“In my year, there’s one other Scouser, and hearing his voice down the corridor always makes me smile”
Iris De’Ath from Liverpool is a student at the University of Oxford(Image: Iris De’Ath )
Going into my final year at the University of Oxford fills me with both nerves and excitement. The last two years have flown by in a whirlwind. Reflecting on my fresher self, skipping from the streets of Liverpool into the quads of Mansfield College, I realise how much my life has changed.
I entered Oxford with a quiet confidence, but I had a lot to learn both academically and beyond the question of ‘Where am I going to get my nails done now?’. The initial transition wasn’t easy, and what felt like a strange new language at the university didn’t help.
On day one, we were told to buy “sub fusc” for matriculation. I had no idea what either word meant. (Matriculation is the ceremony where you’re formally enrolled into the university; sub fusc is the official gown and cap you wear for it.) Instead of semesters, we have Michaelmas, Hilary, and Trinity. And we don’t go home for Christmas; we return for the “winter vac.” As much as I rolled my eyes at these pretentious-sounding names during freshers’ week, my siblings now roll theirs at me, as I’ve picked them up myself.
It wasn’t just the language, though – it was the conversation. Talk of signet rings, rowing, and holiday homes, all polished in southern accents, filled formal dinners. I was used to serving salt and pepper chicken in Maggie Fu, not being served four-course meals in black tie under chandeliers that look straight out of Hogwarts.
Oxford students are discouraged from having term-time jobs, something they make clear with a contract in the first year. It makes sense; the workload is intense, with weekly essays, tutorials, and lectures. But it also explains why only 14.5% of students come from socioeconomically disadvantaged backgrounds: you (or better yet, your family) have to afford it.
Mine couldn’t. But thanks to scholarships and paid internships over the vac (yes, I’ve adopted the lingo), I was able to get by. Still, being a “scholarship kid” wasn’t something I loved to talk about, especially surrounded by people for whom Oxford was a natural next step, not a bold leap.
That leap was made possible by programmes like Aspire Liverpool, which encourage local students to aim for Oxbridge. After strong GCSEs at St Edward’s College, I was accepted on an Aspire trip that turned possibility into a plan. With interviews, A-levels, entrance exams, and personal statements ahead, I was determined to make the most of it – regardless of nerves or Eton boys.
In the first term, I struggled with imposter syndrome. The changes could feel isolating, and often it seemed like nobody else could relate. That feeling is common at many universities, but I reminded myself: I deserved to be here just as much as anyone else. Over time, I embraced the differences and learned that others were feeling the same. My background became something to be valued, not hidden or diluted.
Iris De’Ath as Ball President for Mansfield’s triannual ball with her friend(Image: Iris De’Ath )
It helped that I was at Mansfield, a proudly non-conformist college where 95% of students come from state schools. They look for potential, not polish. I didn’t know many Scousers at Oxbridge, but with my mum’s side being an Irish-Catholic docker family from Vauxhall Road, working hard was in my blood.
My degree has been everything I hoped for and more. Oxford’s tutorial system – small-group discussions with professors – is one of its best features. I just wish more working-class voices were in those conversations. In my year, there’s one other Scouser, and hearing his voice down the corridor always makes me smile. There aren’t many of us: only 7.6% of Oxford students come from the North West. At every opportunity, I try to represent that percentage and honour where I come from.
This year, I was ball president for Mansfield’s triannual ball, something I never imagined. I’d never even been to a ball, let alone run one. My inner Scouse prin shone through on the night, even if my walkie-talkie clashed with the glam.
It’s the smaller moments at uni that remind me how proud I am to be a Scouser at Oxford. I’ve loved telling my friends and tutors about home, an accent, and a culture I never want to lose.
Oxford has been incredible: intense, transformative, and surprisingly fun. As I begin my final year, I still pinch myself.
My Nan always told me stories of her life with my Grandad, whom I never got to meet. Like many Liverpool men, he worked on the docks, his hands labouring in snow or sun so that mine could now type away on a laptop at the best university in the world. For my grandparents, my family, and my city, I’ll always be proud and grateful – for where I’ve come from and where I am.