Not just History: A Midsummer Tour of the Unexpected

I was asked to do a tour at very short notice for a lady who, she made clear, wasn’t particularly interested in history. Not usually for me, I do love history, but I accepted. And I’m so glad I did. It turned into one of the most memorable days I’ve had in Oxford, not because of the past, but because of the way we experienced the present.

It was midsummer. One of those rare  almost-too-hot days. The air heavy with sun and the city dozing in it. The kind of day where the sandstone glows gold, the breeze, if you’re lucky enough to find it, carries wafts from the gardens, and time feels spacious. The perfect day, in fact, not to focus on dusty dates or monumental events—but to feel the places that hold them.

We began at the Oxford Botanic Garden, a fitting place to open a tour for someone more drawn to plants than to the past. Founded in 1621, it’s the oldest botanic garden in Britain and was originally planted in a formal 17th-century style in 1645. Today, it’s evolved into a richly varied and immersive space. The garden was in its glory. Vigorous, colourful and fragrant. 

My client wasn’t a historian, but she was curious. She saw wonder in things we often overlook. A holly bush, so common here, stopped her in her tracks. "Is that real holly?" she asked, as if it had stepped straight out of a Christmas carol.

 She delighted in touching and smelling the herbs, and we even tasted a few (though not the yew, of course!). I told her the yew tree in the garden is thought to be the oldest there, planted not long after the garden was founded. It has a grim little story: yews were used in ancient times to make crossbows, and being poisonous, they were grown in churchyards so that animals, who were never grazed in churchyards would not nibble them.

From there, we took a 15 minute drive out of the city—only a short one, but it felt like crossing a border. In the village of Worton, we entered a kind of oasis: a gently unruly paradise of gardens, animals, and tables scattered under the trees. 

A former Balliol classics scholar has turned his land into what can only be described as a little slice of provincial France - with a thoroughly English twist.

The farm is home to ducks, chickens, geese, and guinea fowl. The owner explained that he does not lock them up at night, the animals look after each other. Gaggles of geese patrol the ducks. Guinea fowl keep watch over the chickens. All napping under fruit trees. In that sunny garden surrounded by lavender and rhubarb (which she has also never seen before), My guest particularly appreciated the ethos of the place with its connection to the land.

We launched on what you might call English creative cuisine. Seasonl ingredients grown on-site using fresh herbs, edible flowers, and vegetables from the garden. Refined and rooted and suited to my guest’s interest in sustainability and local sourcing.

Back in Oxford, we made time for two treats: a museum and a college. I chose the Oxford University Museum of Natural History, with its neo-gothic architecture and extraordinary carvings by the Dublin-born O’Shea brothers—each capital of the columns a tiny, naturalistic masterpiece. We explored collections including fossils, minerals and dinosaur skeletons. My guest commented that she rarely visited museums at home and had never seen anything quite like this. The blend of architecture, natural science, and artistic detail made a strong impression.

We then visited one an Oxford colleges. Though the original request was for minimal history, I included a brief overview of the university’s religious origins and the evolving culture within the colleges—from ecclesiastical training to modern academic life. My guest’s son will be spending a year in Oxford, so we also discussed the student experience: college facilities, dining halls, accommodation, and social activities..

We wandered through quadrangles and cloisters, looking not just at the past, but at the present offerings of each college: music, sport, libraries, gardens. Her son is coming to Oxford for a year, so we talked about how he might find his place here—not just as a student, but as someone living in a city that has always blended the scholarly and the earthly, the quiet and the chaotic, the ancient and the brand new.

It turned out to be one of those days that made me fall in love with Oxford and my work all over again. There’s a great joy in showing off its past, but sometimes it’s even more powerful to invite someone to feel its present—to taste it, smell it, hear it in the wind and the choir rehearsals drifting from college doorways.

It’s easy to focus on the grandeur: the Radcliffe Camera, the spires, the prime ministers and philosophers who studied here. But magic happens on an ordinary day like this: A day away from facts and figures. A day rooted in feeling and place and a reminder that history lives in gardens, kitchens, laughter, footsteps, and sun-drenched stone.

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See punt on the river in the background