ON ARRIVING IN OXFORD
Sin,—Mr. Harold Nicolson's graphic description of the horrors of arriving at Oxford in the black-out led me to think of the beginning of term when I was an undergraduate fifty-five years ago. The clatter of the horse's hoofs and the jingle of its bell, the fresh air in one's face in place of the smell of petrel, and. the lovely vista of the High as one drove in a hansom to Magdalen are unforgettable memories. Let us hope that after the war heavy traffic will be diverted to by-pass roads. This should give a wonderful opportunity to a group of enterprising demobilised soldiers .o bring back the almost forgotten hansom for short