CAMBRIDGE
Before going on to Cambridge, I must recall one occasion when I did feel really proud to be a Blundellian from Old House. There have been others since. At my last OTC Camp at Tidworth, Major Batterbee was the Battalion Commander, in charge of several other school contingents as well as our own. The programme, instead of the rather dull routine, involved night manoeuvres, as well as some dressing up as Tribesmen. We really enjoyed it.
I have only scattered and rather vague memories of my time at Cambridge; but I was sure, from the beginning that this would be the best and happiest time of my education. I am grateful to my father for encourageing and enabling me, and to the other folk concerned. I am particularly glad that Sidney Sussex, unlike most other Cambridge Colleges, had the good sense to arrange that all their undergraduates spent their first year in College. They did not do this at Trinity, with the result that one very bright one, David Howarth, spent most of his first year visiting his Tonbridge School friends at Sidney. Living in lodgings for the first year, as was then the general custom, could be a very lonely business, and certainly would have been for me!
My room number was K6, Cloister Court, on the top floor. It consisted of a fair-sized study, with rather drab furniture, a bedroom with an iron bed and a cupboard and wash-stand, and a little kitchen which was meant for boiling kettles and light washing up; but was often used for preparing rather more substantial meals. They were looked after by my 'Bedder'. One of my regrets is that, because of my stammer, which was much less of a trouble than it had been at School, I had little communication with her, just the time of days and leaving notes! It was a long way down to the bathrooms, which were opposite Garden Court and next to the Chapel. Cleanliness was next to Godliness! I had breakfast, and normally lunch, in my room, using the 'Commons' of bread butter and milk (once it had been beer) sent up from the College Kitchens. We provided the other food, and, if you were sufficiently extravagant, meals could be sent up from the kitchen. One staple, with which I usually provided friends who came to tea, was a tin of Bournville Chocolate Biscuits.
We had Dinner in Hall on most evenings (and, anyhow,had to pay for it five or six times a week), and there was a Junior Common Room as a general meeting place for us undergraduates. We were expected to go to Chapel most evenings. I did not go often to Sunday Chapel, as the Communion Service was much "higher " than I was used to. I was rather shocked by the Kyrie being sung (Greek!). The 'Dons' sat at High Table in Hall. We did not see much of them personally unless there was some special connnection.
The Master, Dr weekes, was a gracious and dignified man with an embarassing wife, "Kate". We were expected to call at the Master's Lodge on occasional Sundays for tea. (Shall we "keep a Kate"?) Tommy Knox-Shaw (later, Master) was an Old Blundellian and kind to us. B.T.D. Smith a radical New Testament scholar was our Tutor, and responsible for our Moral Welfare. I saw him at the beginning and end of each term, and also on one occasion when, owing to a breakdown on my motor bike (which was not allowed until one's 2nd year) I had arrived in College after Midnight. There was also another occasion when I had disgraced myself by getting drunk! That was the only time. I had done it "for the experience" and I did not like it!
Our Chaplain was John Collins, whom I later got to know and like at Westcott. He became famous as a Canon of St Paul's and founder of Christian Action: but, at that time he was a shy and superior person, consorting only with 'Boat Club' and other "nobs". A later Chaplain, Will Wright, was much better at getting to know undergraduates. I remember making him a steam Turbine, of the sort used by the ancient Egyptians to open temple doors. Mine consisted of a 'Bath Oliver' tin, with two pipes soldered in to face backwards for steam jets. It was suspended over a spirit stove by a string through the lid, and would spin quite merrily. The don I saw most of was Mr Davenport, who was College Bursar, but also my Supervisor in Engineering. He told me what Lectures and Labs to go to, and gave me regular help and encouragement.
I do not remember being a friend of any of the other occupants of 'K' staircase; but I made plenty of friends in College, and in the Engineering Labs and lectures. We met at table and in each other's rooms and the JCR.
In particular, I soon got to know John Hogg, who later became my Best Man, and best friend. Later, I went several times to stay with him and his mother in Upper Norwood (notably on the night that the 'Crystal Palace' was destroyed by fire). He came to sfay with us at Wanlass, sometimes on the back of my bike, and in due course was a faithful subscriber to DODO. His fellow mathematician, Barton Land, and he often shared lunch with me. Others will, no doubt, be named later.
