We are back from a weekend in Cambridge, where Philosopher went to St John’s College as a young man. Would you believe he started in 1963? Anyway, every so often they arrange lunches for selected groups of their old graduates, and this year it was Philosopher’s turn. He could take a guest – t’was moi, Battleaxe. Proper posh frocks and lounge suits were required, which is quite rare for us, we never wear such things. We stayed in an OK but somewhat vulgar and over-expensive modern hotel near the station. Monday was Philosopher’s birthday – happy birthday to him!
Have totally neglected world and national affairs recently – am I surprised? No. Trump still tiddling about with the war he started in Iran, Ukraine still grinding on, while the ridiculous, over-inflated World Cup is underway. Last night I saw that Mbappe playing for France. What a smug piece of work he is. Over here, tomorrow, it’s the even more ridiculous Makerfield by-election. That Burnham could run Mbappe a close second for smugness. He’ll have the grin wiped right off his face if he gets to be PM. Just wait until he sees how bloody difficult it is. A zillion conflicting demands, no money, and a public that have been lied to for so long they don’t understand that taxes are necessary to provide the services they are bleating for. So, no more of that.
The train journey up to Cambridge from Hastings was remarkably easy. Train to London Bridge, change platforms and a direct Thameslink train to Cambridge. I had no idea the train even existed. It was a bit slow with lots of stops and bum-numbingly hard seats but very straightforward. Coming back was not so easy because those Thameslink trains to London Bridge don’t run on Sunday, so we had to do Kings Cross and the tube – no joke for us oldsters with our luggage.
The Clayton Hotel was only a short walk from the station. Philosopher, who hadn’t been back to Cambridge for many years, was a bit taken aback to find himself in a landscape he didn’t recognise. All new offices and high-rise glitzy apartment blocks set in pedestrianised plazas. Yes, the hotel was vulgar – an ornate entrance atrium thing with faux-old books in big book cases etc. Our room was massive, and very well-appointed. Huge bed, very good bathroom – everything. But they charged extra for breakfast, £17.00 per person, which made it, I felt, a bit too expensive for its location.
Battleaxe has only been to Cambridge twice in her life – once with my parents when I was much younger, when we went to Kings College Chapel. I remember how wonderful it was – my inner self soared right up to the tracery in the roof. It was so light-filled, so high, altogether uplifting. The second time was very early in my relationship with Philosopher – he took me on a punt in the river. Blimey, even that’ll be nearly 40 years ago. Philosopher is not the sort of bloke that enjoys the old-boy network business. He wouldn’t describe himself as ‘clubbable’, and I’ve always been glad of that. I don’t really know why he wanted to accept the invitation this time. Perhaps he thought he’d never get to do it again.
So, the next morning we scrubbed ourselves up to look respectable and yomped for 30 minutes into the old centre of Cambridge, which of course Philosopher knew very well. As is standard these days, the town was totally heaving with tourists… not pleasant. We had coffee in the Copper Kettle, which I understand to be a long-standing Cambridge legend. Then I said to Philosopher I wanted to see Kings College Chapel again. You had to pay to get in, so I coughed up for myself and he waited outside in the sun – he had, of course, been there many times. It was still wonderful. Here are some photos.
I was earwigging on a talk by a guide who pointed out one of the remaining original carvings saying ‘HA’ – Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, tucked away high up on the chancel screen. You’d never know it was there.
Then we walked along to St John’s College, and Philosopher showed me the various rooms he had occupied, off various staircases round the old courts. Very Brideshead Revisited. Here is one – his rooms, right at the top of this old building, overlooked the river.
In those days it must have been a bit tough because the nearest loos were often a substantial walk across the quads. In the old courts, it doesn’t seem to have changed much, but they do apparently get a bathroom on each staircase. Most students now live in modern blocks with proper facilities. Women were not admitted as undergraduates until 1982, so the event we were attending was a very male-dominated affair. Us women were only guests.
In true traditional Cambridge college style I had to deal with the grumpy creatures who inhabited the Porters’ Lodge. I wanted to leave our bag of walking shoes etc. ‘We are not a cloakroom, I’ll have you know,’ one hissed ferociously at me. Nevertheless…
We gathered with several hundred other ‘Johnians’ on a sunny lawn by the river, and were plied with champagne. Many of the men looked comfortably corporate, tanned and confident, and others looked very old indeed – some of them had started at the college in the early 195os. Made desultory small talk until a gong sounded and we were summoned to the Hall, which is massive and ancient. Not surprisingly, a number of the men seemed to know each other already. Either they had stayed friends since their ‘Varsity days or they came to events laid on by the college. Turns out old Johnians have what are called ‘Dining Privileges’ where they can dine in Hall for free a certain number of times per year.
We discovered that we were among the fortunate, sitting at ‘High Table’, up on a dais at the top of the huge room. Philosopher was seated next to a College Fellow, Janet Heal, who is another philosopher. (She said she enjoyed Cosy Crime novels – so we have sent a copy of my first one!) Fortunately, I had a very pleasant female companion, Sarah, who was married to another old Johnian. We had a good laugh about all sorts of things.
We started and ended with long speeches in Latin – I suppose they were graces? The grub was excellent – three courses and all the wine you could drink. Of course, we didn’t pay a penny – I shudder to think what these slap-up meals must cost the college. Battleaxe wasn’t grumbling on the day though – she enjoyed it!
After the meal we had a talk from the Master, who, surprise, is actually a woman. Quite hearty-looking but undoubtedly female. She spoke about ‘Bumps’ and other arcane happenings. Do you remember St Cakes in Private Eye? It was just like that. She did say a bit, fortunately relatively low-key, about how we could all leave St John’s money in our wills. In your dreams sister… cut down on the lavish hospitality, I say.
Anyway, we two eventually lurched our way back to the hotel – through an area of Cambridge that seemed to be full of raucous hen parties. Gangs of shrieking women wearing little except their underwear queued up outside clubs and pubs…
Next day, back on the train again. All very interesting.
Quite irrelevant, but here is a handsome steam traction engine we saw on one of our walks.
This weekend, would you believe, we are off again – Monmouth and Bristol. More about it when we get back. Philosopher’s niece Harriet is coming to stay here to mind the house and Digby.
