Writing a history of the University of Otago, New Zealand

This post is contributed by historian Dr Ali Clarke, a research fellow at the University of Otago, New Zealand.  Her most recent book ‘Otago: 150 Years of New Zealand’s First University‘ has just been published by Otago University Press and will be launched during the university’s 150th celebrations in March 2019.

The University of Otago takes pride in its status as New Zealand’s oldest university and has organised numerous events to celebrate its 150th anniversary in 2019. Establishing a university in Dunedin in 1869 was remarkably ambitious. It was the chief town of the Otago colony, begun just a couple of decades earlier by members of the Scottish Free Church. Gold rushes in the region in the 1860s led to an influx of people, but the population of Dunedin was still only around 15,000.

In response to a suggestion from the Otago high school rector, the New Zealand government appointed a select committee to investigate establishing scholarships to send promising young New Zealanders to universities in the United Kingdom; most people consulted believed a local university would be premature, or even ‘absurd’. Otago, headed by an entrepreneurial provincial council, decided to go ahead and set up a university anyway. It was no accident that it was in a community dominated by Scots that this happened: many Scottish migrants highly valued education and believed it should be offered widely. Furthermore, the Presbyterian Church was willing to fund a couple of professorial chairs.

After two years of preparation – in those days of slow boat transport, it took time for advertisements, applications and professors to travel between Europe and New Zealand – classes began in 1871. The 81 founding students came from around the country. It was a promising start, although many of the students were ill-prepared, without any secondary education. Other regions took note and wanted their own higher education facilities. In 1874, after much debate and negotiation, the University of Otago became a constituent college of a new University of New Zealand, which served as the country’s only degree-awarding body until the 1960s. It left all the teaching to its constituent colleges, established in the main centres of population; those colleges, including the University of Otago, became independent bodies in 1961.

Home science

Professor Ann Strong (right) with the staff of the Home Science Extension Service in the mid-1930s. They travelled around the region providing adult education courses. Faculty of Consumer and Applied Sciences records, MS-1517/064, S15-621E, Hocken Collections, University of Otago.

The University of Otago has been in some ways highly entrepreneurial. Within its first decade it had, as well as its arts and science courses, law classes, a medical school and a mining school; its dental school opened in 1907. Women were granted admission from the beginning, and in 1911 a home science school opened, attracting women from around the country. The university also attracted students from near and far to its health science courses; it added further health professional courses later in the 20th century. New campuses in Christchurch and Wellington helped cater for the needs of the expanding medical student roll. Commerce courses started in the 1910s, and Otago boasted New Zealand’s first MBA course in the 1970s.

But the university could also be deeply conservative. It was very slow to recognise the rights and interests of Māori. Although it attracted Māori students, especially to its medical courses, from the 1890s, it was not until the late 20th century that their numbers became significant. Otago was also the last of the New Zealand universities to introduce academic programmes in Māori studies, in the early 1980s. In its early decades almost all of Otago’s academic staff boasted degrees from distinguished old world universities and a remarkable number of Oxbridge graduates continued to be appointed throughout its history. There was much suspicion of American degrees: the first US graduate on staff was Ann Gilchrist Strong, who joined the home science school as a professor in 1921.

HyperFocal: 0

The campus in the 1890s, with the newly-built ‘tin shed’ of the mining school on the right.  H.J. Gill photograph, Box-140-001, S17-172A, Hocken Collections, University of Otago.

The biggest challenge in writing a new history to mark the University of Otago’s 150th anniversary was to turn a huge amount of material relating to a complex institution – it currently has campuses in four cities, over 20,000 students, 15 residential colleges and numerous research centres – into one readable volume. Previous histories, written for the jubilee and centenary, focussed on the administration of the organisation and its ‘great men’. The centenary history included a brief biography of every professor, past and present – that left little room for anyone else. The new book pays much more attention to students, and also tells the stories of early women staff and students and of the involvement of Māori with the university. The development of technology and the changing makeup of the student roll, including the rise of international students, also feature strongly. The book is arranged thematically, with about half devoted to the various academic and research programmes, and the remainder covering a diverse range of subjects, from administration and student life to changing teaching styles and the organisation’s built environment.

While I was working on the project I ran a blog, and found it a hugely valuable exercise – I thoroughly recommend it to anybody researching an institutional history (although it can be pretty time-consuming!). I posted regular stories on a wide range of topics relating to the university’s history. It was a good testing ground for material for the book – people corrected errors and provided further information, including identification of photographs. It also allowed me to share stories which, for reasons of space, couldn’t fit into the final book. The metrics were valuable in identifying areas people found most interesting. The blog was popular with the university’s communications and alumni staff, who are always on the lookout for interesting content. They publicised it widely and a couple of stories even made it to the local newspaper. This helped spark further interest in the project. Now the project is complete, the blog is being maintained by the Hocken Collections, the university’s research library, archive and gallery, using posts written by history students as part of their course work.  Otago: 150 Years of New Zealand’s First University will be launched during the university’s 150th celebrations in March 2019.

Lecture

A class underway in the late 1980s/early 1990s in the Castle Lecture Theatres. University of Otago Photographic Unit records, MS-4185/060, S17-550A, Hocken Collections, University of Otago.

The University of Manchester War Memorial

This post is contributed by Dr James Peters, archivist at the University of Manchester’s University Archives and Record Centre.

