Take a trip down memory lane, and don’t be afraid of being a little nostalgic when listening to a golden oldie.
I arrived at the green lawns and riverbanks of Cambridge University in 1974 having drunk deep of the glories of English Literature and well versed in the political history of the nation.
I was also brimful of blithe Irish eloquence.
I had read a lot and, apparently, knew a lot about matters profound and ephemeral. The work of the next three years (and the many following decades) would be refining mere knowledge into understanding.
I was immeasurably aided in this journey by the good fortune of being the only undergraduate of my year who chose the Medieval History option.
This was because it entailed weekly supervisions with The Master of my College, Edward Miller, an internationally renowned scholar who also happened to be a truly wise and kind man who could smile at my naivety without hobbling my enthusiasm while introducing me to rigorous, evidence led, thought and analysis.
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