After staying at my friend's London apartment, I rode the tube with her to the Liverpool station to catch a train to Cambridge. It was another journey through the greens and towns of English countryside, pulling into a station that has by now become somewhat familiar. I took a cab to Wolfson college to meet with Andrew for lunch before a quick practice on my borrowed cello and a spot of rehearsal. Jet lagged, we hurried to a talk given by Nicholas Cook, a musicologist who was speaking about the life of Samuel Coolridge-Taylor, a black English composer of the late 19th century. Afterwards we met some of Andrew's peers, old and introductory in the lobby. Divvying up people to cars, I shared a cozy half hour drive to Ely with our hostess of the evening, Professor Hawkins, and two other graduate students from the Centre for Music and Science.
When we arrived, we entered her large but cozy kitchen and joined about a dozen others in a dinner of borscht, vegetarian chili, salad, homemade focaccia, wine, and conversation. This was one of the Professor's occasional CMS parties, gatherings, which I gathered, that change in nature throughout the year, sometimes in her large beautiful garden with a frisbee, sometimes cuddling in the kitchen around her warm stove.
We headed home by train and stayed that evening with friends, working in the morning and going in to town for some errands, closing the bank account, checking the graduation garb. And the rest of the day was catch-up, practicing more in the afternoon, having dinner with friends in the dining hall. For me it was meeting the hands and faces of names I had known for a long time, and greeting again ones that I had warmly met before.
That evening we with stayed with a very good friend, a significant member of Wolfson College and musical life in Cambridge, the director of choirs, a real mentor in life for Andrew and many others. Warm, personal, and professional she exhibits the qualities that make the community in Cambridge so special. The following morning we slept quite late (still in another time zone), enjoyed a long relaxed, full breakfast in her cozy kitchen and started the day with a rehearsal of the Brahms songs for our recital in her living room.
Andrew's family had arrived from their journeys elsewhere in England and we met with them in their hotel that afternoon, before walking to our Wolfson College lodgings. We quickly showered and changed into formal wear (meaning a robe for Andrew) in preparation for Burns night. But before this, we headed to a short talk on the evolution of musical capacity in humans (complete with drinks beforehand, customary, I presume) given by a professor on sabbatical from Peabody Conservatory.
And then Burns night. This was one of the big anticipations of the visit to Cambridge. Every year at this time, Cambridge and many other places in the UK celebrate the birthday of Scotland's national poet, Robert Burns. It includes a very formal dinner with several traditional toasts, and a ceillidh (traditional Scottish folk dancing). Beforehand we all waited in the Combination Room, served white wine and orange juice, until the gong sounded and everyone became silent gathering to proceed into the dining hall. Once they were standing behind their seats, the bagpiper began, and some of the honored guests (one for whom I happened to be the partner, and therefore included) lined up behind his droning pipes, and he and Andrew's supervisor, Professor Cross (a Scotsman in full Scottish regalia for the evening) proceeded us through the dining hall of standing people to our seats at the head. Prof. Cross spoke a Gaelic poem and we were seated.
The tables were lined with white linen and candles, and many glasses and silverware for all the dining and drinking that would unfold over the course of the evening. The wine came several times, as did the whisky for the toasts. The first course was a vegetable barley soup and dinner roll, and shortly after this, the bagpipes began again and we rose as the bagpiper led a procession to our front table followed by the chef carrying the haggis on a platter and two servants with bottles of whiskey on either side. The bagpiper handed a large ritual knife to Professor Cross, which he laid on the table. He spoke in Gaelic the Ode to Haggis, a traditional Scottish poem, and at the appropriate moment, picked up the knife and sliced through the skin holding it together.
Burns and his poetry is famous for womanizing and as such, one of the toasts is a Toast to the Lassies, which traditionally includes jokes about women and sexual innuendo. Somehow, perhaps through reluctance on the part of others, perhaps through a subtle sense of humor on the part of Prof. Cross, this honor fell to Andrew. And so for the past week he had been studying other toasts online, brainstorming ideas which might be appropriate both for the occasion but also to his own natural reticence in such discourse. So after Prof. Cross's Toast to the Immortal Memory (of Burns) a reflective speech on his life and political importance for Scotland, an American Andrew delivered a very well-received and humored toast.
