by Tom Davies
“Well done, Simon. Very well done. It’s from today. The starting salary is forty thousand pounds. There is no scale. Remuneration is entirely results-related and is reviewed annually. Make sure that your team shoulder their share of the burden too. We can’t even contemplate failure. I fear it would have very undesirable consequences,” He looked hard at Simon before continuing, “but then I’m confident that you wouldn’t let that come about, anyway.”
Having imparted the best piece of news of Simon’s life, Mison seemed anxious to press on with whatever he passed his working days doing. Simon saw the man afresh. Perhaps Vice-Chancellors spent all their time in such macro activities, either fulfilling people’s dearest wishes or, on occasion, dashing their hopes forever. He felt he would not, personally, be suited to great power over people’s lives. Simon emerged from the office with a silly dreamy grin. Mison’s secretary noted it and thought her boss must have used up his quota of good news for the day. There would be scowls, maybe even suppressed tears, from those who passed her desk by the day’s end.
Details of the new post and of Simon’s appointment appeared on notice boards in the afternoon, and word spread throughout the University by the end of the day. Simon, congratulated by friends, envied by others, became known to all. Instant fame! He’d just finished a call to Janet with his news when his ’phone rang.
“Simon McGuire, can I help you?”
“Hi, Simon, its Luke here. I’ve just heard your news. Congratulations! Do you fancy a pint to celebrate?”
“Thanks Luke. I’m amazed and absolutely delighted. I’d love a pint. Could be at The Dragon at 9.00.”
*************
“Here’s to you, Simon. I’m sure you deserve it! I guess that makes you the youngest professor on the campus.”
“Cheers, Luke. Yes, it does and I’m still coming to terms with it. Mmm, the beer tastes great, tonight! This project’s given me a ten-year career boost. Now we have to make a success of it.”
“What now then, mate? How will you go about it?”
“Your young people are settled in and we start in earnest tomorrow. Chloe and I produced a pre-course module that takes them through the first month. It will give them confidence and help them get up to speed. We’ve briefed our lecturing team.”
“Sounds helpful, Simon. When I first came to school in England everything seemed strange at first, let alone the studies. Mind you, it will help that they are being part of a big group. They can all support each other.”
“By the time we get towards the end of the first term in December, Luke, we shall have a realistic first assessment of abilities and aptitudes. Then we shall know the true size of our task.”
“Hang about, I’ll get the refills…”
Trade was brisk. The landlord cheerfully carried out his preferred version of weight training, exercising his right arm continuously on the old-fashioned real-ale pump at the counter.
“My uncle was impressed with both you and Chloe at your meetings in Zombek. You’ll find he’s a useful ally. Don’t hesitate to contact him, if you ever need backup.”
Simon thought it unlikely that he’d take up the offer, but replied, “I liked his style too. I’ll remember what you say, thanks.”
Just how wrong can you be? Two teenage girls at the next table, with empty glasses, giggled and smiled at them. Luke gave him a questioning glance. “Don’t think so,” Simon muttered. He still had sad memories of another young girl’s unhappy experience.
After a minute or so, one of the girls said in a loud voice, “Bloody gays!”
On Tuesday morning at 10.00 am, Simon, Chloe and the other two members of their team faced the 211 students in the lecture theatre. They would spend the next two hours mapping out the three years ahead. The Zombek project was launched in earnest.
CHAPTER 22
Phoebe Abbaque scurried, hands thrust deep in pockets, across the campus. Her face, more grey than black, contorted in the spiteful north wind. It was a degree or two below freezing, but the chill factor made it feel much colder. Only the tip of the snub nose protruded beyond the fur-lined hood of the parka. Her jeans disappeared into grotesquely huge moonboots. Under this inelegant attire were thermal long johns, footballer’s stockings and two sweaters. Inside those she wore a long sleeved vest and two pairs of knickers.
On reaching the harbour of her centrally heated room, she boiled up the kettle, dragged the chair up to the radiator, draped her bed duvet around herself and sat, hands pressed around coffee cup, waiting for her chilblains to start itching, as they surely would as soon as she warmed.
In a while she sobbed. She’d failed her end of term mock test in economics. Unbelievable! She’d done so much work for it. She’d answered every question. It must be a mistake, mustn’t it? It was all going wrong! Back in sunny September, when ambition and optimism were untested, life seemed a great adventure. The English, staff and students, were easy-going and friendly. There was no racism, no bar to success. All that was needed was hard work. She would do well for Zombek, her parents and herself!
In a few minutes, she reached for a hand mirror and dabbed eyes and nose with a tissue. She hardly recognised the dark grey face, with pink-ended nose that always seemed to be running. She composed herself, blew vigorously and returned to the kettle. What was that word the English used? Wimp!
“Stop being a bloody wimp!” she said aloud. As she poured the drink she recalled her father counselling her against becoming a loose woman at university. What a laugh! The only reason she might go to bed with anyone now was to get warm. Even then, if she succumbed, it would take so long to get undressed that the moment would have passed. She sat again, gave her chilblains a good scratch and decided to see Chloe Hodgekiss to sort things out.
