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rewarded with a pension equivalent to between two and three
thousand pounds a year. His brass records this venality of his
principles. It was originally made during his abbacy, and showed him
in full abbatical vestments, mitre and all (for Ramsey was a mitred
abbey). After the surrender he had it turned over, and on the reverse
side, now uppermost, we see him in a simple clerical gown and cap.
He only lived a few years to enjoy his ill-gotten gains, dying in 1542.

Burwell Church, N.E. View.

South-west of the church are some scanty remains of Burwell

Castle, which was built by King Stephen during the miserable
"nineteen winters" of his war with Queen Matilda, so forcibly
described in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, when the country was laid
desolate by the outrages of the robber barons. The particular
brigand who afflicted Cambridgeshire was one Geoffry de
Magnaville, an outrageously wicked plunderer, who "did not spare
even the churches," regarded as inviolable by ordinary malefactors.
Both Cambridge and Ely were looted by him, and he terrorised the
whole district, till at length he was slain, by an arrow through the
throat, in attacking Burwell Castle. "Nor was the earth permitted to
give a grave to the sacrilegious offender."

CHAPTER IX

Hills Road.—Gog-Magogs.—Vandlebury.—Babraham,
Peter Pence.—Old Railway.—Hildersham, Brasses,
Clapper Stile.—Linton.—Horseheath.—Bartlow, St.
Christopher, Battle of Assandun.—Cherry Hinton, War
Ditches, Saffron.—Teversham.—Fulbourn, Brasses.—
Wilbraham.—Fleam Dyke, Wild Flowers, Butterflies,
Ostorius, Last Cambs Battle.—Balsham, Battle of
Ringmere, Massacre, Church Brasses, Grooved Stones.

At Burwell we are within touch of Exning, Fordham, and Soham,

so that we have now exhausted the interest of the Cambridge-
Newmarket Road. Next in order comes the Via Devana, which when
it leaves Cambridge for the south-east is denominated the "Hills
Road." The reason for this is that it shortly brings us to the most
ambitious elevation neighbouring the town, no less than 220 feet in
height, and bearing the high-sounding name of the Gog-Magog Hills.

The origin of this curious appellation is still to seek. According to

some archæologists it is derived from the prehistoric figure of a
giant which was formerly to be seen on the slope, traced there by
cutting away the turf along the outline of the shape, such as that
still extant near Cerne Abbas in Dorsetshire. This, if it ever existed,
has long since disappeared. Others consider the name to be a
seventeenth century skit on the gigantic height of the hills. Others
again see in it a dim traditional recollection of the days when a set of
gigantic barbarians really were, for a time, quartered here. This was
in the reign of the Roman Emperor Probus (277 A.D.), who leavened
his mutinous British forces with prisoners from the Vandal horde
lately defeated by the Romans on the Danube. From one such
detachment, placed here in garrison, the name of Vandlebury is
supposed to have clung ever since to the great earthwork on the
summit of the Gog-Magogs.

That earthwork, however, is of far older date, being of British, or

even earlier, inception. It is a triple ring of gigantic ramparts, like
those of Maiden Castle near Dorchester, and nearly a mile in
circumference. All is now buried in the shrubberies of Gog-Magog
House, the seat successively of Lord Godolphin and of the Dukes of
Leeds.[147] But before being thus planted out it must have been one
of the most striking examples in the kingdom of such fortifications.
Till the eighteenth century it was a favourite scene of bull-baiting
and other illegal sports amongst undergraduates, because the bare
open country all round made it impossible for the authorities to
surprise the offenders. Vandlebury was the original home of the
legend, used by Sir Walter Scott in Marmion, which told how in the
ancient camp, by moonlight, an elfin warrior would answer the
challenge of any adventurous knight bold enough to encounter him
in single combat.

