p. 170. 157 Report of the Committee of Council on Education [C. 8545] 1897. 158 Report on Education 1894–95 [C. 7776-I] 1895. 159 Report on Education 1896–97 [C. 8545] 1897, Table 2A. 160 Report of the Commissioners on Secondary Education [C. 7862] [Bryce Commission] 1895. 161 Report of the Bryce Commission, pp. 248–9. 162 D. A. Coppock, ‘Respectability as a Prerequisite of Moral Character: The Social and Occupational Mobility of Pupil Teachers in the late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries’, History of Education, 26 (1997), pp. 165–86. 163 Dyhouse, No Distinction of Sex? 164 Reports from University Colleges [C. 9410] 1899. 165 Dyhouse, No Distinction of Sex? 166 Dyhouse, No Distinction of Sex? 167 University Colleges – Grant in Aid (245) 1897. 168 Reports from University Colleges [C. 9410] 1899. 169 Gosden and Taylor, University of Leeds. 170 University Colleges – Grant in Aid (245) 1897. 171 Chapman, University of Sheffield. 172 Ives et al., Birmingham, 1880–1980. 173 Reports From University Colleges [C. 9410] 1899. 174 Armytage, Civic Universities. 4 Expansion and regulation, 1900–1914 1 Haldane gives himself a lot of credit for personally leading many initiatives in university education in his autobiography, R. B. Haldane, An Autobiography (Hodder and Stoughton: London, 1929). A similar line is taken in the detailed study by E. Ashby and M. Anderson, Portrait of Haldane at Work on Education (Macmillan: London, 1974). 2 Report of the Commissioner on Secondary Education [C. 7862] 1895, p. 323. [Bryce Commission.] 3 E. J. R. Eaglesham, The Foundations of Twentieth-Century Education in England (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1967). N. Daglish, Education

244 Notes

4 5

6 7

8 9

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Policy-Making in England and Wales. The Crucible Years, 1895–1911 (Woburn Press: London, 1996). P. Gordon and J. White, Philosophers as Educational Reformers. The Influence of Idealism on British Educational Thought and Practice (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1979). See also chapter 1. G. R. Searle, The Quest For National Efficiency. A Study in British Politics and Political Thought, 1899–1914 (Blackwell: Oxford, 1971). L. Simpson, ‘Imperialism, National Efficiency and Education, 1900–1905’, Journal of Educational Administration and History, 16 (1984), pp. 28–37. E. J. T. Brennan (ed.), Education for National Efficiency: The Contribution of Sidney and Beatrice Webb (Athlone: London, 1975). Eaglesham, Foundations. Daglish, Crucible Years. M. Vlaeminke, ‘The Subordination of Technical Education in Secondary Schooling, 1870–1914’, in P. Summerfield and E. J. Evans (eds), Technical Education and the State Since 1850: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives (Manchester University Press: Manchester, 1990), pp. 55–76. K. Vernon, ‘Science and Technology’, in S. Constantine, M. W. Kirby and M. B. Rose (eds), The First World War in British History (Edward Arnold: London, 1995), pp. 81–105. R. M. MacLeod and E. K. Andrews, ‘The Origins of the DSIR: Reflections on Ideas and Men, 1915–1916’, Public Administration, 48 (1970), pp. 23–48. N. Daglish, ‘ “Over by Christmas”: The First World War, Education Reform and the Economy. The Case of Christopher Addison and the Origins of the DSIR’, History of Education, 27 (1998), pp. 315–31. See Chapter 3. Hicks-Beach to Chamberlain, 28 March 1899. JC12/1/1/6. Joseph Chamberlain papers, University of Birmingham. Ashby and Anderson, Portrait. University Colleges (Great Britain) (Grant in Aid) (252) 1902. Treasury Minute, 14 February 1902. Report of the Committee, 10 June 1902, in University Colleges (252) 1902. Lodge to Principals, 15 December 1903. OL7. Oliver Lodge papers, University of Birmingham. Report on the Deputation to the Chancellor of the Exchequer on 17 February 1904. OL9. Oliver Lodge papers. Reply of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 17 February 1904. UGC5/18. PRO. Treasury Minute, 30 March 1904. First, Second and Third Reports of the Committee in University Colleges (Great Britain) (Grant in Aid) [Cd. 2422] 1904. Treasury Memo, 19 July 1905. Observations of University Colleges on 3rd Report. UGC5/18. Treasury Memo, 19 July 1905. A. Chamberlain to Haldane, 21 December 1904. Haldane to A. Chamberlain, 21 December 1904. UGC5/18. Treasury Minute, 18 July 1905. [Cd. 2621] 1905. University Colleges (Great Britain) (Grant in Aid) (207) 1907. University Colleges (207) 1907, p. 11. Report of the Advisory Committee (182) 1909. Report of the Advisory Committee (182) 1909, p. 7. Treasury Minute dated 3 June 1909 in Report of the Advisory Committee (182) 1909. Morant has a very friendly biographer in B. M. Allen, Sir Robert Morant. A Great Public Servant (Macmillan: London, 1934). Other assessments range from the critical to the scathing, e.g. Eaglesham, Foundations. Morant to Treasury, 17 December 1908. ED24/519. Report of the Committee of Council on Education 1898–99 [C. 9401] 1899.

Notes 245 30 Reports from University Colleges 1909–10 [Cd. 5872] 1911. 31 Morant to Ogilvie, 6 April 1909. ED24/521. 32 Minutes of a Conference of Representatives of Universities and Colleges at the Board of Education, 8 October 1909. ED24/522. 33 Statement of Grants . . . in Aid of Technological and Professional Work in Universities in England and Wales [Cd. 5762] 1911. 34 Reports from University Colleges 1910–11 [Cd. 6245] 1912. 35 Reports from University Colleges 1908–9 [Cd. 5246] 1910. 36 Reports from University Colleges 1912–13 [Cd. 7614] 1914. Morant was squeezed out of the Board of Education after he was associated with the Holmes circular, a damning critique of elementary school teachers written by a Board official. Eaglesham, Foundations. 37 Reports from University Colleges 1910–11 [Cd. 6245] 1912, p. xii. 38 Morant tried to quash this rumour in a letter to Lord Reay of University College, London, 29 June 1910. ED24/567. 39 Sir Nathan Bodington (Vice-Chancellor Leeds University) to Prime Minister, 24 July 1910. ED24/567. 40 Minutes of a Conference of Representatives of Universities and Colleges at the Board of Education, 8 October 1909. ED24/522. 41 A. C. Headlam, Memo on the Grants to University Colleges in England, 1 October 1909. OL51. Oliver Lodge papers. 42 The Times, 5 March 1910. ED24/567. Report by Lodge [on further deputation], 17 November 1910. OL74. Second Report, 18 November 1910. OL75. Oliver Lodge papers. 43 Runciman [President Board of Education] to Morant 20 January 1911. F. Heath, Relations of the Board of Education with Universities and University Colleges in England and Wales, 23 January 1911. ED24/519. 44 Dr Heath’s Report of interviews with various Principals and Vice-Chancellors, March 1911. ED24/568. 45 Minutes of a Private and Informal Conference between the President of the Board of Education and Representatives of Universities and University Colleges, 3 March 1911. ED24/569. 46 Dr Heath’s Report, March 1911. ED24/568. 47 First Annual Report of the Governing Body of the Imperial College of Science and Technology [Cd. 4602] 1909. 48 Headlam to Lodge, 9 December 1910. OL79. Oliver Lodge papers. 49 Lodge to Vice Chancellors of Liverpool and Manchester, 29 March 1911. OL86. Oliver Lodge papers. 50 Dr Heath’s Report, March 1911. ED24/568. 51 Runciman to Murray [Treasury], 5 July 1910. ED24/567. 52 Runciman to Murray, 23 May 1911. ED24/568. 53 Note passed by the Chancellor to Runciman at Cabinet, 11 August 1911. T. C. Heath [Treasury] to Secretary Board of Education, 13 September 1911. ED24/519. 54 Morant to Runciman, 14 September 1911. Runciman to Morant, 22 September 1911. ED24/519. 55 Selby-Bigge and Pease, December 1911. ED24/519. 56 F. Heath to Selby-Bigge, 9 January 1912. ED24/519. 57 E. Ives, D. Drummond and L. Schwartz, The First Civic University: Birmingham 1880–1980. An Introductory History (University of Birmingham Press: Birmingham, 2000). 58 Copy of a letter to the Mayor from B. C. A. Windle, Dean of the Medical Faculty, 25 May 1898. 4/iii/6. University Collection, University of Birmingham archives.