Although my time at Cambridge was so happy and important, owing to vagueness in memory I had a complete 'block' for some days. I now can break it by referring to my vacations at Wanlass in those years from my first term at Blundells to my last at Sidney. Thanks to Granny Maclver at Wanlass, and Granny Jager and Auntie May at the Hermitage (over Bowness), and a varied succession of cousins, aunts, uncles and servants, they were very happy holidays. For my father, whose loneliness is reflected in the copious diaries that he kept from that time onwards, the time was less happy; but it was redeemed by his patient disposition and the help of his family and friends.
I gave too little help at that time, though I faithfully sent (rather dull) letters in term time, and was at The Old Garden with my sisters and brothers for a small part of each School and College holiday. Auntie Frieda and Uncle Francis sent him on a Canadian Pacific Round-the-World Cruise after Mummy's death. He sent us a good set of letters, with vivid water-colour illustrations, to record the trip. He also made a typed copy of his "Golfing round the world". For that was the unique feature of his trip: instead of going on the "shore excursions" organised for the Passengers, he would, at each port, seek out the local golf course, and play a round with its "Pro".
The good idea enabled him to get a good deal more out of the Cruise than most of his fellow-passengers. Soon after his return, he bought "The Old Garden" at Hoylake, and this has been our family home since 1925. The previous owner had spent his retirement in building a "kit car", from drawings published in about 1905. The tattered 'blue prints' of this car adorned the walls of our shed for some years; but the car itself was sold separately at the same time as the house. We should dearly love to have had it! That car was never driven by its builder and, probably, never finished. If it had survived it would now be worth a packet. The shed became our workshop and, later, Mr Abbey lived in it after he had retired from his job as father's cook. He had been a ship's Steward before he came to Hoylake, and was a very happy 'last resort' for Daddy after a succession of unsatisfactory housekeepers. Mr Abbey, and Mr Phillips, who began his gardening at The Old Garden by clearing a neglected wilderness, were for many years his much-appreciated friends.
On our visits to Wanlass, which, thanks to Granny Maclver and her servants, became our real 'second home' each holiday time, we would go to see Granny and Auntie May at the Hermitage. Granny J was naturally rather jealous of the time that we spent at Wanlass. From the Hermitage we could see the hills behind Ambleside, and she would look hopefully down the lake to see if it was raining there. Life at Wanlass consisted in "messing about in boats" (you had to learn to swim before you could go out alone) and also picnics, family visits, tennis, and other games. I remember the "hard court" (then a rarity) being built. It was a splendid investment, and in holiday times it was in regular use from before breakfast until "bad light stopped play" in the evening. And there was, of course, the motor bike.
After the demise of the Douglas, Granny Maclver bought me a 348cc OHV New Imperial, with a 'saddle tank', the latest fashion. It cost £48/10/- from Skirrows Garage in Ambleside. It was not really as good a bike as the older side-valve AJS which Granny bought for Ham a couple of years later from the Hedley family; but I owe a lot to the fun and freedom that it gave me. Unlike the Douglas it could climb hills, and this earned me a £2 Jaeger speedometer which Uncle Alan gave me by betting that I could not take it up the steep side of Kirkstone Pass (the struggle). I managed this after coming back from Wray Church on Sunday: I was preceded by Alan's 30/98 Vauxhall car. My Sunday suit was completely covered in dust! I kept the New Imp. until the end of my time at Cambridge, and learned to cope with its weaknesses. The worst was a weak rear spindle, which broke when I was attempting Alms Hill in the Inter-Varsity Trial. I wrote to New Imps to tell them why it had broken (a 'creeping crack' caused by bad design), and they sent me a new spindle, modified in the way that I had suggested.
