ichaelmas term has rolled around again, and with it, another edition of the Griffin. To the freshers: welcome to Downing! To everyone else: welcome back! After the long, dreamy days of the summer vacation (find out what some of us got up to on p. 4), coming up to Cambridge to begin the academic year can be a wrench, not helped by the suddenly Siberian weather or looming deadlines. Term comes with its own charms, though, be they the brilliant Halloween Formal (Street Style, p. 6; Cantabs like their fancy dress), the sporting successes of many Downing teams (Sport, p. 23), or just the quiet feeling of victory every time you cook yourself an edible meal or slip on your gown for something more fancy. We’ve even got a solution to the arctic weather - apart from staying in bed and eating buttery
toast - in the form of this season’s crop of winter coats (Fashion, p. 10) to brave the cold in and start your Christmas shopping (Christmas is Coming, p. 18). As we write this, ‘Bridgemas’ is upon us, and soon we will be returning home to start the build up to the real Christmas! We have a selection of music brought to you by Jack Carrington (p. 20) to keep you entertained, and some creative writing from Sarah Caulfield (p. 16) to get your holiday reading kickstarted... We hope you enjoy this term’s Griffin, and have a wonderful holiday! Shannon Keegan
A FRESH PERSPECTIVE2 Ruby Stringer on the oddities of Downing life as an eco-warrior
SUMMER IN NEPAL
Miriam Goode on an incredible summer as a volunteer teacher in Nepal
HALLOWEEN STREET STYLE6 We hung around outside Halloween Formal to snap Downingâ€™s best dressed ghouls and zombies...
THE NATURE OF BEING OFFENDED
Ben Brodie writes about the nature of taking offence, particularly in relation to certain aspects of Cambridge culture
WRAPPING UP10 A selection of the cosiest winter coats to see you through a chilly Michaelmas. Photography by Nicholas Schulman
HAMELIN16 Sarah Caulfield subverts a tale you thought you knew
CHRISTMAS IS COMING18 A gift guide for every type of friend, by Bridey Addison-Child
MIXTAPE20 Jack Carrington gives us a playlist for the winter months
SO WHERE ARE YOU FROM?
photographs: Anya Muir Wood
Georgina Phillips maps out just how culturally diverse our student body is...
Editors Shannon Keegan & Kate Edwards Template Tristan Dunn & Louise Benson Cover Image Anya Muir Wood
By Ruby Stringer
Freshers’ perspective pieces are so often about all the same things. Among my favourites are the ones about the range of Cambridge terms that you have to learn to be able to understand anything here: ‘Slops’, ‘P’lodge’ and ‘DoS’; it’s like some exclusive club, but sure enough, you only have to have been here a week until you know the lingo and feel as though you finally belong.
The Cambridge bubble is also most definitely a thing, going home for the weekend was like going to another country... or planet. And then I had to explain all these new terms that I’d learnt to everyone back home, basically as a symbol of my new status as a Cambridge Student. Less fun things like week 5 blues, unfortunately, may also be true; and why is it we’re not allowed to walk on the grass?! But I think my very favourite things about Cambridge are the traditions. However silly they may be, they’re the things that basically reaffirm your delight at effectively attending Hogwarts. How did these traditions come to be anyway? I have also found myself thinking, that at least with some things, is it worth taking a second look at them? And maybe questioning how relevant they are, and how much sense they actually make? Now for my own fresher’s perspective; in my capacity as hippy/ eco warrior/geography student, I was shocked at everybody’s acceptance of the use of plastic cups at ‘slops’.
Unbelievably wasteful, contributing to the 3 million tonnes of plastic waste produced annually in the UK. The little cups that you take, use for a single glass of water, then throw away will still be in a landfill by the time you leave university; by the time you buy a house, get married and have kids; and by the time you have grandkids. And if all the freshers take a cup at every meal (and I know that many people take two!) and go to slops three times a week, that makes more than 8,500 cups, or approximately 70kg – slightly less than the average rower – over the course of a year just from the first years (and cups don’t weigh a lot!).
illustration: Kate Edwards
And I know that this just sounds preachy and ridiculous, but it’s too easy to just ignore me and not think about what you’re doing. By taking a little bit of responsibility for yourself, and for the planet, we can actually make a difference to something. And I think that would be something to be proud of. So, I propose a certain level of rethinking; why not bring your own glass? I’ve been taking my own glass to slops since I arrived here, and I’ve got to say, it has not been a particularly strenuous activity. What if we could make a new tradition in Downing where we cut our wastage of single use plastic? Plus it makes sense; you can actually get a sensible amount of water, and don’t have to keep getting up to fetch more. It also allows a certain amount of extra creativity and individuality; and who doesn’t want that? It’s simply a matter of getting in the habit, and being bothered, just like all the good traditions in life, like Bridgemas Dinner, or wearing your Harry Potter cape (ahem... I mean gown) to formal.