246 Notes 59 Committee of Senate of Mason College appointed to consider and report upon a scheme for the establishment of a Midland University met 22 January 1895. 4/iii/6. University Collection, Birmingham 60 Alderman F. C. Clayton to Alderman G. B. Lloyd, 10 December 1898. 1/i/3/1. University Collection, Birmingham. 61 Clayton to Lloyd, 10 December 1898. 1/i/3/1. University Collection, Birmingham. 62 Mason College Founder’s Day, 23 February 1893. Report of Proceedings reprinted from Birmingham Daily Post, 24 February 1893. 7/iv/5. University Collection, Birmingham. 63 Ives et al., Birmingham 1880–1980. 64 M. Moss, J. Forbes Munro and R. H. Trainor, University, City and State. The University of Glasgow Since 1870 (Edinburgh University Press: Edinburgh, 2000). 65 Executive Committee minutes, 16 November 1898. 4/iii/9. University Collection, Birmingham. 66 Resolution of a Public Meeting held in the Council Chamber, 1 July 1898 in Executive Committee minutes, 6 July 1898. 4/iii/9. Management Sub-committee minutes, 22 July 1898. 4/iii/8. University Collection, Birmingham. 67 Field to Morley, 2 May 1899 in Executive Committee minutes, 31 May 1899. 4/iii/9. University Collection, Birmingham. 68 Management Sub-committee minutes, 22 July 1898. 4/iii/8. University Collection, Birmingham. 69 Report of Canvassing Sub-committee in Executive Committee minutes, 28 February 1900. 4/iii/9. University Collection, Birmingham. 70 Canvassing Committee minutes, 13 October 1899. 4/iii/6. University Collection, Birmingham. 71 Canvassing Committee minutes, 12 May 1899. 4/iii/6. University Collection, Birmingham. 72 Lord Chancellor and Mr Chamberlain, 15 May 1905. JC12/1/1/37. Joseph Chamberlain papers. 73 Chamberlain to Alderman Lloyd, 1 February 1899. 1/i/3/1. University Collection, Birmingham. 74 Chamberlain to “President” 11 December 1899. JC12/1/1/25. Joseph Chamberlain papers. 75 O. Lodge, ‘The Union of Theory and Practice in Engineering Education’, July 1900. 7/iv/8. University Collection, Birmingham. 76 Petition of undersigned Petitioners. Received by Privy Council, 24 June 1899. PC8/516. 77 Petition, p. 8. PC8/516. 78 University College Bristol to Privy Council, 27 January 1900. PC8/516. 79 Copy of letter from B. C. A. Windle, 28 May 1898. 4/iii/6. University Collection, Birmingham. 80 Chamberlain to Mrs Chamberlain, 12 July 1900. JC12/1/1/29. Joseph Chamberlain papers. 81 Ives et al., Birmingham 1880–1980. 82 See Chapter 3. 83 Chamberlain to Haldane, 11 August 1902. MS5904, 235. Haldane Papers. National Library of Scotland. 84 Alderman F. C. Clayton to Alderman G. B. Lloyd, 10 December 1898 1/i/3/1. University Collection, Birmingham. 85 University [General] Committee and University Executive Committee [appointed by the Council of the College to consider and report upon the establishment of a University in Liverpool]. First meeting 3 May 1901. S.293. University of Liverpool archives.

Notes 247 86 Executive Committee minutes, 10 December 1901; minutes, 6 February 1902. S.293. University archives, Liverpool. 87 Executive Committee minutes, 10 December 1901. S.293. University archives, Liverpool. 88 Executive Committee minutes, 29 October 1902. S.293. University archives, Liverpool. 89 Special meeting of the Court of Governors of Owens College, 7 June 1901. P.3/13. Vice-Chancellor’s papers. University of Liverpool archives. 90 Yorkshire College to Principal University College, Liverpool, 21 June 1901. P.3/8. Vice-chancellor’s papers, Liverpool. 91 W. F. Husband [Secretary, Yorkshire College] to President Privy Council, 10 April 1902. PC8/605. 92 Fitzroy to Lord President, 3 June 1902. PC8/605. 93 Hopkinson to Fitzroy, 17 April 1902. PC8/605. 94 Fitzroy to Lord President, 1 July 1902. PC8/605. 95 Confidential memo for the Cabinet, 17 July 1902. PC8/605. 96 Ashby and Anderson, Portrait. 97 Case for Liverpool University, 1902. S.2660. University archives, Liverpool. 98 Case for Liverpool University, 1902. pp. 11–12. S.2660. University archives, Liverpool. 99 Executive Committee, 22 October 1902. S.293. University archives, Liverpool. 100 University of Liverpool – Proceedings. Transcript of the shorthand notes, 17th December 1902. PC8/605. 101 University of Liverpool – Proceedings, 19th December 1902. PC8/605. 102 Draft Report of the Executive Committee to the General Committee 1903. S.293. University archives, Liverpool. 103 Fitzroy to Lord President, 1 July 1902. PC8/605. 104 University of Liverpool – Proceedings, 19 December 1902. PC8/605. 105 P. H. J. H. Gosden and A. J. Taylor (eds), Studies in the History of a University 1874–1974. To Commemorate the Centenary of the University of Leeds (E. J. Arnold: Leeds, 1975). 106 A. W. Chapman, The Story of a Modern University. A History of the University of Sheffield (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1955). 107 Case Lodged by University College Sheffield [Received 17 October 1902]. PC8/605. 108 College Charters Act, 1871 (University College of Sheffield) (127) 1905. 109 Chapman, University of Sheffield. 110 Lord Allerton to Bodington, 5 March 1904, as quoted in Gosden and Taylor (eds), University of Leeds, p. 214. 111 Fitzroy to Godden Son & Holme [Solicitors for the Yorkshire College], as quoted in Chapman, University of Sheffield, p. 187. 112 Gosden and Taylor (eds), University of Leeds. Chapman, University of Sheffield. 113 University Colleges (Great Britain) (Grant in Aid) (252) 1905. 114 A. Temple Patterson, The University of Southampton. A Centenary History of the Evolution and Development of the University of Southampton, 1862–1962 (University of Southampton: Southampton, 1962). 115 W. M. Childs, Making a University. An Account of the University Movement at Reading (J. M. Dent and Sons: London, 1933). J. C. Holt, The University of Reading. The First Fifty Years (University of Reading Press: Reading, 1977). 116 E. M. Bettenson, The University of Newcastle upon Tyne. A Historical Introduction, 1834–1971 (University of Newcastle upon Tyne: Newcastle, 1971). 117 Statutes made by the Commissioners under the University of Durham Act 1908 (230) 1909.

248 Notes 118 M. Sanderson, The Universities and British Industry, 1850–1970 (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1972). 119 Negotiations between the institutions dragged on intermittently over more than ten years. An agreement was reached over engineering in 1901. W. W. Jose to Lloyd Morgan, 1 October 1901. DM219. Bristol University archives. Attempts to find a common position before applying for the charter were unsuccessful. King to Cowl, 11 March 1907. DM219. A file in the Bristol University archives, DM883, is a compilation of continued wrangling between the two colleges, somewhat biased towards the University. 120 R. B. Haldane, University for the West of England. Address delivered at the third annual dinner of the University College Colston Society, Bristol, 5 February 1902 (J. W. Arrowsmith: Bristol, 1902). 121 To the Council of the City and County of Bristol, 27 April 1908. DM219. Bristol University archives. 122 Bishop of Hereford to Arrowsmith, 17 March 1906. Haldane to Arrowsmith, 9 April 1906. DM219. Bristol University archives. 123 Haldane to Arrowsmith, 20 January 1908. DM219. Bristol University archives. 124 A Report of the Proceedings of the Town Council, 5 May 1908. DM506/17. Bristol University archives. 125 Petition from University College Bristol, 26 June 1908. DM615. Bristol University archives. 126 Report of the Meeting of the City Council on Tuesday, 20 April 1909. DM651. Bristol University archives. 127 Reports from University Colleges 1903 [Cd. 1888] 1904. Reports from University Colleges 1908–09 [Cd. 5246] 1910. Reports from University Colleges 1913–14 [Cd. 8137] 1915. 128 Copy of an application from Mason University College for the establishment of a University (22) 1900. College Charter Acts 1871 (Owens College, Manchester, and University College, Liverpool) (174) 1903. College Charter Act 1871 (Yorkshire College, Leeds) (104) 1904. College Charter Act 1871 (University College of Sheffield) (127) 1905. College Charter Act 1871 (University College, Bristol) (329) 1908. 129 College Charter Acts 1871 (Owens College, Manchester, and University College, Liverpool) (174) 1903, p. 15. 130 See Chapter 2. 131 N. Harte, The University of London, 1836–1986. An Illustrated History (Athlone Press: London, 1986). 132 H. H. Bellot, University College London 1826–1926 (University of London Press: London, 1929). 133 F. J. C. Hearnshaw, The Centenary History of King’s College London 1828–1928 (Harrop: London, 1929). 134 C. Dyhouse, No Distinction of Sex? Women in British Universities, 1870–1939 (UCL Press: London, 1995). 135 M. Tuke, A History of Bedford College for Women 1849–1937 (Oxford University Press: London, 1939). J. Sondheimer, Castle Adamant in Hampstead. A History of Westfield College 1882–1982 (Westfield College: London, 1983). C. Bingham, The History of Royal Holloway College 1886–1986 (Constable: London, 1987). 136 Hearnshaw, King’s College London. 137 H. Billet, ‘Engineering’, in F. M. L. Thompson (ed.), The University of London and the World of Learning 1836–1986 (Hambledon Press: London, 1990), pp. 161–82. 138 Report of the Advisory Committee (110) 1910. 139 Report of the Committee appointed by the Lords Commissioners of His

