PHASES
ISSUE 15 PEMBROKE STREET
Con tents
03 It’s Just a Phase 05 Sleep
07 Cambridge’s Best Grotesques 09 Pembroke House: a New Phase? 12 Creative Writing Competition 13 Untitled 15 The Britains 16 An Ode to Guilt 17 Mother Moon and Mental Health 19 Hidden Meaning 20 Cambridge Ring Road 22 Crossword 01
Photography by Toby Chesser
Editors’ Note Happy Bridgemas! As term winds down we hope you’ve all enjoyed it (and that the freshers have found their feet).
We wanted to invite reflection on Phases after settling into the familiar routines of a Cambridge term. There is something both frustrating and comforting about the idea of temporality. The end of a difficult phase of life is welcomed, yet the sense of constant change can be difficult to come to terms with. In Cambridge, when it feels as though terms offer relatively few moments to stand still, the idea of one phase being constantly replaced by another felt particularly pertinent. Whether you're starting a new phase at Pembroke or dealing with the combined continuity and change of another year, we hope this issue of Pembroke Street has something for you. We’ve been so excited to read all of the amazing submissions and particularly thrilled to receive so much creative writing! From the get go we have been keen to increase Pembroke Street’s creative output and encourage students to use the magazine as a space where they could express themselves creatively. Thanks to so many great submissions to our new creative writing competition, we think that this issue reflects that and we hope you enjoy reading all that’s inside as much as we did. We’re very proud of this issue and our incredible design team have outdone themselves: Suzie, Eliza and Clarice have worked so hard and we’re so proud of how the magazine looks. Ellie has been doing a fantastic job with all of our social media work so make sure you’re following us on Instagram and Facebook. If you have any ideas about future ideas about Pembroke Street, please get in touch, we’re all ears!
Happy reading
Tilly and Dan x
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“IT’S JUST A PHASE”. OR IS IT?
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This is a title almost too much of a cliché to actually write about in this day and age, isn’t it? Well, I wish. Unfortunately for now this sentence will have to be enough to stress that there is little value in explicitly discrediting other people’s self-identification by telling them they’re just confused. Even when the phrase “it’s just a phase” isn’t used, life naturally divides into phases: this can be confusing to navigate. Particularly, for undergraduates at Cambridge where life is so starkly split into three full-on nine-week phases of “here” with weeks of “there” in between. Coming to Cambridge is a new beginning in many ways – a new degree, new people, new hobbies, and, in a way, a new identity that you can build for yourself in this new setting that can feel very liberating.
always feeling like there was something I couldn’t quite force into that life without shocking the system (in case you hadn’t guessed from its title, this piece hinges on being queer, obviously).
However, Cambridge really is just a phase. Nine weeks of “here”, and now we’re approaching the next few weeks when many will go back “there”, to the places many of us call home. For me, that means going back to my friends and family and moving back into the room where I spent all my childhood before leaving for university. Sheltered and privileged in many ways, but
That was one phase, this is another, except neither of them ever really stops for the other to continue. Going back to friends and family also means going back to the ideas they have of who I am and what my life is like. It also means entering the lives they have been living for the nine weeks that I’ve been away. A phase? Not really, because it keeps going.
Moving between home and Cambridge is a uniquely strange experience because much more than geography separates the two places. I feel as if I have to pick up the strands of the idea of me I left behind. Things that form Cambridge life feel wrong at home.
Geeky conversations about the symbolic meaning of Rome and its “eternity” around the dinner table? Come on. Pointing out to people how their assumptions are all too often mired in patriarchal, heterosexist, racialised (etc.) assumptions?
Sensible in principle, but often doesn’t go down well. Even just reading a book? Out of place. So in a way, being here is “just a phase”, a respite from assumptions made and expectations upheld. Except what happens here, the new self that we can try and build for ourselves, comes with us when we leave. Cambridge is a place of growth and change. For some people that means finding new hobbies. Some realise that the course or university they chose is not actually for them and change or drop out. Others come out; for the first time or in a new way on their own terms: this is all part of the process. All of this forms who we are, not just here in this “phase”. We can move somewhere else and act differently, side-line some parts to make navigating our life outside Cambridge more easy, but nonetheless, it stays with us.