Very Nepali Problems
This summer, after twenty years of existence within the British bubble, I left. I know, how very bold and un-British of me. Don’t get me wrong, I had popped out of the UK on the occasional holiday before, but I had an inkling that these trips didn’t quite constitute “adventure”. So, on the morning of August 4th 2013, I woke up hungover in a service station Travelodge somewhere in Buckinghamshire, drove to Heathrow, hopped on a plane to the other side of the world, and didn’t come back for 2 months.
photograph: Miriam Goode
Aside from fulfilling my ‘Eat Pray Love’ fantasies, my reason for leaving behind the Sunday roasts, afternoons in beer gardens, and complaints about the weather was to spend six weeks teaching English in a Nepalese school. Little did I know that it would be me doing most of the learning. I’ve never met more accommodating, downright crazy, and intrinsically lovely people than I did during my stay at Hindu-Vidyapeeth school in Kathmandu, and the wisdom they imparted could certainly teach us grumbling Brits a thing or two.
So listen up, as I give you a run down of the top Very Nepali Problems Too close for comfort? As I said, the Nepalese are very accommodating people, and nowhere did I feel this with fuller force than in their inability to turn down any potential passengers for public transport. Bus conductors made room where there wasn’t room to be made for endless people, to the point where I once had to mime vomiting in order to explain that I needed them to let me off, before I expelled my lunch over the poor man next to me. Speaking of lunch… The Nepali diet consists mainly of two things: rice, and dal. Lovely stuff, although there were a few instances when it was hard to stomach, as Lavinia found out the hard way after being admitted to hospital with intestinal flu, only to be offered dal-in-a-jar as a tonic. Sadly, it had separated, gaining a rather vomit-esque appearance which didn’t really help the situation. However, I must stress that Nepali cuisine really is worth a try (I highly recommend mo-mos), and I actually quite miss my daily dal. Do take teabags, though. If you’re anything like me, the thought of spending one sixth of a year without a good strong cuppa will be nightmareinducing. Nepali chai is delicious, but I must admit I cried a little bit when a British visitor to the school gave us Tetley.
“As white as a whiteboard”: one of the fabulous similes the children came up with to describe our pasty Celtic skin. Luckily for us, no one in Nepal is interested in getting a tan. Instead, their skincare products all boast a built in ‘whitening’ agent. I struggled to find a facewash which wouldn’t make me even paler. Don’t expect a lie-in. Observing the routine of our hosts at the school, I quickly began to feel very lazy, as they rose each morning at 5.30am for yoga. Things were taken to a new extreme one morning when the hostel children decided that 4.30am was the perfect time for a rowdy game of basketball right outside our window. If only waking up for lectures was so easy... The piece-de-resistance: Nepali customer service. After spending a weekend in a £2/ night hotel, I left my glasses behind. Given that the coach journey from Kathmandu to the lovely lakeside town we had visited was 9 hours long, I enquired whether they would be willing to post them to the school. My pessimistic plans to head straight to Specsavers on my return to England were proven misguided when, 2 days later, a man arrived at the school and greeted me with, “You left your goggles?” as he hands my specs back to me. An 18 hour round trip for lost property. Blimey!
Anecdotes aside, if you’re feeling like challenging yourself next summer, and having a truly spiffing time doing it, then Cambridge Volunteers Nepal might be for you. Get in touch with myself (mg651), Lavinia Harrington, or Georgina Phillips if you want to know more about how to apply. It really is, as Miranda Hart’s mother would say; such fun!
We took our cameras along to the always-popular Halloween formal to scout out Downingâ€™s scariest students. From vampires to housewives, hereâ€™s who we found...
2nd years Lorenz Palhuber (Land Economy) & George Ducksbury (Economics) proved that there is no such thing as too much fake blood.. bruised eyes, whitened hair and a snarl complete their look.
Stepford Wife Georgina Phillips (3rd year Geography) took a less bloodied route, accessorising her vintage Laura Ashley with lashings of pink lipstick.