Notes 249

140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148

149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167

168

Majesty’s Treasury to Consider the Organisation of Oriental Studies in London [Cd. 4560] 1909. Application for the establishment of ‘The School of Oriental Studies, London Institution’ (93) 1914. A. R. Hall, Science for Industry. A Short History of the Imperial College of Science and Technology and its Antecedents (Imperial College: London, 1982). E. J. T. Brennan (ed.), Education for National Efficiency: The Contribution of Sidney and Beatrice Webb (Athlone Press: London, 1975). S. Webb, ‘London University: A Policy and a Forecast’ [1902], reproduced in Brennan (ed.), Education for National Efficiency. Ashby and Anderson, Portrait. Billet, ‘Engineering’, in Thompson (ed.), World of Learning. Hall, Science for Industry. Ashby and Anderson, Portrait. Preliminary Report of the Departmental Committee on the Royal College of Science (Including the Royal School of Mines) [Cd. 2610] 1905. Morant to Secretary of the Departmental Committee, 3 April 1905. Morant to Secretary of the Departmental Committee, 23 November 1905. Published as Appendix 1 to Final Report of the Departmental Committee on the Royal College of Science (Including the Royal School of Mines) [Cd. 2872] 1906. Final Report of the Departmental Committee [Cd. 2872] 1906. Hall, Science for Industry. Final Report of the Departmental Committee [Cd. 2872] 1906. Memorandum A, Memorandum B. Lodge to Vice-Chancellor of Liverpool and Manchester, 29 March 1911. OL86. Oliver Lodge papers. P. Dunsheath and M. Miller, Convocation in the University of London. The First Hundred Years (Athlone Press: London, 1958). Final Report of the Royal Commission on University Education in London [Cd.6717] (1913). [Hereafter Haldane Commission], p. 2. A detailed summary analysis of the report provides a useful digest of the main points. Ashby and Anderson, Portrait. Haldane Commission. R. B. Fosdick, The Story of the Rockefeller Foundation (Odhams Press: London, 1952). Haldane Commission. Dunsheath and Miller, Convocation. Hearnshaw, King’s College London. Dunsheath and Miller, Convocation. First Report of the Departmental Committee on the University of London, 20 April 1914. ED24/2002 The letter is reproduced in full in Hearnshaw, King’s College London, pp. 445–6. D. Logan, Haldane and the University of London (Birkbeck College: London, 1960). See Chapter 1. E. T. Williams, ‘The Rhodes Scholars’, in M. G. Brock and M. C. Curthoys (eds), The History of the University of Oxford, Vol. VII, Nineteenth Century Oxford, Part 2 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 2000), pp. 717–26. L. Goldman, Dons and Workers. Oxford and Adult Education Since 1850 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1995). A. Ockwell and H. Pollins, ‘ “Extension” in all its Forms’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 661–88. J. Howarth, ‘The Edwardian Reform Movement’, in Brock and Curthoys (eds), University of Oxford, Vol. VII, pp. 821–54.

250 Notes 169 Parliamentary Debates. Fourth Series, Vol. 178. July 11–July 24 1907. 170 Curzon, Principles and Methods of University Reform (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1909). 171 Curzon, Principles and Methods of University Reform, p. 47. 172 C. N. L. Brooke, A History of the University of Cambridge, Vol. IV, 1870–1990 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1993). 173 Howarth, ‘Edwardian Reform Movement’. 174 H. J. May [Co-op] to Runciman, 14 March 1911. ED24/525. 175 Account of proceedings at a meeting, 28 March 1911. ED24/525. 176 Memorandum (C) on terms of reference in Selby-Bigge to President of the Board of Education, 29 November 1912. ED24/1940. 177 Selby-Bigge to President of the Board of Education, 29 November 1912. ED24/1940. 178 Selby-Bigge to President, 29 November 1912. ED24/1940. 179 Reports From University Colleges 1912–13 [Cd. 7614] 1914. Reports From University Colleges 1913–14 [Cd. 8137] 1915. 5 Establishing a university system, 1914–1939 1 K. Vernon, ‘Science and Technology’, in S. Constantine, M. W. Kirby and M. B. Rose (eds), The First World War in British History (Edward Arnold: London, 1995), pp. 81–105. 2 R. M. MacLeod and E. K. Andrews, ‘The Origins of the D.S.I.R.: Reflections on Ideas and Men, 1915–1916’, Public Administration, 48 (1970), pp. 23–48. I. Varcoe, ‘Scientists, Government and Organised Research in Great Britain 1914–16: The Early History of the DSIR’, Minerva, 8 (1970), pp. 192–216. 3 G. Hartcup, The War of Invention: Scientific Developments, 1914–18 (Brassey’s Defence Publishers: London, 1988). 4 J. K. Gusewelle, ‘Science and the Admiralty During WW1: The Case of the BIR’, in G. Jordan (ed.), Naval Warfare in the Twentieth Century 1900–1945 (Croom Helm: London, 1977), pp. 105–17. M. Pattison, ‘Scientists, Inventors and the Military in Britain, 1915–19: The Munitions Inventions Department’, Social Studies of Science, 13 (1983), pp. 521–68. 5 MacLeod and Andrews, ‘Origins of the DSIR’. Varcoe, ‘Scientists, Government and Organised Research’. 6 R. J. Q. Adams, Arms and the Wizard. Lloyd George and the Ministry of Munitions, 1915–16 (Cassell: London, 1978). 7 C. Wrigley, ‘The Ministry of Munitions: An Innovatory Department’, in K. Burk (ed.), War and the State. The Transformation of British Government, 1914–1919 (Allen and Unwin: London, 1982), pp. 32–56. 8 Vernon, ‘Science and Technology’. 9 J. M. Winter, The Great War and the British People (Macmillan: London, 1985). 10 J. M. Winter, ‘Oxford and the First World War’, in B. Harrison (ed.), The History of the University of Oxford, Vol. VIII, The Twentieth Century (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1994), pp. 3–25. 11 E. Ives, D. Drummond and L. Schwarz, The First Civic University: Birmingham 1880–1980. An Introductory History (Birmingham University Press: Birmingham, 2000). 12 Winter, ‘Oxford and the First World War’. 13 Ives et al., Birmingham 1880–1980. E. M. Bettenson, The University of Newcastle upon Tyne. A Historical Introduction, 1834–1971 (University of Newcastle upon Tyne: Newcastle, 1971). 14 Letter from Vice-Chancellors of the Universities of Manchester, Liverpool,

Notes 251

15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30

31

32 33 34 35

36 37 38 39

Leeds and Sheffield to Joint Secretaries of the Committee of Public Retrenchment, 26 August 1915. ED24/1935. PRO. Vernon, ‘Science and Technology’. A. W. Chapman, The Story of a Modern University. A History of the University of Sheffield (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1955). Letter from Vice-Chancellors, 26 August 1915. ED24/1935. Chapman, University of Sheffield. F. J. C. Hearnshaw, The Centenary History of King’s College London 1828–1928 (Harrop: London, 1929). C. Dyhouse, No Distinction of Sex? Women in British Universities, 1870–1939 (University College Press: London, 1995). Hearnshaw, King’s College London. Winter, ‘Oxford and the First World War’. R. McWilliams-Tullberg, Women at Cambridge. A Men’s University – Though of a Mixed Type (Victor Gollancz: London, 1975). Pease to Lloyd George, 27 October 1914. ED24/1945. Returns From Universities and University Colleges in Receipt of Treasury Grant 1919–1920 [Cmd. 1263] 1921. MacLeod and Andrews, ‘Origins of the D.S.I.R.’. Varcoe, ‘Scientists, Government and Organised Research’. Vernon, ‘Science and Technology’. S. Wallace, War and the Image of Germany. British Academics 1914–1918 (John Donald: Edinburgh, 1988). K. Vernon, ‘Microbes at Work. Micro-organisms, the D.S.I.R. and Industry in Britain, 1900–1936’, Annals of Science, 51 (1994), pp. 593–613. DSIR Report 1919–20 [Cmd. 905], p. 22. Vernon, ‘Microbes at Work’. I. Varcoe, ‘Co-operative Research Associations in British Industry, 1918–34’, Minerva, 19 (1981), pp. 433–63. D. C. Mowery, ‘Industrial Research, 1900–1950’, in B. Elbaum and W. Lazonick (eds), The Decline of the British Economy (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1986), pp. 189–222. MacLeod and Andrews, ‘Origins of the D.S.I.R.’. N. Daglish, ‘ “Over by Christmas”: The First World War, Education Reform and the Economy. The Case of Christopher Addison and the Origins of the DSIR’, History of Education, 27 (1998), pp. 315–31. K. Vernon, ‘Science for the Farmer? Agricultural Research in England 1909–36’, Twentieth Century British History, 8 (1997), pp. 310–33. J. Austoker and L. Bryder (eds), Historical Perspectives on the Role of the MRC (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1989). E. Ashby and M. Anderson, Portrait of Haldane at Work on Education (Macmillan: London, 1974). Report of the Machinery of Government Committee [Cd. 9230] 1918. R. Simpson, How the PhD Came to Britain. A Century of Struggle for Postgraduate Education (Society for Research into Higher Education: Guildford, 1983). Report of the Committee Appointed by the Prime Minister to enquire into the Position of Natural Science in the Educational System of Great Britain [Cd. 9011] 1918. Report of the Committee Appointed by the Prime Minister to enquire into the Position of Modern Languages in the Educational System of Great Britain [Cd. 9036] 1918. Report . . . on Natural Science 1918, p. 71. Report . . . on Modern Languages 1918. Report . . . on Modern Languages 1918, p. 41–2. Interim Report of the Consultative Committee on Scholarships for Higher Education [Cd. 8291] 1916.