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Sarah Aston shares five tips for getting
enough quality sleep.
Sleep is an act of defiance somewhere like Cambridge where you are constantly expected to produce work, seek out opportunities, be on 101 committees and constantly do. I think it’s time we stopped fetishising exhaustion and recognised sleep for what it is – a necessary part of our survival: existentially, academically and mentally. My relationship with sleep has gone through phases over the past two years and I am slowly learning to recognise it as a rebellion against an often-unhealthy workload and as something which I deserve to give myself consistently. I thought I would share some of the ways I’ve learnt to actively make sleep a priority…
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1. Make it decaf, seriously.
2. Give yourself time to switch off. You can’t expect to get quality sleep if your mind is still analysing Marx’s theories of labour or stewing over your latest problem sheet!
3. Find out how many hours of sleep your body needs to function optimally and enforce them.
4. Put your bin out on cleaning days – if you need those extra minutes ensure you pre-plan so that you don’t get woken by a chirpy housekeeper.
5. Last – and perhaps most importantly – no deadline is worth enough to ruin your sleep and consequently your mental and/or physical wellbeing. Terms are so condensed here that one all-nighter can easily screw up your entire work and sleep cycle. It’s just not worth it.
Illustrations by Varshika Duelas
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Cambridge’s Best Grotesques This time for my Cambridge’s Best series I decided to hit the streets and go on the hunt for some grotesques – you know, your average Monday. I was originally going to look for gargoyles, but there are surprisingly few in Cambridge, so it had to be grotesques instead. I’m sure I don’t need to explain to the knowledgeable Pembroke Street reader the difference between a gargoyle and a grotesque, but for the sake of my word count I will anyway: a grotesque is decorative part- human, partanimal figure on a building, whereas a gargoyle is the same, but with a waterspout.
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However, you may be thinking: ‘Andrew, grotesques are all very well and good, but where is the “phases” content that I was promised?’ Fear not, because this article deals directly with Issue 16’s theme of phases. As you know, grotesques are strangelooking features of buildings; this strangeness may provoke a feeling of spookiness in some individuals; according to our customs and festivals this is the spooky season, and seasons are all phases of the year. I know, seamless. [Full marks. – Eds.]
Our first grotesque perches in St John’s. It’s your average winged, clawed, tailed, screaming, animallike creature and it does a pretty good job of being that. However, I get the impression that it’s been slightly side lined by the extravagant architecture next to it. This means it feels a bit like an aggressive terrier that has been pushed into a corner and therefore lacks any real impact. 6.4 / I don’t have any fun quip about this one – it’s just fine really. We were summoned by the porters after snapping this photo and I would just like to take this opportunity to apologise to all porters who, amongst many other things, have to deal with students wandering aimlessly around looking for grotesques and calling it ‘journalism’.
Gonville and Caius was next and they have some lovely grotesques. However, I feel they may have gone a little overboard with the number of them. I mean fifteen on one wall is quite a lot. 8 / Maybe dial it back next time.
At this stage, we were starting to struggle so we turned to the internet and specifically a blog entitled ‘Gargoyle Girl’ which led us to this manic-looking face outside King’s. Considering this is a grotesque, I began to question Gargoyle Girl’s accuracy. Then again, I can understand why she maybe didn’t fancy ‘Grotesque Girl’. This grotesque is probably the most disturbing of the selection; it manages to look both like it’s going to kill everyone and that it would be depressed while doing so. But then it only has decorative leaves for company, so I maybe get where it’s coming from. 7.7 / I’m here for you, grotesque (as long as you don’t kill me).
Our last grotesque is Pembroke’s own. These nifty little troublemakers line the side of Red Buildings and they are obviously the pinnacle of grotesque design. Of course, I do not say this out of any Pembroke bias. No, it is from a deep life-long understanding and love for grotesques that I have come to this conclusion. Plus, I have one about a foot away from my window and am mildly terrified that I might not see the light of day again if I offend it.
