The Campus Trilogy

by AnonYMous

  “I don’t think we can get very far on the phone. Come to my office. We can discuss it then.”

  “This is ridiculous,” I said.

  “I’m just doing my job, Harry. Simon Evans mentioned to the Registrar that you were nagging him about your computer. Sloth took it up and insists I investigate. I have to tell you, you already have an oral warning. This is becoming increasingly serious. The next warning will have to be a written one if you have repeated the same offence.”

  Exasperated I went to see Magnus. I had brought him back a US Marshal badge from our visit to Colorado, and he was wearing it on the lapel of his tweed jacket. He was writing a review of a book on the Minor Prophets for the Expository Times, and books were spread out over the floor. I had to step over several piles when I walked in. I took a large Hebrew lexicon off a chair and sat down.

  “You won’t believe this,” I said. “Now I’ve got trouble from the IT Unit.”

  “Bunch of idiots,” Magnus said. “Couldn’t organize a booze-up in a brewery.”

  “That’s just the point. My computer still doesn’t work, and they won’t come to fix it. And now, Simon Evans has complained to Sloth that I’m harassing him.”

  Magnus smiled. “Exactly what he deserves!”

  “Magnus, be serious. I didn’t harass him. I simply phoned him and asked if he could fix the damn computer. And we sent him an email. And then I faxed him. Now, he’s complained and I’ve got to have another formal interview with Pilkington.”

  “Does Wanda know?”

  “Pilkington didn’t say anything about her. But I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Magnus took out a pack of Camels, and lit a match. “You don’t mind if I smoke?” he asked.

  “I thought you gave it up.”

  “I did. But what the hell. You only live once.”

  “So, Magnus … what’s going on?”

  “They want you to leave. They’re putting you under pressure to go”. He shook his head. “Another complaint. This time from Evans. He should be shot. No wonder the place is falling apart. Have you told Penelope?”

  “She’ll come with me to the meeting.”

  “What about that O’Murphy chap in London?”

  “I haven’t phoned him yet. Do you think I should?”

  “Can’t do any harm. Might even do some good. But, frankly, if I were you I’d just quit. You don’t want to be like those kids in America who shot the teachers. The Professor of Christian Ethics can’t end up on trial for murder. Although frankly, it would be quite a way to go.”

  At five I left my office. As I walked towards the car park, I saw Lisa Gold walking with Ronald Grundy. They were holding hands. I dropped behind so they wouldn’t see me, but I could quite clearly hear what they were saying. Ronald was wearing a grey duffle coat and trainers and was holding a squash racket. Lisa was dressed in a skimpy white skirt and an Aran sweater. She was also clutching a racket. Ronald was in the middle of discussing his job prospects.

  “So, you see,” he was saying, “there’s a chance for me here. At least if I play my cards right. That’s what Catnip said, anyway.”

  “Did they actually offer you a job?” Lisa asked.

  “Not in so many words,” he said. “It all depends on Gilbert. They think he’s past it. If they can get rid of him, they’ll need someone to take his classes.”

  Lisa smiled. “That shit! I think my father can take care of that,” she said. “He never takes no for an answer.”

  On the way home, I puzzled over what I had heard. Penelope was right. Even my research students couldn’t be trusted.

  Over dinner I told Victoria. I described what I heard Ronald say to Lisa. “Nasty little bitch,” she said. “First she tries to seduce you; then she seduces your research student. She must be desperate.”

  “I don’t think I’m that bad …” I began.

  “That’s not what I meant. She clearly has a weakness for academics. God only knows why! I could tell her a thing or two!” We laughed.

  “But you like academics,” I protested.

  “Hardly, Harry. You know I don’t fit in. Do you think I could ever be a friend of that sad little Miss Bossyboots? Or that idle cow Jenny Sloth? Or, heaven forbid, that stout matron Maureen Pilkington? I mean, I try to be polite but I’d go mad if they were my only friends.”

  “What about Magnus?”

  “Magnus is a darling. But the rest are not exactly my cup of tea. Lisa may be poisonous and delusional, but from what you’ve described, she does have some style. I can’t imagine why she’d want to spend her life in a university.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Happiest Day Since I Came Here

  Eventually the Information Technology Unit did come to fix my computer. When I switched it on, there was a large picture of Wanda Catnip on the university homepage announcing that she had been promoted to a personal Chair. The announcement went on to say that her Inaugural Professorial Lecture would take place in several weeks time. There was also an email from Magnus. It read: ‘The witch has her reward from Barraclough. A disgusting spectacle. What is the world coming to? Magnus.’ There was an email from Morris O’Murphy too. He asked me to phone him about the disciplinary meeting which was to take place at the end of the month. When I reached him, he was on the train to Birmingham, and I arranged to see him on his next visit to St Sebastian’s. He was coming to meet with the Pay Scale Committee to discuss the implementation of the new scheme.

