Oxford's spires belong to the colleges. The streets between them belong to a different city — the boatmen who built college barges at Folly Bridge, the bleating-voiced sweetshop keeper Alice Liddell loved, the Town Hall librarians who issued tickets for seventy-six years, the medieval brewers and vintners killed in the bell-tower brawl of 1355, the 17th-century ostler whose house is now the Bear, the two prison guards who held Oliver Butler's arms in 1952, the brewer dynasty whose 132 tied pubs watered the town from 1743, the bargees who hauled hay and slate to Hythe Bridge for six centuries, the bicycle apprentice William Morris who bought and buried Oxford's coal wharf for the price of a Cotswold college, the Bocardo turnkeys of St Michael's North Gate, the David Johns and the Mitzi Fellers who supplied 350 Christ Church mouths a sitting, the marmalade widow Sarah Jane Cooper, Mrs Ducker who ran an Oxford shoemaker's for a fortnight after her husband died, and the same Morris who built his first car in a stable on Longwall. This is the town that fed, clothed, printed, shod, brewed and ferried the gown — and whose names rarely made it onto the plaques.
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