252 Notes 40 Board of Education (University Scholarships) Regulations [Cmd. 739] 1920. 41 Board of Education (Ex-Service Students, Higher Education) Regulations [Cmd. 548] 1920. 42 Some Notes on Medical Education in England [Cd. 9124] 1918. 43 Report of the Committee upon the scheme of examination for Class I of the Civil Service [Cd. 8657] 1917. 44 Ministry of Reconstruction. Final Report of the Adult Education Committee [Cmd. 321] 1919. 45 Adult Education Committee [Cmd. 321] 1919, p. 1. 46 AHK to McCormick, 13 March 1918. ED24/1964. 47 Lodge to Fisher, 2 July 1918. UGC5/8. 48 Fisher to Lodge, 7 November 1918. UGC5/8. 49 Bosworth-Smith [Board of Education] to Lodge, 8 November 1918. UGC5/8. 50 Deputation to the President of the Board of Education and the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Minutes of Proceedings. Held 23 November 1918. UGC5/8. 51 Selby-Bigge [Board of Education] to President, 22 November 1918. ED24/1964. 52 Memo of interview with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 21 January 1919. ED24/1988. 53 Fisher to Vice-Chancellors, 16 April 1919. UGC5/7. 54 Board of Education Minute paper, 6 February 1919. ED24/1988. T. L. Heath [Treasury] to Secretary Board of Education, 14 February 1919. ED24/1968. 55 Returns from Universities and University Colleges in Receipt of Treasury Grant 1919–20 [Cmd. 1263] 1921, p. 1. 56 Returns from Universities [Cmd. 1263] 1921. 57 University Grants Committee Report 1923–1924, HMSO: London (1925). 58 University Grants Committee Report 1928–29, HMSO: London (1930). 59 Minutes of meeting, 21 June 1923. UGC1/1. 60 Minutes of meeting, 22 October 1931. UGC1/1. 61 University Grants Committee Report for the Period 1929/30 – 34/35, 1936. 62 UGC Report 1923–1924, UGC Report 1928–29, UGC Report 1929/30–34/35. 63 UGC Report 1928–29. 64 UGC Report 1923–24. 65 Figures vary between reports; these are taken from a consolidated table in the UGC Report 1929/30 – 34/35. 66 UGC Report 1928–29. 67 C. Dyhouse, ‘Going to University in England Between the Wars: Access and Funding’, History of Education, 31 (2002), pp. 1–14. 68 UGC Report 1929/30 – 34/35. 69 J. Howarth, ‘Women’, in Harrison (ed.), History of the University of Oxford, Vol. VIII, pp. 345–75. McWilliams-Tullberg, Women at Cambridge. 70 McCormick to Selby Bigge, 15 October 1919. Minute paper of discussion between Messrs Davies, Pullinger, Chambers and Mann, 7 November 1919. ED24/1977. See also C. H. Shinn, Paying the Piper. The Development of the University Grants Committee, 1919–46 (Falmer Press: London, 1986). 71 UGC Report 1921 [Cmd. 1163]. 72 Dugald Clerk, ‘Note on University as Distinguished from Technical Education’, 1920. ED24/1997. 73 Notes on Clerk’s ideas [signed ‘WRD’], 19 July 1928. ED24/1997. There is no record of reactions to the report before this date, but that the report was never published suggests these comments reflected opinion at the time as well. 74 UGC Report 1923–24, p. 9. 75 UGC Report 1928–29. 76 K. Vernon, ‘A Healthy Society for Future Intellectuals: Developing Student

Notes 253

77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90

91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111

Life at Civic Universities’, in C. Lawrence and A.-K. Mayer (eds), Regenerating England. Science, Medicine and Culture in Inter-war Britain (Rodopi: Amsterdam, 2000), pp. 179–202. UGC Report 1928–29. UGC Report 1929/30 – 34/35, pp. 49–50. UGC Report 1928–29, p. 51. UGC Report 1929/30 – 34/35. Beresford [Board of Education] to Tribe [Treasury], 13 July 1939. UGC5/15. Report on Universities 1913–14 [Cd. 8137] 1915. Blakiston to Fisher, 19 July 1918. UGC5/8. Fisher to Vice-Chancellors Cambridge and Oxford, 6 November 1918. ED24/1970. Blakiston to Fisher, 20 November 1918. ED24/1970. Fitzpatrick to Fisher, 20 December 1918. UGC5/8. Kidd to President [Board of Education], 31 March 1919. ED24/1968. Fisher to Vice-Chancellors Oxford and Cambridge, 16 April 1919. Appendix III to minutes of UGC meeting, 16 July 1919. UGC1/1. Royal Commission on Oxford and Cambridge Universities [Hereafter Asquith Commission] [Cmd. 1588] 1922. J. Prest, ‘The Asquith Commission, 1919–1922’, in Harrison (ed.), History of the University of Oxford, Vol. VIII, pp. 27–43. C. N. L. Brooke, A History of the University of Cambridge, Vol. IV, 1870–1990 (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1993). Asquith Commission. Draft letter to the Treasury. Appendix A to minutes of the UGC meeting, 22 March 1922. UGC1/1. Minutes of UGC meeting, 21 June 1923. UGC1/1. Minutes of UGC meeting, 22 November 1923. UGC1/1. ‘Memorandum by the University Grants Committee [Draft].’ Minutes of meeting, 5 February 1925. UGC1/1. Memorandum by the UGC, minutes of meeting 5 February 1925. UGC1/1. Memorandum, 5 February 1925. UGC1/1. UGC Reports 1923/24, 1928/29, 1929/30 – 34/35. Calculated from UGC reports. DSIR Report 1922–23 [Cmd. 1937] 1923. E. Hutchinson, ‘A Fruitful Co-operation Between Government and Academic Food Research in the United Kingdom’, Minerva, 10 (1972), pp. 19–50. Vernon, ‘Science for the Farmer?’ Austoker and Bryder (eds), Historical Perspectives on the MRC. R. E. Kohler, ‘Walter Fletcher, F. G. Hopkins and the Dunn Institute of Biochemistry: A Case Study in the Patronage of Science’, Isis, 69 (1978), pp. 331–55. Kohler, ‘Dunn Institute’. C. Webster, ‘Medicine’, in Harrison (ed.), History of the University of Oxford, Vol. VIII, pp. 317–43. R. B. Fosdick, The Story of the Rockefeller Foundation (Odhams Press: London, 1952). Webster, ‘Medicine’. Fosdick, Rockefeller Foundation. Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. F. Barber, ‘Libraries’, in Harrison (ed.), University of Oxford, Vol. VIII, pp. 471–89. Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. J. B. Morrell, ‘The Non-Medical Sciences, 1914–1939’, in Harrison (ed.), University of Oxford, Vol. VIII, pp. 139–63.

254 Notes 112 Morrell, ‘Non-Medical Sciences’. 113 J. P. D. Dunbabin, ‘Finance Since 1914’, in Harrison (ed.), University of Oxford, Vol. VIII, pp. 639–82. 114 B. Harrison, ‘College Life, 1918–1939’, in Harrison (ed.), University of Oxford, Vol. VIII, pp. 81–108. 115 D. I. Greenstein, ‘The Junior Members, 1900–1990: A Profile’, in Harrison (ed.), University of Oxford, Vol. VIII, pp. 46–77. 116 Brooke, University of Cambridge, Vol. IV. 117 UGC Report 1929/30–1934/35. 118 Greenstein, ‘Junior Members’. 119 Harrison, ‘College Life’. 120 J. Howarth, ‘Women’. 121 McWilliams-Tullberg, Women at Cambridge. 122 Asquith Commission, p. 245. 123 See Chapters 3 and 4. 124 Royal Commission on University Education in London [Haldane Commission] [Cd. 6717] 1913. 125 N. Harte, The University of London, 1836–1986. An Illustrated History (Athlone: London, 1986). 126 Hearnshaw, King’s College London. 127 First Report of the Departmental Committee on the University of London, 20 April 1914. ED24/2002. 128 Memo by Fisher on London University, 23 July 1918. Printed for the use of the Cabinet. ED24/2007. 129 Memo by Fisher for the War Cabinet, 1 November 1918. ED24/2007. 130 Harte, University of London. 131 Memo on the Critical Position of the Institute of Historical Research, 14 May 1926. ED24/2002. 132 Hearnshaw, King’s College London. 133 Memo on the Position of the IHR, 14 May 1926. ED24/2002. 134 Deputation to the Chancellor of the Exchequer from London University, 17 June 1926. Note taken by Treasury Reporter. ED24/2002. 135 Harte, University of London. 136 Minutes of Senate meeting, 23 March 1927. ST2/2/43. University of London archives. 137 WHB [Beveridge] to G. B. Vincent [Rockefeller Foundation], 8 April 1927. CF1/27/288. University of London archives. 138 Vincent to Beveridge, 19 April 1927. CF1/27/288. University of London archives. 139 Minutes of UGC meeting, 15 December 1927. UGC1/1. 140 Report of the Departmental Committee on the University of London [Hereafter Hilton Young Committee] [Cmd 2612] 1926. 141 Harte, University of London. 142 J. Mordaunt Crook, ‘The Architectural Image’, in F. M. L. Thompson (ed.), The University of London and the World of Learning 1836–1986 (Hambledon Press: London, 1990), pp. 1–33. UGC Report 1929/30 – 34/35. 143 UGC Reports for 1923/24; 1928/29; 1929/30 – 34/35. 144 Memo by Fisher for the War Cabinet, 1 November 1918. ED24/2007. 145 UGC Reports for 1923/24; 1928/29. 146 Agenda and Papers for UGC meeting, 10 April 1930. UGC2/12. 147 UGC Report 1928/29, p. 14. 148 Thompson (ed.), World of Learning. 149 Minutes of UGC meeting, 14 October 1935. UGC1/2. 150 UGC Report 1928/29.

