Postcards from Oxford:

• The hounds:

The hounds are still in the meadows. Again, seeing them I’m reminded of the classic English countryside that is so familiar in Turner and Constable's paintings. However, their master is one year older and, while probably never in good shape, appears to have had a hard year. He is now using canes to do his morning constitutional, though he still looks as wild as ever, long beard and a full head of unkempt hair. But he is now slower which doesn’t exercise the hounds. So taking matters into their own hands the choose runners or walkers who pass by and then pace along side for what would be a block or so. Then they turn back to rejoin their master. The exception to this is a runner or walker coming towards them on the path. As that person passes the hounds peal off and pace the runner or walker back to their master. They don’t seem to work well with numbers; they seem only to go with a solitary person. Today was my turn, and they paced me for what would have been two long city blocks. But before they could desert me we came to what must be the gamekeeper’s cottage. They left me and stood quietly waiting for their master to catch up.

I confess to you, it was a treat to have been chosen and I loved the felling of walking with a hound on each side. Where is Turner when you could use him?

• Last Summer’s Students:

Once again a lady named Katherine, who is with us again this year, amazes me. She comes from New Zealand by herself, get on the plane alone, goes through customs without help, then gets herself and her luggage to Oxford with out the help of anyone.

What makes this so amazing is that she is 94 years old, and uses a cane to get around. I see her all over the place; there is never a party that she misses. After lunch I never see her without a glass of gin in the hand that doesn’t use the cane

All of us look at her and pray to God that we can come close to having both her energy and her brain if we ever reach that age.

• Shakespeare:

I was met at the first receptions by cries of “Prospero, Prospero.” There are two ladies there from last year’s Shakespeare class. When we were studying “The Tempest” I mentioned that I had played Prospero in my youth. Now that is how they seem to see me, or at least so they claim.

I did in fact play that wonderful character. My claims to fame is that I never dropped a line, and please keep in mind that this is one of the largest parts in all of theatre. However, that was just about it. I wouldn’t have wanted to pay money to see my performance, luckily this was my last hurrah as an Actor. I recognized that should I keep trying to tread the stage, life was not only going to be one long battle, but it could be dangerous as well.

But, again a confession. They never knew how bad I truly was, so when they shout the name... I don’t correct them.