Now it is high time to get back to Cambridge. I began, of course, by failing the Qualifying Examination for the Mechanical Sciences Tripos. I think that this may have been my only failure to pass a written exam! The main consequence was that I had to go to classes to prepare for a 'retake' at the end of the year. These were taken by Mr Donald Portway of St. Catherine's College. I have and have enjoyed his Autobiography. These classes prevented me from going to other lectures that would have been more helpful for my degree; but Portway was an agreeable and lively speaker.
Engineers had to go to many more lectures than other folk, mainly because there were no really up-to-date text books. Many of these were 'niners' (nine oclock lectures) which were never inflicted on those in other 'schools'! We also had to fit in twice-weekly 'Labs' at the new laboratories in Coe Fen Lane. These were new and interesting for me; but they too often jeopardised my professional soul! I often had to leave my experiment before the appointed time, in order to get to the River for Boat Practice.
My partner in the Lab., and also in the 2nd (or sometimes 3rd) boat, was Bill Harris. In our second year, Bill and I shared 'digs' at 7 Carlyle Road. Bill had been at Liverpool College (where I believe my grandfather, David Maclver, was educated). His father had been a Marine Superintendant. Bill was a real hard worker, who used to keep a strict record of the hours he spent in home-work. His hard work bore good fruit, and he became President of the Institute of Civil Engineers. Bill was also with me in the O.T.C: I have a vivid recollection of him, still seated on the pillion seat of my New Imp (which was only clipped on to the carrier) clattering over the cobbles on the road from Christchurch to Bournemouth. The "Mosely Float-on-air" seat became dislodged when I had jerked the bike into line after skidding on a tram-line.
I was surprised to find myself joining the 'Sappers' (the Royal Engineers Section of the Cambridge University Officers' Training Corps), as I had been thankful to get out of the OTC at Blundells. It was the possibility of using explosives that had attracted me, and the opportunity to experience working as a 'Navvy'. I never had cause to regret my choice. The jobs that we did together were unusual and varied, the parades required were few (as Sunday parades counted as two) and the annual Camp at Christchurch was fun.
Two occasions stand out. One, in our first year was extra-curricular. Four of us sailed in an open boat from Christchurch to the Isle of Wight. There was 'Bunjie' Spalding, a gentle character who later found his niche as a Water Board engineer on the Broads. Allan Campbell (later Vicar of Amersham) showed by his pink 'Leander' tie that he was nearly a rowing Blue. I think that Bill was the other. We sailed to the Island in good time, and just scraped the beach of the nearest bay with our keel, so that we could say that we had been there. Then we began our way, against wind and tide, towards Christchurch. The tide was running strongly into the Solent, so that we were nearly sucked in. But, thanks largely to my Windermere experience, and Allan's very sturdy work with his oar to assist our sail, we got back to the mouth of the Estuary. There, with undeserved good luck for us, the tide was in our favour and whisked us back to Christchurch. This was probably the work of our Guardian Angel, rather than mere good luck, as we had no knowledge of the real dangers that wind and tide can give, and could easily have been drowned. As it was, I was disappointed but not surprised to learn in the following year that hired boats were not allowed into the open sea!
There was one crucial moment on that trip. We were struggling against wind and tide, and, in spite of Allan's efforts and a good beam wind, were in danger of being driven on to a lee shore (a common cause of sailing disasters). Bunjie had insisted on steering the boat "to avoid being sea-sick". With a firmness not usually in my character, I said to Bunjie; "Well, you will have to be sick", and made him hand me the helm. From that moment we made steady progress. I was far too busy to notice whether Bunjie actually was sick; but we remained good friends.
Next year we had another memorable time on the estuary. This time it was 'Night Ops'. This involved our Company being towed downstream in a 'pontoon' to make a landing and capture the place, about 1/4 mile inland, held by our rival Company. The place had been surveyed by our Officers in daylight. When we landed, in the dark, it happened to be about high-tide, and the drainage ditches, which had been empty and unnoticed when the survey had been made (at low-tide) were invisible, deep, and full. In spite of whispered warnings, most of us, including myself, fell into a ditch, up to our arm-pits, before we had realised that it was at our feet! Then we proceeded, dripping in the darkness, up to the place where we were to make our attack. Not surprisingly,the 'enemy' heard us, and fired 'Verey Lights' into the air. These scared the horses that had been sleeping there, and we were very lucky not to have been trodden on. On the way back to our pontoons, we could not find them for some time. As we wandered, those who had not already been soaked then had their turn! Our way back by pontoon was very slow and uncertain, as our pontoons kept going up the wrong channels. Thanks to our woollen uniforms, and the mild night, we were not too cold, and, as far as I can remember, nobody caught one!
