Monday, June 28, 2010


...For Cambridge people rarely smile,
Being urban, squat, and packed with guile;
And Royston men in the far South
Are black and fierce and strange of mouth;
At Over they fling oaths at one
And worse than oaths at Trumpington,
And Ditton girls are mean and dirty,
And there's none in Harston under thirty,
And folks in Shelford and those parts
Have twisted lips and twisted hearts,
And Barton men make Cockney rhymes,
And Coton's full of nameless crimes,
And things are done you'd not believe
At Madingly on Christmas Eve.
Strong men have run for miles and miles
When one from Cherry Hinton smiles;
...But Grantchester! Ah Grantchester!
There's peace and holy quiet there,
Great clouds along pacific skies,
And men and women with straight eyes,
Lithe children lovelier than a dream,
A bosky wood, a slumberous stream,
And little kindly winds that creep
Round twilight corners, half asleep.
In Grantchester their skins are white;
They bathe by day, they bathe by night;
The women here do all they ought;
The men observe the Rules of Thought.
They love the Good; they worship Truth;
They laugh uproariously in youth;
(And when they get to feeling old,
They up and shoot themselves, I'm told.)

Rupert Brooke

How fabulous to be in Grantchester & Cambridge in such beautiful weather! Even hapless England couldn't really depress one's spirits for long.


Blogger Ellee Seymour said...

I often quote this poem because I think it is so true about Cambridge people. I wish I had known you were visiting my neighbourhood.

7:59 pm  
Blogger Winchester whisperer said...

I was thinking about calling you, Ellee, but I had no time to spare. I'll be coming up again in December so shall give you some notice. Would love to see you.

8:05 am  

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