I Had Lunch at Hogwarts
I was in Cambridge last week, and visited an old friend at one of the grand old colleges, and the first problem is getting into the college. In the olden days, anyone could stroll through whenever they wanted, so long as they kept quiet and kept off the grass. But now there are entrance charges and restrictive opening times at akll the colleges, a response to the huge rise in international tourism. The narrow public streets of Cambridge seethe with people taking pictures, eating, and trying to find a place to sit down, just like every other global tourist town. But the majority of central Cambridge is not these narrow streets, but rather charming, graceful courts and cloisters of lovingly restored 17th century architecture, with little insider's jokes, like Henry VIII holding a chair leg instead of a sceptre. There are also some very private places, the Fellows gardens, right in the middle of the old city, rural in tranquility, with perfect horticulture and croquet lawns as smooth as handkerchiefs.
At the medieval Great Gate to the college, there is a porter in a bowler hat (cf Tom Sharpe's 'Porterhouse') ready to enforce the No Visitors sign, but a mention of the name of my old friend, the Fellow of the College, and suddenly it is Yes Sir and a whiff of sycophancy. As I cruise through the Great Court, a gaggle of tourists have been let into a tiny viewing space, taking pictures and being lectured. Difficult not to be smug, walking in the vast precious space alone. I hail a passing porter for directions, not because I don't know the way to my friend's rooms, but because I want to hail a porter and use my best English, and have a little insider's chat with the porter as he walks with me.
My friend and I talk of old times and head over to lunch. Only Fellows can walk on the pristine lawns between the cloisters, and my friend heads straight across, while I pull back, instinctively following the rules, but then continue because I am of course Guest of Fellow, so I too can walk on the grass! We enter a low door marked Private and enter the fantasy space, the Hall (picture here). We are at High Table for lunch: there is a step up from the main part of the hall where the Scholars sit. There is a very large, very solid, oak table, the boards of a length and width that are not available anymore, made when mighty oaks were two a penny. The hall has a musician’s gallery at the far end, gilded paneling, stained glass, and intricate beamed ceiling, with a huge portrait of Henry VIII looming over the table. Pictures of eminent alumni are on the walls, Newton, Byron, Rutherford, etc. The menu is pumpkin soup, a choice of seafood on ice or roast lamb with couscous. We hoped the "pudding" would be something extravagant, but were both slightly disappointed, it was a beautiful display of local summer fruit. I had greengages and gooseberries, fruits that I have never seen in the USA.
The food is served in very high quality, but very well-used silver bowls, each with a with the battered college crest still visible. In fact the college crest is on everything, around us in the stained glass, on the plates, the knives and forks, the crockery, the brickwork, even the guttering. Back in the kitchens, I know, are turtle shells four feet wide, mounted on the walls with the college crest, and inscribed with words like "Feast of the Benefactors 1898".
My friend started looking into the beams, says he is looking for the mallard, and I think I didn't hear right -- what did you say … is there a duck? Apparently there is a club for the undergraduates whose objective is to climb up into the beams and rafters of the Hall, forty feet up, and put a duck decoy there for the sharp-eyed to see, then move it around every so often. You can see some of the inspiration for Hogwarts.
We left the hall and had coffee in another room. My friend asked me if I recognized anyone there, and of course I saw Lord Rees, the Astronomer Royal, reading the newspaper, not sure which one, but it was neither the pinko Guardian, nor was it the conservative Telegraph. But actually my friend was referring to another Fellow, let us say one who suffered mightily from my own gastric over-indulgence back in the olden days, ahem. My friend and I reminisced the careers of ourselves and our contemporaries, thinking about the four factors of Skill, Perseverance, Social skills, and Luck, asking which of these has played the greatest role.
There is a sort of patina, a polish about the place that lends things authority, the people as much as the architecture. People who have this patina speak with assurance about many things, never trivially or viciously or jokingly, rather seriously and knowledgably, every word properly pronounced and conjugated. The blabla Professor of blabla, and the Director of the Crown blabla, those sort of people, with this mantle of gravitas, this sort of wizard spell, as if the college crest has been transfused into their blood.
