Virus at varsity

Closing down the law school ... Barely Legal invited to Zoom ... Five show up where there should be 300 ... Exam supervision by 'ProctorU' ... Talk of a student strike ... What's a law school without people and a library and broken vending machines? 

In 1592, the plague arrived at the Inns of Court. The benchers, the barristers and the sergeants fled to the reaches of the countryside, where bad airs did not blow. The mooting chambers, the libraries and the great banquet halls - all closed. 

At Inner Temple, the young pupils were dismayed. For theirs had been an uncommon induction into the rites of the common law: their reader, their tutor, the high priest of their English institutes was Sir Edward Coke - and he was in the middle of a fascinating lecture series on the Statute of Uses. 

As Sir Edward, resigned to the power of pestilence, trudged off to his manor, he was thronged. Scores of pupils followed him half the way to Kent, just to hear the master pronounce on jointure, dower and constructive trusts. 

More than 400 years later, pestilence has again closed the law schools. But this time around, it's the lecturers who do the following - and the undergrads who can't get away fast enough. 

When I turn on my phone in the morning, I have 34 notifications from Zoom. 

"Professor ******* has scheduled a Zoom meeting. Click here to join!" 

"Senior Lecturer ********* has invited you to a Zoom meeting at 11 am!" 

"Mr ********, tutor, cordially requests your presence at a Zoom meeting TWO HOURS AGO!" 

Zoom, the video conferencing app, is where we do lectures nowadays. Or what passes for lectures. 

Without the hand-waving, the booming declamations, the strutting up and down, what am I actually paying for? 

A cooped-up academic reading off his computer while the kids make a racket next door?

No wonder they send us all the desperate Zoom invites. They probably haven't spoken to another intelligent lifeform in days. 

I accepted the first Zoom invitation I received. As I logged on, Professor ***** greeted me, by name. 

"Barely Legal! So glad you could join us!"

This was meant to be a lecture of 300. I was one of five people who'd showed up. And none of us had done our readings.

I won't be making that mistake again. Of going to a "Zoom lecture", I mean. Readings can wait until stuvac. 

Now they're saying we have to do our exams online, from the comfort of our homes. I scoffed at first: I'm an ethical person, but the rest of those greasy-pole climbers would be googling the answers in a heartbeat. 

Turns out the faculty's serious: they've found an app which uses cheap foreign workers to watch us over a webcam while we do our tests. 'ProctorU', it's called. 

Before the exam starts, we have to give the 'proctor' a virtual tour of our bedroom - to make sure we aren't hiding notes nearby. Then the 'proctor' gets a beadie at our passports, which they verify with facial recognition software. And when the test is underway, the 'proctor' can even see the screens open on our PC. 

Sounds like the latest from ASIO. 

The whole thing has caused rumblings in the student body. It's one big privacy violation, they say. Petitions have been signed and there's talk of an exam-strike. 

Still, I struggle to take it seriously. Maybe it's the word proctor, which doesn't sound quite so grand if you know your Greek (think proctologist).

Some of my friends are treating the whole thing as valuable experience. Locked inside 24/7, staring at a screen, no socialising, no exercise, sleepless nights, nothing to do but drink to excess. 

It's no worse than your average week in a Big Six disputes team.

But - call me old fashioned - I miss how it was before the virus. 

What's a law school without a library? Reading cases is a competitive sport, and the library is the playing field. It's not the same spending hours over your books if no one is around to admire the feat of endurance.

And what's a law school without the coffee line - where the wanker in front of you brags about their moot victory, and the wanker behind paeons the judge they're tipping for next year. 

Fantasising violent ends for this sort is more stimulating than caffeine. 

And, of course, what's a law school without the leaky ceilings? Without the hallways lined with Forbes and Barton, of Kirby in pointillist style and Geoffrey Robertson (on the basement level) in different shades of green? 

What's a law school without the toilets that never get cleaned (at least they had toilet paper)? Or the broken vending machines? Or the timetable that meant you never actually had class in the law building but in New Chemistry across the road? 

It turns out a law school is not just a place in the minds of men. And thank God for that.