Bridey Addison-Child (Philosophy) and Sarah Lombard (Law), both 2nd year, combined pretty dresses with some serious facepainting skills for their doll costumes, to eerie effect.
Halloween beauty is dominated by the simple7 but-effective trio of white face, bloodied mouth and blackened eyes. It’s stark, dramatic, and looks especially scary dripping off your face later that evening in Cindies. Here, 3rd year NatSci Damian Phillips-Cragg amps up his take on this look, with slickedback hair and the help of some nightmarish contact lenses. Taking these out after a boozy formal: inadvisable.
Rosie Irvine (3rd year Theology) dressed as a cannibal - another classic fake blood/ white facepaint combo, worn with a great dress!
We loved 2nd year Medic Darryl Bernstein’s bat wings with a simple black outfit, and 2nd year lawyer Jess Stewart’s dark lipstick also caught our eye, going perfectly with a witch’s hat.
Those of us who have watched Mean Girls No offense, but… understand that Halloween is ‘the one night of the year when a girl can dress I have never liked Halloween. When I was like a total slut and no other girls can say younger it was a sore reminder of my unanything about it’, but if Cady Heron went popularity; I remember one year walking to Cambridge she would probably also up and down my road dressed as Dracula add that it gives people an opportunity to - with only mother for company - suffering dress controversially. I have heard of outfits the repetitive ignominy of ringing on the ranging from Nazi uniforms to ‘blacking doors of pre-approved households while up’. Further afield, two girls in Chester mummy ‘hid’ in the road. decided to go as the Twin Towers. Cue discussions over what constitutes offensiveAs I got older things went from bad to ness, who is being offended, and whether it worse. Still lonely, I sat alone and sighed even matters. My intention here is to open with intense embarrassment as my mum in- up the debate a little more. sisted on donning a witch’s outfit to answer the door to trick-or-treaters. Fast-forward Let’s evaluate some of the arguments. The to Halloween 2013 and, even though the ‘it’s ok to dress as a Nazi/terrorist’ school festival now rhymes, it has gained little might start by stating that donning an allure. Fez was busy, I lost all my friends (a SS uniform parodies Nazism, the most certain throwback to my earlier Halloween decisive method of claiming triumph over experiences) and I was the witness of a fight an evil regime. Indeed, Nazi-parody has on the way home. I hate Halloween. an illustrious history in recent media; Mel Brooks’ The Producers immediately However, this year Halloween had one springs to mind. This might seem to make virtue: it made me think. What triggered it it ok, but does lampooning the perpetrators was controversy. also trivialise what they did?
Photograph: Buzzfeed/ ‘The Incredibly Offensive Photos from an “African”-themed 21st Birthday Party’
The danger is that by dressing up as a Nazi or a terrorist with the intention of satirising them, one unintentionally makes light of the damage they have inflicted. Just because your interpretation is morally sound, does not mean others will not see it in a different way. This brings me onto my next point – context. This especially goes for going ‘blackface’. A typical argument employed by the ‘stop being so PC’ school of dinner debating might, when told that blacking up is racist, retort ‘I wouldn’t mind if someone whited up’. Is this a fair line of argument? It would be, if it wasn’t historically ignorant. Going blackface has its origins in the ‘minstrel shows’ of nineteenth century America, when white actors would don face paint and act out racist stereotypes of the time, such as laziness and stupidity.
While the civil rights movement might have put an end to blacking up in America, The Black and White Minstrel Show on the BBC had people in blackface dancing all the way up to 1978. Blacking up has a history steeped in oppression and inequality, whiting up doesn’t. These are just some of the issues that crop up when debating offensiveness. Dig a little deeper and we could discuss the very nature of being offended and whether it even matters. Do you care that by dressing up as a ‘chav’ you could offend someone somewhere? Is the reason that some offensive dress is widespread at Cambridge because of its composition? (The 2012 intake only included 42 black/mixed-race students out of 2,600…) Is it acceptable to dress offensively if it is your own group you are offending?
If you are looking for answers, I have none. Offensiveness truly is a quagmire, but it certainly made my Halloween more interesting.