Probably my first assignment with the O.T.C. was in my first term. I remember it largely because I took some photographs. About a dozen of us went, with expert leadership and the appropriate tackle, to dismantle an old forge. It was, I suppose, the last foothold of "Mechanical Sciences" in the courtyard of the old, and famous, Cavendish Laboratory in Free School Lane. Apart from the photographs, my only memory was how much I enjoyed working as a member of a team, as it was, in its way, and particularly with novices, quite a tricky job. It took us about two hours. The new Mechanical Sciences Labs were off Coe Fen Lane, quite a long way by bicycle, particularly in the wind and rain which are all too frequent in Cambridge. We carried our note books etc in baskets hung on our handlebars.
The vacant space in the Cavendish courtyard was soon filled with a beautiful little laboratory, built for Dr Kapitza, a Russian refugee, to pursue his researches into ultra-low temperatures. It had not been long completed when Dr Kapitza was invited to return to the U.S.S,R., there to continue his researches. I do not know what the Chauvinists said, or would say today; but after quite a short interval, in which Kapitza's apparatus remained unused (because no-one else knew what to do with it) the Cambridge autorities sent the whole kit to Russia, so that Kapitza could continue his researches. There was 'Science' at its best — a real international brotherhood!
A much longer assignment for our O.T.C. 'Sappers' was our Sunday project for Lord and Lady Loch, whose estate was conveniently near Cambridge. We were asked to build two bridges across a stream near the house. It was perhaps twelve feet wide, where a little road was to cross it, and a good deal wider opposite the house, where we were to build a bridge, of perhaps 40' span, to an island where Lady Loch proposed to make a garden.
Talk about 'navvying' and 'Messing about in boats'. There was a lot of concrete to be mixed and laid for the road bridge (just a matter of girders across a gap), and a good deal of ferrying to be done from one side to the other.
The other bridge had to be a Suspension Bridge that Lady Loch could use to get her wheelbarrow and tools across to the new garden. It consisted of two wire ropes, anchored on each side of the river, and two stout timber frames to support them. There were two more wire ropes, suspended by wires from the first pair, to carry a pathway of railway sleepers for Lady Loch to use. The bridge was designed by our own officer cadets, who were not very clever. They had been appointed on the strength of the number of parades that they had attended in the previous year. And, owing to a rule that stated that those who had not been in School O.T.Cs had to attend double the number of parades that the rest of us, who had been to School O.T.Cs, were required to put in, this was the sole criterion for promotion. In matters of drill, we 'other ranks' could 'cover-up' their ignorance; but, in the matter of design, they, and we, had to learn from their mistakes.
Their mistake was that they did not know that any Suspension Bridge needs stiffening, if it is to be used safely. Our bridge would dance about, even if no-one was on it. Then, when one of us tried to walk along those sleepers, they swayed from side to side and up and down, so that even an athlete could not maintain his balance — let alone an old lady wheeling a barrow.
The answer was to lash plenty of planks along the length of the roadway to act as stiffeners. The wires still bore the weight, as they were designed to do; but the planks made sure that the pathway moved up and down in a controlled and orderly manner. If you look at any useful suspension bridge, you will see that the road way has been stiffened, not by planks but by metal reinforcements.
A few years later, when the Tacoma Rapids road bridge in the U.S.A. bounced itself to bits, those who had experienced our bridge could say : "I told you so!", though that would have been no comfort to those whose cars were bounced about, and then went down (with or without them, when the whole bridge collapsed). This has been shown, more than once, on TV on a film taken when the disaster happened. The only difference was that, though the bridge had been stiffened it was still 'springy'. Engineers know that every spring had its 'periodicity', its natural rate of vibration (even if it does not look like a spring). So when an unforeseen series of regular gusts in a storm happened to coincide with the 'spring-rate' of that stiffened roadway, the bouncing got worse and worse until the collapse occurred. That bridge had simply 'bounced itself to bits'!
