Punting on the Cam

This weekend's trip was to picturesque and traditional Cambridge; an old university town with style - lots. Cambridge is one of the world's top five educational institutions, with an alumni list that any organisation would crave. Hey, this place is so educated, even the Big Issue street salesmen have attitude!
Anne booked the trip and had a wonderful idea of staying at Clare College, one of the oldest colleges. But we had three things go wrong:
1. The booking was for bed and breakfast, since it would be fun to have a meal in the college hall. However, we found out on the morning that there was no breakfast available today.
2. I ran about 5 km across town to the Astronomy department to hear a lecture, only to find the theatre full and a lockout in place.
3. Anne wanted to hear the King's College Choir sing - but were told that there was no performance this weekend - two weeks before Easter.

Very disappointing.

However, we did get to visit the Fitzwilliam Museum and the Whipple Science Museum. Whipple had an abundance of fascinating Science equipment, including a lens used by Isaac Newton and one of Crookes' tubes.

Also, we punted on the Cam - not taking the tour, but doing it ourselves the fun way, including losing the pole. The golden rule of punting is, when the pole gets stuck - let go! But we paddled back to retrieve said item stuck in the Cam mud. Punted past Trinity College; the third richest institution in the UK, behind the Church of England and the Queen.

Lunching in Market Square and walking around town was a delight in the warming English sunshine. Despite the initial setbacks, this was another enjoyable weekend.

Schoolboy adventures

King Edward's School boys have a busy time growing up. The School runs many great camps, excursions and great adventures to raise the expectations and enjoyment of adolescent boys.


I was fortunate to be invited to one such event in the Yorkshire dales during 'Expeditions Weekend'. While buses took scores of senior boys south to live aboard ship in Portsmouth or another RAF group to Norfolk, we headed north to go underground in Yorkshire's dales.
Walking and caving in limestone country is an adventurous experience. Trapped in the dark for four hours can test one's endurance. We were all given clothing and equipment to prepare for this damp caving experience. To keep us warm, we were dressed in furry body suits in bright colours of red or blue, so that we looked like we had entered an episode of Tellytubbies. Covered with another semi-waterproof bodysuit, capped with a helmet and footed with Wellington boots, we were ready to tackle the wet and cold.
So we thought.

I was glad I was tall when we had to straddle a wide gap with what was, in effect, an underwater river that would reach up to my crotch. Ohh ... I forgot to say ... the outside air temperature was hovering just above zero and puddles were iced over.
Many young boys could not negotiate the width, and dropped into the icy water fed by snow melt. Their wellies instantly filled with the water. But to me there was a big cold shrinking incentive not to fall in.

However, these same boys had the advantage when negotiating the low ceilings, while I struggled on my knees. We slid through tight caverns, stepped over others, and slipped and scraped our way through tight spaces ... and it was such great fun!

After our underground discovery, we were treated to two long walks along valleys carved by long gone glaciers that scoured the landscape and left their rocky remains in big moraine piles. These King Edward experienced leaders gave the boys a wide berth to explore, where they rock scrambled, jumped boulders, climbed ravines, kissed waterfalls, and splashed through streams and enjoyed their time. We covered 15 miles and never heard the moan, 'Are we there yet?', because around every corner was a new adventure ready to be encountered.



This was a perfect adventurous weekend that every young man should have at least once.

King Edward's boys are in very capable hands. (Photos by Chris Boardman)

There's beauty in machines

I saw her standing there, alone, in a dark corner of a giant hangar. She was sleek; she was slender and white skinned.
She was fast.

She was beautiful.

One Sunday morning, while the girls wanted to have some more Bath time, I had an impulse to drive one hour south to an isolated air museum in rural Yeovilton. Why?

Because they have on display the first Concorde ever built.

Concorde was a beautiful 1960's concept plane built to reduce the world's travel time and allow trips from Australia to become fast and frequent. Qantas and many major airlines considered buying a fleet of these sleek jets to complement their new 747 Jumbos. But it wasn't to be, and only 14 were ever constructed. France and Britain locked one another into a no-get-out contract that committed both nations to a sink-hole of funds to support a plane that few wanted. It was amazing they even agreed to have a joint-venture of this magnitude, since they argued over how to spell the name.

So, on a cold morning in February , guided by my trusty TomTom GPS, I ventured along narrow roads to this isolated little town whose name I could hardly pronounce.

This was the first Concorde prototype with its distinguishable V-shaped delta wing. The cabin was filled with twelve tonnes of electronics monitoring gear to check the pulse of this amazing new supersonic technology. Today, the computing power of this gear could be stored in a laptop. As Concorde forced air out of its path at 60,000 feet, it would heat up so much that it would lengthen by 18 cm.

Britons would see (and hear) Concorde fly out of Heathrow at 6.03 each day as it departed for New York. Eventually it became a victim of teleconferencing, reducing the need to travel across the Atlantic at Mach 2 for a meeting and return on the same day. And, following that horrific take-off accident from Charles De Gaulle airport, Concorde was doomed.
Nowadays, this futuristic machine is used as an object lesson on the advantages of private enterprise over government's failed attempts to compete in industry.

So, on this quiet Sunday morn, Concorde and I had our shared moment together.

On the Shoulders of Giants

The 19th Century produced two of Britain's greatest civil engineers - Thomas Telford and unusually named Isambard Kingdom Brunel. Their work is so prolific in Britain that many assume that if a bridge is not Telford's, it must be Brunel's. Images of Brunel have him looking strangely like a grown-up Artful Dodger of Dickens fame, complete with muddy boots and swagger.

These famous bridge builders met when submissions were called for the construction of a bridge to span the Avon Gorge in Bristol. The committee could not decide on which entry to choose, and asked 72 year old Telford for advice. Unhappy with submissions, he rejected all entries and submitted his own design, which became publicly unpopular. A new committee was formed and selected Brunel's suspension design.

After the foundation stone was laid in 1831, the bridge was delayed by city riots, loss of financial backing and political difficulties, but was finally completed in 1864, while the US Civil War raged. Although narrow by today's standards, the Clifton Bridge is still functional and carries 4 million vehicles annually. Its load is carried to the towers using chains; a method replaced by cables first used on New York's Brooklyn Bridge.

Brunel went on to construct train stations such as London's Paddington and three ships: the Great Eastern, Great Western and the world's first iron-hulled, propeller-driven ship, the Great Britain. Considered to be the world's first modern ship, it began its life as a luxury liner, then an emigrant passenger ship taking migrants to colonial Melbourne, and then as a coal carrier in the Falkland Islands. The Great Britain was scuttled in 1937, and lay in harbour until the 1970's when it was refloated and returned home to Bristol.


Brunel died, overworked, before the Clifton bridge was completed, and it was finished as a memorial to the legacy of this innovative and influential engineer. His Great Britain rests today in dry dock on the Bristol river front, protected from further corrosion that has attacked its iron hull. She is now a well-visited museum that relives the heyday of this fine ship.



The legacy of these men is felt in other bridges constructed since, such as that of the nearby Severn Bridge (built by Freeman Fox of West Gate bridge fame) to link England and Wales. In 2002, Brunel was listed second place (behind Winston Churchill) in the BBC top 100 Great Britons; a worthy achievement indeed. In recognition of great British engineering, the last flight of the Concorde flew across a crowded Clifton suspension bridge in 2003.