Sally had worked hard for the end of term exam. The lecturer had been wonderful, taking the class of 1974 through an insightful exploration of the lives and writings of four enormously influential people, often called the ‘founding fathers’ of sociology. Of course, Sally objected to the terminology, and felt sure that the story of sociology’s origins could not be confined to men alone. She hoped things might change in the future. What if the foundations of sociology could be re-imagined in some way, taking a wider view, and in particular acknowledging the contribution of women? Wasn’t it reductionist to see the origins of the subject through the contributions of four men alone: Auguste Comte, Karl Marx, Emile Durkheim and Max Weber?
With these questions in mind, Sally had gone off-piste with the course syllabus, and done some digging on her own account. In particular, she’d found her way to one Harriet Martineau (1802-76), who clearly, in Sally’s view, deserved a place in the history of sociology. Martineau was born into a family of free thinkers in eastern England. Defying the norms of her time, she wrote extensively, as a novelist, journalist and, indeed, sociologist. Her first commissioned book was Illustrations of Political Economy, an exploration of the ideas of Adam Smith, written for a general audience. Another classic work was her illness narrative, Life in the Sickroom. She was a feminist and a critic of religion. Her book Society in America, based on an extended visit, was full of concerns about democracy, slavery, and civil war, mingled with the everyday lives of ordinary people. It was undoubtedly an impressive sociological work, and its critical tone was unpopular with many Americans.
Most important of all, Sally had discovered, that Harriet’s work of 1853, entitled The Positive Philosophy of Auguste Comte, was an influential popular translation and condensation of Comte’s six volume work, that had originally been published in French. Apparently much admired by the author himself, it did a great deal to widen the audience for new sociological thinking. All of this came before the works of Durkheim and Weber, and in parallel to those of Marx. Oh yes, Harriet Martineau had been quite a find, and Sally was very excited about her.
***
But now the social theory exam was about to begin and somehow Sally had to pull all this together. She sat in the middle of the back row. From here, she could see all of her classmates, listening carefully as the lecturer set out the rules of the examination. Then, with the second hand of the clock ticking towards 9.30, the students were told to turn over their examination papers, and begin. They had three hours in which to answer three questions from a list of nine in total.
Running fingers through her crop of blond hair, Sally read through the list carefully, made here selections and set to work.
Elsewhere in the room a number of students gazed thoughtfully into the middle distance of the wood panelled examination hall. Some were still contemplating their preferred choices. Others seemed troubled about whether they had the wherewithal for three good answers. A few were in a blue funk, considering leaving the exam room there and then, and starting the Christmas holiday early.
Sally scribbled on, occasionally stopping to load another cartridge into her Parker pen and confident that she was making a flying start with a question about the functions of religion in society. After that would come an answer on the origins of capitalism, and then one about theory and method in social science. She was having an adrenalin rush and hoping for a firm writing hand and good time management to see her through.
But despite her own positive drive, Sally could feel a sense of doubt beginning to pervade the room. The smiling invigilator, scanning the rows, sought to give non-verbal reassurance and encouragement, but it didn’t seem to be working. There was an edginess, hard to pinpoint; an unsettled air, gaining strength.
Five minutes later something odd happened. A feeling of movement somewhere. Not the early departure of a forlorn student, but a sense of people entering the hall and generating a rather special aura around themselves.
As she reached the end of her first answer, Sally took a moment to look up. It was then she saw them. No less than four men in dark frock coats, heavy trousers and upturned collars. Three heavily bearded, one moustached. One carried a cane, another sported an elegant watch chain, a third wore a richly patterned silk scarf, the fourth, a pince nez.
The men proceeded to spread out and walk through the aisles of the examination room. It was like a piece of new wave, immersive theatre. Soon they were stopping, leaning in and whispering to individual students. It wasn’t hard to make out that they were speaking in either French or German. What is more, the students they approached seemed to have no difficulty understanding them, some even nodding, smiling, and showing appreciation.
Sally looked on, mesmerized. The invigilator appeared to see nothing. The visitors moved quietly through the rows. Yet no one called out, raised the alarm or drew attention to what was happening. Time was passing, Sally had to drag herself back to her questions, but it was very clear to her just who had arrived in the examination hall. She kept her head down and finished the second answer with a shaking hand. When she next looked up, the visitors had gone.
One hour later, and one more answer complete, the examination was over. The papers were gathered in, and the students left the room in silence. Unusually, there was no re-cap, post mortem, or even the usual chit chat about who had answered what. Sally said nothing, and headed straight back to her bedsit, dazed and somewhat confused.
