You will spot The Eagle just ahead on your right, distinguished by its smooth, pale stone ground floor sitting beneath a flat white painted upper facade, all anchored by a wide, dark rectangular archway leading into an inner courtyard.
Centuries of strictly regulated university life have unfolded around this very spot, but these ancient academic walls do not merely echo with scholarly debates. Sometimes, sheer tragedy leaves a lasting, terrible imprint on the local architecture and folklore. These scars of history remind us that human desperation often defies the orderly rules of the colleges, leaving restless memories behind.
While this pub officially opened as a coaching inn in sixteen sixty seven, providing a resting place for weary travellers and their horses, a tavern has actually stood on this ground owned by Corpus Christi College since the thirteen hundreds. But we are not here to talk about the students or the pints of ale. We are here to talk about the seventeen hundreds, and a devastating fire that ripped through the building.
Take a moment to step back and look up at the upper windows of the pub. If you glance at your device, you can see the historic white upper level in the photograph. Look closely at the real building in front of you. Can you spot the window in the upper gallery that is perpetually wedged open?
Local legend dictates that this window must never, ever be shut. During the dreadful fire, a terrifying blaze trapped a young barmaid, or perhaps a group of children, in the upper nursery. Panicking as the smoke thickened, they desperately tried to unlatch that very window to escape the flames. Tragically, the latch held fast, and they perished right behind the glass.
To this day, the window remains cracked open. It is widely rumoured that Corpus Christi College includes a strict clause in the pub's lease mandating the window stays ajar, allowing the trapped spirits to finally move freely. And what happens if someone dares to close it? Staff and regulars swear that a heavy, suffocating atmosphere immediately descends upon the rooms below. People report the sudden, sharp smell of burning timber, followed by the faint, chilling sound of a young girl crying out.
Those brave enough to ignore the warnings and latch the glass shut always find it mysteriously thrown wide open again by morning. It seems some human spirits simply refuse to be contained by the stones of Cambridge, demanding their escape route remains clear. Even the ghost soldier said to haunt Table four, who manifests his displeasure by knocking over drinks to punish rowdy patrons, pales in comparison to the dread of the closed window.
As you stand here, it makes you wonder what other ancient stones nearby are hiding dark, unquiet secrets. Let us continue our walk to find out, heading right next door to St Bene't's Church. If you need a bit of liquid courage later, the pub is moderately priced and open until eleven or midnight most evenings.