In the early decades of the nineteenth century the then Duchess

of Leeds here set up for her tenantry one of the earliest rural
elementary schools. Children of both sexes were taught in this
institution to read and to sew, the boys making their own smock
frocks. The boys might, if they would, also learn, as an extra, to
write; but not the girls, for Her Grace considered that it would
deleteriously affect their prospects in domestic service if they were
possessed of the dangerous power of deciphering their employers'
correspondence.
 Our road climbs the hill to the gate of Gog-Magog House, and
plunges down into woodlands on the other side, in a fashion very
unlike the usual Cambridgeshire highway, to meet the infant stream
of the Granta[148] on its meandering way to Cambridge. Our further
course is amongst the pretty villages along its valley, the best-
wooded vale in all the county. First of these comes Babraham
(anciently Bradburgham), with a pretty little Saxon-towered church
snuggling in the park beside the Hall. Babraham is noted for the
epitaph of an old-time swindler, who was enabled to pocket the
Peter Pence[149] which he collected under Queen Mary by sharing his
spoil with Queen Elizabeth. It runs thus:
"Here lies Horatio Palavazene,
Who robbed the Pope to lend the Queen."
"He was a thiefe." "A thiefe? Thou liest;
For why? he robbed but Antichrist.
Him Death with besome swept from Babram
Into the bosome of old Abram.
But then came Hercules with his club,
And struck him down to Beelzebub."

A curious fresco on the north wall of the church is thought to

represent King Edward the Second.

A little beyond Babraham we cross the Icknield Street, on its way

from Newmarket to Chesterford. Beside it runs, what is almost
unknown in England, a deserted railroad, built by the Eastern
Counties Railway Company (now the Great Eastern) in 1848, to
afford direct communication between Newmarket and London, and
abandoned, as a financial failure, in 1852, since which date the
trains have gone round by Cambridge. Where this long disused line
runs on the level it has melted back again into the adjoining fields,
but the old cuttings and embankments and bridges still exist, and a
weird sight they are.

At the adjoining villages of Great and Little Abington the road

makes a picturesque zig-zag through the village street, and passes
on, beneath a fine beech avenue, to Hildersham, where a pretty
byway leads across the stream to the fourteenth century church.
Here there are four good brasses (to members of the Parys[150]
family), one of them showing the unique feature of a lance-rest
fastened to the cuirass, and another (of 1530) being simply a
skeleton. There are also two very striking recumbent effigies
representing a crusader and his wife, each carved out of a single
block of wood, now black with age. The churchyard here is
effectively planted with junipers and fir trees, and the east end of
the church is embowered in shrubs of rosemary, said to be the finest
in Cambridgeshire.

From Hildersham the road goes on to Linton, a mile or so further;

while the two places are also connected by a specially pleasant
footpath, starting from a fine old smithy, and so through the
meadows by the clear trout-stream, and past the yews and thorn-
trees of the moated grange of "Little Linton," while above rises (to
nearly four hundred feet, a proud height in Cambridgeshire) the
appropriately named Furze Hill, with some real gorse patches (also a
proud distinction in Cambridgeshire) upon its ridge.

Before we reach Linton we cross the famous "Clapper" stile, which

can best be described as formed by three huge sledge-hammers (of
wood) with exceptionally long shanks, hinged near the head to an
upright post, each about a foot above the next. Normally the three
hammer-heads rest upon one another and look like a single post
(about a foot from the first); but, on attempting to cross, the shanks
(the ends of which are not fastened but slide in a grooved post at
their side of the stile) yield to our weight, the heads fly apart, and,
when we are over, come together again with the "claps" whence the
name of the stile is derived. How old this curious device is does not
appear, but it is here immemorial. An effective sketch of this stile is
given by Dr. Wherry, in his "Notes from a Knapsack."

Linton is a tiny town, smaller than sundry villages, but obviously

not a village, with a long street of undetached houses (duly lighted)
swinging down the slopes on either side the little river. There is a
fine Perpendicular church, with some Norman work remaining in it,
and a good tower, on the top of which an Ascension Day service is
annually held. Against a wall are suspended two fire-hooks (much
lighter than the one at St. Benet's, Cambridge) for the destruction of
burning houses. (See note on page 38).

The main road here goes on, to pass out of Cambridgeshire into
Suffolk, a few miles further, at the upland village of Horseheath, with
its picturesque old-world village green on the hillside. The church
here has a fine fourteenth century brass to Sir John de Argentine (a
name familiar to readers of Sir Walter Scott, in the "Lord of the
Isles")[151] and some notable monuments, somewhat knocked about,
presumably by Dowsing, who records how he here "brake down four
pictures of the prophets Ezekiel, Daniel, Zephaniah, and Malachi,"
besides other damage.

