"You ask me of the Cambridge Mind;
what most distinctive there I find,
what traits and preferences?
A sense of Fact ...
sometimes aligned with Love of Truth ...
sometimes confined to verifying references."
attributed to Terrot Reaveley Glover, Fellow of St. Johns' College (1869-1943)
The house was imposing as I rode up on my battered old bike. I took comfort from the row of equally battered bikes locked to a row of bike stands more familiar from college houses than from the average family home. My comfort level rose as I noticed that the bikes at the far end had been cannabalized and used to repair the better-looking bikes at the house end. I coveted the carriers and wondered if anyone would notice if I brought my tools with me next time and dismantled a few myself...
My friend's wife waved from the window and warned me as she opened the door "I hope you aren't scared of dogs?" - just before the large black dog placed its paws on either shoulder and started saying hello. I mumbled something about what a nice dog he was and was waved up towards the study. "He's on the second floor" she shouted, "I hope you won't be too disturbed by the builders".
The trip to the second floor took quite a while. The noise was, as advertised, ear-splitting. Fortunately it dropped off sharply as I shut the door behind me. I took in the enormous study and found my friend sat at a desk with a gigantic Apple screen attached to a teeny weeny anorexic Apple laptop. "Don't worry", he said, "we'll be sitting in the leather armchairs over there". I wandered up and down the bookshelves, covetting ancient Penguin paperbacks that I missed out on when my parents downsized a few years back. I smiled at my friend and said "Surely you don't need all this stuff?"
"No, we are cleaning it all out" he agreed. "Broers was through here a few weeks back and he said the same thing". "OK, is it okay if I go through the cardboard boxes before you send them to charity?" I asked. "Absolutely. You can have the childrens videos too if you want - can you play VHS?". "Great".
Within minutes the atmosphere had changed. We both waved our hands quite a bit. I pointed out that I had been disrespected and I wanted a quality of service. He pointed out that he had been doing stuff before the competitors I mentioned were even in the market. We both took off our glasses, leaned back in the chairs. He said "If you want a godfather, you have to pay respect" or something similar. We brought up the website of the competitor's product. I mentioned that Red Gate were using them and had scaled to 140 staff. A sudden note of caution crept into his voice. I knew I had made my point. I immediately said that I would go with him to whatever platform he chose, but that he should come with me to see the system at work in Red Gate and ensure that we got a real quality product. In practice, we would compromise, because it was in both our interests.
His next visitors had arrived. I went down with him, and we laughed as we saw that it was my own editor, there to perform an interview. More laughter and I was outside again, checking out the dismantled bikes and wondering if they were being shipped out too...
I know that for my Italian readers, what I have written above does not relate to their bitter experience of the word "mafia". They are used to being type-cast as "mafia" themselves thanks to the huge popularity of Anglo-Saxon movies like The Godfather. I was born in Cambridge's Little Italy off Cherry Hinton Road, and I have spent a great deal of time with the expatriate Italian community around the world. Every day Italian is spoken around us at the school run. For Italians, the abiding sorrow of mafia violence and its impact on basic human freedoms is no matter for joke. So let me make it clear that I am using the word "mafia" to describe a local way of life in all societies, a shorthand for the amazing language of power scripted into The Godfather. Because everyone says a mafia runs Cambridge.
There IS still a mafia in Cambridge. We need our tribal groupings. I hear it in the school yard, disgruntled academics describing endless turf wars between "live free or die" academic Principal Investigators, who are dependent on nobody's favour for the grants they have won independently. I hear it from small businesses urgently asking for a favour, a lead. I went to friends to find a web designer, a broadband provider, hire some more staff quickly, look for new premises. I trusted an unknown member from Cambridge Network to stream video from our event last week - and we LOVE the results (out soon on a members-only area). We need introductions in such a chaotic environment where things are always changing. In a city where the boundaries of knowledge and technology are continuously being driven back you need expert help often, and the problem is always different.
Our tribes bump into each other. Misunderstandings occur which need to be smoothed over to make sure everything goes well. We depend on rainmakers: sage department heads, wise directors of the bigger companies. And THEY all take their lead from the Great Men, the leading mafiosi in the cluster. The folk who get to sit at top table with the Minister, because they know him personally. The ones his secretary seeks out and drags out of the crowd to be presented. The ones who call you on your mobile, and unconsciously you stand to attention, and the people in your office notice, and think it is rather funny. The ones who everyone looks for on the attendees list, and feels suitably chuffed if they get to sit close to. The ones who sadly lose out on much of the joy of being in this wonderfully diverse and challenging city, because people rarely contradict them and so they continue in their errors until they run into an outsider.
Fortunately, these people are mostly democrats, intellectuals lured here from around the world by the University, and strangers to violence. They do not live in gated communities, insulated from the society that formed them. Our local leaders do have villas in Italy, but they send their children to state school. They have open-top Mercedes two seaters, but prefer to use their bikes around town. They own vast professorial mansions with extensive book-shelves, and suffer professorial angst about "down-sizing" their beloved collections of paper backs. They are Fellows in Colleges and hang out with academics who bought, like them, in the 1970s when mansions were obtainable on an academic salary here. Incomers with fortunes in the £100 million bracket pay top dollar to live next door. But actually, they are just like your parents and mine, keen to hand something on, keen to see the community prosper. They are aware they need criticism, they need new blood to build up their community, to sustain this wonderful society.
Join the Cambridge mafia. These people do like to be challenged, and nobody winds up wearing concrete boots in Cam. But check your references. They will.
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