A few miles south-east of Cambridge the land rises into a low run of chalk hills. They have been called the Gog Magog Hills for centuries, and the story goes that they are the body of a giant, laid down long ago and grassed over. Up there, inside the Iron Age ramparts of Wandlebury, Gervase of Tilbury wrote around 1211 that any knight who rode in by moonlight and called out a challenge would be met by a phantom warrior.
The name is older still. In Geoffrey of Monmouth's history of Britain, Gogmagog is the last of the giants of Albion, thrown from a cliff into the sea. We took his name because it sits where everything we care about meets: the land, the legend, and the long habit people in these islands have of finding monsters in the landscape and refusing to forget them.