10 / Grotesque? more like picturesque (that was poor, I’m sorry). And so there we have it. Thank you to Cal for accompanying me on this bizarre adventure and for taking some great photos of the grotesques (and me with the grotesques – don’t worry if you didn’t notice the difference). I hope you’ve enjoyed reading, skimming or skipping to the end of this article. Join me next time for who knows what zany antics! Andrew Jameson
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Pembroke House: a new phase? Ash Barmes shares her experience volunteering with Pembroke House over the Summer and looks forward at how our partnership can grow.
Arriving at Pembroke College in 2018, I was amazed by the incredible links and resources the college possesses, and to find out that a group of Pembroke students had set up a settlement in a deprived area of South London in 1885. That this same charitable centre for social action is still functioning and bearing the name of the college, was even more of a shock. For someone who has long been interested in volunteering with a direct impact, this connection seemed a golden opportunity, yet one that was seldom spoken about – particularly for a confused and overwhelmed fresher. Â
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As a history student, I was intrigued by the legacy of settlements like Pembroke House in both the UK and America and their eventual influence on the creation of the modern welfare state. These were places where universityeducated men and women would take up residence in a disadvantaged community and open their ‘settlement house’ as a public space for social and educational activities. This novel approach to combatting large-scale social inequalities – direct action in a localised area – has had a significant impact on this country and how welfare is talked about. To that end, the work of Pembroke House today is still so necessary to promoting a more empathetic society. Cambridge’s long history with elitism and structures of privilege makes both the past and present engagement of students in social projects an instrumental way of using our available resources proactively to promote affirmative change. Pembroke House is an organisation that makes the prospect of ‘creating change’ tangible, as stark disparities are tackled in a personal and informal manner. Projects such as an accessible music academy, inclusive dance, a mental wellbeing hub and community garden, all place individual wellbeing and access to services at the fore. In doing so,
they give residents a higher quality of life and, in the context of largescale regeneration of London communities, areas of already acute inequality like Walworth depend on these services. My experience as a summer intern at Pembroke House was overwhelmingly positive; the work I undertook was challenging, rewarding and had a direct impact on the future of the organisation. Through working in communications and project delivery, I had experiences both of behind-the-scenes promotion for Pembroke House and direct interaction with residents; this allowed me to see the immediate positive effects of these projects, as well as the work that goes into creating and sustaining the necessary frameworks. When I think of my time at Pembroke House, I am struck by the lovely moments of community: such as when I gave a taster course in seated tap dancing to a group of senior residents. Even those who didn’t move their feet danced around in their seats, and I was thanked by a grandmother for helping her keep up with her sixyear-old, tap-dancing grandson: one of many wonderful memories. During my week volunteering, I was introduced to a dedicated and passionate team who welcomed and supported me in every way possible, as well as a tight-knit
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community who cherish each other’s company, and it was an experience I would highly recommend. Yet in my communications role (which involved drafting letters, website updates and even my own leaflet) I found the advertisement of Pembroke House and its opportunities to students significantly lacking. Many of my friends became very interested in the work I was doing when I explained it to them, but had never heard of Pembroke House before, and I only made it to the information evening in Lent term because of a well-timed Facebook event popping up on my feed that evening. I decided to focus on how to inform students and make this experience more accessible, both to honour our historical connection and make use of the incredible work opportunities that are still reserved for Pembroke students. If we do want to keep this relationship with Pembroke House alive, we need to reimagine our engagement. The Pembroke House Student Society has only existed for a year, and as such we have an opportunity to fashion it into a wonderful tool. By expanding the student society, we can begin to run more frequent events to bring the college and Pembroke House together, and give students a more functional line of communication so they can get involved. It is fair to
