Sacred Groves of Academe

"Ludicrous," hooted a tutor of history. "Vandalism," cried a teacher of the classics. "Shocking . . . dreadful . . . tragic," roared Christ Church's most distinguished scientist, Lord Cherwell. It was inconceivable, exploded another don, that a Cabinet with 13 of its 18 members Oxonians, and five of them--including Prime

Minister Eden--Christ Church men at that, should countenance "this thing." He added darkly: "Duncan Sandys, brash, hard-faced, inhuman man that he is, was doubtless able to push it through because the Cabinet was exhausted by the Suez crisis."

Magdalen Madness. The "thing" that rocked Oxford (pop. 98,675) to its 12th century foundations last week was Duncan Sandys' audacious scheme, as Housing and Local Government Minister, for solving Oxford's appalling traffic problem. Ever since automobile and steelmaking factories sprang up around old Oxford's spires a generation ago, practically everybody has agreed that something must be done about diverting cars, trucks and buses from High Street before they shake down the ancient towers that line it.

Faced with the need of finding a better link between Oxford's shopping center and its spreading industrial suburbs to the east, Minister Sandys thrust aside 15 other plans and decided to drive a brand-new road through one of the most sacred academic groves on earth, the Christ Church Meadow.

A score of nascent Prime Ministers have strolled its tranquil two acres. Poets from Sir Philip (Arcadia) Sidney to W. H. (The Age of Anxiety) Auden first met their muse in the hallowed grassiness spread between Christ Church and Merton College and the crew-splashed "Isis" that is the River Thames. To Christ Church dons the explanation for it all was maddeningly simple: Minister Sandys was an Oxonian, yes, but a Magdalen man! The idea was to steer through the meadow the High Street traffic that now thunders past Sandys' old college over Magdalen Bridge. This, of course, delighted Magdalen and the other half-dozen colleges fronting on High Street. Oxford's city councilors, pleased that Sandys had made the decision they had been ducking for 30 years, also seemed sure to endorse the plan.

Cherwell's Choice. The dons of Christ Church, most powerful of Oxford's 26 colleges, were not so easily routed, however. Slowly, intrepidly, they sought to marshal the sort of massive force that does not make a fuss but simply thwarts, delays and transforms. The Oxford Preservation Trust, an ancient body dedicated to the maintenance of Oxford's ancient monuments and landmarks, mobilized against the Meadow road. High Street merchants began protesting that diversion of traffic from their doors would bankrupt them. A town planner was found who was ready to prove that the plan was unworkable. The university's ruling Hebdomadal Council met in deepest secrecy and significantly failed to endorse the new scheme. From his Christ Church study overlooking the meadow, the venerable Lord Cherwell, Sir Winston Churchill's top wartime brain-truster and now adviser for Britain's atomic-energy program, issued a statement solemnly urging that a Royal Commission be appointed to study the matter. After such a body had deliberated a few years, the menace of the Suez Canal crisis would undoubtedly have passed, and the 35 Christ Church men in the House of Commons might again be able to turn their energies to the menace of the Sandys road.

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