But a more interesting road from Linton is that which continues

along the Bourne Valley, and leads, not into Suffolk, but into Essex,
which is here bounded by that stream. A mile beyond the town we
pass Barham Hall, now a farm-house, but of old a Priory of the same
Order that we found at Isleham,[152] a Cell (or Colony) of the Abbey
of St. Jacutus de Insula in Brittany. Another mile brings us to
Bartlow, where, hard by the church, stand the three huge tumuli
from which the name of the village is said to be derived. How they
came to exist is an unsolved problem. Remains found in them, when
excavated in 1835, were reported to be Roman, but the science of
archæology was then in its infancy, and this report can hardly
outweigh the wholly un-Roman appearance of the "Hills," as they are
locally called. They look far more like British or Scandinavian work;
but, indeed, three such mounds so close together are not found
elsewhere, of any age.

The little church has an ancient fresco of St. Christopher, placed,

as usual, opposite the entrance. For this Saint, by virtue of the
legend which tells how he carried Christ over a river,[153] was in
mediæval times regarded as a special example for Christians in their
going out and their coming in; to whom, therefore, was due their
first and last thought in passing the doorway. More noteworthy is the
Saxon tower, with its walls no less than six feet in thickness. For in
this it is quite possible that we may have a part of the very "minster
of stone and lime" raised by Canute in memory of his crowning
victory over Edmund Ironside at Assandun.

The location of that most dramatic of English battles, fought in the

year 1016, is hotly disputed amongst historians; but there is much to
be said for the early view which identifies Assandun with Ashdon in
Essex, hard by Bartlow. For ten miserable years, under Ethelred the
Unready, England had been ground in the dust, deeper and ever
deeper, beneath the heel of the invading Dane. Year by year the
degrading tribute wherewith she strove to buy off the foe had gone
up by leaps and bounds. All hope seemed dead, when the accession
of a hero to the throne roused the harried and exhausted nation into
one last convulsive effort for freedom. Six times in as many months
did Edmund of England and Canute of Denmark clash in battle. Five
of these fields were indecisive, and then, on St. Luke's Day, 1016,
the champions met once more at Assandun, perhaps on the slope
still known as Bartlow End.

Treason decided the day against England. The fight began with a
brilliant charge by Edmund at the head of his bodyguard, which
crashed through the Danish phalanx "like a thunderbolt." But his
absence from the English line enabled a traitorous noble, one Edric
(who was always playing into Canute's hands, in hope of thereby
making his own advantage), to raise a cry that the King was slain. A
panic set in at once; and before Edmund could cut his way back, the
whole army had broken, and was being fearfully cut up in its flight
by the pursuing Danes. "And there the whole nobility of England was
utterly destroyed." Edmund died of his exertions the same year; and
Canute became King of England, the first monarch so to call himself.
The native title had always been "King of the English." In
thanksgiving he built a minster on the scene of his victory; and, as
he had promised, he lifted up the head of Edric "above all the
nobility of England"—upon the highest turret of the Tower of
London. The "Roman" theory notwithstanding, the three Bartlow
barrows may well be a memorial of this great fight, and so may the
names of Castle Camps and Shudy Camps which attach to the
furthest villages in this far-away corner of Cambridgeshire. The
"Castle," however, of which only the moat now remains, was built
later by De Vere, the first Earl of Oxford. Shudy Camps has a far-
seen church on its lofty brow, visible even from Barrington Hill, on
the other side of the Cam basin, fifteen miles away as the crow flies.
 Cherry Hinton Church.

From the Via Devana, where it leaves Cambridge (just after the
bridge over the Great Eastern Railway), there branches off to the left
another road, which leads us to the scenes of earlier battles between
Dane and Englishman. This is the Cherry Hinton Road, named after
the first village along its course, some three miles on. Its long
straight vista suggests at first sight the idea that it too may be a
Roman road. In fact, however, it dates only from the enclosure of
the land (about the beginning of last century), when the best
ploughman in the village was employed, so the story goes, to drive
his straightest furrow across the whole breadth of the Common Field
as a guide for the road-makers. The older track between Cherry
Hinton and Cambridge was by what used to be, till within the last
fifty years, a pretty footpath across the fenny ground to the north of
the field. It is fenny no longer, and the path has become for three-
fourths of its length a somewhat dreary street through the dingy
suburb of "Romsey Town."

