Unreliable Notes from Cambridge

 Jun 5, 2026

By Harry Mottram: Cambridge is very dry I was told, but the week Linda and I spent in ‘The Other Place’ was very wet – but then it was the first week of June and the start of an English summer. Around the corner from where we stayed there was a reminder of how freezing the world is in the Antarctic at the Polar Museum. Outside was a replica of Shackleton’s life boat the James Caird which he used to rescue his chums in from Elephant Island in the Antarctic back in 1916. Along with a small crew they sailed for two weeks in rough seas to South Georgia island to get help. It inspired me when I first read Lansing’s account of the voyage to row across the boating lake at Butlin’s holiday camp in Minehead – a brave but foolhardy trip in sunny weather – but like Shackleton I succeeded in completing the journey. Although I doubt if he got told off for overstaying the hire of his boat.

One reason for visiting Cambridge for me was a pilgrimage to the birthplace of the rules of football since up until then the game had different rules and indeed in some places no rules at all. The rules of football of were created by university students it is claimed who played a game on Parker’s Piece – a large squarish park near the centre of Cambridge – and having established the eleven rules they pinned them on pieces of paper to trees surrounding the green. That was in 1848 – the year of revolutions in Europe – and in 2018 the rules and the game were immortalised in stone with a monument placed at the corner of the park. The carved edifice created by Neville Gabie celebrates how the “Cambridge Rules” became the “defining influence on the 1863 Football Association rules”. And as a highly untalented footballer myself and one time goalkeeper for the Henleaze Corinthians I knelt before it and thanked those Victorian students – but wished they had included a rule to make goals smaller as for a goalie with a bad back large goals are hard to defend.

Those eleven rules by the University Foot Ball Club were:

1. This club shall be called the University Foot Ball Club.
2. At the commencement of the play, the ball shall be kicked off from the middle of the ground: after every goal there shall be a kick-off in the same way.
3. After a goal, the losing side shall kick off; the sides changing goals, unless a previous arrangement be made to the contrary.
4. The ball is out when it has passed the line of the flag-posts on either side of the ground, in which case it shall be thrown in straight.
5. The ball is behind when it has passed the goal on either side of it.
6. When the ball is behind it shall be brought forward at the place where it left the ground, not more than ten paces, and kicked off.
7. Goal is when the ball is kicked through the flag-posts and under the string.
8. When a player catches the ball directly from the foot, he may kick it as he can without running with it. In no other case may the ball be touched with the hands, except to stop it.
9. If the ball has passed a player, and has come from the direction of his own goal, he may not touch it till the other side have kicked it, unless there are more than three of the other side before him. No player is allowed to loiter between the ball and the adversaries’ goal.
10. In no case is holding a player, pushing with the hands, or tripping up allowed. Any player may prevent another from getting to the ball by any means consistent with the above rules.
11. Every match shall be decided by a majority of goals.

That is at least the accepted story of the rules of the beautiful game and how they were created – my own theory is that during the Early Medieval period after the end of Roman Britain, some of the soldiers left behind got bored and started a kick around in one of the amphitheatres of Roman Britain. The game had only one rule – to score a goal by any means possible. That version of football continues to this day on Shrove Tuesday in several towns in England – adding to the numbers of casualties in A&E since it is very violent. But less rough than rugby.

Sticky situation

Later I met Lawrence and Claire near the station and together with Linda we walked to Fitzbillies café and bakers to sample their ‘so-called’ famous Chelsea buns. We had a table and ordered the buns and coffee – but I can’t say I was impressed with the sticky swirls of pastry covered in syrup. We all compared notes, but my feeling was they were rather stodgy and not as good as the average Chelsea bun turned out by our local supermarket – which is probably a capital offence in Cambridge.

Punting a pack of lies

It was pouring with rain when Linda and I together with Lawrence and Claire arrived at Scudamores boat station to hire a punt. We could have hired a chauffeur to give us a guided tour of The Backs along the River Cam but chose to pilot a punt ourselves for an hour. Lawrence was designated to take the pole and after a brief instruction from a young man we pushed off into the drizzle and an empty river. As Lawrence said, ‘it’s harder than it looks,’ but by the end he was proficient since we were told it takes three weeks to train a chauffeur.  Although I suspect that is mostly to do with learning the running commentary about the history of the various colleges, bridges, buildings and personalities who have studied at Cambridge. It’s generally accepted that in the past some chauffeurs embellished the city’s history including for instance pointing out the apple tree that inspired Newton’s theory of gravity, the skid marks on the lawn left by Stephen Hawkin’s wheelchair and the Mathematical Bridge constructed by Newton as a child without using any screws or bolts – despite it being built with bolts 30 years after his death.