“Good morning, Maureen, I’d like a meeting with Chloe, please. I’m sure there has been a mistake with my Economics results.”
When she’d gone, the Office Manager entered Chloe’s office to warn her. “Phoebe’s been again, asking to see you. I’ve booked her in for ten-thirty. She’s in a sorry state. She thinks she should have passed her Economics. She says she worked really hard and wonders if there’s been a mistake.”
“Oh no! I could do without that. I’m supposed to be preparing a presentation for an engineering company that wants Pucklebridge to do some research. I suppose I’ll have to see her, otherwise we’ll have a crisis on our hands before the bloody term is over.”
“I think you should, Chloe. We need to keep the Zombekians happy, don’t we? It’s important to the institution and to the students. I think she’s very unhappy. Just give her a ten-minute lift!”’
Chloe wondered, not for the first time, how Maureen was so much in the know about what was important to the University and the needs of the Zombekians. There had been a rumour about an affair with one of the Governors. It was a possibility. The ups and downs of life in a place like this were amazing. There were more relationships than even a Tory Cabinet Minister would ever contemplate – well almost!
“OK, Maureen, I’ll do my best. But it’s sometimes difficult to convince students that success doesn’t just relate to time devoted to reading. Brainpower plays a part, too. Still, must keep a positive PR image!”
*************
“Hi! Phoebe, nice to see you, sit down. What can I do for you?”
“I’m… I’m… I’m…” Phoebe stuttered, not a good sign. Chloe smiled encouragement and sat in silence allowing her to recover. “I’m so worried about my Economics test paper. I wonder if my marks have been mixed up with someone else’s. I can’t believe I didn’t pass! I’ve worked so hard since I’ve been here. The weather doesn’t help either.”
The girl dabbed her nose with a tissue.
“Phoebe, the marks were generally low. I gave no forward notice of the test. My objective was to get you all to see what’s required in exams here. I also wanted to give you all practice, but without worrying you before the event. Tomorrow I shall go through the test in class
. You’ll hear from the others that you’re not alone in your disappointment.”
“Well, I would have preferred a bit of notice. I’ve been very upset.”
“As I said, it was meant to help you. Believe me, there’s no easy way.” Chloe wasn’t going to tell her that the real reason was to make sure as many as possible turned up. Notifying in advance of a test was a sure formula for low attendance.
“But, Chloe, if…”
Chloe let her talk herself out for five more minutes. You needed the patience of Job to manage moaning students. In earlier years she’d had horrendous experiences, with some blaming everyone but themselves when things went wrong. The Zombekians were keen to learn and in the end, would accept what was best.
“… So what happens now, then, Chloe?” the girl concluded.
Next week we’ll all work together through the questions in detail. Then you’ll see what’s expected in our exams, at Pucklebridge? After that you’ll do better. Trust me!”
*************
“Hello Simon, I’m leaving this message on your machine at eleven o’clock on Wednesday morning. Can we meet in my office tomorrow afternoon at three? We need about an hour to talk about the Zombekian students and their progress in Economics. Leave me a message please. ’Bye-ee!”
At three, precisely, Simon edged through the door balancing a cup of lemon tea, a coffee, two small packs of digestive biscuits and two Mars bars. “God, its bloody cold out there, Chloe. Bet the Zombek kids hate it. Still, their President wants them to experience an alternative culture! Ha, ha – you can’t get more alternative than winter in England!”
“Hello Simon, many thanks! Drag your chair to the radiator. Yes, I bet they do. It’s just their misfortune that winter’s started in earnest before Christmas this year.”
“However, Chloe, did you know that up in the Northwest Territories of Canada, the modern Eskimos have to leave their car engines running permanently once the real cold weather begins? Imagine that, not turning the damn things off for three months or more. Otherwise they won’t start again until the spring. Not a lot of people know that!”
“Wonder how your old banger would like that, Simon!”
“Old banger! You’re talking of the MG I love. If I could only find a vicar to carry out the service, I’d marry it! You don’t happen to know a thoroughly reconstructed, modern Christian vicar, I suppose?” He passed Chloe her share of the impromptu snack, ripped the cover off the remaining Mars bar and bit it in half. Must stoke up you know!”
She looked at him speculatively. “I’ll think about that! You sound in good form, which is just as well, Simon. I’m beginning to worry about the Zombekian students. Too many of them are struggling in my classes. How about your side of their studies?”
“The same, I’m afraid. I’d say about forty per cent are having a tough time. Typically, if you add together drop-outs and those who fail their finals, the attrition rate at Pucklebridge is likely to be fifteen to twenty per cent of students. So we need to think of retrieval action at this early stage.”
He popped the rest of the Mars bar in his mouth and tore the top off the Digestives packet.
Chloe nibbled a biscuit and sipped her tea.
“I’ve an idea about that, Simon. These kids have a strong sense of national pride. Not many will just drop out. Our problem is going to be dealing with those who are a bit short of brain power and, also, those who aren’t up to speed because of gaps in Zombek’s higher education programme.”
