Sundial 1911

Sundial 1911

A photograph of the sundial after the repainting of 1911. After many years of absence, a ball was fixed to the gnomon in order to read information from the pattern of the dial. Alas, as is clear in this photograph, the ball was fixed too high.

Several elevation curves and temporary hour lines remained truncated at the vertical SW bearing line, a feature of the dial before 1911 that was preserved until the 1948 repainting.

See the sundial history.

Apparently, it took three attempts at repainting to get the right shade of blue in the border. This was the source of much merriment in the student magazine of the day, from which some extracts follow.

The Dial has been repainted; hence the pertinent enquiry. Is it worse for undergraduates to paint the place red or for dons to paint it blue?

The Dial

"Nokes outdoes Stokes in azure feats"
From bad to worse or worser.
I know a man whose paint pot beats
Them both - our Junior Bursar.

To comprehend the terrible humour in the next piece, it is necessary:

• to know that the Junior Bursar at the time was Andrew Munro (after whom the Munro Room is named), who spoke in a broad Scots accent;
• to know that another Fellow at the time was Coates;
• to know that Coton is a village that was then a pleasant walk from Cambridge, with a tea-garden;
• to have some familiarity with the British railway system in the early 20th century.

A Dial-ogue

The Old Court - Midnight - The Junior Bursar, taking a last look round, glances with complacency at the Dial and is astonished to see the lines of time on its ancient face deepening into a frown, and is still more astonished to hear a menacing voice ejaculate:

	So you're bent on dyeing?
J.B.	(gasping). Eh, mon, who are ye?
T.D.	The Dial.
J.B.	(turning a sickly pale colour). The De'il?
T.D.	No, the Dial! Now do you know me?
J.B.	No, mon.
T.D.	Gnomon - that's right. But where do you come from?
J.B.	Scotland. D'ye no ken the dial-ect? But what do you want wi' me?
T.D.	I've been hit in the nose by a golf ball. What sort of game do you call that?
J.B.	Clock golf! Anything else?
T.D.	Yes, why don't you put another coat on me?
J.B.	(pricking up his ears). Coton, who said Coton?
T.D.	No one did. But I've had three coats of paint and .....
J.B.	(eagerly). Havers, mon, d'ye no ken the Munro doctrine is aye three Coates?
T.D.	Enough. I must be repainted.
J.B.	'M yes: Weel, ye ken it's muckle expensive, and we've missed .....
T.D.	(interrupting triumphantly). Ah, Scotch mist. That's why you've such a queer notion of sky blue.
J.B.	(drowsily). It's enough to gie one a fit o' the blues.
T.D.	Yes, but your blues don't fit. First, Oxford blue, then Cambridge blue, then a Bletchley blue.
J.B.	I dinna ken what that may be.
T.D.	Why, a colour half-way between the two blues.
J.B.	(suspiciously). 'M yes. But ye're no quite reet. I meant ye to be purple.
T.D.	(flushing a right royal purple in his rage). Purple, forsooth, and why?
J.B.	Weel, ye see, they're crooning the King this year, and I thought it wadna cost so muckle ...

(But at this last crowning insult, the Dial resumed its usual appearance, and the Junior Bursar turned away, feeling he had scored on the whole).