The Original English Hat Trick

I have been engaged this week in preparing Mark for Matriculation. This is a ceremony so ancient that it makes no sense to anyone, and just in case anyone should attempt to decipher it’s meaning, it is conducted entirely in Latin. Basically it seems to consist of Mark wearing a particular outfit, parading with his fellows from his college to somewhere, certain Latin words being spoken which acknowledge previous study done by the participants as in some measure legitimate (I believe, but don’t really know), and then presumably there is cake and tea on a lawn somewhere. (Though I don’t hold out much hope of the cake and tea).

The basic skill set involved is getting the costume right. Thankfully there are several well equipped shops in Oxford which will help with just that issue for a sum. They tell us we need a graduate’s gown and mortar board. And under this Mark has to wear ‘sub fusc’: a dark suit, white shirt and white bow tie, dark socks and shoes. Thankfully we had some idea of this piece of local tradition while we were in Australia and some friends had kindly loaned us their white bow tie and mortar board (because strangely they won’t be using this equipment for the next four years – Australia is sadly deprived of these curious official occasions).

However, I discovered in the course of this preparation that this regalia needs to be worn during examinations also. This caused some concern. The mortar board (the hat) doesn’t actually fit Mark, so I set about trying to find out whether this would be a serious issue. (Would he have to wear the hat while sitting an exam or just while walking into the exam? Would we need to glue it onto his head to stop it falling off during exams? Could this be slightly annoying?) In the process of asking these questions, I discovered something truly amazing. Mark will never wear this hat. He has to carry it during matriculation. He has to have it on his person during examinations. Presumably he will need to carry it during his viva at the end of the academic year. But he never has to wear it.

In fact, if a proctor finds him wearing his hat, he will be fined. He is not allowed to wear his hat.

It gets better. The reason for this prohibition against him wearing his mortar board is that he hasn’t graduated. Fair enough. We never really thought that this hat was going to keep his head warm. It was only ever ceremonial. If he hasn’t graduated, then he can carry it round with him to show he intends to graduate, I suppose, or in case there were a sudden graduation in his immediate vicinity in which he were included, he’d be prepared. But what is truly beautiful about this is that when he does graduate, he can’t wear this mortar board. He has to wear a different hat. DPhil graduates have their own hat—nothing so lowly as a mere mortar board. He will never ever legally wear this hat. Yet he will be breaking university protocol in a fairly serious way if he doesn’t carry this hat around with him to official university functions for the next four years.

The dependence of British comedy on irony is becoming clearer. JMB