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illustration: Kate Edwards
Photography Nicholas Schulman Models Maddie Whelan & Alex Sharpe Styling Kristina Bugeja
By Sarah Caulfield There is a town where no child has been born for a hundred years. You do not know this town. Oh, you think you do. Someone told you once, long ago, the afterimages of the bedtime tale chasing you in your sleep: the silhouette of a rat-catcher carved into your retinas, the mise-en-scene of the children following blithe and naive, the town hoarding their coin and waking to find themselves stripped of youth. You were taught this fable and learnt to be grateful, to be true to your bond, to pay up your pound of flesh when the time came - and smile, despite the blood slicking the floor. It could be worse. At least you live not in Hamelin.
Hamelin: where your daughterâ€™s face is only seen in the stained glass of a memorial window, her smile etched like mockery, two notches the wrong side of symmetrical. You think she had a chipped front tooth. Canâ€™t recall. When it rains, the effigies grin and cry at the same time, in this place that has forgotten the sound of childrenâ€™s laughter - for that is their curse, the people of Hamelin, fossilised as they are in their own mistake. To err is to be human. To forgive is not. The Piper taught them that. There is a town where no child has been born for a hundred years. There is a town called Hamelin and you do not know this town. This is not the story you know. There are miniature ballet shoes discarded on the bedroom floor, whirligigs of dusty ribbons. A lopsided teddy bear, a sole glass eye dangling. There is a space in the perfectly preserved bed for a girl, now grown, if she yet There is space in the bed for a girl, and the girl comes back to claim it.
She stumbles into the marketplace, worn down and bloody, and someone screams. The town thinks it is being sent spectres now. Sweet Jesus, preserve us; Sweet Jesus, let us go. “Don’t you remember me?” she whispers. She is of the right age, moulded small with malnutrition, and her eyes are different but even so - and memory has a peculiar way of wrapping itself around to fit, crinkling, thinning with the years. And Hamelin has grown old. She was the baker’s daughter once, she says, and goes and lies down on the child’s bed, her limbs drooping over the edges and beyond. Her father cries and holds her and wavers, just briefly, on the cusp of letting go; wavers and tries to look at her, but tears make his eyes messy, babe-blind. Her front tooth isn’t chipped, but her mother isn’t sure. Can’t recall. Doesn’t care. Hamelin is a ghost town, a cursed town, a town where no child has been born for a hundred years. And the baker and his wife celebrate, roses unfurling in their faces as the blood flows once more. And the town gorges itself on hope, straining their eyes after the horizon as earnestly, as painfully as they did in the early days when they thought redemption might one day come. The horizon remains a wasteland.
illustration: Shannon Keegan
The town, desolate, hears a young girl’s laughter wafting from the bakery, wholesome as the scent of fresh bread. The sound makes them jealous, bone-deep nausea with it, and the sound makes them rage, a roasting burning anger that razes them outright. They wait until All Hallows Night to set the bakery afire, and it lights up the sky, lights up the sackcloth hiding their faces, and it is not morning but they can already see what they have done, what they have made of themselves. For there were no children in Hamelin, and then there was; there was a girl’s laughter echoing as a song, and then it was gone again. There is a ghost town called Hamelin; so named not because it is populated by ghosts in a certain sense, but because it is haunted all the same. For something, once lost, can never be truly returned.
By Bridey Addison-Child
Every social circle has one member who teeters precariously on the edge of alcoholism, only prevented from hurling themselves off the metaphorical cliff of addiction by a luke-warm desire to get a 2:1. Such friends come into a league of their own in the Christmas Season when they’re spurred on by words like ‘jolly’ and ‘merry’: clearly just synonyms for ‘drunken’. Identify your alcoholic friend by their tendency to celebrate any and all events with a bottle (or four) of wine, as well as their superior ability to sniff out free party drinks faster than you can say ‘eggnog’. If you can’t think which friend this is, then it’s probably you. Depending on proximity to liver failure, buy your friend (or yourself) extortionate amounts of alcohol as a Christmas gift, followed by an appointment at A&E. (Stomach pump included. Jaundice optional.)
Cambridge is rife with this specimen, and if you’re a Peasant or Commoner (anyone who speaks in anything other than an R.P. accent and didn’t go to boarding school) be warned that attempts to impress your rich friend with material goods will fall flatter than a cow on a pogo-stick. However, although they’ll be floundering in MacBook Pros, don’t underestimate the true tragedy of your rich friend’s childhood. Rife with Mummy working long hours and Daddy being called away to Dubai, your traumatised friend doesn’t know what real love feels like. Cue you, stepping in to fill the void of twenty years missed parent’s evenings. Stick to sentimentality and they’ll be putty in your hands. Opt for a hand written poem, or if you’re willing to go the extra mile, try my personal favourite: a Christmas cake with the words ‘Friend Cake’ iced on top.
