Wroxton College: A Look, Four Years Later

Four years ago today, I first stepped foot in that magnificent abbey so many have been fortunate enough to call home (however briefly). It was fall 2008, an election year, like this one, but the thoughts of my fellow students were not about politics or candidates or even America, really. No, they were the excited thoughts of wonder that fill the heads of students eager for knowledge, adventure and a good night in a pub.

Airports are a no man’s land. They are all the same, even if they are all different. You aren’t really in a new country untilyou first step outside. And once you do—it’s a whole new world.

The first thing was the roads and the bus and how it was all backwards. The driver was on the wrong side of the bus and the bus was on the wrong side of the road. But then, exhausted from eight hours on a plane, the students drifted off to sleep as the bus rolled gently along the M40, peaceful green and yellow pastures flowing past our windows like the perfect backdrop of a lullaby.

As the bus slowed and carefully navigated its way through several roundabouts and the narrow streets Banbury, everyone woke up, pointing at and admiring the quaint thatched roofs of an English village.

We will never forget that first impression of Wroxton Abbey, the way everyone held their breath as the bus squeezed through the narrow arches of the gate, the way the trees blocked our view until suddenly the path curved, and the four-and-a-half story abbey towered above the vast, open lawn and then our breath came out in a sudden gasp.

Wroxton.

Gathering our bags from the bus, milling around on the steps, eager to just get inside the building already—everything was ahead of us, everything was a discovery waiting just around the corner. Finally, finally, we went through that large, heavy wooden door, we flipped our fire cards for the first time and stood in the Great Hall in disbelief.

“I’m here,” I thought. “I’m finally here.”