***
On the morning of the last day of term, and just before catching the afternoon train home, Sally, looking au courant in frayed jeans and a crushed velvet jacket, knocked on the lecturer’s office door. Hearing a voice within, she entered a book-lined study. It had a faint whiff of tobacco, a desk piled high with papers, a couple of ancient standard lamps, and two equally battered armchairs. Teacher and student exchanged greetings and small talk. Then, gesturing that they sit down, the lecturer asked:
‘So how did you feel the exam went?
‘Well I was pleased with the questions, and did my best, made sure I finished the last one properly and then read through all three’.
The lecturer nodded with a knowing air, corduroyed legs crossed, arms folded across a Shetland slipover.
‘But there was something …’ She continued and then paused.
‘Yes?’
‘Well something very odd’.
‘Go on’.
‘I know this sounds crazy. Maybe I’d stayed up too late the night before drinking coffee … but really I had a pretty strong feeling that they were in the room …’
‘Who were …?’
‘Well … our subjects of study, that is: Comte, Marx, Durkheim and Weber …’
‘What?’ came the sceptical reply. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘… and they were actually speaking with some of the students in front of me … as if they were explaining things and helping them’.
‘That is most odd Sally. Very odd indeed. Certainly I saw nothing of that kind myself. Maybe it was just a dose of examination fever. But curious, nonetheless’.
Preoccupied with it all since the exam, now she wished she’d said nothing. She spluttered: ‘Maybe just too much going on … such a great course … it got to me … sort of … thing!’
The lecturer looked at her sympathetically, then continued.
‘On the other hand, some students in particular did seem to perform rather better than I had expected – albeit without exception adopting a rather apologist stance towards each of the founding works they addressed. Not a trap that you fell into I may say!’
‘They did?’
‘Yes, the average mark for the class as a whole was really rather pleasing, and definitely up on previous years’.
‘But you see, the odd thing is that those hairy men in their frock coats and fancy shirts, none of them approached me, not one of them stopped by my desk and whispered in my ear!’
‘And you’re quite sure of that?’
‘Yes, I am indeed!’ Sally was becoming agitated, struggling to contain her feelings. Her pitch and volume rose several notches, her sense of injustice palpable.
‘I don’t want to make a fuss, but where does that leave me and my exam result?’
‘Oh that’s simple’, the lecturer replied, smiling warmly and handing over her exam scripts. ‘It leaves you with three straight A stars as a matter of fact. The best marks in the entire class, by a long, long way. Three provocative answers offering new insights and indeed challenging the whole canon of the ‘founding fathers’. You’re well on the way to a first class degree Sally and maybe doctoral study as well. That’s where it leaves you, I’m delighted to say. So with your hard academic work done for the term, I hope you’ll enjoy your time on the Christmas post, then have a well-earned rest and a good holiday. See you in January and let’s talk about that PhD!’
***
On the packed train, she sat back in her window seat, running over the lecturer’s words, simultaneously stunned and delighted. Then the whistle blew, the doors closed, and slowly they began to move out of the station. Through the window, she could see other holiday travellers, awaiting the next arrival or checking the notice board. Then as the train reached the full extent of the platform and was about to disappear into a tunnel, Sally spotted a female figure, standing alone and gazing intently at the passing carriages. Victorian in appearance, the woman had luxuriant, shiny black hair, parted in the centre and brushed back in waves at the side. She wore a long, elegant winter coat with a neat fur collar and short leather boots, each with a bright silver buckle. Smiling and stepping forward as the young student came into view, the woman on the platform made a greeting with open arms and blew a kiss. Sally sat bolt upright. Did her eyes deceive her or was that Harriet Martineau out there, clearly very happy, seeing her off on the train journey and wishing Sally a happy Christmas?
You can find more of my Christmas mystery stories here: https://davidgrahamclark.net/christmas-mystery-stories/
Featured image: Published by Encyclopædia Britannica https://www.britannica.com/biography/Harriet-Martineau#/media/1/367020/38996, accessed December 10, 2024
Contextual note: With the exception of a biography published in 1960, it was not until the mid-1970s, around the time of Sally’s exam, that scholarly interest in Harriet Martineau began to develop. A Martineau Society was established in the mid-1990s and in the next decade we see chapters devoted to Harriet in major textbooks on social theory and the origins of sociology. Many of Harriet’s own works are now easily available, including her autobiography, originally published in 1877. Sally, for her part, went on to a highly distinguished academic career and was among the foremost sociologists of her generation. On retirement she moved to a house in Ambleside in the English Lake District, very close to where Harriet herself had lived in later life. Here Sally continued to be inspired by her sociological mentor, and like Harriet, wrote a series of thoughtful reflections about her garden and the wider natural world.
Quotidian 