Although rowing on the lake was one of the delights of Wanlass, and was indeed my main incentive in learning to swim, I never expected to become a Rowing Man at Cambridge. However, this happened to me in my first term. The reason was simple. After one trial, it became evident that there would be no room for me in any Sidney XV: moreover, I never did like playing Rugger. I much enjoyed Tennis at Wanlass; but the Michaelmas term was no time for Tennis. I tried Squash; but, unlike Tennis, that is an unforgiving game, in which it is no pleasure to play against anyone who is even a little better. Badminton was better; but you had to pay to play. Then some friends who, like myself, showed no athletic prowess, suggested that I went with them to the Boat Club. There was little prospect of glory; but I would, at least, have regular excercise in good company. I went, and was 'hooked onto Rowing' until my final term, when I simply could not spare the time!
First, like the others, I had to learn to row on a sliding seat, with a long oar in a swivelling rowlock. This was quite a different kind of rowing to that I had learned on the lake. Instead of merely using your arms and wrists, with your feet not even always pushing against a footrest, you rowed with your whole body, doing the main work with your legs, and with your arms as mere connecting rods except at the beginning and end of each long stroke. You could, and did, put a great deal of work into it. The swivelling rowlocks were then quite a new invention: some colleges still rowed with 'fixed pins' (which were, in fact, not pins but rectangular openings, through which the oars were placed instead of through rowlocks). This added a pleasant rumbling noise to that made by the blades being driven 'in' and 'out'.
After a few practices 'in the tubs', we were allowed to take our place in an 'eight', a narrow racing boat with eight oarsmen in line, facing a lighter man (nowadays often a girl) who was cox, and did the steering and shouted occasional instructions at us. We had to be very careful as we step into the boat (or 'shell' as it is called), as it was all too easy to step right through the wafer-thin plywood! The cox was relaying the instructions of the Coach, who would stand, and then ride, on the towpath, dangerously mounted on a bicycle, trying to teach us to row faster. This was not so much a matter of putting so many strokes into a minute, as of making the boat go faster through the water. This was a matter of making sure that everybody leaned as far as possible forward (so as to get the blades well back), and then got the blades into the water (all togetherl), and then pulling the oar handle as far back as possible before (all together) lifting the blades cleanly out of the water, before leaning forward again for the next stroke.
You could tell, by the sounds of the blades going in and coming out, and by the sight of eight neat swirling "puddles" left by each oar, how well, or how badly, the crew, and each individual oarsman, was doing.
We were very fortunate in our Coach, Laurie Harland. He eventually became Archdeacon of Rochester, and I am sure that he must have done good work in that capacity; for he showed in his coaching many of the gifts that a good Archdeacon (or, for that matter, a good parson) needs. He was a good encourager, who accepted us as we were, and did not attempt to make "Blues" out of us. He knew our limitations, and he helped us to become, if not good oarsmen, at least better oarsmen than we, or others, could have imagined. He could not row himself. In fact, after one day's trial, he was forbidden to do so on medical grounds. Or, so the story went. But he 'kept in with' the rowing set at Sidney, and became our Coach, and I cannot imagine a better one! He taught us to row; but did not discourage us by trying to teach us the finer points of rowing. The result was, as I claimed with perhaps a little exaggeration, that we went up the river and back to our boathouse "faster than the Varsity Boat". For he made us work hard, and we did not waste much time in "paddling light" (the slow rowing which developed good balance and other important, and, for us, unattainable, gifts). So we spent most of our time "paddling firm" (rowing as hard as we could), and very little time in sitting in our cold places in the boat, listening to him telling us "how to do it better!". He would not have been much good at that, anyway!