Cherry Hinton itself is not yet absorbed by Cambridge, and

remains a bright spacious village, with a rarely beautiful church. The
exquisite Early English chancel is lighted on either side by four
couplets of lancet windows, in ideal proportion, while five equally
ideal lancets serve for an East window. Both walls have an arcading
of cinque-foil pattern; and the double piscina and the graduated
sedilia are of no less merit. All this loveliness is within a fine oaken
screen of the fifteenth century, and the rest of the church is not
unworthy of it. The great quarry, whence the "clunch" of which the
church is mainly built was drawn, is a conspicuous object on the hill-
side above the village; and above that again, equally conspicuous, is
the reservoir of the Cambridge Water-works, looking like a redoubt,
on the summit of the slope. At the foot clear springs break out from
the chalk, which are also utilised to supply the town.

Close to the reservoir there is an actual fortification, an ancient

earthwork, known as the War Ditches, which the researches of
Professor Hughes have shown to be of British date.[154] At the
bottom of the fosse he discovered rough British pottery along with
the bones of domestic animals, and above these a layer of disjointed
human skeletons of both sexes and all ages, apparently due to a
general massacre, in some prehistoric struggle, of men, women, and
children, whose corpses were hurled over the parapet. Above these
again came Romano-British remains. From this earthwork the line of
an ancient dyke, now called Warstead Street, may be traced to the
East Anglian heights near Horseheath.

Till the nineteenth century the fields between Cherry Hinton and
Cambridge were bright with the purple flowers of the saffron crocus,
which was grown, as it was by the ancient Greeks and Romans, for
medical use and for dyeing purposes. Its cultivation may very
probably have been introduced into Britain by the Romans. The
saffron here grown was considered the best in Europe, and fetched
no less than thirty shillings a pound. But its use, after so many
centuries, suddenly went out of fashion, and the plant is now wholly
extinct in Cambridgeshire.[155]
 From Cherry Hinton Church a green lane leads to Teversham, a
short mile distant, but, except for pedestrians, more easily
approached from the Newmarket Road. The church here is a pretty
little structure, mainly Early English, with curious oval clerestory
windows, and a nice Perpendicular screen. The octagonal pillars
have floreated capitals. Dowsing's record of his destructions here is
of special interest, inasmuch as the objects of his Protestant zeal
were not, as usual, relics of pre-Reformation Popery, but the newly
painted devices of the Laudian vicar, Dr. Wren (the Bishop of Ely and
builder of Peterhouse Chapel). They consisted of the name JESUS,
"in big letters" no fewer than eighteen times repeated, of those of
the Three Persons of the Blessed Trinity, and of texts from Scripture:
"Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus," and "O
come let us worship and fall down and kneel before the Lord our
Maker." All these were "done out" as "idolatries"!

From the springs at Cherry Hinton the furrow-drawn road (passing

on its way the County Lunatic Asylum) makes another bee-line of
three miles to Fulbourn. Here the church is of special interest. There
are no fewer than five mediæval brasses, including one, almost life-
size, of Canon William de Fulburne, 1380, which is notable as being,
probably, the earliest known example of a priest vested in a cope.
This ecclesiastic was one of Edward the Third's chaplains. In a
wooden shrine on the north side of the chancel is a moribund effigy
of John Careway, vicar here in 1433. This is beneath a sept-foiled
arch, beside which is another strangely irregular arch over a sedile.
There is also the very unusual feature of a fourteenth century pulpit
of richly-carved oak.

The dedication of this church is as unusual. It is to St. Vigor, an

obscure sixth century bishop of Bayeux, who has only one other
church in England, at Stratton-on-the-Fosse in Somerset. Till late in
the eighteenth century there was a second church here in the same
churchyard, as at Swaffham Prior. This was All Saints', and was
ruined by the fall of its tower in 1766. The ruins were gradually
stolen, the wood going first, but it took ten years for the last of the
bells to disappear.

At the church the road divides. The northern branch meanders

through the village past an ancient row of old-time almshouses to
the station, beyond which it becomes a pretty lane leading to the
adjoining villages of Great and Little Wilbraham. The church at the
former has a tower arch of strikingly peculiar development, a tall
lancet, flanked by segments of arches of much larger radius,
inserted in the wall on either side, which support the central member
somewhat in the fashion of flying buttresses. The parson here, "a
widower with three small children" (as the Puritan report gloatingly
points out), was ejected in 1644 by the Puritans, because "he said it
was treason for any man to give any money against the King, and in
his sermons discouraged his parish from doing anything for the
Parliament, and that he never read any book coming from the
Parliament." Caution should be observed in passing through these
villages, as sundry well-seeming roads simply lead down to Fulbourn
Fen[156] and end there. Springs feeding the fen are plentiful, and the
ground is still very much of a swamp.

