November 2026. Cottemham. Cambridgeshire.
Back in Cambridge, I complete the funeral formalities and pop to the local Building Society to put a hold on Dad’s accounts.
The folk at Cottenham branch were the loveliest in the aftermath of Mum’s death and Dad’s Power of Attorney shenanigans, and I kid myself it’s nice to reminisce about the old school days in the Fen Edge.
Only kidding, I never reminisce about anything much, though my time at CVC was neither harrowing or memorable, bar the “Bunsen Burner” incident. Kidz today don’t know what high jinks are.
Without a rail station or guided busway, you’ve just got the Stagecoach No. 8 for escape, and you’re out of luck if you’re after a pint in Rampton’s Black Horse of BRAPA’s “Waistcoat Scampi Family” fame up the road.
But I’ve 40 minutes between buses to Histon (odd frequency) so I get to confirm that, yes, nothing much happens in Cottenham.
Even the village green across from the college is just too small for the sort of high jinks seen in Waterbeach,
But..
It’s an oddly attractive village of 6,095 souls. I’d have thought there were more grubby teenagers in the school alone, and locals no doubt believe there’s far more on the travellers sites at Smithy Fen.
Most of the old buildings are on the “Church End” stretch of the High Street; the “Green End” is more modest,
but the dissenters cemetery is worth a stop,
and there’s a delightful hotch potch of old buildings (though not many pubs),
the star turn being a Gothic House which seems to have lain abandoned since Gothic times.
When were the “Gothic times”, anyway ?