Notes 255 151 B. Windeyer, ‘University Education in the Twentieth Century’, in F. N. L. Poynter (ed.), The Evolution of Medical Education in Britain (Pitman: London, 1966), pp. 219–27. 152 Haldane Commission. 153 Memorandum on Clinical Units in Medical Schools (UGC, 1920). 154 Report of the University College Committee – Offer by the Rockefeller Foundation, 1 June 1920. ED24/2011. 155 Fosdick, Rockefeller Foundation. 156 UGC Report 1928/29, p. 15. 157 UGC Report 1928/29. 158 Grant Robertson to Fisher, 28 July 1920. ED24/1978. 159 E. Ives et al., Birmingham 1880–1980. T. Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. The University of Liverpool, 1881–1981 (Liverpool University Press: Liverpool, 1981). 160 P. H. J. H. Gosden and A. J. Taylor (eds) Studies in the History of a University 1874–1974. To Commemorate the Centenary of the University of Leeds (E. J. Arnold: Leeds, 1975). UGC Report 1923/24. 161 UGC Report 1928/29. 162 Gosden and Taylor, University of Leeds. 163 Chapman, University of Sheffield. 164 UGC Reports 1923/24; 1928/29; 1929/30 – 34/35. 165 Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. 166 Agenda and papers for meeting, 26 March 1925. UGC2/7. Agenda and papers for meeting, 10 April 1930. UGC2/12. 167 UGC Report 1921. 168 Kelly, For Advancement of Learning. Ives et al., Birmingham, 1880–1980. Chapman, University of Sheffield. Vernon, ‘Science for the Farmer?’ 169 S. Sturdy, ‘The Political Economy of Scientific Medicine: Science, Education and the Transformation of Medical Practice in Sheffield, 1890–1927’, Medical History, 36 (1992), pp. 125–59. 170 UGC Reports 1923/24; 1928/29; 1929/30 – 34/35. 171 Gosden and Taylor, University of Leeds. 172 Ives et al., Birmingham 1880–1980. 173 M. Sanderson, The Universities and British Industry 1850–1970 (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1972). 174 Ives et al., Birmingham 1880–1980. 175 University of Bristol Calendar 1922–23. Bristol University archives. 176 UGC Report 1928/29. 177 UGC Report 1928/29, p. 22. 178 Letter to Treasury on recommendations for the next quinquennium dated 7 July 1936. Appendix C in UGC minutes of meeting, 6 July 1936. UGC1/2. 179 University Development from 1935 to 1947. Being the Report of the University Grants Committee HMSO: London (1948). 180 W. M. Childs, Making a University. An Account of the University Movement at Reading (J. M. Dent and Sons: London, 1933). J. C. Holt, The University of Reading. The First Fifty Years (University of Reading Press: Reading, 1977). 181 Childs, Making a University, p. 56. 182 Memorandum of the Position of the University Colleges, 15 October 1919. ED24/1977. 183 Letter from the UGC to the Privy Council on Reading’s application for a charter. Appendix B in UGC minutes of meeting, 12 March 1925. UGC1/1. 184 Letter from the UGC on Reading’s application. UGC1/1. 185 Childs, Making a University, p. 260. 186 Childs, Making a University, p. 117.

256 Notes 187 The Organisation of the Universities for War-time Services. Draft memo prepared by the Committee of Vice-Chancellors and Principals for Consideration by the Lord Privy Seal [n. d., but November 1938]. UGC5/14. 188 Beresford [UGC] to R. S. Wood [Home Office], 19 December 1938. UGC5/14. 189 A. E. Kemble [War Office] to Beresford, 19 January 1939. UGC5/14. 190 Beresford to Kemble. UGC5/14. 191 The Organisation of the Universities for War-time Services. Draft of a meeting between Sir John Anderson and a deputation of the CVCP (dated 1 February 1939). UGC5/14. 192 UGC Reports 1923/24; 1928/29; 1929/30 – 34/35. 193 W. M. Childs, The New University of Reading: Some Ideas for Which it Stands (Bradley and Sons: Reading, 1926), p. 49. 194 F. Sibly to Moberly [UGC], 4 December 1939. UGC5/15. Conclusion 1 University Development From 1935 to 1947. Being the report of the UGC (HMSO: London, 1948). M. Sanderson, The Universities and British Industry 1850–1970 (Routledge and Kegan Paul: London, 1972). 2 R. O. Berdahl, British Universities and the State (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1959). W. A. C. Stewart, Higher Education in Post-war Britain (Macmillan: London, 1989). H. Silver, A Higher Education. The Council for National Academic Awards and British Higher Education 1964–89 (Falmer Press: London, 1990). B. Salter and T. Tapper, Education, Politics and the State. The Theory and Practice of Educational Change (Grant McIntyre: London, 1981). B. Salter and T. Tapper, The State and Higher Education (Woburn Press: Ilford, 1994). H. Silver, Higher Education and Opinion Making in Twentiethcentury England (Woburn: London, 2003). 3 Berdahl, British Universities and the State. Stewart, Higher Education in Postwar Britain. T. Tapper and B. Salter, Oxford, Cambridge and the Changing Idea of the University. The Challenge to Donnish Domination (Society for Research into Higher Education and Open University Press: Buckingham, 1992). Salter and Tapper, State and Higher Education. Silver, Higher Education and Opinion Making. 4 An apparently analogous raid on old endowments was mounted by the Endowed Schools Commissioners in the 1870s, although the effect of this was to take funds from small and poor schools and divert them to larger, middleclass schools. See J. Roach, Secondary Education in England 1870–1902. Public Activity and Private Enterprise (Routledge: London, 1991). 5 Calculations of UGC funds per full-time student derived from UGC Report for Academic Year 1923–1924 (HMSO: London, 1925), UGC Report for Academic Year 1928–1929 (HMSO: London, 1930), UGC Report for the Period 1929/30 – 34/35 (HMSO: London, 1936). 6 The sense of stagnation is captured most famously by B. Truscot, Red Brick University (Pelican: London, 1951). Silver, Higher Education and Opinion Making. 7 Truscot, Red Brick University. 8 UGC Report 1929/30 – 34/35. 9 M. J. Wiener, English Culture and the Decline of the Industrial Spirit 1850–1890 (Penguin: London, 1985). G. W. Roderick and M. D. Stephens, Education and Industry in the Nineteenth Century: The English Disease? (Longman: London, 1978). D. C. Coleman and C. MacLeod, ‘Attitudes to New Techniques: British Businessmen, 1800–1950’, Economic History Review, 39 (1986), pp. 588–611. B.

Notes 257 Elbaum and W. Lazonick (eds), The Decline of the British Economy (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1986). B. Collins and K. Robbins (eds), British Culture and Economic Decline (Weidenfeld and Nicolson: London, 1990). 10 This interpretation has been made, though less vociferously than the contrary. M. Sanderson, ‘The English Civic Universities and the “Industrial Spirit”, 1870–1914,’ Historical Research, 61 (1988), pp. 90–104. M. Sanderson, Education and Economic Decline in Britain, 1870 to the 1990s (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1999). P. Alter, The Reluctant Patron. Science and the State in Britain 1850–1920 (Berg: Oxford, 1987). D. Edgerton, England and the Aeroplane. An Essay on a Militant and Technological Nation (Macmillan: London, 1991). D. Edgerton, Science, Technology and the British Industrial ‘Decline’ (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1996). K. Vernon, ‘Science and Technology’, in S. Constantine, M. W. Kirby and M. B. Rose, The First World War in British History (Edward Arnold: London, 1995), pp. 81–105. 11 R. Barnett, The Limits of Competence. Knowledge, Higher Education and Society (Society for Research into Higher Education and Open University Press: Buckingham, 1994). D. Warner and D. Palfreyman, The State of UK Higher Education. Managing Change and Diversity (Society for Research into Higher Education and Open University Press: Buckingham, 2001).

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Manuscript sources National Library of Scotland Haldane papers University of Birmingham Joseph Chamberlain papers Oliver Lodge letters University Collection University of Bristol Bristol University archives University of Liverpool Archives of the University of Liverpool Vice-Chancellor’s papers University of London Minutes of the Senate meetings University of London archives University of Manchester Archives of the Registrar’s Department Archives of Owens College, Victoria University and University of Manchester Public Records Office Education Department/Board of Education Privy Council University Grants Committee

Parliamentary papers (The number of the paper and the session in which it was printed are given. Papers are listed in chronological order of publication.) Report of Her Majesty’s Commissioners appointed to inquire into . . . the University and Colleges of Oxford [1482] 1852. Report of Her Majesty’s Commissioners appointed to inquire into . . . the University and Colleges of Cambridge [1559] 1852–3. Royal Commission on Scientific Instruction and the Advancement of Science [C. 536] 1872. [Devonshire Commission] Report of the Commissioners appointed to inquire into the Property and Income of

Select bibliography 259 the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, and of the Colleges and Halls therein [C. 856] 1873. [Cleveland Commission] Report of the Committee to inquire into the Condition of Intermediate and Higher Education in Wales [C. 3047] 1881. Royal Commission on Technical Instruction [C. 3981] 1884. Grant to University Colleges in Great Britain (250) 1889. Royal Commission on London University [C. 5709] 1889. [Selbourne Commission] Report of the Commissioners appointed to consider the . . . Gresham University in London [C. 7259] 1893–4. [Cowper Commission]. Report of the Commissioners on Secondary Education [C. 7862] 1895. [Bryce Commission] University Colleges (Great Britain) (Grant in Aid) (245) 1897. University Colleges (Great Britain) (Grant in Aid) (252) 1902. Royal Commission on University Education in Ireland. Final Report [Cd. 1483] 1903. University Colleges (Great Britain) (Grant in Aid) (207) 1907. Preliminary Report of the Departmental Committee on the Royal College of Science (Including the Royal School of Mines) [Cd. 2610] 1905. Final Report of the Departmental Committee on the Royal College of Science (Including the Royal School of Mines) [Cd. 2872] 1906. Report of the Committee . . . to consider the Organisation of Oriental Studies in London [Cd. 4560] 1909. Report of the Committee on Scottish Universities [Cd. 5257] 1910. Royal Commission on University Education in London. Final Report [Cd. 6717] 1913. [Haldane Commission] Report of the Machinery of Government Committee [Cd. 9230] 1918. Royal Commission on Oxford and Cambridge Universities [Cmd.1588] 1922. [Asquith Commission] Report of the Departmental Committee on the University of London [Cmd. 2612] 1926. [Hilton Young Committee]

Serial publications Reports from University Colleges Participating in the Grant made by Parliament for University Colleges in Great Britain, 1894–1913/14. Report of the University Grants Committee, 1921–35 to 1947.

