A Paleographical Snapshot

Each week in paleography, we take turns around the table to read out a line or two of the transcription that we have been set while double marking for our neighbours' assignment. What this amounts to is you indicating the copious errors of the classmate on your right while surreptitiously attempting to angle your neck towards the classmate on your left in order to see whether you got it right or wrong, and to make sure that it isn't marked wrong when it is actually right. All this means that people are not paying much attention to the paper in front of them because they are far more concerned with the paper next to them, their own. This slow, and often embarrassing, process allows me time to consider my classmates. Most of them are doing a Medieval History MLitt together, so they know one another. I, being an outsider don't know anyone.

There is John who has an appallingly American accent which is particularly difficult to listen to when he is reading Latin. Next to John, Alan, who sounds very uncertain about his sentence, and mutters because of this. I never know what he said, and so don't mark anything on my paper. A freebee for whoever's assignment I have! There are a couple of uninteresting American boys next. Then Mark who sounds intelligent but is always wearing slightly rumpled rugby jerseys which confuses me. Then the tall young Irish man, complete with red hair and Arran sweater. He always seems to be figuring out his sentence on the spot, and yet he is usually right. Then Peter, an English fellow with a good sense of humour and a willingness to make suggestions in those awkward spaces after the professor has asked a question to which no one knows the answer. I am grateful to Peter for this service. Then Gerald. Gerald is usually right. I know because I usually mark his paper. But he is VERY annoying about it. He is one of those people who always thinks they have something interesting (at least HE thinks it's interesting), relevant (or so HE thinks), and informative (Ha!) to relate after every comment in a conversation. And he does this at break in the class. This usually has the effect of killing the tentative, casual camaraderie that had been present in the room before. Also, he breathes in in a pompous sort of fashion before correcting other people in the room. I am sure that this is involuntary but I still hate it. I always want to put pink marks all over his page; I am sure he is the sort of person who would not be able to handle this. Then me. I am the Other Girl in the class. I am usually 50% right which is fine with me, my grades don't count. After me is The Girl. She is a plain, friendly (American) girl who doesn't seem to cope too well with one of the nasty facts of Paleography; if you don't know Latin as though it were your first language, you're probably more wrong than right. (Gerald is an insufferable exception). Then James, another English boy with a very odd fashion sense who has a super educated accent, but is not better at Paleography than I am. And last, out professor. A Canadian woman with an unfortunate passion for hideous dresses and a strange sense of humour who is always making cultural references that the North Americans get, but leave the British momentarily confused. She is cheerfully and easily genius at paleography, which is naturally is a bit of a damper for us who worked so hard and got it so wrong.

Since this is one of only two classes that I have, this time in the presence of other people (albeit strangers) is nice, though intimidating. I think I am forgetting how to talk!