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say that creating a flyer and throwing it in people’s pidges is not a lasting solution, but my initial hope is for more transparency and awareness. If we show people that we can all have a stake in Pembroke House and support a worthwhile and important organisation, I believe that we can rejuvenate an exciting connection – one that I will certainly cherish. Pembroke House is a charity, founded in 1885 by Pembroke Students. Today it remains a centre for social action in the heart of South London, committed to improving levels of wellbeing and access to education and opportunities. Here are some ways you can get involved: • Organising and running events at College that explore social inequality and spread the word • ‘Out of the bubble’ visits to Pembroke House to volunteer on one of their projects • Other remote volunteering opportunities, by bespoke arrangement with Pembroke House Pembroke House also offers Pembroke College students the opportunity to gain first-hand experience working in the charity sector through a range of different internship positions. Sign up to Pembroke House’s mailing list through Ash Barmes (ab2549) or Molly Workman (mmmw2) and like their Facebook page to find out more. @PembrokeHouseStudentSociety
Pembroke Street Creative Writing Competition This issue we are thrilled to share the results of Pembroke Street’s first creative writing competition. Entries on the theme of ‘phases’ engaged with phases in nature: how they can influence or articulate phases in relationships and personal journeys. Some explored less obvious phases in everyday life and beyond; traffic lights, veganism and Benjamin Britten all jostle for space in an exciting shortlist of entries. The following six entries all approached the theme inventively and lucidly, with distinctive control of voice and form. Thank you to Guy Webster (postgrad. English at Pembroke) for adjudicating between the submissions and choosing his favourite two. Guy selected a poem ‘well-crafted’ and ‘brimming with fantastic images’ alongside a deeply ‘affecting’
piece of short prose exploring memory, longing and change. Guy awarded the First Prize and a £20 Aromi Voucher to: Vicky Starling, ‘Untitled’ Runner Up: Miles Edwards, ‘The Britains’ We would like to thank everyone who submitted to the competition and this issue. Send in creative writing of any form to Pembroke Street throughout term and keep an eye out for next issue’s competition. Thanks to sponsorship from OC&C we were able to offer a prize for this issue and will be able to for more exciting competitions coming up this year. We hope you enjoy reading the winning and shortlisted submissions as much as we did!
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To the trees outside my window, You were green the day we first met. Me too. I was colour blind to both,
Type to enter text
wide-eyed in the opening world. I looked past you. You stayed, though, patient as a natural cathedral, leaves humming to pass the time. When we met again I was older, wiser, our veins turning yellow. But I didn’t think to stand still like you. Was it weeks? days? months? Finally, I looked up. You were beautiful. I made promises I couldn’t keep – music, paintings, sketches – and intended to see them through. You were there when my first leaf fell. He’d had more rings than I did, but I think he added a few. What I thought was a gentle breeze was a hurricane. After, when the early light was warming and the boaties were still asleep, you guarded my door like the last centurion. You were my father over the man I missed, loved and lied to. You were my mother over the two non-superimposable images that tugged at my ribs until I caved in on myself. But you let them pull. You waited as I screamed, knowing that my bones would hold and my heart would grow.
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WINNER
You were there when my legs were weak. When each step was a failure and I was alone because only children and the disabled deserve to be carried. My broken brain lied and misjudged but your wispy branches unfurled to kiss me when my back was turned. You missed. Your love went unnoticed. And then you lost your colour completely. Was it because I was happy? Because I found him? When my temporary protector slipped under your shadow, you were silent. I could almost hear the snow land on his skin, so pale that each ceased have its own identity. Or was it because I hid from you? It was warm inside and you were an ugly reminder of the pain I didn’t feel. While crooners spoke to me direct, you were a harsh reminder of my roughened core: my future. We are no evergreens for our leaves, when present, sing. I didn’t make you beautiful then; I didn’t transcribe your silenced melodies. Yet when he left you forgave me. In feeble repentance I blessed your budding fruit. You bear no flowers – you are too old, too wise, too purposeful – you have merely your instrument. As my window opened and I found hope in your bud, you watched over me through solid walls. You countered my trauma with heroic intensity. And now we are as one. You are in bloom, my protector. Me too. We are a brilliant green, but new bark is hidden in our trunks. We are wiser, though I am not wise, and stronger, though I am still weak and feel pain. Your roots are deep, each of you, but I have not the gift of standing still. So you console me, soothe me, but by this you hurt me. I have wasted my precious time, And now I lose you.