But the road to take from Fulbourn Church is that which winds
away south-eastwards, for in less than three miles it will bring us to
the Icknield Street,[157] close to the point where that famous war-
path cuts through the no less famous Fleam Dyke. This is the best
place for viewing and ascending that splendid prehistoric earthwork,
the sister and rival of the Devil's Dyke. It makes a most fascinating
byway to walk along, though it leads nowhither, ending abruptly
where it dips down into Fulbourn Fen.[158] The dry chalk is clothed
with flowers all the summer through. At Easter time we may here
find the glorious purple Pasch-flower, that queen of all the anemone
clan; later on "the turf is sweet with thyme and gay with yellow rock-
rose, blue flax, milkwort, pink-budded dropwort, sainfoin, kidney
vetch, and viper's bugloss, and here and there a bee orchis; with a
dancing accompaniment of butterflies overhead, graylings, skippers,
chalk hill and Bedford blues, and a host beside."[159]
 Great Wilbraham Church.

The air is inspiring and so also is the view, with Ely on the far
horizon to the north; and the historical associations are not less so.
We can imagine the oaken palisade which topped the dyke lined with
the Icenian clansmen in their tartan plaids shouting defiance to the
presumptuous Roman who dared to demand their arms; then the
incredibly audacious onslaught which, along the whole length of the
Dyke at once, carried Ostorius and his light-armed troops at one
rush clear across the mighty ditch, and up the forty feet of
precipitous slope beyond, to crown the parapet and whirl away the
patriot levies in headlong flight; then the merciless pursuit which
forbade any chance to rally, till the fugitives were stopped by their
own second line of defence at the Devil's Dyke, and slaughtered like
rats beneath its rampart.[160]
 Great Wilbraham.

Or our thoughts may turn to the later day when here was beheld
the last fight worthy to be called a battle ever fought in
Cambridgeshire. It is the year 905 A.D.; the great Alfred has been
dead four years, and his son Edward the Elder has been chosen King
in his stead. For the English monarchy is still elective, though already
with a strong tendency to become hereditary. And this tendency now
gives trouble. When Alfred himself was made King his nephew
Ethelwald Clito, son of his elder brother Ethelred, the late King, was
passed over in his favour. At that fearful crisis, when it was doubtful
whether even an Alfred could stem the Danish inrush, there could be
no thought of choosing a child as King.
 Little Wilbraham.

But the Danes are now quietly settled in the Eastern Counties, and
Ethelwald has grown up to manhood, and is bitterly angry at being
again passed over, this time for his cousin Edward. If the English will
not choose him, he will try the Danes. So to the Danes he goes, with
promises of unlimited loot if they will support him, and, in the words
of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, "entices them to break the peace," so
that they cross the Watling Street, and make a ferocious raid into
Mercia. "They took all they might lay hands on, and so turned
homeward again. Then after them came King Edward, as fast as he
might gather his force, and overran all their land between the Dykes
and the Ouse, as far North as the Fens."

The Devil's Dyke and the Fleam Dyke are by this time known as
"the two dykes of St. Edmund," and now play their latest part in
history as defences. Edward is no Ostorius, being a valiant warrior of
the cautious rather than the daring type, and the Fleam Dyke brings
his avenging host to a standstill. Finally he resolves that to storm it
would cost too much, and retires his command. But his levies from
Kent are of another temper, and positively refuse to obey what they
look upon as an ignominious order. One after another, seven royal
messengers repeat it in vain; and finally the main body of the
English army marches off under the Royal banner, leaving the
mutineers still before the Dyke—probably at the very point where
the Icknield Way cuts it.

This is the Danes' opportunity. They have now safely deposited

their plunder, and are ready for another outbreak. With their whole
force they sally forth, and fall upon these stubborn Kentish men, and
the fighting becomes desperate. The Kentish Alderman (who
combined the offices of High Sheriff and Lord Lieutenant) is slain, so
is the Danish King Eric, so is Ethelwald "the Atheling" himself, "and
very many with them. And great was the slaughter there made on
either hand; and of the Danish folk were there the more slain, yet
won they the field."[161] And thus, after so many ages of warfare,
does the Fleam Dyke, or Balsham Ditch, as it is also called, enter on
its millennium of peace.
 Balsham Tower.