Other published primary sources Childs, W. M. The New University of Reading: Some Ideas for Which it Stands (Bradley and Sons: Reading, 1926). Lord Curzon of Kedelston. Principles and Methods of University Reform. Being a Letter Addressed to the University of Oxford (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1909). Haldane, R. B. Education and Empire. Addresses on Certain Topics of the Day (John Murray: London, 1902). Haldane, R. B. Universities and National Life. Three Addresses to Students (John Murray: London, 1910). Haldane, R. B. Selected Addresses and Essays (John Murray: London, 1928).

260 Select bibliography Haldane, R. B. Richard Burdon Haldane. An Autobiography (Hodder and Stoughton: London, 1929). Newman, J. H. The Idea of a University. Edited with introduction and notes by I. T. Ker (Based on the 9th edition 1889) (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1976). Pattison, M. Suggestions on Academical Organisation. With Especial Reference to Oxford (Edmonston and Douglas: Edinburgh, 1868). Truscott, B. Red Brick University (Pelican: London, 1951).

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Index

Aberdare, Lord 37, 38 Aberdeen, University of 17, 34 Aberystwyth, college 37–8, 122 Acland, Arthur 137 Agricultural Research Council (ARC) 176–7 agriculture 47, 126 Air Inventions Committee 179 Albert, Prince Consort 20, 23 Albert University 73–7 apothecaries 57 Armstrong College see Newcastle upon Tyne Arnold, Matthew 95, 110, 113 Arnold, Oliver 124 Arnold, Thomas 18, 61 Asquith, Herbert 196, 197, 198, 201 Association for Promoting the Higher Education of Women in Oxford 44 Association for Promoting a Teaching University for London 70–1, 72, 75 Association of University Teachers 192 Balfour, A. J. 89, 137 Bangor, college 38, 122 Barnett, Samuel 42 Beard, Charles 171 Bedford College see London Bedford Trustees 203, 204 Beit, W. & Co. 164 Belfast, Queen’s College 35–6, 116, 147 Berlin, University of 17 Beveridge, W. H. 204 Birkbeck see London Birmingham, Mason College: curriculum 121; degrees 103, 130;

Day Training College 129; finances 103, 118, 150; foundation 103, 109; medicine 125, 150; research scholarships 121; scientific education 103, 109; university status 150, 151–2 Birmingham, Queen’s College 103 Birmingham, University of: creation 150, 151–3; finances 141, 208, 209; medical education 210; nuclear studies 209; oil engineering 209; war losses 180 Birmingham and Midland Institute 103 Blakiston, H. E. D. 195, 195 Board of Agriculture 123, 126, 142, 184 Board of Education: authority over universities 135, 147, 149–50, 168, 220; creation 138; grants 142, 146, 148–9, 189; London proposals 202; medical education 207; Oxbridge finances 173, 174; relationship with university colleges 140, 144–5, 146–7, 164–5, 220; relationship with local authorities 159; relationship with Treasury 135, 140, 146, 148–9, 188, 189; relationship with UGC 187, 189; role 5, 144, 220; state scholarships 186; teacher training 210; universities branch 146–7; see also Day Training Colleges Board of Inventions and Research 179 Board of Trade 181 Bristol, University College: creation 42, 104; engineering 124; evening classes 129; finances 115–16, 118; fruit and cider research 210; student numbers 125

Index 269 Bristol, University of: creation 42, 150, 158–9; finances 208, 209; local educational contacts 210 Bristol Medical School 104 Bristol Merchant Venturers’ Technical College 146, 158 Bristol Technical Instruction Committee 124 British Association for the Advancement of Science 100 Brougham, Henry 54 Bryce, James 113, 128, 136, 137 Calthorpe, Lord 152 Cambridge University: Caput Senatus 12, 24; civil service entrants 47, 186; colleges 26, 48, 200, 201; Council of Senate 24; curriculum 14, 16, 22, 28, 45–6, 47, 172; educational style 217; examinations 15–16; examinations for schools 40; extension courses 40–1, 42; finances 32, 45, 183–4, 188, 195–202; Girton College 43; Higher Local exams 43, 44; medical department 173, 195; Newnham College 43–4; reform calls 169; reform debate 18, 216; relationship with Church 14–15; relationship with state 173; Royal Commissions 6, 10, 11, 20–7, 28, 31–3, 196–7, 224; St Peter’s College 26; science 46, 47, 183–4, 200, 201–2; status 174, 175; statutes 20, 21, 26; student numbers 48; Syndicate 33; Trinity College 13, 18, 26, 46; women’s education 43–4, 172, 181, 190, 197, 201; see also Oxbridge Cambridge University Act (1856) 24, 29 Campbell, Thomas 54, 55 Cardiff, University College 38 Carnegie, Andrew 151 Catholic emancipation 16, 56 Catholic University of Ireland 36 Cavendish Laboratory 46 Central College of the City and Guilds Institute 163, 164, 165 Chamberlain, Austen 141 Chamberlain, Joseph 130, 140, 151, 152–3

chemistry 66, 70, 98 Childs, W. M. 157, 211–12, 213 Church of England: Cambridge degrees 14–15; divinity degrees 82; Durham University 101; Ecclesiastical Commissioners 16; London university education 55–6, 67; Oxbridge relationship 4, 9, 11, 25–6, 29–30, 53; Oxford entry 14–15; Oxford Movement 15, 19; revival movement 18–19; voluntary schools 136 Churchill, Winston 137, 204 City and Guilds Institute 81–2, 89, 104, 163, 164, 165 City of London Guilds 77, 81 City Parochial Charities Act (1883) 85 City Polytechnic 85, 90, 167 civil service 41, 47, 65, 186–7 Clarendon Commission 31 classics 14, 16, 97, 185 Clough, Anne 40, 43–4, 106 Committee for Opposing the Albert University 77 Conservative Party 136 Co-operative Movement 171, 173 Cowper, Earl 70, 79 Cowper Commission: establishment 70; London higher education market 78–87; teaching university strategy 79–80; terms of reference 79; vision 75, 92, 218 Curzon, Lord 172 Dale, R. W. 110 Darwin, Charles 29 Davies, Emily 43 Day Training Colleges (DTCs) 86, 127–9, 146 Department of Arts and Sciences 144 Department of Scientific and Industrial Research (DSIR): creation 176, 182, 212, 220; role 182–4, 198–9; UGC relationship 187, 189; war work 212 Departmental Committees 203, 205 Departmental Inquiries 5 Development and Road Improvement Act (1909) 138 Development Commission (DC) 183

270 Index Devonshire, Dukes of 46, 101, 164 D’Oyly, George 55 Draper’s Company 161, 163 Dublin, University College 36 Dundee, University College 118 Dunn Trustees 199, 208 Durham, University of 30, 101–2, 150, 158 Durham College of Science 101, 102, 118, 121, 124, 126, 157–8 East London Technical College 163, 167 Ecclesiastical Commissioners 16 Edinburgh, University of 17, 34, 35 Edinburgh Review 17 Education Act (1902) 138, 141, 161 Education Department: direction of residential colleges 86; grant returns 146; Oxbridge graduate entrants 41, 137; relationship with university colleges 123; role 144; teacher training 126–7, 128, 129; see also Board of Education Empire Marketing Board 199 engineering 47, 64, 84, 98, 120 Eton College 31 examinations 63, 111 Exeter, Technical and University College 121, 122, 191 Exhibition (1851) 101 extension courses 40–1, 42, 103–4, 170–1 Fabian Society 88 Faulkner, George 97–8 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb 17 fine art 84–5 First World War: effects on university system 8, 176, 181–6, 220; post-war reconstruction 186–7, 222, 223, 224; scientific and technical research 178–81; women’s education 181 Firth, Mark 104 Firth College, Sheffield see Sheffield Fisher, H. A. L. 188, 189, 195, 203, 208 Fitzpatrick, T. C. 196 Fitzroy, Almeric 153–4, 155, 157 Fletcher, W. M. 183–4, 199, 200, 201

Flexner, Abraham 168 Foreign Office 181 forestry 47 Foster, Michael 46, 47 Fry, Lord Justice 72 General Medical Council 125 Germany: Bildung 17, 19, 217; divinity studies 55; influence on English universities 41, 88, 111, 214; relationship of universities with state 111, 220; research 111, 184; role of university 9, 29, 53–4; scientific expertise 182, 187; technical and higher education system 135, 164; university curriculum 16–17, 53–4; university funding 111; war threat 193; Wissenschaft 17, 218 Gladstone, William Ewart 81, 137 Glasgow, University of 17, 34, 112, 151 Gore, Charles 171–2 Goschen, George 117–18 Greek, compulsory study 172 Green, T. H. 41–2, 137, 170, 219 Greenwood, J. G. 98, 100 Gresham, Thomas 53 Gresham University 77, 79, 81 Grey, Earl 62 Guildhall School of Music 82 Haldane, R. B.: background and beliefs 87–8, 134, 137, 174, 220; Departmental Committee on the Royal College of Science 165; grants advisory committee 142; influence 134, 158, 184, 220; Irish university plan 36–7; Liverpool case 155; London reform campaign 88–91, 161, 164, 168–9, 207, 220; Machinery of Government Committee 184; Royal Commission 161, 166–7, 178, 202–3; university reform campaign 134–5, 153; Webb relationship 87, 88–9 Hall, A. D. 183, 199, 201 Hamilton, William 17 Hardy, W. B. 199, 201 Hartley, Henry 105 Hartley Institution, Southampton see Southampton

