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Wolfson College Record 2021

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wolfson.ox.ac.uk<br />

Two Memories of <strong>Wolfson</strong><br />

in the 1960s<br />

25 Linton Road in 1967–68<br />

by Doug McIlroy (MCR 1967)<br />

Malcolm Douglas McIlroy, adjunct Professor of Computer Sciences at Dartmouth<br />

Colllege, is a pioneer of software engineering; a member of the team which developed<br />

Unix. He recalls ‘a top highlight of my career’, his year in Oxford working with<br />

Christopher Strachey, one of <strong>Wolfson</strong>’s Founding Fellows, in the Programming Research<br />

Group.<br />

Andrew Prentice and I were the <strong>College</strong>’s first resident members, living in an old<br />

house on Linton Road that afforded us a close-up view of the gutting of ‘Cherwell’<br />

on the <strong>Wolfson</strong> site and the blessing of the new foundation stone. My family<br />

occupied two floors and Andrew Prentice’s family lived on the top floor. Some<br />

rooms were vacant.<br />

American caricatures of British heating arrangements were confirmed by the<br />

immense boiler that (in our part of the house) heated one bathroom towel rack<br />

and a solitary radiator in the three-storey stairwell. The only other radiator – in<br />

the disused dining room – was shut off. But three electric storage heaters and the<br />

kitchen stove provided enough heat to simulate American comfort. The Domestic<br />

Bursar, Cecilia Dick, had thoughtfully furnished our quarters with everything we<br />

needed, right down to egg cups. I forget what the rent was, but I do remember it<br />

was quoted in guineas, a mythical unit so far as I was concerned, but I negotiated<br />

it down to pounds.<br />

Beside the boiler was a long-abandoned coal bin, and a coal shovel that I used to<br />

clear the driveway after a snowstorm, unaware that in England snow disappears<br />

quickly without human assistance. Near the boiler was a large electric closet<br />

whose frightening contents resembled the jumbles of wires in the streets of Indian<br />

slums.<br />

Many vignettes from Linton Road are fixed in my memory. Great tits pecking open<br />

the foil tops of milk bottles left at the door from an electric wagon; Frenchmen<br />

peddling lovely strings of onions; the rag and bone man asking my wife: ‘Any old iron,<br />

luv?’; Air Vice-Marshal McNiece-Foster, who lived next door, telling our two-year-<br />

95<br />

Memories

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