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.