Being from Yorkshire, I’m a certified authority on the fact that Christmas in the North is bleak, desolate and more hopeless than a 5pm Lecture in Week 8. Your Northern Friend probably won’t get any Christmas gifts because, since the Miner’s Strikes, there’s been little income in their poor, generic, industrialised Northern town. Thus, firewood won’t go amiss (those Moors can get awfully chilly) or if you really want to push the boat out send them a Satsuma and a handful of mini Bountys left over from that box of Celebrations that’s been festering on the coffee table since mid December. They’ll be very appreciative.
At Christmas this friend doesn’t operate as an individual human being, but instead as a multi-faceted organism made up of various second cousins, great aunts, nieces and siblings. Be warned: inviting this friend to social occasions comes with the hazard of them bringing Ted, the socially awkward cousin, who then tells stories about Aunty Ellen (‘she isn’t technically my Aunty, but she’s just part of the family, you know?’ No I don’t. What is this obscene happiness?) As for gifts, this friend will already have stacks of them and there’s no way you can compete with Rich Uncle Rupert. Instead tag along to a family party under the cheesy subterfuge that your ‘presence is a present’, and try to score twenty quid off a rich relative. Failing that, set your sights on Ted, and get drunk enough that he becomes attractive.
This friend is easily identifiable by their inexplicable excitement for the CocaCola advert, insistence on playing ‘Fairy Tale of New York’ on loop for the entirety of December, and a perplexing ability to retain some remnants of soul, merriment and humanity after enduring Michaelmas Term. If they mention the ‘Christmas Spirit’ don’t get excited; it’s not that new brand of Christmas themed Smirnoff (that tastes of commercialism, gluttony, and just a hint of self-loathing) but, in fact, a ridiculous belief that Christmas is about more than material possessions and family arguments. As for a gift, exhibiting the selfrestraint to not kill and/or seriously maim them should prove enough of a token of your friendship.
By Jack Carrington
First off, a superlative song from an underrated band. The lyrical idea comes from George Cockroft’s 1971 novel ‘The Dice Man’, in which a man begins to make all his decisions from a role of the dice. As lead singer Mark Hollis intones over a haunting melody, “such a shame / to believe in this game.”
Haim sound like a breath of fresh air in the charts (or like Stevie Nicks with some serious funk). If you like this, I also recommend Don’t Save Me and If I could Change Your Mind from their new album.
This song leapt out at me from the soundtrack of the rather bleak Alan Rickman film Snow Cake. It’s strikingly beautiful, with touching lyrics and an amazing horn section towards the end. Spotify even have the track name wrong, so it’s a rather hidden gem.
This unbelievably French song is actually a number from the musical film Les Chansons D’Amour, which I very much recommend. The trio concerned are entwined a rather complicated love situation. “Je n’aime que toi/trois/toi...”
So here’s my mixtape for the Griffin. I’ve put in a mixture of songs I’m currently listening to as well as some old favourites. It’s not a party playlist by any means; I thought I’d make it slightly autumnal and reflective (‘tis the season after all). I hope you find something you like.
In the bleak midwinter, sometimes you have to embrace the SAD-induced melancholy. So here’s a fragile, heartbreaking ballad from a great songstress. Sit by the fire and indulge in a good cry.
Short, sweet, and uplifting to relieve the winter gloom. Taken, appropriately, from the album The First Days of Spring.
photograph: Anya Muir Wood
Now for a bit of drama. This song starts small, gradually building to a orchestral climax over six and a half minutes. I’m not quite sure what it’s about, but that’s hardly the point. Just enjoy the strings, bells and the kitchen sink thrown in at the end.
Finally, an unusual and beautiful song which takes its inspiration from Zelda Fitzgerald’s 1922 Eulogy on the Flapper: “she was never bored, chiefly because she was never boring”. As with many PSB songs, it resonates with the tragedy of the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s and ‘90s (see also Dreaming Of The Queen and The Survivors). In Tennant and Lowe’s own words, “the song is about growing up - the ideals you have when you’re young and how they turn out.”
Using the secondary school matriculation information provided at the back of the Alumni magazine, Georgina Phillips has constructed a map of the origins of Downing undergraduates who matriculated in 2011 and 2012.
