My Irish husband Tony and I have recently moved to Birmingham, UK and I am writing a weekly blog explaining Europe to my fellow Americans. This is the entry about British graduation ceremonies. You can find my other blogs about Britain at www.gypsyteacher.blogspot.com.

Graduation ceremonies. Each year, sometimes twice, we faculty get to watch the latest group make it 'over the wall'.

The small college where I taught in Pittsburgh had one ceremony in May in a non-air-conditioned hall. We would smuggle magazines inside our programmes for reading material to keep us occupied as each name walked across the stage. Sometimes I'd look up and think, 'He is graduating? Geesh!'

I convinced Tony to come once so he could see an American ceremony, although no one in his family had ever achieved the Irish equivalent. He stood in the back of the crowded, noisy hall, and, with everyone else, was moved to tears when one proud father shouted, 'That's my daughter!' as his pride and joy's name was called. Afterwards, Tony called his kids back in Ireland to encourage them to go to college so he too could have that moment. (Didn't work.)

After the ceremony, the entire assemblage was invited to the big room upstairs for snacks and hugs and photos. We were always amazed to find out that these young adults we had spent the past few years with actually had parents.

I moved on to a large state university in Florida, which holds eight ceremonies over two days, leaving the usually buoyant president hoarse and exhausted. Twice a year.

We marched in to recorded ceremonial music and groups of students cheered as the faculty they recognized walked by. Our Journalism School was one of the smaller ones in the university, so we were scheduled first. The ritual was that the faculty lined up to shake hands and hug the students after their official photo was taken as they stepped off the stage. We would grin and say congratulations to each one with equal enthusiasm. As soon as our bunch had passed, my Wonderful Boss would say, 'C'mon' and lead us out the back entrance. Off to lunch.

Towards the end of my time there, I invested in buying my own academic robes. Using gift cards I had been given for doing a lecture series at a Barnes & Noble, I was able to get the outrageous cost down to a manageable price. No one checked that I had actually earned the credentials listed on the form; I could have claimed a Harvard PhD and crimson robes. But my honesty got me the traditional black with velvet strips, a blue velvet 'hood' indicating Dublin City University, with a white satin lining for the field of Communications and the really doctoral 'squishy hat'. We took a photograph of me elegantly robed, lying on top of Tony. Every working class Dub's fantasy.

I have been looking forward to my first ceremony here. I'd brought my
PhD duds with me and, when I was robbing backstage, they caused quite a stir. 'Wow! Look at those!' Apparently Brits don't have velvet or, amazingly, a front zipper. I started to think, 'Will I look like the flashy American, standing out among the dowdy English?'

But then I entered the waiting room where the others were hanging out. A riot of colours! Each university can design the robe as well as the draping hood. Our cross-town rival, the University of Birmingham, has chosen a Christmas theme and so quite a few locals, who took degrees there but teach with us, were in red robes with green moiré silk trim. Our friend, Dr David, also had a squishy hat that was right out of the Canterbury Tales or Henry VIII. Others were in crimson — is Harvard jealous? — or the cream-coloured brocade that our university has chosen. Also lots of black and gold. I assumed they were fellow Steeler fans.

Beautifully robed, we lined up and were led to the stage of Symphony Hall. We were preceded by the dignitaries who do about eight of these, two each Friday, for quite a few weeks each spring.

One of my first revelations when I began teaching here was that our university was lead by the 'Vice Chancellor'. Then who is the Chancellor?, I asked. 'The Mayor of Birmingham'. I guess someone always has to be Queen.

So our Vice Chancellor led things off, but soon turned the reigns over to the Mayor. Now, my dear, departed grandfather was mayor of Pittsburgh and he never got to wear an outfit like that. Straight out of Gilbert & Sullivan, it involved a lot of gold winding its way over a black velvet robe, a big bunch of metal around his neck and the most amazing three-cornered black feathered hat I had ever seen away from a theatrical stage. Sir Mayor spoke to every candidate as they shook his hand on their way across stage. No official pictures, but a word with the guy at the top instead.

As usual, there was an honorary degree presented to a member of the local community who had made a social contribution. Traditionally supported by government funding, higher education here is not as dependent on big funders who buy themselves a doctorate. Based on his business affiliation listed in the programme, this one was involved in sewage treatment. Well, someone has to do it. But in the introductory speech, our 'University Orator' [interesting position — does he talk all day?] pointed out that the honouree's last name would be familiar: Cocker. He was Joe Cocker's brother. As he got up to speak I expected him to start out with, 'She came in through the bathroom window...' while strumming air guitar. But he stuck to speaking about sewage treatment and the benefits of a university education.

Dr David and I followed each name through the programme, marvelling at our department head's ability to make us believe he was pronouncing each name from India, Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Korea and China correctly.

Afterwards, there were pictures with the families, many decked out in saris, and a sneak out the back door to the nearby pub made famous by the presence of Bill Clinton when he attended a conference in Birmingham. Only one student joined us — a master's degree candidate who had flown in for the day from his job in Brussels. Nice work. We decided our usually hard-drinking students were intimidated by the presence of their parents and therefore took them sightseeing rather than pub crawling with faculty.

During the ceremony there were a few shouts from proud friends and parents, but not as many as in the US. The Brits are more reserved but, I'm sure, just as proud.

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