I knew I wanted to do a PhD before I'd even finished my masters dissertation. I knew there was so much more in my field of research that hadn't been done, that tied into multiple other fields of criminal and social history. I didn't want to stop. So I began to put a PhD proposal together almost as soon as I got my results back last March. I started working as a local historian, doing lots of family history and giving local lectures, and I started putting together a sample catalogue of inquests.
It took ages to put my PhD proposal together, since I was doing it more or less 'blind', with no supervision. I had some help from my MA tutor, and some help from my clever twitter peeps. I submitted it at the end of August last year.
And I heard nothing.
I was disappointed, but unsurprised. It was foolish to even think they'd be interested in any research I had to do. Everyone suffers from imposter syndrome at some point in academia, and I had it in spades. I never did A levels, my undergrad isn't even in history, I'm studying a niche area that nobody's terribly interested in. Why would anyone care?
In December, I noticed the History Faculty were still taking applications into their scholarship programme, so I fired off an email.
Within days, I'd had an email from the head of history apologising that I'd never recieved feedback on my application, with loads of feedback that should have been sent in September. He really liked my application, although it needed some work, and he wanted to call me and talk to me about it. He phoned me on December 16th. Now, you have to remember that ideally, PhD applicants get SEVERAL MONTHS of preliminary work with their likely supervisor preparing a formal proposal. Imagine my surprise when he asked me to formally apply. Imagine my surprise when I realised the deadline was THE EIGHTH OF JANUARY.
I panicked. I read a lot of stuff on methodology. I got my application in. I waited. I waited a bit more. I was offered an interview. I got my interview date and time on 24th January. On 25th January, my baby niece was diagnosed with a brain tumour. The next week was a confusing blur of phone calls and texts, critical illness and life-saving surgery, and waiting, and worrying, and trying to prepare for this interview. The interview was on 31st January, the same day my niece's brain tumour histology was due to come back. I did the interview in the morning, we found out it was cancerous in the afternoon. A very strange, intense day. You can read about my little niece here.
Next up, before I even found out if I had a PhD place, I had to apply for funding. I can't afford to pay for a PhD outright, and I can't justify the loan and taking myself out of the work market for several years. So, I applied to the Open-Oxford-Cambridge AHRC Doctoral Training Partnership funding programme. They pay all fees and a studentship, and run multiple amazing training events. They award 77 candidates a year, in twenty-odd different arts and humanities subjects. HUNDREDS of people apply for these funding packages, mostly from Oxbridge. I had a tiny chance of getting one, so I went for it.
I found out that I had won a PhD place on 10th February, right before I did the school run. I was so delighted, I ended up blurting it out at the business manager at the school!
I found out that the university was supporting my application for funding (subject to minimal revisions) on 17th February. This is when it suddenly felt really terrifying. Funding applications are HARD: you have to sell yourself and your project in roughly 1500 words, making yourself sound like A Boss, while having to cut loads of words out of your original proposal because it's too long. You have to retain sense, and you have to make it sound really novel and exciting. I'm quite lucky that my branch of history is both novel AND interesting to non-history folk. I got it done and in by 25th February, coincidentally the same day my niece started chemo.
And then, more waiting. The funding consortium met twice in March, and the results were due to come out in the first week of April. During this interim period, COVID-19 hit and, in the maelstrom of home-schooling kids, overanalysing every cough and sneeze, and trying desperately to source pasta, I forgot about the whole PhD thing for a bit.
After my birthday, I started thinking about it a bit. I thought, 'I probably haven't won it, so I need to think about what to do instead', and started putting my business in order. But on 8th April, I got a surprise.
I won the funding award.
I SCREAMED the house down, I STARTLED the neighbours, then I CRIED, then I read the terms and conditions and accepted the award.
Then I waited to have my formal PhD offer from uni. And waited. And waited. These things take time, particularly in a pandemic. In the meantime, corona raged, people died in their thousands, and I homeschooled my kids every day. The summer holidays rolled around, my siblings registered for their next uni modules. Still, I waited. I started to think it was all a fever dream, while simultaneously reminding myself that bureaucracy is slow and coronavirus is slower.
Finally, on 5th August, my contract came through. I signed it and returned it within about five minutes. On 13th August, my registration was confirmed. I celebrated, then I had a few days of deep self-doubt, and now here we are.
I have eight years to do my thesis, and nearly seven years of funding, but I'd like to do it in five. And now it begins. The research, the research, the reams of research. But research is what I love the most, with every case file a mystery to solve. I picked a subject with a lot of human interest, a lot of drama and a a lot of gore, because I am a massive goth. Hopefully the archives reopen soon!
But first, new laptop and stationery...
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