Claire took over the pole duties from Lawence at half way proving she was also adept at punting despite the quickening current. Then it was my turn which almost proved to be my undoing. Having boasted how I would guide us back up stream I couldn’t even manage to stand up let alone hold the pole. My excuse is it was the wrong sort of water since it seemed to beckon me to fall in and having had a funny turn I dived back on to the seats squashing Linda to save myself, leaving Lawrence to take us back to the start. It was a most undignified effort on my part – but as Lawence said… ‘it’s harder than it looks,’ At least it gave everyone a good laugh – including a passing boat full of Chinese tourists.

Browned off

We retired to the Fitzwilliam Museum where I wanted to look again at the painting of A Village Fair by Pieter Brueghel in the art gallery upstairs. It is a picture of life in 17^th century Holland with dozens of tiny figures celebrating a religious festival in dance, games, eating, gambling, fighting, sex and even vomiting from having drunk too much beer – one aspect of life I have first hand knowledge of. The building itself is worth a visit in its own right since it is a grand neo-classical pile with high ceilings and vast staircases – and most importantly clean toilets. There’s a café – which charges premium prices – but it is free to enter the museum – and on display enough lethal looking daggers, swords and primitive guns to fit out a small medieval army. Linda was most impressed with a gallery of flower paintings – some hung so high up you needed a telescope to view them – while I found a Paul Nash watercolour of a downed German bomber in a gallery dedicated to items relating to war.

We adjourned to Browns restaurant where a glass of wine was an eye-watering £12.50 a glass and an elderflower drink was £7.50p. The place was almost empty – but then it was only 5.30pm – so before the evening rush as Lawrence and Claire had a train to catch back to London – and Linda and I eat early anyway so it made sense. There was a two-course set meal which we all chose – Linda had steak, Lawrence had sea bass, Claire had mussels and I had the worst Ceasar salad in the history of Ceasar salads. I’ll never have another one unless it is served by someone dressed as Ceasar’s wife. The décor, the staff and service were all excellent – as indeed was the pea soup starter but I did feel a little browned off. I should have chosen the steak and chips like Linda. It is true I don’t often eat out regularly and so have a feeling I could have made my own supper for a fraction of the price but that of course is not the point. It’s the occasion – and with three of the best people for company it was an extremely pleasant conclusion to the day.

Wet and dry

It was only a three-day holiday in midweek – with the Monday and the Friday taken up with the day long drive from Axbridge sitting in traffic jams of varying length on the highways of England. There were some highlights and lowlights to ponder on – Lawrence and Claire particularly liked the punting – and Linda enjoyed my comedy attempts to steer the punt let alone almost falling in the river. We both liked the Botanical Gardens – partly because of the immaculate mature trees and beautiful gardens within gardens – but also because there was hardly anyone there. There was a ‘dry garden’ that is never watered to showcase the county’s natural plants which have learned to live on very little moisture – ironic as our visit was punctuated by thunderous downpours of rain. But the towering trees were the real stars as were the moorhens in the lake.

Later we went shopping in town – I managed to lose my brollie – it was the first and only time I had used it – but at least I bought a pair of socks. Yes, I visited Cambridge and my only purchase was a pair of socks. Linda however came away with all manner of cosmetics, a new sketch pad for her artwork and a book on medicinal flowers.

My enduring impression of ‘dry’ Cambridge was not of dreaming spires, ancient colleges, or even the ping of bicycle bells, but of the heavens opening every now and then to give me a soaking. I shall always think of Cambridge as ‘wet’.

Note: The main photo is of some of what’s on in Cambridge revealing the A4 poster remains supreme

For details for the work of the journalist Harry Mottram visit www.harrymottram.co.uk and follow him on FaceBook, X as @HarryThe Spiv, Instagram, YouTube and God knows where else!