Wills vs Churchill: Who is posher?

It was recently revealed that after Oxbridge, Bristol university has the highest percentage of private school students. Quelle surprise.

Anyone who has set foot in Stoke Bishop will know this isn’t exactly shocking. I mean, the fact the nearest supermarket is a Waitrose is a pretty obvious giveaway that Bristol students have a tendency to be a bit, well, rah.

But we want to know, who is the most rah? Which halls is the rahest of them all? Churchill has more Etonians than they do formals, but Wills has a croquet lawn and gowns. It’s hard to decide but two former residents give us their insight into this age old debate.

Churchill – Jacob

Let’s start off with some stats. Last year Churchill was officially the poshest hall in Bristol, with a majestic 68.7 per cent of residents coming from private schools. Wills, to their shame, came a measly third with 62.9 per cent. I’m sorry but if more than one-third of the people I have to associate with come from pov schools, then I’m out the door quicker than you can say “but it’s enriching to meet people from different backgrounds”.

In Churchill, we know we’re posh but we don’t feel the need to tell everyone about it. You can keep your weekly formals and exquisitely preened quad, you nouveau riche try-hards, it’s only skin deep. We’ve got second homes in Kensington and Chelsea and third homes in the Alps (and a fourth if mummy takes daddy for all he’s worth in the divorce settlement) to back us up.

Want to live on a corridor full to the brim with Harrovians, Etonians and old Radleians without the shame of getting abused on the number 16 bus by people who’re only bitter because their parents wouldn’t send them the hardly unreasonable £7,000 for rent money? (I mean how else are you going to make friends if you can’t reminisce over fond shared memories of muddy Michaelmas rugby games and homoerotic/borderline psychopathic boarding dormi hijinks?) Then come to Churchill, because that’s where they go, like seagulls with double-barrelled surnames and expensive but made-to-look-cheap vintage clothes flocking to a particularly well-decorated trawler.

They go to escape the very people who rush to Wills: the new money “my boy-done-good dad made it big in the plumbing industry” and “we used to live on a council estate but then my crackwhore mum won the lottery so we moved to Surrey” scum who think moving to a supposedly “posh” hall will get them an invite to go shooting on the estate in the holidays.

You can call me a bitter elitist – actually, do call me that, because that’s what I am. If my passion for keeping my social circle pure offends you then good, fuck off and don’t come anywhere near Churchill – we’ve got a reputation to maintain.

Wills – Tom

For all you non-polo players out there, posh means “elegant or stylishly luxurious”.

If there’s one place which screams elegance, style, and luxury, it’s the stately home of Wills. A place of greenery, quads of old and new, formals, gowns and proclamations of “tally ho chaps” as you’re running for the bus to Bunker.

Wills is not just a posh place: it’s the posh place.

As a former resident, I never considered poshness to be a bad thing. In fact I have happy memories of all those times on the bus: the ridicule, the chants, the strangers saying I was a “posh cunt”. Bloody classic. At Wills we are like the dark side of the Force: hate only makes us stronger.

To that degree it seems baffling for those uppity Churchill chaps to defile Wills’ aesthetic superiority. A bloody feckless endeavour I will say!

Just look at Wills. Look at the rustic feeling, the beautiful quad and the historical sites of Derren Brown’s room. Wills just exhumes poshness.

Other than that, Wills is on a freaking hill. We literally look down on the other halls of Stoke Bishop. In fact the only kind of accommodation it can be compared to is one of the Oxbridge colleges we were all rejected from.  Our personal donjons are quaint, with traditional fireplaces, sizable beds and a delightful ensuite. Oh I had some happy and jovial times in those abodes.

Then there is the croquet lawn, oh how we love the croquet lawn. Nothing beats lying in the sun, sipping on Pimms and smashing some balls together. At Wills we don’t usually argue, expect of course about our favourite Tories (ha! how drole). But when you meet on the field for croquet, friends turn to acquaintances and a fidus achates to a “mate”.

Formal dinners are a weekly thing in Wills. It’s a great time for everyone to get together and discuss their various political opinions, while digesting, and absorbing the sensual tones of Beethoven in the background (or was it Bach?). No Skepta unfortunately. Formals are even fancier on special themed days where gowns are thrown asunder and costumes are adorned. A stand out night is the Harry Potter themed night, a fitting celebration considering Wills’ aesthetic similarity to the aforementioned castle.

In fact it’s only a few magical trolls short of being Hogwarts. There’s a great hall, (no floating candles because the wax was deemed a safety hazard), wacky characters, ghosts, hidden corridors and an actual chamber of secrets.

The snooker room, (another room notoriously hard to find), is another fabulous feature. Once traversing through a series of hidden doors, you and your comrades can engage in the thrill of jolly competition, as once more balls collide on the cloth fields of battle. Bubbly to the winner chaps.

Ergo, maybe the people in Wills may not be the poshest, but if there is a hall which looks elegant and luxurious then it’s definitely us. After all, when you’re constantly compared to the set from Downton Abbey, it must be pretty elegant. People may hate Wills (out of jealousy), but in terms of looks, people are right. We do live in the poshest place, and that’s no bad thing.