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The
Strangest
Man

 by
Graham
Farmelo
 


Extract
from
Chapter
Five:
Dirac
arrives
in
Cambridge
in
October
1923.
 


Dirac’s
fellow
diners
in
the
magnificent,
panelled
Hall
of
St
John’s
College
consisted
mainly
of
 the
young
men
of
the
Brideshead
generation.
Most
of
them
had
been
privately
educated
at
 schools
such
as
Eton,
Harrow
and
Rugby,
where
they
had
learned
Latin
and
Greek
and
the
art
 of
discoursing
easily
about
the
fashionable
topics
of
the
day,
such
as
T.
S.
Eliot’s
modernist
 poetry,
or
of
passing
supercilious
judgement
on
Shaw’s
latest
provocation.
Dirac
was
ill
 equipped
to
join
them.
Every
night,
alcohol
circulated
up
and
down
the
dinner
table
in
Hall,
 loosening
the
students’
tongues.
Amid
the
cacophony,
Dirac
sat
impassively,
a
teetotaller
in
 the
Methodist
tradition,
silently
sipping
water
from
his
glass.
He
had
left
Bristol
never
having
 consumed
a
cup
of
tea
or
coffee,
so
his
first
sampling
of
these
drinks
was
an
event
for
him.
 Neither
much
appealed
to
him,
though
he
did
have
the
occasional
weak
and
milky
tea,
its
 caffeine
dose
scarcely
exceeding
homoeopathic
levels.
Decades
later,
he
told
one
of
his
 children
that
he
drank
coffee
only
to
give
himself
courage
before
giving
a
presentation.
 
 Dirac’s
manner
at
the
dinner
table
became
the
stuff
of
legend.
He
had
no
interest
in
small
talk,
 and
it
was
common
for
him
to
sit
through
several
courses
without
saying
a
word
or
even
 acknowledging
the
students
sitting
next
to
him.
Too
diffident
even
to
ask
someone
to
pass
the
 salt
and
pepper,
he
made
no
demands
at
all
on
his
fellow
diners
and
felt
no
obligation
to
 maintain
the
momentum
of
any
dialogue.
Every
opening
conversational
gambit
would
be
met
 with
silence
or
with
a
simple
yes
or
no.
Dirac
once
responded
to
the
comment
‘It’s
a
bit
rainy,
 isn’t
it?’
by
walking
to
the
window,
returning
to
his
seat,
and
then
stating
‘It
is
not
now
 raining.’
Such
behaviour
quickly
persuaded
his
colleagues
that
further
questioning
was
both
 unwelcome
and
pointless.
Yet
he
did
prefer
to
eat
in
company
and
to
hear
intelligent
people
 talking
about
serious
matters,
and
it
was
by
listening
to
such
conversations
that
Dirac
slowly
 learned
about
life
outside
science.
 
 He
was
fortunate
to
go
up
to
Cambridge
at
this
time.
The
colleges
had
just
seen
the
departure
 of
the
last
students
in
military
uniform,
which
took
precedence
over
academic
dress
until
the
 1

students
were
officially
demobilised.
This
was
an
optimistic
time,
and
the
next
generation
of
 students
was
anxious
to
get
back
to
academic
work.
Dirac
was
studying
in
the
university’s
 largest
department,
mathematics,
famous
for
its
high
standards
and
its
competitiveness.
 Among
the
students,
the
highest
cachet
was
reserved
for
those
who
both
excelled
in
their
 studies
and
who
competed
successfully
in
sport,
and
of
course
Dirac
he
‘played
no
games’.
 Most
students
took
at
least
some
part
in
the
social
life
in
Cambridge
–
chatting
in
the
new
 coffee
bars,
singing
in
choirs,
slipping
out
in
the
evening
to
the
cinema
or
to
see
an
ancient
 Greek
play.
None
of
this
interested
Dirac.
Even
by
the
standards
of
the
most
ambitious
swot,
 he
was
exceptionally
focused
on
his
work,
though
dedication
is
no
guarantee
of
success,
as
 thousands
of
students
find
out
every
year.
He
had
been
consistently
top
of
the
class
in
the
 academic
backwater
of
Bristol,
but
he
had
no
idea
whether
he
would
be
able
to
compete
with
 the
best
students
in
Cambridge.
From
the
moment
Dirac
and
his
colleagues
arrived,
the
dons
 were
watching
every
one
of
them,
always
on
the
lookout
for
a
student
of
truly
exceptional
 calibre
–
in
Cambridge
parlance,
‘a
first‐rate
man’.
 
 It
did
not
take
long
for
the
extent
of
Dirac’s
talent
to
become
clear
to
his
supervisor,
Fowler,
 who
took
a
brisk
interest
in
his
progress.
Students
who
brought
Fowler
a
good
piece
of
work
 were
rewarded
with
his
favourite
exclamation,
‘Splendid!’,
and,
more
often
than
not,
a
pat
on
 the
back.
He
was
an
inspirational
presence
in
the
department,
but
sometimes
unpopular:
by
 spending
much
of
his
time
working
at
home
or
on
trips
to
the
Continental
centres
of
physics,
 he
often
frustrated
the
students
who
yearned
for
his
advice.
But
Dirac
was
not
so
dependent;
 he
was
content
to
be
lightly
supervised,
to
work
alone
and
to
generate
many
of
his
own
 projects.
Soon,
he
realised
that
he
had
been
lucky
to
have
been
allocated
the
most
effective
 supervisor
of
theoretical
physics
in
Cambridge.


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