Foreword 

It is with great pleasure that Varsity publishes the latest collaborative project between its own Artefacts and Antiquities Bureau and the renowned Rugeloût Institute. In a series of nine columns, the director of The Rugeloût institute, the eminent Prof. Autuneuille takes us through nine artefacts from his collections that tell the story of a Cantabrigian student. On behalf of all of us at Varsity’s Artefacts and Antiquities Bureau I wish you an enjoyable and edifying read.

 

 

Aurélien Guéroult

Chairman, Varsity’s Artefacts and Antiquities Bureau 

September 2015

 

A Word

Telling stories through things is what musea are for. And because The Rugeloût Institute has been collecting things for over 150 years, it’s not a bad place to start if you want to use objects to tell the story of a Cantabrigian student. This weekly column is in fact simply the latest iteration of what The Institute has been doing, or attempting to do, since its foundation in 1862 by the 3rd Viscount of Wixeston-upon-Tyne, Marc-Hubert Rugeloût. Of course, our doors are always wide open for you to view our collections at no. 17 St Eligius Street, Cambridge, CB2 1HX, United Kingdom of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland.

Prof. Roger Autuneuille

Director, The Rugeloût Institute

September MMXV

  

Beginnings 

 

1. WilkoTM 80l Clear Plastic Storage Box (with Original Lid)

Plastic box, from the Cherry Hinton Gorge, Cambridgeshire

1.8-2 million years old

  

This plastic box is one of the earliest things that humans ever made; in this history of a Cantabrigian student, this quadrimillennial clear plastic cuboid is where it all begins. We are still not entirely sure what function it held- several hypotheses have been emitted. The one currently most in vogue is that it might have been a funereal urn, containing the ashes of a whole tribe or perhaps a family ossarium, in which relatives’ bones were kept. These hypotheses do not explain the presence of trace quantities of green pigment, alcohol residue and mole fur, which have led experts to believe it might have been a ‘shaman’s bath’, in which were conducted pagan baptisms. We know shaman’s baths, perhaps inherited from prehistory, existed in the 11th century. One such is described in the English Chronicler Orderic Vitalis’ account:

 

            ‘… so, the shaman Leofric beckoned Ælgifu forwards and plunged his head into the potion he had brewed within his bath. That afternoon he had exsanguinated two white doves, tossed in the teeth of a horned viper, collected juice from a heifer’s second stomach, scaled a striped halibut, extracted gall from two medium-sized toads, ground a Bactrian camel’s molar, shredded the wings of a pipistrelle and stirred four times round in an anti-clockwise direction using the femur of a Barbary macaque to make his concoction. Having held the initiate’s head within the liquid for seven seconds, he wiped it dry with an albino mole hide. Thus Ælgifu was baptised into their fellowship and received as Leofric’s disciple.’

 

Book III, 275-290.

What we do know about this fascinating artefact is what one of its more recent previous owners used it for. In 1820, Tarquin Rugeloût (father of our founder Marc-Hubert), purchased the box from a London Antiquarian and used it as a storage receptacle in which to keep his socks when he moved from his parent’s residence to his room in Trinity College Great Court. In fact, he was so pleased with the box’s acquisition that he penned a sonnet in its honour:

  

My Box

Shall I compare thee to a sackcloth bag?

Thou art more rigid and rectangular.

Despite your contents’ weight your sides won’t sag,

The way you stack is nice and regular.

Sometimes a bag will stretch and lose its shape

And oft it rips and spills its contents out;

And tatty cardboard boxes will need tape

Or through the holes will seep my sauerkraut;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Your multi-functionality astounds;

I’ve filled your bowels with Pimms and lemonade

Or used you as a kennel for my hounds.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

You’ll live. (I’ve got an eight year warranty.)

 

Tarquin Rugeloût, 1820

 

 

Read on next week, to see what fascinating object we’ll have in store for you in this brand new series of The History of a Cantabrigian Student in Nine Objects.