There was then a dessert of fruit crumble and dessert wine and Highland coffee. After being well-alcoholed, the bagpiper led us down the stairs to the club room where a small band was waiting to lead us through a series of dances. It is a wonderful thing to dance in a group of people, a great way to meet others with breathless smiles, to memorize movements and to coordinate them with others, weaving in and out of each other's arms, creating patterns on the floors. There are some things from other cultures that I wish were more prominent in my own, and this is definitely one of them.
It was a late night, and the next morning, Saturday was an early one as we met with Andrew's family for breakfast at their hotel on the river Cam. We then walked over to the college for a reception (opportunity for the praelector (Master of Ceremonies for the college) to check everyone's gowns and for everyone to drink sparkling wine) and preceded to a full lunch of carrot fennel soup, roast vegetables with feta in a crunchy pastry crust, and apple crumble pie with vanilla sauce, all paired with a French white wine, freely flowing and conversation with the president of the college who sat along with us, a man knighted for his historical work.
The graduates and their families (only five at this time of year) all processed through the town to the Senate House, where family waited in line outside and the honorees got in their lines. I'd heard a great deal about the Cambridge graduation ceremony and it didn't disappoint. Like the formal dinner, no pictures or electronic devises were allowed. We filed into a few wood benches along the sides of the Senate Building, and college by college the graduates were announced, in Latin they were presented, each touching the finger of their praelector, and coming forward to kneel in front of the deputy chancellor, hands clasped and their degree conferred upon them.
Despite being in Latin and following a format that hasn't changed in 200 years, the structure allowed for those who did not want the trinity blessing, or to kneel. Why was it still in Latin? Will that ever change? Latin is often considered an elite language of the academics, but perhaps one day it will be completely archaic, will not mean anything but to those who specially study it. It is something reserved for ritual, a space that is beyond a meaning into which we can literally tap.
Following the short ceremony, everyone stood on the lawn for pictures because it is one of the only times that you can (stand on the lawn), and then Andrew returned the graduation garb and we headed back to the hotel for tea (a tiered tray of scones, desserts, and sandwiches included). A walk around town, stopping into the Eagle pub where apparently one evening, Watson and Crick had a drink and came up with the idea of DNA, and finished the evening with Chinese food.
Sunday was recital day. It often happens that Andrew and I schedule these recitals and are rushed in our practice and rehearsal; graduation week, full of family and friendly reunions is not the most opportune time for isolating oneself for practice. And yet we were excited about this program: Martinu 3rd Cello Sonata, three Brahms songs with mezzo-soprano, and Brahms 2nd Cello Sonata. It was a fun program, and the audience, full of friends of Andrew gave us their attention and respect, which allowed us to return it to them, regardless of pitfalls along the way. It was an encouraging recital, very well-received and an impetus for creating further performance opportunities together.
As part of the incredible graciousness of this community, a member of the Wolfsom choir and her husband invited everyone to their home for drinks and snacks and so we were able to mingle with more of the community, meeting more warm faces and getting to know others better and better.
And to round off the evening, we went to a curry place, to enjoy the famously delicious curry of England which was indeed delicious. One more evening at Lyn's lovely home and off quickly to do some chores in town, return the cello to its owner in London, and arriving at an airport, waiting for a delayed flight to snowy New York.
This week has taught me more about the importance of community, about the importance of ritual, and the importance of gratitude. This is a small town, and everyone seems very grateful to all that everyone else does. Everyone seems willing to extend a hand, to help, and all seem to think that they are appreciated more than they give.
And before this week, I think I had doubted the importance of returning tho Cambridge for such a short archaic service. Surely the most importance thing is the work that goes into a doctorate, not the formal wear, and the ritual. But having the whole family together to recognize the endeavor of this work and learning seemed to crown, in a way, that work and curiosity alone cannot do. It was a proud moment for Andrew's parents and significant that they could partake in the accomplishment. Several of his other family members were able to come as well, and this contributed to the feeling of support, as if to say, This matters, this is an important thing to have done. A heartfelt congratulations.
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