How Victoria came to know every single bump in Cambridge

As a wheelchair user, I have three chief enemies in life – 1) uneven pavements 2) gravel and 3) cobblestones. Ironically, I chose to go to university in Cambridge which has all three in abundance.

Of course, Cambridge isn’t the only place to suffer from uneven pavements. It’s a pretty universal phenomenon. It’s just that during my three years living there in the 1990s, I came to know intimately every bump in the centre of the city.

I have particularly strong memories of Trumpington Street. Now I haven’t been to Trumpington Street for a few years so it’s possible that it’s now as beautifully smooth as Canova’s Three Graces. But if there had been a competition in the 1990s to find the bumpiest pavement in Britain, Trumpington Street would have been a contender. It might have looked attractive for the hordes of tourists who flock to the city but more than once during my university years I wished someone would tarmac over those paving stones.

Travelling along its pavements in my manual wheelchair gave me an idea of what white water rafting must be like. Admittedly, there was less chance of drowning but you do get shaken around as if you are tackling the Zambezi. Unfortunately, I used to have to go down Trumpington Street at least once a week in order to reach Peterhouse where my Latin composition tutorials were held. No way of avoiding the white water rafting.

Most of the time an uneven pavement is simply an uncomfortable experience. But if I’m travelling at a fair speed and one of my small front wheels gets caught in a crack, then I can suddenly find myself being flung forwards. Rather disconcerting, I can tell you. It’s in such situations that I become exceedingly grateful that my wheelchair has a seat belt which prevents me from becoming more closely acquainted with the pavement than is healthy.

Of course, a seat belt is only beneficial if it’s actually done up. I remember going out one evening in Cambridge with a group of friends. We went all over the town centre, across Parker’s Piece, to the Odeon and around a couple of colleges, with my friends taking it in turns to push me. It was only when I arrived back at my hostel close to midnight that I noticed that my belt had been undone all evening. I suppose it’s just as well my friends are careful pushers – and no, that's not a drugs reference...

Gravel poses an even greater problem, for me and my assistants, than uneven pavements. My Cambridge college had tons of the stuff. If I needed to collect post from the porters’ lodge, attend a tutorial or visit friends then I had no choice but to traverse the gravel. This was challenging on a normal day but on one occasion the contractors who periodically replenished the paths laid the wrong kind of gravel. Yes, British trains may occasionally have been halted by the ‘wrong kind of snow’ but I frequently was brought to a standstill by the ‘wrong kind of gravel’.

It proved impossible to push me over it so the college authorities gave me permission to travel on the courtyard grass, something usually punishable by a firing squad at dawn.

I suffered a particularly severe attack of ‘torture by gravel’ on my graduation day. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Cambridge rituals, I should explain that graduation involves processing en masse from your college to the Senate House where you receive your certificate. (As you walk along in your gown and quasi-rabbit fur hood, you have the satisfaction of knowing that you are keeping those hordes of tourists happy because it gives them the chance to point at you and take photos of a ‘quaint English custom’. And you get to stop the traffic.)

First of all, we were required to line up in the college grounds in alphabetical order, which meant I was near the front of the procession. When the moment came to head off, we had to leave the college through a gate that was hardly ever opened - and that was when I encountered a snag. The gravel near the gate was thicker than elsewhere and as my assistant pushed me forwards I soon found myself stuck. While she battled valiantly for what seemed like ages to get my wheelchair to move, I could see the front of the procession disappearing into the distance - all the other students, meanwhile, were held up behind me. With a little tuggin and pushing from my friends I eventually began moving again. Looking back, I can now laugh about it but at the time it was excruciating.

In a recent alumni newsletter I was delighted to read that the college has plans to replace some gravel and make a wheelchair-friendly path to one of the main college buildings. Hopefully, more such paths will be constructed around the college in the future.

Another (slightly more famous) institution which has taken steps to eradicate ‘torture by gravel’ is the monarchy. When I first visited Buckingham Palace in 2005 (as a tourist, I hasten to add – I’m not on first name terms with the corgis), my assistant gave her arm muscles a major work-out trying to push me over the gravel in the courtyard. However, when I returned last year (to see the Queen’s extraordinary collection of ball gowns), the staff had covered the gravel with mats, which made it considerably easier to enter and exit the building. Thank you, your Majesty.

Gravel and uneven pavements are difficult terrains but cobbles are the real killer. One year at university a good friend of mine was allocated a suite of rooms on the far side of a courtyard entirely covered with cobblestones. There was no other means of reaching her room. By the end of the year I’m sure I had developed ‘shaken wheelchair user syndrome’. (If that’s not an official medical condition, then it jolly well ought to be.) Thankfully our friendship survived that test.

However, as far as I’m concerned, the European capital of cobbles isn’t Cambridge, but the open-air old town museum in Denmark’s second city, Aarhus. Here 75 buildings representing Danish rural life between the 16th and 19th centuries have been recreated. And to give the museum that extra historic feel the streets have been covered with huge expanses of cobbles. Twenty years after visiting the place at the age of 10 I can’t remember any of the buildings but I can vividly recall those cobbles. They obviously had a large psychological impact. Still, I’m pleased to report that Denmark’s most famous tourist attractions, Legoland and the Little Mermaid statue, are both cobble and gravel-free zones.

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