Vicky Starling
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RUNNER UP The Britains
They built a house with pebbles shaped like healed wounds; to stem the tide impinging on their flower beds, they fashioned makeshift drains, sealed with beeswax. Relatives demurred. Anywhere else seemed preferable to this eyesore, hewn from Neptune’s ankle-bracelet. Beach to beach their hearthlight carried visible – the moon abridged the narrow bay and seagulls preached for bread – well-meaning friends made boring visits, chewed seafood and would have licked the windows to discover dirt; they just got titbits for gardening, advice on trimming hedgerows. They figured the men might prefer something thatched. The moon circled knowingly, semi-detached. Miles Edwards Photo by Toby Chesser
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An Ode of Guilt Stop looking at me. Yes, I know you’re gorgeous. Irresistibly so. In a fleeting moment of instinct, I reach over to you with trembling excitement. The zip manoeuvre of your packaging feels oh so satisfying. I hold your naked, delicate body. You feel soft. But not too soft. Just perfect. We wouldn’t want you to crumble. I observe you in the light. You have a smooth yet deceiving exterior. Some say you’re not much to look at. But they don’t know you like I do. Your minimalism is part of your mysterious charm. Then with a knife, not blunt, but just with the correct serration (I don’t want to offend you), I slice. Slowly but surely. One. Two. Three. Oh go on, I can’t resist. Four. Five. SIX!
I would like to say I seductively place you in my mouth but really it’s more of a scoff. I’m nervous of imposters. They’ll call me a ‘cheat’, a preacher with no principles. I was the female martyr delivering my vow of veganism to the people. But you… rich, delectable, wholesome… You are my kryptonite. We should name you the Antichrist...not Cathedral Cheddar.
Maddie London
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Photography: Toby Chesser
Mother Moon and Mental Health
Does the moon tire of our existence, or does she have all the world as a stage in front of her eyes? Is humanity stale, boring, never changing? On the whole, perhaps. We never seem to learn from our mistakes, our diplomacy moves in ever the same cycles and history inevitably repeats itself. On a human to human level however, we must seem like the most organic, malleable beings trapped in a time stream of such an ephemeral scale, paling to the old souls of the sun and the moon. In the course of a single year, a month, a day even, a single human’s psyche changes so much and projects outwards into their appearance.
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Stress can be the most wonderful determinant of style, and its phases can last as long as a single
moon or many orbits of the sun. What then, about the day to day phases. Not every single day can can meet the euphoric high of events that come around only one or twice a year, or meet the simple hurdle of just being a ‘good day’. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. There are some days when all she sees in her mind is an impenetrable void and other days where she is the one staring from inside that void. Watching. Observing everything that’s going on through a pinhole whilst her only outward appearance is the steely determination on her face. It’s those days that people think she’s doing fine, and those days make up most of the term.
She tries to leave the ocean floor but a small voice from the abyss doesn’t yet want to let her go. It hands her a veil of darkness. Dissociation is the coping mechanism her mind chooses for her, when it all gets a bit too much. She feels like a backseat driver in her own life. Is it disconcerting to stare into the abyss and not only see a face staring back but befriend it. In her lowest of lows she embraces the sweet nothing of sleep as a release from the pressure piled upon her shoulders. At times it feels as if she’s swimming vertically through a thick stream of honey, trying to get to the top of some invisible precipice from which this waterfall is drowning her. Stop. Breathe. You’ve made it here. Wherever here is, it is only one phase in your life, even if it isn’t the top. A helping hand reaches over the top of the cliff face she’s climbing. It offers a rope and pulls her out of the oppressive fog. She knows that life goes on and that she will outlive this phase and thrive at the top of the cliff face. Once the veil is lifted, it feels as if she’s on the top of a great monolith, staring at the world below, exhilarated.
Never give life the satisfaction of knowing you’ve become its weary old friend; never let life best you by breaking you. Life doesn’t deserve that satisfaction. Let sheer pettiness drive you to keep your story in the present tense. Live to see Mother Moon and her starlets once more; show how her how you’ve changed and make her smile. This too shall pass. Stay strong, seek help.
Lucy Xu
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Hidden Meaning Everything alien, but I recognise it. Parked car, Smoke streaming out, Too late to fix. Everything is. I creep up the street, Not wanting to reach the end, Desperate to see the end. I wheel my bike Downwards, but the street is flat. Now I turn to my house Trying to remember what it looked like Kept from visualising it by numbness If I focus, Look: there it is in front of me Like the more real it becomes, the more real I become. Happy, Is not something I should feel, but I do Maybe Something about moving on Even in the middle of destruction. Life is hard, Find hope in the phases.
