A SPECTATOR'S NOTEBOOK
n1- HAD better say at once that I spent Christmas in Cambridge ; otherwise the fact will become evident rather irritatingly. The high point, beyond question or contest, was the carol service King's, to which millions of readers of the Spectator (including in that figure some few who most inadvisedly do not read the Spectator) no doubt listened on the wireless. But to listen is one thing, to be in the chapel itself another. The sight is unforgettable—a congrega- tion filling every seat in the great choir and the antechapel, the sun streaming through the splendid stained glass and reducing the long lines of candles to pale flickers ; then the candles coming gradually Into their own as the light outside fades, the reds and blues in the windows take on deeper hues, the surplices alone glimmer white, while gowns and other sombre garb grow indistinguishable and the sea of faces at the east end passes out of sight. Such a service in such a setting must be unique ; may it continue to the end of a date- less future. For the rest, Cambridge was almost oppressively mild, and on Sunday and Monday strangely empty. A kingfisher was seen in Brookside. The new town-planning scheme was under dis- cussion. A college steward was explaining how the table wine he was now serving at the High Table on two nights a week cost actually less than beer. A Jesus don had sent his friends an ingenious Christmas card consisting of a plain white postcard with a line of greeting at the top, and at the bottom " Fenland Under Snow (A.D. 1066)." At a certain Master's Lodge where I was hospitably entertained on Sunday the midday meal turned out to be Christmas dinner. Another Christmas dinner was served at my hotel the same evening. The strain on the system was not negligible, but thanks to prudent restraint I was able to say, like Mr. Bevin on Tuesday, " 1 am feeling very well."
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