Upon Googling “Cambridgeshire”, you will be met with a tumult of maps of the British Isles, some non-descript photographs of swathes of green, English countryside, and a splattering of images of King’s College Chapel. The former are, of course, a sensible result in inputting such a general term, but the latter is peculiarly specific: King’s College Chapel is a symbol, the badge of Cambridgeshire, emblematic of the University and town’s roots in a religiosity that is only observed in the student consciousness through candle-lit Evensongs in college chapels and weekly postings by the college Christian society. King’s College Chapel evidently holds an architectural splendour, a curious history and a convenient central location that has motivated its display on postcards, T-shirts and keyrings, as well as its etching in the public mindset. Yet unbeknownst to many, there is a site in Cambridgeshire that boasts a more ancient lineage and an architectural style that can equal the spectacle of the chapel, and it’s only an hour away: Ely Cathedral.

Hailed as ‘The Ship of The Fens’, on approach of the diminutive city of Ely it is not difficult to gather the origins of the epitaph: the cathedral’s towering stature and boundless West Front makes it visible from a significant distance, nestling and swaying above the score of flat countryside from afar. It is truly the epicentre of Ely, its magnitude a flag that waves in tourists and signals its grandiosity. The West Front, before you even enter, is a testament to the interwoven architectural styles that have shaped the cathedral due to restoration work: its lower, round headed arches are Romanesque, while the remainder of the façade has beautifully wrought, ornamental foliage and partially curved arches that indicate Early English Gothic. Despite holding its roots in the Anglo-Saxon period, the structures from that era do not remain, although its dedication to its foundress, the near-legendary St Etheldreda, is instated in the modern statue of her situated by the altar of her eponymous chapel inside. Timelines collide, and give the site a fantastical, other-worldly atmosphere, no less due to the quaint lop-sidedness of the West Front.

Within is a network of naves, transepts and aisles, all collected into a cruciform seen from above, symbolising Christ’s crucifixion. It is these intricate details, the overwhelming commitment to constructing an edifice that breathes religiosity in all its components, that make Ely Cathedral an electrifying site to visit. The wonders of its externality are only enforced by the spectacle of its interior: the painting that stretches across the Nave ceiling, a Victorian addition, is a vibrant mix of red, green and gold, narrating the ancestry of Jesus from Adam to Abraham and beyond. Its colour and artistic style is instantaneously eye-catching, fantastically different from the usual vaulted or High Renaissance ceilings that are lauded. It makes a poignant juxtaposition to the Lady Chapel inside, once a colourful space in the Middle Ages, but now ashen due to the onslaught of time as well as the Puritan defacement of the space during the Reformation. Its windows open up to a glorious array of light, however, that fill the grey walls with a particular splendour, and while its empty pedestals and defaced figures signify its brokenness, David Wynne’s modern statue of the Virgin Mary gives it life in the 21st century.

Perhaps the most spectacular component of the cathedral, however, is the Octagon: a momentous display of religious symbolism and 14th-century Gothic, it is a vast, silent space that sings in light with its lantern. Yet despite the archaic grandiosity of it, the statue of Christ in Majesty by modern artist Peter Eugene Ball, placed above the pulpit, is a reminder that the cathedral transcends any definition of its style or vibe. Indeed, the splatterings of modern art works is what creates the cathedral’s embracing atmosphere: Wynne’s Virgin Mary rebels against traditional depictions of her passivity, throwing her arms up in the air as her golden locks tumble over her blue dress during the moment of divine conception. It is progressive, as far as religious art can be. 

Ely Cathedral has seen it all: there is no better edifice to be able to mark and track with your eyes the history and expanse of time that our world has undergone. It is a remarkable mixture of medieval, Victorian and modern artistry, and its brokenness lies besides its glorious, lofty structuring. The call to the community to help finance recent renovations was met with widespread approval and participation, and it is not difficult to see why. It is an education and an aesthete’s dream all in one, and it should be appreciated by Cambridge as a beacon for Cambridgeshire a lot more.