Austria - 3 // Belgium - 2 // China - 2 // Germany - 2 // Hong Kong - 4 // Italy - 1 // Netherlands - 1 Poland - 2 // Romania - 1 // Slovakia - 2 // Slovenia - 1 // Thailand - 1 // New Zealand - 1 // USA - 1
So far things have gone really well for DCBC. The men’s squad went out to Boston, Massachusetts, to race in the Head of the Charles Regatta, while the women stayed at home on the Cam and raced the Autumn Head race. Results for both weren’t fantastic, but we made up for it the following week with strong performances across the squads in University Fours, topped with a competition win for the Downing 1st Men’s 4-. Then the 1st Men’s 8+ won the Winter Head competition on the Cam, posting the fastest time for the day despite illness and injury, and we also took out several mixed Novice/Senior boats to give the new guys and girls some race experience. The rest of the term promises to be excellent, with a fair few Novice races coming up, and the Senior Crews have their eyes on top-level performances in the Fairbairn’s cup at the end of term.
Downing Women’s Hockey has had a promising start to the year, a great Fresher intake has made up for those we lost last year and they have been particularly enthusiastic, joining us at both training and matches. Although it has proved difficult to field a full team on occasions, Downing have shown such great skill levels in making up for lost numbers that every member of the team should be very proud of the achievements this term. Every player played exceptionally well and we look forward to furthering our success next term. It has also been great fun to join the men’s team for training and we eagerly await our first Mixed Cuppers game in a couple of weeks time.
DCRUFC had every reason to be confident at the start of the season following an unbeaten season that gave them both the league and cuppers trophies and a large intake of freshers. This confidence was not misplaced with an opening win against Robinson and a 90 point drumming of Pembroke, thanks in part to a John Wylde hat trick and Sam Arnold’s first tries for the club. Then followed possibly the feistiest game of the season as Downing held off a second half comeback from Jesus thanks to the calm kicking of Ed Tombs and with no thanks to the 3 yellow cards they received. In round 4 and 5 an injury stricken Downing team suffered their first losses in over 600 days against a forward orientated Selwyn-Peterhouse on a dark rainy day and then to a strong St Johns side. The team showed real character to bounce back to the top of the table though with a bonus point win away at Jesus. This turnaround was down to set piece dominance as props Pete Ma and Reece Morgan ran riot. The club will go into the Christmas break topping the table and should feel confi24 dent of staying there with players returning to full fitness. Special mention should go to Matt Hall, who has been the best player on the pitch on numerous occasions and to the club’s very own Austin Healey in Ben Guest who has performed brilliantly in every position he’s been asked to play.
Downing’s 1st XI Football team have been a mainstay of Division 1 college football for years, and the 2013-14 squad is looking to keep the college’s football legacy intact. Despite losses from last year, including MML goalkeeper Alex Matthews, we have been strengthened by numerous skilled JCR and MCR recruits. With Falcon (Cambridge 2nd XI) striker Max Burley at the helm, partnered by veteran Billy Fitton, Downing have been dangerous going forward, scoring 21 goals in 6 games. Unlike teams of old, many of these goals have come from open play, while long-throws and corners still represent a staple part of the attack. Luke Thompson has ably deputized in goal, while the addition of Joe Moorcroft-Moran and Hugh Chatfield has only added to our solid defense. The season started slowly, with an opening day 5-0 thrashing of Christ’s followed by disappointing losses to St. Catherine’s and Trinity Hall (the latter where last year’s captain Rob Dunn had to be taken to Addenbrooke’s for a 25 broken leg). Nevertheless, the team rallied to convincingly defeat Emmanuel College 6-0 in the first round of Cuppers, before producing the result of the term with victory over last year’s cup and league champions, Fitzwiliam College - buoyed, of course, by Downing support. Long may this success continue.
The women’s football team have hit the floor running after a poor season last year and enthusiasm is at an all time high. Fresher talent from Kirsty Hibbs and Lauren Carter has been a massive boost, as has the spirit of new third year players. The lack of second years has hardly held us back at all. Despite some hilarious mishaps (Kate M, I’m looking at you), there have actually been several decent goals, along with some flailing, a bit of blood, and a lot of mud. I am confident that next term most of us will know some of the rules.
Michaelmas 2013 Shannon Keegan // Kate Edwards
Editors. Kate Edwards & Shannon Keegan