IMPRESSIONS OF CAMBRIDGE. 1919
| A stranger to Cambridge, as
he views for the first time its impressive old colleges and museums, its
splendid chapels and churches, can be forgiven if he experiences a small sense
of awe, especially if he has come to take part in college life for several
days, which, indeed, was the lot which befell me. The mind at once conjures up
visions of venerable professors with their vast knowledge and students deep in
their studies; but the idea is soon dispelled, for nowhere do you find such
jovial and seemingly carefree fellows as at the University. It is not long
before you begin to think that "it is not such a bad place after all," and the
day after your arrival you stroll about the town and through the colleges
hatless, and with your hands in your pockets, all the undergrads go about in
that manner, as if you had lived there all your life. On your travels through the colleges you will come across numbers of most dignified looking personages with all the glory of top-hats and frock-coats. Don't be mistaken into supposing that these are dons or such like learned men: they are merely the college porters and are there to answer any questions concerning your well-being and to serve you at dinner. Those who are fresh to Cambridge come across many surprises of this kind. Take, for example, the way the examination is conducted. Accustomed as you are to sitting at desks apart, it may seem strange to take your papers in some college hall, seated on wooden benches at long narrow tables, with fellows on each side and others facing you in close proximity. The silence in the exam room, silence broken only by the scratching of pens, or the melodious chiming of neighbouring bells every quarter of an hour, or the soft footfall of a don as he paces up and down the hall, is very soothing indeed. But everything is transformed in the evening. The silent hall becomes the scene of life and activity; the long tables, instead of being strewn with papers and ink-pots, are now covered with white tablecloths, for it is time for "Hall," as dinner is known up here. Here indeed is life; for it is the hour when the undergrads meet and fill the place with their talking and laughter. You take your places at a table specially allotted and sit down in lively anticipation of a four course dinner! Grace is then said by someone, grace, not as we know it, but an extremely lengthy Latin affair, which nobody understands or wishes to, and which is gabbled off by the unfortunate person almost in one breath! At last dinner is brought in and you set to in earnest while waiters stand behind and attend to your wants with as much deference as if you were some royal person. However, you take it all with an equanimity which you would scarce have thought possible. Quite a fair amount of time is your own in which to see the various noted buildings and to take advantage of the pleasant walks in the country around or along by the river, and in this way you obtain in a week a considerable knowledge of the town. Who can forget the tranquil Bridge of Sighs and the silent river beneath as it flows on its way, or the imposing architecture of King's Chapel, the solemn and tremendous buildings known as the Museums, the gaudy splendour of the Fitz-William Museum, or the charming scenery at the backs of the colleges with their fine avenues and beautiful lawns? No one can forget in a hurry the frequent soft pealing of bells or the view from a neighbouring hill of the town with its multitude of spires and towers; and as you come away after your examination is over, you realise that, while you have in a sense been working, you have yet contrived to spend a holiday of unforgettable charm. E.F. Martin. |