I forgot to mention that I posted photos from Avebury and Bath on Facebook with the titles that I’ve been using on this blog.  As a result I had a storm of guesses as to the location of C.  Well, three guesses actually – so quite a small storm.  Anyway, no-one got it right.  I also sat and booked my train tickets for E -H, so my activities are now locked in for the next week.

I’m really looking forward to going back to Cambridge.  I went to university there (1981 – 1984) and had a fantastic time.  I haven’t been back there for about 30 years, so a visit is long overdue.  The day dawns with suitable fantastic weather – though even a gloriously sunny day does little to raise Slough above its usual standard of “grim”.

I hit the train with no issues and as we head towards London I finish off A Disaffection.  I put the completed book back in my bag with no reluctance at all and a sense of relief that I’ve ploughed my way through it.  My next book is White Peak by Martin Smith.  A book of 35 circular walks (some of which are not circular).  While I don’t anticipate great plot or character development, it will probably be more engaging than A Disaffection.

Changing from train to underground at Paddington and the whole atmosphere changes as well.  Walking between the platforms is fast and loud with a hubbub of activity and noise.   Old instincts come to the for and I enter “commuter mode” – elbows out, head down, pace slightly faster than normal.  If you see a space, stride to get into it.  If someone pauses, leave them behind as they are too weak to commute!  Normal rules of courtesy get thrown out the window as if you politely wait for people, you’ll never get on the tube.

Once you get on the train, silence reigns – except for the woman jabbering excitedly into her phone.  I yearn for the days when mobiles wouldn’t work on the tube and look around to see that she is being glared at by at least three other people.  As the required glaring has been done by someone, I return to my book.  My tube journey is short and I head back to the surface at Kings Cross.

As I’d been to and from college several times, I expected Kings Cross to be more familiar – but it isn’t.  Only then did I recall that most of my journeys were done by coach to save money and I only took the train when I was lugging my cello with me.  I manage to locate my platform and head in the right direction only to come to a halt as I view a massive queue in front of me – clearly I am going to have to wait to get on.  I then realise this is the queue for platform 9 3/4 and I walk past and straight onto my train.

Which then sits there for 15 minutes.

The passengers are as subdued as ever, with the exception of the person loudly arranging a business meeting on his phone.  He’s doing it so loudly that at one point I think he’s yelling to a friend on another train, but when I check I can see him sat there with his phone pressed to his ear.  Clearly he has the only phone in existence that does not amplify his voice as he is having to virtually shout down it to be heard.  By now there are several of us trying to ignore him.  Clearly we are not on the underground as no-one is glaring at him.  Mercifully he terminates the call, though not before using the word “addendum” more times than is allowed in most conversations.

When I get to Cambridge, again I don’t see anything that is familiar.  The station (which I didn’t visit much anyway) has clearly been rebuilt and without pause I head out and start to walk into the centre of Cambridge.

To my surprise, the closer I get to my college, the more emotional I start to feel.  I had expected excitement, nervousness and almost disappointment.  Instead, I begin to feel overwhelmed by sadness.  I turn into Trumpington Street and finally start to see landmarks that are familiar to me – the Fitzwillliam Museum, Peterhouse, Pembroke.  The more familiar the street becomes the more emotional I feel.  It’s weird.  It’s like a pressure behind my eyes and in my stomach.  I find myself walking slower, and also rubbing at my eyes trying to convince myself that the water in them is due to me getting suntan lotion in them.

I head past Eve & Ravenscroft and finally the frontage of Corpus Christi is in front of me.

I find myself stood there for a while, not sure whether or not I’m going to go in.  I’m not good at this emotional thing and this is very foreign territory for me.  I’m very close to turning around and heading home, but I realise how ridiculous that would be, so I set my jaw and head up the steps into the entrance.

And it’s closed.

On my way it had occurred to me that Cambridge is in the middle of exam season and the colleges usually stop tourist access so that the students can revise in peace.  And so it transpired.  So I stood with the other tourists (including the woman bravely ignoring the “No Dogs” sign) and peered into New Court.  Just looking around brought memories flooding back of my time here.  I could have stood there all day – but sense prevailed. Before leaving, I thought I’d check with the porter just in case the college would be open later in the day.  He patiently confirmed my worst fears, cheerfully explaining that the college wouldn’t be open to the public until July.

At this point, I was pretty close to crying – so to avoid the total embarrassment of doing such an un-English thing in a public place made a jokey comment about “leaving it for 30 years and then coming back at just the wrong time”.  The porter politely asked (and he was excessively polite) if I’d been a student at Corpus and when I confirmed it, asked for my details.  He then checked an impressively thick binder and when he found my name, welcomed me back and handed me a card to give me access to the rest of the college.

Five minutes later, I was the other side of the barrier and wandering around.  Corpus is arranged around 2 courts – New Court (see above) and Old Court.

I was particularly happy to get into Old Court as the rooms in my First and Third year both looked onto it.  (First year – top floor, the windows above the gateway; third year, ground floor the two windows in the bottom left of the picture).  To my amazement Old Court looked completely unchanged.  As I walked past the door to my Third Year rooms, I swear it was exactly the same door as was there 30 years ago.  As I walked past I could see the resident inside, the desk exactly where mine had been illuminated by a small lamp as even on the sunniest days, the room was quite dark.  I was very tempted to tap on the door and introduce myself, but realised just how much of an imposition I would have considered someone who had done that to me, so I wandered on.

I spent a very happy hour here, exploring my old stamping grounds.  Some things had changed – a new bar and a new library – but some things looked identical to my memories.  Still feeling a bit emotional, I headed out and thanked the porter for giving me access.

As I headed back onto the street, I was brought back to modern life with a thump as I saw two police officers walking towards me.  A second look made it clear one was a PCSO, but the other was wearing a harness and cap that made me think he was an armed officer.  I then noted he wasn’t carrying a gun or any handcuffs.  As they walked past I looked on his back to see he was an “Environmental Crime Officer”.  What the heck is that?

The rest of my trip around Cambridge was full of mixed emotions.  I received a huge lift when I saw this shop still existed:

Heffers is almost a holy place for me.  When I went up to Cambridge for my interview in 1980, my English teacher told me that I had to go to Heffers as it was the best book shop in the country.  I did (I bought a book called The Finer Tone) and during my time at Cambridge I went there a lot.  I love book shops and Heffers is one of the best.  Was I disappointed when I went inside?  Hell, no.  While it may have bent its’ knee to the modern requirements for book shops to stock drivel by Dan Brown and E.L. James, it still stocks a bewildering array of literature and reference material.  It is a book-lovers paradise.  Going in while being a bit upset was clearly unwise – I left with my pack weighed down with nearly £100 worth of books.  Retail therapy works in many ways!

I felt the opposite when I realised that the cinema has gone to be replaced by an M&S Food Hall.  The place where I first saw Time Bandits and the Rocky Horror Picture Show has disappeared.  More than anything else, that makes me feel bloody old and bloody awful.  I hoist my backpack slightly higher and head back to the train station.  I spent a lot less time here than originally intended – maybe I’ll come back soon at a time when the colleges are open.  Though that might break down my determination and I will end up weeping on street corner.

The journey home is strangely befitting such an oddly emotional day.  For the first time, my train is delayed and when it finally arrives keeps giving out a series of bone-crunching crashed and lurches that make me feel we’ll never get back to London.  On the journey back I finish White Peak and rather than start another book, I just stare out the window.