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Cambridge

 

As I hop on my bike to go into town I begin to think, "What does the name Cambridge conjure up in people's minds?" and the answer is quite simple when I think of what it used to mean to me.  Gowns, brains, lectures, May Balls and the Boat Race.  Now I can look at it from the inside and I wonder if my opinion has changed.

Let us take gowns for instance. Well, there are plenty of those, particularly at night when the undergraduates look like a lot of black bats as they whizz along on their bikes.  It is compulsory for an undergraduate to have his gown with him at night; you should hear some of the comments about that from the undergraduates themselves.  Anyone would think that they hated the sight of their gowns and some of them do.  Brains there certainly are but I find the average undergraduate quite human really and the freshmen, i.e. those who have just "come up" as the correct expression is, are often just as bewildered as I was at first.

About lectures I am not going to say anything, although some of the lecturers and fellows are worthy of note.  For instance it is quite usual to see E. M. Forster, the novelist, whipping across from King's College to the shops on the other side of the road.

Enough of the academic side of Cambridge life. I shall park my bicycle after these reflections at Great St. Mary's Church along with about forty other bicycles of all shapes, sizes and colours, all with their numbers painted on the back and the symbol of the college to which the owner belongs, e.g. H.O.206 is Homerton 206, i.e. I.   Now I shall endeavour to cross King's Parade, a tricky operation as cycles are coming from all directions together with the coachloads of sightseers and the ordinary cars.  When I reach the other side, immediately facing me is King's College Chapel.  This lovely building, in all its perpendicular magnificence, is actually seen best from the other side of the river, the Cam.  So I walk through the gateway and into King's College court and through past the excellent Gibbs building and over the bridge crossing "the backs".  On King's Bridge I pause and look left towards the wooden Mathematical Bridge, said to have been designed by Newton, which connects the parts of Queen's College.  Looking right, I see the lovely Clare Bridge with its drooping centre, in its picturesque setting against willows and chestnut trees.  I see one solitary punt gliding down the river with a punter and no occupant.  This brings back memories of the summer when the river was jammed with punts full of people laughing and shouting to each other.  I remember my own first tentative efforts at punting and some of the occasions when I saw people fall in, something which I have not yet done.  I also remember the crowds on the bridges waiting for an unsuspecting punter to throw up his pole near enough for them to catch it and force him into the river.

It is getting chilly, so I hurry over the bridge and walk along the tree-lined banks until I come to Trinity Bridge which I walk over, pausing again to glance at St. John's College, famous for its boat club and rather unkindly called "the wedding cake" by students, because of its appearance from this particular bridge.  Now I go into Trinity, past Wren's library into Nevile's Court, the largest, and certainly to my mind, the loveliest court in Cambridge, with its fountain built by Henry VIII.  Here many great men have studied, among them Newton and Byron, and, in our day, Lord Russell.  Out from Great Court through the huge wooden doors I go into the busy Trinity Street where the throb and the hum of University life and the haste and speed of the twentieth century is once more upon us.

A party of tourists "doing Cambridge" passes me and wanders into Trinity and I begin to realise how lucky I am and how much I take this place for granted.

I have forgotten my shopping.  So I hasten to Heffer's, the largest bookshop in Cambridge, where they defy anyone to ask for a book they have not got or cannot get.  Here I can get any book from a book on spelling to an encyclopaedia.  I have got my book.  So I retrace my steps past the market, busy as ever, past the Guildhall, past the myriads of antique shops at which one dare not look, back to Great St. Mary's.  I collect my bicycle and cycle thoughtfully back to college.

Has my view of Cambridge changed?  In some ways yes, but in others I am even more conscious of its beauty and the privilege I share with thousands of others in studying here.  

Angela Taylor.