While the College educates many of those 0.1% aristocrats from the most exclusive schools, I will say that those of my contemporaries who now move in these top-flight circles came (like me) from no more than good parenting and middle-class schools, together with UK government scholarships. It was truly a time of great opportunity for all, we were lucky to have a chance to show that skill and perseverance can elevate us. It is not like the system we are approaching now, where only the rich can afford to be educated at Hogwarts.
At the medieval Great Gate to the college, there is a porter in a bowler hat (cf Tom Sharpe's 'Porterhouse') ready to enforce the No Visitors sign, but a mention of the name of my old friend, the Fellow of the College, and suddenly it is Yes Sir and a whiff of sycophancy. As I cruise through the Great Court, a gaggle of tourists have been let into a tiny viewing space, taking pictures and being lectured. Difficult not to be smug, walking in the vast precious space alone. I hail a passing porter for directions, not because I don't know the way to my friend's rooms, but because I want to hail a porter and use my best English, and have a little insider's chat with the porter as he walks with me.
My friend and I talk of old times and head over to lunch. Only Fellows can walk on the pristine lawns between the cloisters, and my friend heads straight across, while I pull back, instinctively following the rules, but then continue because I am of course Guest of Fellow, so I too can walk on the grass! We enter a low door marked Private and enter the fantasy space, the Hall (picture here). We are at High Table for lunch: there is a step up from the main part of the hall where the Scholars sit. There is a very large, very solid, oak table, the boards of a length and width that are not available anymore, made when mighty oaks were two a penny. The hall has a musician’s gallery at the far end, gilded paneling, stained glass, and intricate beamed ceiling, with a huge portrait of Henry VIII looming over the table. Pictures of eminent alumni are on the walls, Newton, Byron, Rutherford, etc. The menu is pumpkin soup, a choice of seafood on ice or roast lamb with couscous. We hoped the "pudding" would be something extravagant, but were both slightly disappointed, it was a beautiful display of local summer fruit. I had greengages and gooseberries, fruits that I have never seen in the USA.
The food is served in very high quality, but very well-used silver bowls, each with a with the battered college crest still visible. In fact the college crest is on everything, around us in the stained glass, on the plates, the knives and forks, the crockery, the brickwork, even the guttering. Back in the kitchens, I know, are turtle shells four feet wide, mounted on the walls with the college crest, and inscribed with words like "Feast of the Benefactors 1898".
My friend started looking into the beams, says he is looking for the mallard, and I think I didn't hear right -- what did you say … is there a duck? Apparently there is a club for the undergraduates whose objective is to climb up into the beams and rafters of the Hall, forty feet up, and put a duck decoy there for the sharp-eyed to see, then move it around every so often. You can see some of the inspiration for Hogwarts.
We left the hall and had coffee in another room. My friend asked me if I recognized anyone there, and of course I saw Lord Rees, the Astronomer Royal, reading the newspaper, not sure which one, but it was neither the pinko Guardian, nor was it the conservative Telegraph. But actually my friend was referring to another Fellow, let us say one who suffered mightily from my own gastric over-indulgence back in the olden days, ahem. My friend and I reminisced the careers of ourselves and our contemporaries, thinking about the four factors of Skill, Perseverance, Social skills, and Luck, asking which of these has played the greatest role.
There is a sort of patina, a polish about the place that lends things authority, the people as much as the architecture. People who have this patina speak with assurance about many things, never trivially or viciously or jokingly, rather seriously and knowledgably, every word properly pronounced and conjugated. The blabla Professor of blabla, and the Director of the Crown blabla, those sort of people, with this mantle of gravitas, this sort of wizard spell, as if the college crest has been transfused into their blood.
While the College educates many of those 0.1% aristocrats from the most exclusive schools, I will say that those of my contemporaries who now move in these top-flight circles came (like me) from no more than good parenting and middle-class schools, together with UK government scholarships. It was truly a time of great opportunity for all, we were lucky to have a chance to show that skill and perseverance can elevate us. It is not like the system we are approaching now, where only the rich can afford to be educated at Hogwarts.