So we enjoyed our rowing, as much as anyone could, and we did, after all, have one quite unexpected (and, I think, unique) moment of glory! It happened near the beginning of my third year. There was, and probably still is, though I think it was a relatively new event in my time, the "Lock to Lock Race" near the beginning of the Michaelmas Term, to give the boats something to work for before getting down to training for the "Lents". Unlike the "Lents" and the "Mays", which were "bumping races", in which the boats were sent off, in single file, with just enough distance between them for a good boat to catch up with and bump a less good boat in the course of the ?2 miles available, the boats in the "Lock to Lock" were spaced much further apart, so that the race could be decided purely on "time taken", instead of by "Bumping". The race was rowed upstream, towards Ely, rather than downstream. We started very near the back of the queue, as our "First Boat" had had the misfortune to "go aground" during the previous year's race, and so we began in their place. The boat in front of us was, I think, Downing IV.
We rowed, in our rough way, surprisingly well, so much so that we could hear, and be much encouraged by, the note of surprise in our coach's voice as he cheered us from the tow-path as we were following Downing up the 'Long Reach'. The reason was that we were not only following them but were catching them up! It looked as if we could pass them, which had been hitherto unthought-of. The spacing between the boats had been intended to make that impossible. But, on we went, and, at the end of the 'Long Reach', where the river bends to the left at 'Ditton Corner' we did actually begin to pass Downing; but, as we were on the outside of the bend, we had further to go, and so could not quite 'make it'. But we kept gaining on them in the short reach before 'Grassy Corner', where the bend was in our favour. As we went round Grassy Corner, where the river is really too narrow for two boats to go side by side, our blades were actually overlapping; but, by some miracle they did not touch. So we drew clear before 'First Post Corner', which would have been in Downing's favour, and so finished a splendid 17th, and our time was therefore better that some 'First Boats'. There was, as far as I can remember, no official record of this triumph, which was a flukey thing, and, I suppose, an embarassment to the organisers. I should think that it never happened again.
This event was very good for our morale: and we thought that we were pretty good! Next term our boat (Sidney III), which was not yet in any Division, had the opportunity to "get on the River", and perhaps even to "get our oars" which were given to any boat which made "Bumps" on the four successive evenings of the races. We were right in expecting that, with further practice, we would win the heats of the "getting-on race" and so we took our place at the end of the 3rd Division of the 'Lents' behind (I think) Kings IV. But we were sadly wrong about our 'Oars'. While we had valiantly won our timed races, Kings had been practising 'Spurts', the sudden bursts of extra speed that enable a boat to make a bump (or to avoid being bumped!). When the actual races came, Kings managed to make a 'spurt' and get away from us every time that we tried to "bump". It was our lack of 'Technique' that was our undoing. Whenever we tried to 'spurt' the boat wobbled, and our sturdy 'stroke', a serious young Quaker named Tyas even once 'caught a crab', so that we had to fall right back until he had his oar again under control. So we did not 'get our oars', and next term, as Sidney II in the Mays, we were actually bumped one night by the boat behind us.
I could write much more about Cambridge, about the delight of punts, particularly on the Upper River, and of friends, and my enjoyment of the 'Union', not so much for its debates as for its club facilities, and, of course, about the Engineering Course, which was the main reason for my being there. Mr Davenport was a friendly and very helpful Supervisor, and was also College Bursar. At one point I also had an excellent Coach, whose name I have quite forgotten. The Lectures were of varied interest; but my particular favourite was 'Foundry Fred', whose lectures on 'Workshop Practice', delivered in a strong but comprehensible Northern accent, were full of helpful comments on human nature, particularly that of working-class people. Alas, his lectures, like most of the others, required copious note-taking. How I wished that I had had training in taking Shorthand notes!
By far the best lectures were the few that we had from our Professor Inglis. His introductory Lectures told me most of what I believe I know about the purpose and value of University Education, as contrasted with Technical Training: and his marathon course on 'The Vibration of Bridges', although now quite superseded by the advent of Computers, was thrilling while it lasted. One of the dullest series was by a Don called Landon, who, it was once thought might have been our Professor instead of Professor Inglis; but who proved instead to have been a sad example of the Univesity practice called "Tenure", by which a man who turned out to be incompetent was, too often, promoted to a senior position, where he could do less harm, rather than being "sacked".