“Yes, that’s about right,” agreed Simon. “Have you got any brilliant ideas? Mison will go berserk if anything goes wrong.”
“Group learning could be our answer, Simon. Let’s try and harness the group’s need to do well, together with the abilities of the more gifted students. Perhaps they can all encourage each other and move forward in unison.”
“Yeah, I like that, Chloe. We could give a set of students a week’s module of study learning in a subject. Then get them in a suitable room set-up and divide them into groups of half a dozen. We’d make sure each group had say one bright, two intermediate and three not so sure students in it. Then we’d set them questions and let them work as teams coming to conclusions. Textbooks would be expected for them to look up answers. This may help them look at the right pages. They could read out their answers to the class as a whole and then listen to us telling them in an appropriate manner what the responses should be. We have to move them in the right direction without telling they’re wrong.”
“That’s it, Simon! Then they’d all learn. They would all have contributed so each would feel ownership of the answers, yet no one would feel individual embarrassment. They could all have a turn to read out their answers during the session. As a bonus, everyone gets practice in public speaking. Great.”
Chloe drained the last of her lemon tea and lobbed the empty Styrofoam cup six feet neatly into the waste bin.
“Howzat!”
*************
“OK everyone, let’s make a start. Ebuja, what is your team’s answer to the question What is Economics?”
Ebuja was a middle ability member of his group but he stood and spoke in a firm clear voice. “Economics is the social science concerned with the production and consumption of goods and services and the analysis of the commercial activities of a society. So, at the end of the day, economists study people as producers and consumers.”
“Good, that’s good. I doubt I could have put it as well myself! Would someone from another team like to add a further insight to that?”
Phoebe Abbaque immediately stood up from her group. “We felt that economics is about the creation of wealth and how it is distributed.”
“That’s right Phoebe. It is about creation and distribution but remember consumption patterns are vital too. Well done!”
Emma spoke up from her group. “Our group took the view that economics is the management of resources for optimum utilisation, Chloe.”
“Optimisation of resources might well be a reason for studying the economy of a society, Emma, but Economics is probably better thought of as the study of all the things you need to know to allow you to make decisions about optimising. So all the answers added insight but Ebuja’s group gave us an overall working definition. That’s all very good. Let’s press on.”
“Adeba, tell us your group’s thoughts on supply and demand.
“There’s not enough to go round and not enough money. Therefore goods and services are scarce in relation to demand and choices have to be made. Goods or services will depend on income, preferences and prices charged. We wrote loads on this, Chloe.”
“That’s fine, Adeba. Did any other team have a similar answer?” They all raised their hands. They were getting into the spirit of the thing. “What would your group like to add, Bwana?”
“We soon found ourselves thinking that goods and services relate to wealth!”
“OK, then, what do we mean by wealth and how does it affect a country?”
“The wealth of a country is the sum total of goods and services with monetary or productive value. There are various ways of expressing this. One indicator is Gross Domestic Product.”
“Good that’s a start. Anyone else?”
Matthew shouted, “Wealth means loads of money. I’m going to be wealthy when I graduate. My business will make a fortune!”
“Yes, I’m sure it will. Anybody else?”
Ruth stood. “Wealth in any country is unequal. The rich get richer and so the poor get relatively poorer. Governments sometimes intervene by taxing higher earners more heavily. They might then use this income to create benefits for the poor, ill and infirm. But there’s never real equality.” At this point, her voice became emotional. “It’s not fair. The rich don’t just give money away, they make more and more. There needs to be greater control!”
Chloe intervened; it was important not to let the girl over expose herself so that she later regretted speaking up.
“Fine, Ruth, thanks, bu
t you’re bringing us on to intervention which is a subject for later.”
The morning continued in this constructive and fruitful way. All the Zombekians were making notes. Participation was high. If only half of all this was remembered, the experiment was going to be a big success.
*************
“Here you are, Simon wondered where you were. I should have realised you’d be where the coffee is.”
“I need the energy, Chloe. I work so hard.”
“Ahhh, shame! Well, the group learning experiment went down very well. They enjoyed it. In the end they were competing to speak. I think that’s going to be the way. Mind you we shall really know if it’s effective when I give them another test next term, after the Christmas vac.”
“OK, Chloe, I’ll change over straight away, to double up on the experiment. We want those going home to deliver a positive report, anyway. Quite a few are related to National Assembly Members and Chiefs. We may not have a found a total answer but it gets us in the right direction.”
“I’m a bit worried about the longer term, Simon. It’s going to be hard to get a lot of them up to pass level. And, looking, on the black side, if there is going to be a crunch, the later on in the contract it is, the more adverse the publicity.
“I know, I know. I’ve had similar thoughts. We need to think about external audit. Have you any friendly academic contacts in your field who might be suitable?” Simon held her eyes for a few seconds.
“I’ll think about that, Simon.There are a lot of considerations.”
“OK, Chloe, just remember that Luke Nweewe said that he’ll always help with special problems.”
“I’ll remember, Simon. His uncle, the Minister, also said something similar. Look, Simon, term ends in two weeks. How about going for a meal then? We’ll have a better idea of progress and we can talk some more about audit.”