University of Cambridge Evensong services rated: Magdalene College

Now, I did vow to approach these evensong reviews with journalistic neutrality and a cool, detached eye. However, full disclosure: One of my very best friends sings in the Magdalene College choir. So I may have just a slight inclination to be kind. Just the tiniest, most barely perceptible whisper of bias.

Magdalene is a bit of a hike from King’s, especially when you’ve made the bold decision to wear heels across the cobbles of Cambridge like some sort of spiritual warrior. But we decided to make an evening of it—Evensong followed by Magdalene formal. Because if you’re going to sprain an ankle, you might as well do it in pursuit of both God and a three course meal.

Thankfully, dressing up is clearly part of the Magdalene evensong brief. Everyone looked remarkably well put together—like extras from The Crown, if The Crown had slightly more hungry postgrads. Every visible attendee was wearing a gown, and the entire evening had a rather “we’re here to look devout and possibly also to be seen by the elite” vibe. I felt chic. I felt reverent. I felt vaguely like I might get cast as a contemplative chapel attending scholar in a period drama.

The Chapel:

Magdalene Chapel is, shall we say, intimate. It is small, yes—but gloriously ornate. There’s gilding, there’s rich wood, there’s a general sense that if you coughed too loudly, a 14th century saint might rise from the floor and glare at you. And oddly, the smaller space really does shift the atmosphere.

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Whereas some of the bigger college chapels can make you feel like you’re attending Evensong in an aircraft hangar, Magdalene’s makes you feel like a cloistered medieval nun who’s just ducked in from illuminating a manuscript. It’s all very “divine hush” and embroidered hems.

The Choir: Like a regiment with perfect pitch

When the choir processed in, I was briefly concerned someone had called in the Household Cavalry. It was the most synchronised choral entrance I’ve ever seen. Absolutely no shuffling. No rogue coughs. Just smooth, confident gliding. Like a Gregorian flash mob.

The singing? Beautiful, obviously. Controlled and luminous. And the best part? The chaplain, who sang the collects with the clarity of a babbling brook in a Romantic poem.

Honestly, she deserves her own shoutout here. I may be outing myself as an English student, but her voice had the pure timbre of a freshwater stream trickling over ancient pebbles. (If that’s not an A-level simile, I don’t know what is.) She sang as if she’d been born in plainchant and weaned on Tallis.

Mishaps, mayhem, and kneeler related catastrophe

Of course, it wouldn’t be an evensong outing if I didn’t suffer some kind of near-liturgical disaster. This time, it came in the form of a timing error: My friend got up from the kneeler slightly before I did, and I—entirely ungracefully—nearly face-planted into the aisle. Which is not ideal when you’re surrounded by cloaked fellows and trying to project an air of contemplative poise.

Still, that’s part of the joy.

Post-evensong formal: Because prayer works up an appetite

After the service, we tottered over to Magdalene formal, which felt like a perfect way to end a very elegant evening. Candlelight, wine, and the sort of polite table conversation where someone inevitably mentions they’re reading Ancient Greek for fun. Bliss.

Pro tip: If you’re ever at a loose end before Magdalene formal, or looking to fill the choral gap between a lecture and a pint at the Pickerel, this evensong is an excellent shout. It’s short, soothing, and gently theatrical in all the right ways.

I rank this as highest on my new category: Reflection and quietude, I have never come away from another service feeling quite so noticeably relaxed than when I went in. Then again, that might be because I’d just walked a mile in four inch heels.

Final rating: 4/5 – A gowned delight

These weekly outings are turning into my own private ecclesiastical Grand Tour. I’ve been to chapels I didn’t know existed. I’ve learnt that every college has its own strange blend of incense level, robe length, and theological flair.

And Magdalene has definitely gone high on the “smells and bells” slider. The chapel is lovely. The choir is coordinated enough to invade Normandy. The chaplain has a voice like divine springwater. And I, against all odds, didn’t fall into the organ pipes.

Come dressed up, bring your friends, and for heaven’s sake—arrive early. Seats fill fast, and the front row is no place for the tardy.