Index 271 Headlam, A. C. 147, 162, 168 Heath, F. 146, 147, 148, 149 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 17, 41, 88, 137 Henry VIII, King 11 Heywood, James 97 Hicks, William Mitchinson 116, 117 Hicks-Beach, Michael 117, 140 history, modern 46 Hogg, Quintin 85 Holcroft, Charles 151 Hopkins, F. G. 199 Hunt, H. G. B. 82 Huxley, T. H. 66, 103, 109–10, 113 Imperial College see London Imperial Institute 86 Incorporated Law Society 84, 124 Indian Civil Service 47, 65 Inns of Court 14, 53, 62, 64, 84, 168 Institutes of Engineering 84 Inventions Department 179; see also Ministry of Munitions Irish universities: examinations 63; finances 116, 117, 188; Haldane’s plan 36–7; religious issues 34, 35–6, 116; state role 50, 188 Jowett, Benjamin: civil service strategy 41, 47; extension schemes 42, 104; influence 116, 170, 219; reformer 29, 41 Kant, Immanuel 17 Keble, John 19 Kidd, A. H. 188, 189, 198 King’s College, London see London Ladies’ College, Bedford Square 66–7 Laud, William 21 law 47, 64, 78, 124–5, 168 Law Society 168 Law Students Association 124 Leeds, textile industry 124 Leeds, University of: creation 150, 157; finances 208, 209; site 210; war work 181 Leeds, Yorkshire College of Science: agriculture 126; charter issue 114,

155; curriculum 102–3, 121, 124; evening classes 129; finances 102, 118, 146; foundation 102; medicine 125; status 156, 157; Victoria University relationship 94, 100, 102–3 Licentiate of the Society of Apothecaries (LSA) 57 Lightfoot, Canon 107 Lingen, Ralph 116–17 Liveing, C. D. 120, 121, 123, 129 Liverpool, Day Training College 127 Liverpool, Queen’s College 106 Liverpool, schools 96 Liverpool, University College: banking 125; commerce 125; creation 95, 105–7; curriculum 107–8; evening classes 129; finances 107, 118, 122, 146; law 124–5; medicine 125, 150; oceanography 209; reputation 109; Victoria University relationship 94, 100, 107, 150, 153–4 Liverpool, University of: creation 150, 153–5; creation question 109; finances 146, 209 Liverpool Technical Instruction Committee 107 Lloyd George, David 137, 148, 149 local education authorities (LEAs) 138 Local Government Act (1888) 126 Lodge, Oliver 141, 148, 151, 195 London: campaign for a teaching university 69–78; emergence of higher education 7, 51–2; higher education market 78–87; medical education 200; university education 63–9, 160–9 London, Bedford College 67, 81, 88, 119, 162, 167 London, Birkbeck Institute 54, 85, 88, 90, 167 London, Courtauld Institute of Art 206–7 London, East London Technical College 163, 167 London, Imperial College 148–9, 161, 163–6, 167 London, Institute of Archaeology 207 London, Institute of Historical Research 204, 206

272 Index London, King’s College: academic status 63, 68; Albert charter question 72–4; charter 59; creation 51, 53, 55–6, 91, 216; curriculum 64–5; degrees 65; engineering course 64; evening classes 65, 167; finances 55, 65, 88, 118, 161–2; influences on 17; medical education 58; oriental languages 86; relationship with Church 51, 53, 55–6, 61, 162; relationship with London University 80–1, 89, 162, 167; scientific education 83, 101, 164; site 167, 168, 203, 204; state role 150; theology 65; women’s education 66, 68, 162, 181 London, King’s College for Women 162, 167, 168 London, Royal Holloway College 67, 162, 167 London, School of Oriental Studies 163, 167, 206 London, School of Slavonic Studies 206 London, University College Hospital 207 London, University College of: academic status 63, 68–9; Albert charter question 72–4; charter 60; curriculum 64–5; degrees 65; engineering course 64; finances 88, 118, 161; foundation 51, 91, 216; governing body 78; influence 68, 93; influences on 17; oriental languages 65, 86; relationship with London University 80–1, 89, 161, 162, 167; scientific education 66, 83, 101, 164; student numbers 161 London, University of: Associated Colleges 72; Bloomsbury site 54, 203–4, 206, 208, 221; charter 58–60, 62, 63, 66, 111; Constituent Colleges 71; convocation 62, 71–2, 75–6; Court 206; creation 7, 17, 20, 50, 51–2, 91, 109, 216; curriculum 55, 61, 108, 110; Day Training College 167; examinations 52, 61–2, 111, 112, 114–15, 120, 139, 162; examining body 133; external examinations 87, 99, 125, 217–18; finances 51, 116, 140, 205, 219, 221; foundation and

development (1825–1858) 52–63; graduates 61–2; influence 36, 97, 133, 213; investigation 135; origins 17; parliamentary grants 139, 140; reconstituted (1900) 87–91; reforms 133, 202–8; relationship with Church 55–6, 67, 108; relationship with state 51–2, 133, 203, 218, 221; role 87, 134; Royal Commissions 52, 70, 74–6, 78–9, 161, 166–9, 175, 186, 202; senate 61–2, 70–2, 75–6; Statutory Commissioners 205–6; teaching 162–3; women’s education 62–3, 66–8 London, Westfield College 67, 162, 167 London Corporation 77, 89 London County Council (LCC): funding 88, 162, 164, 206; London University representation 89; Webb’s role 87, 88, 90 London Ladies’ Educational Association 68 London Mechanics Institute 54, 85 London School of Economics and Political Science (LSE) 88, 90, 143 London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine 207 Longton, tutorial classes 171 Low Temperature Research Station 183, 199 Machinery of Government Committee 184–5 McCormick, William 188, 189 Manchester, Owens College: charter issue 93–4, 99–100, 108–9, 112–15, 116, 131; creation 97–8; curriculum 69, 97, 98, 124; evening classes 129; examinations 73, 99, 112; finances 97, 98–9, 100, 111, 115, 116, 118, 119, 121–2, 124; German influence 111; halls of residence 99; law 124–5; medical education 99, 100, 125; pioneering 95; relationship with Victoria University 69, 73, 100, 116; research 112; role 152; scientific education 98, 100–1; site 98; student numbers 98; women’s education 98, 129 Manchester, University of: creation 108,

Index 273 150; finances 142, 147, 148; reputation 109; staff pension arrangements 141; war work 181 Manchester, Victoria University see Victoria University Manchester Grammar Schools 120, 146 Manchester Royal Infirmary 125 Manchester Royal School of Medicine 99 Manchester Technical College 120, 146 Mansbridge, Albert 171 Mason, Josiah 103 Mason College, Birmingham see Birmingham Mason University College Act (1897) 130 mathematics 14, 16, 97 Maurice, F. D. 65 Mechanics Institutes 96 Medical Act (1886) 125 Medical Research Council (MRC) 176, 183, 198–9 medical education: at Cambridge 47; in London 47, 56–9, 60, 62, 64, 70, 74, 99, 168; Owens College 99, 125; Oxbridge 57, 62; public health 125–6; Victoria University 125 Mellanby, Edward 210 Mill, J. S. 41, 110 Milner, Alfred 117 Ministry of Health 184 Ministry of Munitions 179, 180, 181 Ministry of Reconstruction 187 modern languages 120, 185 Morant, R. L.: Board of Education role 138, 140, 145–7, 149–50, 220; character 145; grants issue 145–6; Haldane Commission role 166; idealism 134, 137, 145; Imperial College strategy 164, 165; influence 134–5, 164, 220; Machinery of Government Committee 184; Treasury relations 145–6 Moseley, H. G. J. 179, 180 Mowatt, 119 Mundella, A. J. 117 Museum of Irish Industry 36 music 82, 168

National Institute of Medical Research 199 National Insurance Act (1911) 138 National Physical Laboratory 138, 179 Newcastle upon Tyne: Armstrong College 150, 158; College of Medicine 102, 157; Day Training College 128, 158; degrees 130; evening classes 129; gowns 121; Mining Institute 102; naval architecture 124 Newman, Sir George 186, 207 Newman, John Henry 19, 110, 170 Newton, Isaac 14 North of England Council for the Promotion of Higher Education of Women 40 Northcote-Trevelyan Commission 41, 47 Nottingham, University College: Day Training College 128; evening classes 129; fees, 121; finances 105, 118, 121, 124, 143, 146, 150, 208–9; foundation 104–5; status 157, 191, 210–11 Nuffield, Lord 200 oriental languages 65, 86 Owens, John 97 Owens College, Manchester see Manchester Oxbridge: ancien régime 11–20; background of students 48–9; career paths 47–9, 110; civil service entrants 47, 186–7; college tutors 28–9, 39, 77–8; colleges 12–13, 21–3, 25–7, 31, 45, 46, 48, 216; collegiate system 131, 132, 177, 201, 220–1; cost of education 54–5; curriculum 14, 22–3, 45–6, 110; dominance 4, 7, 219–20, 221–2; educational style 217; Edwardian period 169–74; fellowships 16, 25–6, 48; finances 5, 11–12, 173, 177–8, 195–202, 213, 221; governing bodies 12; history 3; inspectors 94; nineteenth century reform 10, 27–33, 108, 216, 219; reform issue 17–20; relationship with Church 9, 11, 14–15, 24–5, 29–30; relationship with state 5, 9–10, 134, 173, 195–202, 221; research 213, 221;

