Cambridge Colleges: Corpus Christi

Corpus Christi College, more properly "The College of Corpus Christi and the Blessed Virgin Mary," founded in 1352 is the sixth oldest of the current Cambridge Colleges and remains the only of Cambridge's 32 colleges founded by Cambridge townspeople (also known as "Townies" in University slang).  Originally a very poor college, with no money to construct a chapel, and a library of only 55 books (all donated) Corpus has grown to become one of Cambridge's wealthiest colleges today, with assets valued in excess of £85 million in 2014.  Corpus also possess the largest silver collection of any college in Cambridge which augments the college's enviable position in the down-town of old-Cambridge within eye-line of the famous Kings College Chapel.


Today around 500 undergrads, grads and fellows are hosted by Corpus Christi at any given time, making it among the smaller of the "Old" Cambridge colleges, even today, as at it's founding, with simply the college master and two fellows, it was easily the smallest.   Corpus is also known for doing well annually on the semi-infamous Cambridge Tompkins Table.

With some buildings dating back to the college founding in the 1350's (and walls that may be older), Corpus Christi has (over the years) been mobbed by townspeople, set on fire, defended itself during the War of the Roses from a "tempestuous riot" several iterations of European plagues and  the chaos of the reformation.  During the reformation era, Corpus Christi was home to a newly constructed college chapel at the time, and an incredible library donated to the college by Matthew Parker, who (afraid manuscripts deemed "Catholic" might be destroyed) stipulated that should significant portions of the  collection be lost or damaged, ownership would then pass to Gonville and Caius College.  Over the years Corpus Christi has been built, repaired and rebuilt.  Meaning that the architecture of the college is a mish-mash of eras, styles and designs.  Significant portions of the colleges' current buildings, including the chapel, date from the mid 18th century, and by the early 20th century the college began to expand beyond it's original site with the construction of a sports field in West Cambridge.  By this time Corpus Christi's focus on the training of clergy had broadened to include a variety of academics studying in many fields.  By the mid 1960's Corpus opened a new site, Leckhampton court, to house it's growing population of Graduates and fellows.  It wasn't until 1983 that women were admitted for the first time as students to Corpus Christi College.  

The Parker Library at Corpus Christi College contains what is considered a particularly fine collection of over 600 medieval manuscripts, including the Canterbury Gospels.  Corpus Christi also owns the Eagle Pub (run by an outside company), and the Corpus Christi Playroom, a popular venue for student drama, comedy and music in Cambridge.  

Corpus has a long list of well known alum, including Scottish Reformer, George Wishart, Thomas Tenison, Archbishop of Canterbury, Robin Coombes an immunologist, and author Helen Oyeyemi.  Most famous of all is playwright Christopher Marlowe.  Corpus Christi also, allegedly, plays host to a duck and ducklings each spring, working with St. Catherine's College across the road to shepherd the baby ducks towards the river each and every spring.

Currently Corpus Christi's most well-known feature is the "Chronophage," an imposing clock mounted in the outside wall of the college at the corner of Trumpington street and Bene't street.  The name means "Time Eater" in Greek.  Publicly unveiled in 2008, the clock only reflects an accurate time stamp once every five minutes, and features a locust forever leaping forward on top of a giant 24 carat gold clock face.  The locust "eats" the seconds of life away, and every hour is marked by the dropping of a link of chain into a wooden coffin located behind the clock.  Despite it being one of the most famous modern works of art on display in Cambridge (and certainly the most expensive) the Chronophage (also known as Rosalind) is one of my least favorite aspects of the town and haunts my dreams when deadlines are approaching.

Winter Snow in Cambridge

           On Sunday, January 25th, the BBC weather service was promising something called "Thunder Snow" across the southeast of England.  For almost a week photos had been trickling in from "The North" showing mini-snow falls, and lovely pictures of fat snowflakes drifting past windows in places like St. Andrews and Edinburgh.  To state that I was green with envy of "The North" for it's snow, would be akin to calling a lion stalking the Savannah a "kitty hunting a mouse."
           For a little clarification, in my rather limited perception of the world "winter" isn't really it's own season without at least one snow day.  It is instead a long, miserable, extension of the wet soggy British fall.  Days of rain and temperatures cold enough to make you wear a coat, but mild enough for you to leave it halfway open, cursing the rain as you and your bicycle wind your way back and forth from point A to point B in a city where cycle safety is an afterthought.  If that.
           "Winter" in my mind is the winter that I remember from when I was a kid.  You could feel it sneaking up on you starting in September, with air that got drier and colder as the nights grew longer and longer, until they were so cold that taking in a breath too deeply or quickly meant stinging your lungs with the cold.  Winter is that time when the ground goes hard with a frost that won't let go for months on end.  Digging it's claws further and further into the ground as icicles start to grow off the eaves of roofs and any water pipe left on begins to crack in the cold.  Winter is unforgiving in it's bite, and the snow comes in tiny perfect dry flakes.  The kind that take a moment to melt after they've settled on the end of your nose.  Flakes that form fluffy white snow that lasts for days and days and days, coating frozen river banks and lining all the roads.  Snow that dusts up into the air when you kick it, and creates crashpads for sleds careening down hills.
           Winter, as I remember it, goes on and on and on and on.  The only thing colder than a night full of swirling snowflakes endlessly meandering from sky to earth, is the sunny morning after.  The only sound the cracking of the trees as they freeze.
           That is winter. 
           These long grey rainy days.  The ones I've had both in Portland and now in Cambridge, don't feel like winter.  Air temperatures between 42 f and 51 f just doesn't feel the same, and there is a distinct difference between crunching across frozen ground, and trudging through mud that's just barely cold enough to make life miserable.
           But on Monday, February 2nd, despite the BBC promising "conditions clear enough to view the stars" Cambridge got a tiny little taste of winter.  Miniature light snowflakes that dusted through the air to form an overnight blanket of snow.  Not much, an inch here and there, less in most places.              
           But it was one frozen night.
           One little taste of winter.
           And while it doesn't necessarily feel like enough, I guess it'll have to do.