For it played no part in the tragedy which, a hundred years after

this last fight, is associated with its alternative name. Once more
Danes and Englishmen are at hand-grips; but now it is no mere
loose aggregate of private hordes pressing, each on its own, into the
land, but Swend Forkbeard, the monarch of a great Scandinavian
Empire purposing to add England also to his dominions. And under
the weak sceptre of Ethelred the Unready, nothing beyond local
resistance has been offered him; and here alone is the local
resistance serious. East Anglia is under the governorship of the hero
Ulfcytel, who has already given the Danes an unforgotten taste of
his "hand-play," and he gathers her whole force to meet them at
Ringmere. But the appalling tidings of what Swend has done
elsewhere, "lighting his war-beacons as he went" throughout the
length and breadth of the land, "with his three wonted comrades,
fire, famine, and slaughter," have taken all the heart out of the
English levies. For "all England did quake before him like a reed-bed
rustling in the wind." The battle is speedily over. "Soon fled the East
Angles; there stood Grantabryg-shire fast only."

Upon Cambridgeshire accordingly this vainly gallant stand brought

down the special vengeance of the conquerors. To and fro went
Danish punitive columns, and visited the district with a harrying even
beyond their wont. "What they could lift, that took they; what they
might not carry, that burned they; and so marched they up and
down the land." And at Balsham, perhaps because of some local
resistance, they are said to have killed out the entire population,
man, woman, and child; save one single individual only, who
successfully defended against them the narrow entrance to the
Church steeple.

It is quite possible that this doorway is the very one which we see
when we reach Balsham, where the Dyke ends, high on the East
Anglian heights: for, though the church was rebuilt in the fourteenth
century, the basement of the tower seems to be far older. Here we
are four hundred feet up, and the air has quite an Alpine freshness,
after the damp, sluggish atmosphere of the sea level at Cambridge.
We feel well why the old Chronicler, Henry of Huntingdon, speaks of
"Balsham's pleasant hills."
 Cottage at Balsham.

There are in this church two most noteworthy brasses, one a

magnificent memorial, no less than nine feet in length, to John de
Sleford, rector here, the rebuilder of the church. He was a
distinguished personage, being Chaplain to Queen Philippa, Master
of the Wardrobe to her husband King Edward the Third, and Canon
both of Ripon and of Wells. The orphreys of his cope are
embroidered with the figures of Saints, five on either side,[162] and
in the canopy over his head his soul is being borne by angels to the
Blessed Trinity with the prayer PERSONIS · TRINE · POSCO · ME:
SVSCIPE · FINE. The other brass is no less magnificent in size and
decoration, and commemorates a yet more magnificent pluralist,
John Blodwell, who was Rector here in 1439, besides being Dean of
St. Asaph, Canon of St. David's, Prebendary of Hereford, and
Prebendary of Lichfield. He, too, has eight Saints on his cope, and
eight more in his canopy.[163] Twelve Latin verses give a dialogue
between himself and Death, whose words are incised, while his are
in relief. The chancel has twelve fine stalls on either side, and a
grand rood screen, all from the generosity of Rector Sleford. Yet
another, and earlier, worthy connected with this place, is Hugh de
Balsham, Bishop of Ely and Founder of the earliest Cambridge
College, Peterhouse.

CHAPTER X

London Road.—Trumpington, Church, Brass, Chaucer's

Mill, Byron's Pool, Upper River.—Grantchester, Church.
—Cam and Granta.—The Shelfords.—Sawston, Old-
world Industries, Hall, Hiding-Hole, "Little John."—
Whittlesford, Old Hospital.—Duxford.—Triplow Heath,
Civil War.—Fowlmere, Hinxton, Sacring Bell.—Ickleton,
Monolith Pillars.—Chesterford.—Icknield Way.—Saffron
Walden.

Due south from Cambridge goes the great London Road, a name
now practically supplanted by the local designation of Trumpington
Road. Trumpington, two miles out, is already joined to Cambridge by
a string of suburban villas; but these are only on one side of the
road, while the other is a continuous line of nightingale-haunted
elms, not even the stench and dust of the motorist having availed to
drive away those fearless songsters. In leaving the Town the road
starts along Hobson's Conduit, passing the Botanic Gardens, and
crosses Vicar's Brook at the historic milestone already described on
page 160, the first to be set up in England since the days of the
Romans.