274 Index Oxbridge continued state scholarships 190; status 4, 7, 49, 133, 173–4, 221; war losses 180; women’s education 43–4, 48 Oxford, MP 16 Oxford and Cambridge Schools Examination Board 40 Oxford Movement 15, 19, 20, 22, 59 Oxford University: Balliol College 41, 104, 137, 219; Bodleian 198, 200; Christ Church College 105; civil service entrants 47, 186; colleges 48, 200–1; Common University Fund 45; Corpus Christi College 180; curriculum 14, 16, 28, 44, 45–6, 172, 200–1; educational style 217; engineering 195; examinations 16, 22; examinations for schools 40; extension courses 42, 170–1; finances 32, 45, 188, 195–202; graduates 41–2, 170; Hebdomadal Board 12, 24; Hebdomadal Council 24; Lady Margaret Hall 44; Lincoln College 25–6, 29; New College 32, 42, 104; reform calls 169; reform debate 18; relationship with Church 14, 25; relationship with state 173; Rhodes scholars 170; Royal Commissions 6, 10, 11, 20–7, 28, 31–3, 196–7, 224; science 46, 200, 202; Somerville College 44; status 174, 175; statutes 20, 21, 25–6; student numbers 44, 48; tutorial system 48; war losses 180; women’s education 43, 44, 172, 181, 190, 197, 201; see also Oxbridge Oxford University Act (1854) 24, 29 Paris Exhibition (1867) 98, 101, 102 parliamentary grant 8, 115–23, 139–50 Pattison, Mark 29, 30, 111, 113 Pease, J. A. 149 Peel, Robert 16, 35, 55, 56 philosophy 97 physics 70 Playfair, Lyon 101, 113, 116 polytechnics 3, 85, 88, 90, 167 postgraduates 184 Privy Council: Albert petition 77; Birmingham petition 151; Bristol

petition 158–9; DSIR status 182; Gresham petition 81; Liverpool and Manchester decision 155; London statutes approval 206; Owens petition 114; Oxbridge grants issue 196; relationship with local authorities 159–60; role 5; Sheffield decision 157; Yorkshire College appeal 153, 155, 157 professional training 14, 47, 64 provincial university colleges 130–2; civic identity 92, 93–4; development 130–2; emergence of 8, 95–108; parliamentary grant 115–23; role and functions 123–30; university status 108–15 public health 125–6 Public Health Act (1875) 126 Pusey, Edmund 19, 29 Queen’s College, see Belfast, Birmingham, Liverpool Queen’s College, Harley Street 66 Ramsay, William 116, 117 Rathbone, William 107 Reading: finances 122, 143, 150; status 191; University College 104, 141, 178, 211; University Extension College 42, 105, 121, 211 Reading University 157, 208, 211–12, 213–14 Regent Street Polytechnic 85, 90, 167 Reid, Elizabeth 66–7 research: funding 182, 184, 213, 221; London 213, 221; Oxbridge 46–7, 111, 213, 221; provincial colleges 111–12; Royal Commission view 83; war work 180–1, 182 Rhodes, Cecil 170 Robertson, Charles Grant 208 Rochdale, tutorial classes 171 Rockefeller, J. D. 199–200 Rockefeller Foundation 200, 202, 204, 207, 208, 213 Roscoe, Henry 66, 98, 99, 100, 116, 124 Rose, Hugh James 55 Rosebery, Earl of 137, 164 Rothamsted Experimental Station 183

Index 275 Royal Academy of Music 82, 89 Royal Agricultural Society 84 Royal Aircraft Establishment 179 Royal Arsenal 179 Royal College of Chemistry 164 Royal College of Music 82, 89 Royal College of Physicians 57, 60, 61, 74, 89 Royal College of Science 81, 82, 163, 165 Royal College of Surgeons 74, 89 Royal Commissions: called for 20, 172–3; on civil service 186; on elementary education 127; London, 52, 70, 161, 166–9, 175, 186, 202; on Medical Education 114; on Oxford and Cambridge 6, 10, 11, 20–7, 28, 31–3, 133, 134, 196–7, 224; Schools Inquiry Commission 31; on Scientific Instruction 98, 101; Scottish universities 35; on Secondary Education 128, 136; state role 5, 10 Royal Holloway College see London Royal Institute of British Architects 84 Royal School of Mines 81, 82, 163, 164, 165 Royal University 36–7 Rugby School 18 Runciman, Walter 149 Ruskin, John 95 Ruskin College 171, 172 Russell, Lord John 59 Sadler, Michael 42 St Andrews, University of 17, 34, 40, 110, 112 St David’s College, Lampeter 37, 38 St Patrick’s College, Maynooth 36, 116 scholarships 46, 121, 159, 186, 190 School Boards 136, 138 schools: elementary 18, 136; examinations 39–40; grammar 108; London foundation 54; public 18, 31, 48; secondary 85–6, 108, 136 Schools Inquiry Commission 31, 67 science: DSIR 182; examinations 70; inquiry (1916) 185; London 110; Oxbridge 46–7, 110, 200; provincial

universities 110; Royal Commissions 83–4; war work 179, 182 Science and Arts, Department of 101 Scottish universities: examinations 113; finances 116, 117, 118, 188; histories 7; influence on English system 17, 40, 54, 97; reform 34–5; state role 5, 33, 39, 50, 188; tradition 17, 33, 34 Second World War 212, 214, 215, 224 Selbourne, Earl 70 Selbourne Commission 70, 74–6, 78, 79, 92, 218 Selby-Bigge, L. A. 149, 173 Select Committees 5, 37, 64, 101, 178 Sheffield, Firth College: charter issue 114; creation 104; finances 115–16, 118; medicine 104, 125; status 156–7; steel development 124; Victoria University relationship 121, 130 Sheffield, University College of 130, 143, 146, 150 Sheffield, University of: clinical unit 210; creation 150, 156–7; experimental station on mine safety 209; finances 209; war work 181 Sheffield School of Medicine 104, 125, 130 Sibly, F. 214 Slade, Felix 66 Slade School of Fine Art 66 Society for the Promotion of Higher Education in Liverpool 106 Society of Arts 82 Society of Friends 99 Southampton, Hartley Institution: creation 105; Day Training College 157; finances 118, 122, 141, 143, 209; status 150, 157, 191 Spring-Rice, Thomas 59–60, 63 Stuart, James 40, 42 surgeons 57 Swansea college 198 teacher training 86, 126–7, 210 technical education 108 Technical Instruction Act (1889) 119 theology 47, 65, 82–3 Toynbee Hall 42, 145, 171

276 Index Tractarians 19 Treasury: administration of grant 135, 139–40, 142, 144–5; grant amounts 148, 189–90; grant applications 143; grants in aid 94, 139; grants to London 116, 204–5; grants to provincial university colleges 115, 116–19, 121–3, 141; Oxbridge advisers 192; Oxbridge grants 198; relationship with Board of Education 135, 140, 146, 148–9, 188, 189; relationship with local authorities 159; relationship with UGC 187, 189–90, 194, 198; role 5, 145, 162; views on universities’ grant 140 Trinity College, Dublin 35, 36 Trinity College of Music 82 Unitarians 95 Universities of Oxford and Cambridge Act (1877) 33, 45 Universities Tests Act (1871) 28, 30, 31, 116 University College see Bristol, Cardiff, Dublin, Dundee, Exeter, Liverpool, London, Nottingham, Reading, Sheffield university extension courses see extension courses University Grants Committee (UGC): concept of university education 193–4, 212; creation 177, 187, 212; library facilities 194; London grants 206–8, 213, 221; Oxbridge grants 196, 197–8, 202, 213, 221; provincial university grants 208–12, 221; relationship with Treasury 187, 189–90, 194, 198; report (1928–29) 208; role 5, 187–8, 189–90, 195, 215, 220, 222; staff issues 192; student

issues 192–3; university status questions 190–1, 210–11; wartime issues 212 University of London Act 89 Victoria, Queen 129 Victoria University: charter 100, 102; creation 69, 94, 114–15, 122, 131, 219; degrees 100, 114, 117, 130; development 133; examinations 120; finances 115–16, 117, 139; Firth College 121; Liverpool relationship 100, 107, 150, 153–5; medical degrees 125; Owens College relationship 73, 114; parliamentary grants 139, 140; role 131; site 114; Yorkshire College admission 102–3 Vrooman, W. W. 171 Wales, University of 34, 38, 140 War Office 212 Warburton, Henry 59–60 Ward, A. W. 98, 99, 100 Warren, T. H. 120, 121, 123, 129 Webb, Beatrice 137, 184 Webb, Sidney 87–91, 137, 161, 164, 168 Wellington, Duke of 18, 55, 56 Welsh colleges: campaign for university 34, 37–8; examinations 63; finances 116, 117, 122, 188; histories 7; influence on English system 73; state role 5, 38–9, 50, 188 Westfield College see London Whewell, William 18 Whiskey Money Act (1890) 119 Wills, H. E. 158 Worker’s Educational Association 171 Yorkshire College of Science see Leeds Young, Edward Hilton 205