After the Armistice of 11 November 1918, life at the University slowly returned to some sense of normality.  However, as the War had claimed the lives of so many staff and students, the University community began to consider how it would recognise and commemorate its loss.

There was a strong feeling that a special War memorial was required; in March 1919, the University magazine, The Serpent, called for “a visible, tangible token” of commemoration, arguing that only an enduring monument could properly honour the dead, and it would be an error to pay tribute indirectly through “scholarships or laboratories or additional college buildings”.

This support for war memorials was reflected in society at large. Civic memorials were the most prominent, but schools and universities were also very active in commissioning memorials, unsurprisingly given that the war dead were drawn disproportionately from the young.

WW1 memorial SN

The University War Memorial

The University’s War memorial was not completed until November 1924, six years after the War ended. This long gap was due in part to the University’s preoccupation with a major fundraising appeal in 1919-20. In addition, as the memorial would name the University’s dead, it was essential that these details were accurate. Gathering this information was a major exercise, and the University’s Roll of Service, which provided the data for the Memorial, was not finished until 1922.

It was not until late 1921, when the University Council appointed a committee to plan the War memorial. Committee members included senior lay figures such as Sir Frank Forbes Adam, chairman of Council, and Sir Edward Donner, a major University benefactor, Mary Tout, wife of the historian Thomas Tout, who represented the University’s alumni, and three academic members: Professors J. Orr (French), H.B. Dixon (chemistry) and A.C. Dickie (architecture).

Dickie was given responsibility for the design of the Memorial, and in early 1922 he presented the committee with four options:

  • “a mural treatment” in the wall of the John Owens building, which would list the names of the dead and include a “bronze figure of St. George”;
  • “a not too large winged victory delicately posed on the apex of the great stone”; this planned to use the glacial boulder sited at the northern end of the Main Quadrangle, with panels naming the dead attached to the base;
  • “ a shrine for a figure on a pedestal” in the “old vaulted entrance” at the Oxford Road entrance;
  • “a figure on a pedestal” in the area between the Whitworth Hall and the Christie Library [this was then an undeveloped area where a link building between the Hall and the Christie building was added in the 1950s].

 

Proposed WWI memorial

One of the proposed memorial designs

Interestingly, three proposals were primarily figurative, with an option situated on each side of the Main Quadrangle. Such distinctive public memorialising was a new departure for the University; until then, its most obvious ‘monument’ was the glacial boulder in the Main Quadrangle, which was proposed for adaptation to a memorial. In the end, the committee opted for arguably the conservative option, the memorial tablet, which avoided difficulties with imagery which might sit uneasily with the University’s strict non-denominationalism in religious matters.

A local firm of sculptors, Earp, Hobbs & Miller of Lower Mosley St., was commissioned to make the memorial. The overall aesthetic of the completed mural was restrained, with imagery kept to a minimum. The planned figure of St George was dropped, with only the University’s coat of arms, flanked by child figures, represented. Dickie characterised the design as being “appropriate to the material used rather than in the style of an Architectural period”, although the style could described as “free classic”.

The memorial’s inscription read: “To members of the University of Manchester and the Officers Training Corps who laid down their lives in the Great War 1914-1919. In Grateful and Enduring Remembrance”. This was accompanied by a quote from Algernon Swinburne’s poem, Super Flumina Babylonis: “He has bought his Eternity with a little hour and is not dead”.

The memorial originally named 510 members of the University and the University’s Officer Training Corps (not all of whom were University students) who died on active service between 1914-1919. Names were organised by seniority of armed service (with Royal Navy personnel appearing first) and within this, by seniority of unit and then by rank. The number of dead listed from the local Manchester Regiment – 104 – is strikingly high. The memorial includes one woman student, Gertrude Powicke, who had died in 1919 whilst working as a nurse during the Russo-Polish War. However, at least one other female former student is not recorded: Isobel Tate, a doctor in the Royal Army Medical Corps (RAMC), who died of illness in 1917, while serving in Malta.

The memorial was unveiled by the University Chancellor on 29 November 1924 (it had originally been planned to hold the ceremony on Armistice Day, 11 November). The Chancellor, the 27th Earl of Crawford, had only recently taken up this post. Crawford was an experienced politician, who had had an interesting War; he had enlisted, aged 43, as a private orderly in the RAMC in 1915, but within eighteen months had joined the Coalition Cabinet as Minister for Agriculture. Interestingly, he had succeeded Lord Morley of Blackburn as Chancellor in 1923; Morley had resigned from the Cabinet in August 1914 in protest at the British decision to go to war. It is interesting to speculate on how Morley might have approached the ceremony, if he had still been alive.

Crawford’s address at the unveiling was relatively brief and low-key in tone: he stressed the overwhelming sense of loss  for those killed, while commending their sacrifices:

“The University would never realise the potential scale of loss, either to its own fame or to the advancement of the community” and “it is the premature dislocation, the tragic eclipse of young life, which arouses the most continuing sense of grief”.

The memorial’s location at the centre of the main University building, ensured that it was seen and acknowledged by staff and students going about their daily business. The memorial undoubtedly contributed to a stronger corporate identity at the University in the inter-war period, focussing on an event which caused upheaval to so many lives.

Further Information about the Memorial can found on the University of Manchester’s First World War webpages.