My late acquisition of the Calculus, and my lack of other forms of Higher Maths (or even any facility in 'Totting') continued to be a handicap; but I found soon that my training in Classics was occasionally very helpful in enabling me to see some problems from a new angle, not available to those who only had Maths. There was even said to be a possibility that I might yet get a "First", and, to that end, I had to stay up for the "Long Vac. Term". This effectively scotched my hopes of making a trip to and from the River Plate on a Maclver Boat. They were apt to spend too long on the Plate before making their return trip! So I went to Spain instead on the 'Pinto', a MacAndrew boat for three weeks at a shilling a month.
As well as going to extra labs and lectures in the Long Vac. term, I went, as a member of an "ad hoc" four (called the 'Lady Frances', because one of our members was a St. John's man) to row in the Bedford Regatta. It was interesting to have to row in a boat fitted with 'fixed pins', instead of 'swivels'; but we did not get beyond our first 'heat'.
That was between my 2nd and 3rd years. In the previous Long Vac I went to a six-week course at Mather & Platts of Manchester, to whom I had been introduced by our Appointments Board. My principal memory of that time was of my uncomfortable stay in uncongenial company at Mathers' Apprentice Hostel. It made me decide to go into 'digs', rather than that hostel, when I began my real two year Apprenticeship. The actual experience of work in the Brass Foundry I enjoyed and found interesting. It was really tiring to have to stand all day at my work; but it gave a new savour to my scholastic work back at Cambridge.
I would now mention my introduction to Classical Music. It happpened when we were staying at Wanlass at the same time as the David Maclvers. Uncle David had bet my cousin David that Bowness would not yet have the new Record of Bach's 'Suite in D'. But it was there, and was played over several times on the little portable gramophone. Up to that time, in spite of hearing Myra Hess play at Blundells, Classical, or indeed any other Music, had little or no interest for me, though I did like 'I am the Bandolero' and the 'Laughing Song'. But this record converted me, and I heard a lot more Bach, and Mozart's 'Eine kleine Nachtmusik', later, when I stayed with the Maclvers at Glan-y-wern. This I was able to do, and also go on odd week-ends from Cambridge, thanks to my motor-bike. So, fascinated by a technical article in 'The Gramophone', claiming that Mr Ginn's Exponential Horn, and tuned Sound Box, gave an entirely new faithfulness to the reproduction of music, I decided that I must have an 'E.M.Ginn Expert' gramophone for my 21st birthday. Although mine was the smallest model, its 'exponential horn' was quite 3' high, and stuck out for the same distance. But the 'sound quality', as had been claimed, was vastly superior to that obtainable from even the largest H.M.V. Gramophone, or even from the new electrical 'Radiograms'. So, in spite of the bulkiness, and the inconvenience of cutting the bamboo 'fibre needles', I got the 'Expert' and took it to my lodgings at 7 Carlile Road, Cambridge. Plenty of my musical friends were glad to come and hear it. The only embarassment was that the Expert had to be 'wound-up' by hand, and the spring was not really strong enough. Sometimes the record began to slow down, and so 'go flat', before the record finished. I learned to watch the faces of those who were blessed (or cursed?) with a keener sense of pitch than mine, and,when they began to look anxious, I would quickly get up and give the handle a few extra turns!
My last journey back to College was by Special Train! At the end of the Hilary Term we had received pamphlets from the Railway announcing a special beginning-of-term Excursion from Liverpool etc. to Cambridge at a very reasonable fare. I kept my pamphlet, and duly turned up at Lime Street and found a long and virtually empty train consisting of at least six Buffet Coaches. A few other passengers got on, and we made our way through Manchester and Sheffield to Cambridge. In the end there cannot have been more than a couple of dozen of us. We had a spacious and comfortable ride, with plenty of room for Bridge etc at the tables: but it was a costly failure for the Railway.
My sociable and very happy time at Cambridge came to an uneventful end, with my Tripos exam and the expected 'second'. I did not go back to take my Degree in person, as I was committed to my last Camp with the O.T.C., and I must have disappointed my sisters in not going to our own or any other College's May Ball. These, for those who like dances, are perhaps the best of any.
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