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Jacob Anderson
Illustration by Lucy Xu
Cambridge Ring Road
“Suspended in amber, you are,” she said, Surveying greens across the tarmac moat. “Cycling through dreams, existing in your heads!” “For us the lights are always bloody red.” I started cycling away as she spoke. “Suspended in amber,” she scorned. I sped. A famous Russian went here, I had read, And wonder how he spent his days afloat – Cycling through dreams, existing in his head? Still, under pavements gasp more noted dead At us, prosaic upstarts, housed in oak. But they’re suspended in the ground. All’s said. Perennial imposters, fresh with dread, We Forded here, all the same, drunk on hope: Recycling dreams, resisting unclear heads. Penned out, she is, since from the road I fled: The jury’s out on who’s the misanthrope. Suspended in amber, we are, it’s said. Cycling though dreams, we exist in our heads.
Dominic James
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Competition Winner Guy’s Comments: A sketch of growth and its inevitable pains, this creative heaves with the weight of remembering the phases of life that have shaped us. Our unnamed narrator reflects on their past and contends with the fallout of remembering who they used to be, and consequently, how they have changed. At the centre of this reflection stands a tree, or rather many trees. Here is a symbol that straddles paradoxical themes. Simultaneously solid and fragile, the tree is immovable, yet subject to the ever-changing influence of the seasons. These trees, and their paradoxes, are an anchor for our protagonist’s similarly fraught reflections. Most noticeably, they are characterised with a pathos that, for me, seemed to draw on - or at least allude to - the familial. It is this pathos, tied to these branches and treated with a sincerity that lifts off the page, that makes this piece so affecting.
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While there are some grammatical errors here and there, these do not detract from the atmosphere the piece establishes - of a deeprooted longing that, in the end, prompts our protagonist to accept, mournfully, all that one inherits by standing as one does: subject to the phases of change, of pain and of joy that we inevitably pass through. I loved it!
Runner Up Guy’s Comments: Every line in this well-crafted poem introduces an image – of seagulls preaching for bread, a tide impinging on flower beds – that evokes a multitude of senses. There’s the squawk of seagulls and the flap of wings, the scent of fresh flowers and the quiet roar of the sea – each image chosen here is dense with imagery. In this poem there is a nostalgic, and wry critical eye that comes when one returns home. It seems this author knows this place well, or at least can pretend to know it. It’s a world brimming with fantastic images, sorted by nuanced choices in punctuation.
*Pitt is a pseudonym
CRYPTIC CROSSWORD BY PITT* ACROSS
DOWN
1 Ultimately Trump, although a meaningless graduate,
1 I’m told two fruit (4)
reads chapters (6) 4 So back monster (4)
2 American former president with love for Mexican friend (5)
9 Philosopher converted to realist (9)
3 Merchant mistreated greener punter - no good (12)
10 Starts to sell knackered item to travel over snow (3)
5 Game with extra - lose it (2,5)
11 Extremely weary of being awkwardly rooted with
6 “Pipe up, husband, any revelation!” (8)
Ed in bath (5,2,5)
7 Utter chaos (5)
13 Hesitation amongst political action committees -
8 Principal leader spies lock (12)
yet they’re quick (6)
12 Start shooting doppelgänger if nepotism partly
15 Gorge for an eternity on bird (6)
makes a comeback (4,4)
17 No blokes drunk claret around university term (12)
14 This person surrounded by money bonds (7)
20 Pub has topless Scandinavian (3)
16 Shaves cold facial feature (5)
21 Cooked tempeh with nut - and not for the first time! (9) 18 Organised church and large farm (5) 22 Painless, as in Eastern end of Bury (4) 23 Fantastic maths, ace - it takes one’s breath away! (6)
19 Hare jumping at bird (4)
Answers will be released on Instagram @pembrokestreetmagazine soon!
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Thank you to all of our amazing contributors: Hendrik Prohl, Sarah Ashton, Varshika Duelas, Ashling Barmes, Andrew Jameson, Cal Hewitt, Vicky Starling, Lucy Xu, Maddie London, Miles Edwards, Jacob Anderson, Dom James, Pitt and Toby Chesser. @pembrokestreet @pembrokestreetmagazine pembrokestreetmagazine.com