  On the day, he arrived late in the afternoon with Penelope. He was wearing a brown suit and a wide brown and green tie with the union insignia. Penelope looked very different from usual in a smart tweed suit. They looked drained.

  Morris sat on the sofa. Penelope slumped in the armchair opposite. I gave them each a large glass of sherry. “Barraclough was at his most opaque,” Penelope moaned.

  “Man’s an ignoramus,” Morris declared.

  “So it didn’t go well?” I said.

  Morris groaned, and then looked astonished. “Who’s that guy shot with arrows?” he asked, looking at the icon.

  “That’s the real St Sebastian,” I said. “We got the icon in New York. It was painted by a Cretan artist in the seventeenth-century.”

  Penelope looked bewildered. “I never knew St Sebastian was used for target practice,” she said.

  “That’s not quite the story,” I replied, “He was a native of Milan and was martyred. He is traditionally portrayed standing in the middle of archers, being shot through with arrows. But he is supposed to have recovered from the onslaught through the ministrations of a kindly widow. But then he was clubbed to death.”

  “Just like you, Harry?” Morris grinned.

  “That’s what you’re here to prevent,” I said.

  “Quite so,” Morris said. “I’m afraid there’s not a lot we can do though. A precedent was set with the oral warning. All the Head of Department has to do is prove that the same offence was repeated.”

  “But this is ridiculous,” Penelope protested. “The oral warning shouldn’t have been given in the first place …”

  “That’s true. But it was. And we can’t do anything about it. Harry lost the appeal. So, if this computer person can show that Harry behaved in a similar way, a written warning could be issued.”

  “There’s nothing I can do?” I asked.

  “You can always appeal against the warning, but I don’t think it will do much good.”

  “This is hopeless,” Penelope complained. “We’re supposed to protect our members.”

  “I think all you can do at this stage is to explain why you needed a functioning computer. You should stress that you had to reply to emails. And then hope your Head of Department gets the point. In retrospect, it would have been better to have done nothing. You have been given an oral warning. In that situation, it’s best to tread very carefully. It’s a pity you didn’t call me before you sent out your letter to the Head of IT.”

  “I don’t think the Head of IT was
that bothered,” I commented. “The matter was seized on by the Registrar. It was he who instituted proceedings.”

  “So that’s it? Even though there’s clearly a conspiracy against Harry?” Penelope asked.

  “I’m afraid there’s little we can do at this stage. We’ll just have to wait and see how the Head of Department plays it. You see,” he went on, “disciplinary hearings are like a game. You won’t know how the other side intends for things to go until the meeting itself. Maybe they’ll be co-operative. Often they’re not. It all depends what the game plan is. And we don’t know what they’re up to.”

  “I’m afraid I do,” I said gloomily.

  “You haven’t got anything to eat, have you?” asked Morris. I handed over the biscuit tin.

  With a sense of foreboding I met with Pilkington at the disciplinary meeting. Penelope was to accompany me, but she was late since she had to take Rufus in to see the vet again. He was still having trouble with fur balls. Wanda was already seated when I arrived. Reluctantly, I congratulated her on her personal Chair. She was clearly elated. Pilkington fidgeted while we waited for Penelope to arrive. Flustered she knocked on the door fifteen minutes after the meeting was due to start.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I had to rush Rufus to see the vet this morning. And I wanted to take him home afterwards.”

  “Is he OK?” I asked.

  “The vet says he has to change his diet. So, I bought an expensive bag of prescription cat food. You can’t get it at a supermarket. It has to be got from a vet. You know,” she said with astonishment, “it costs nearly twenty pounds.”

  Pilkington looked impatient as Penelope told us about her cat’s difficulties. “We’re here,” he began, “because there has been a formal complaint by the Head of Information Technology. He said that Harry harassed him about fixing his computer. Has it now been repaired?” he asked.

  “It has,” I said. “But this is after weeks of nagging …”

  “So you do admit nagging Simon Evans.”

  “Well, yes …” I said. “But he should have fixed it immediately. Instead, he did nothing, even after I sent him a note and an email. I eventually sent him a letter, but still nothing happened.”

  As always, Wanda took extensive notes. Whenever Pilkington criticized my contact with Simon, Penelope interrupted, pointing out that it was the role of the IT unit to repair computers.

  After a half hour’s discussion, Pilkington concluded by referring to the oral warning that had recently been given. “The Staff Handbook specifies,” he said, “that a written warning is to be given for any repetition of the same offence. I have discussed the matter at length with the Vice-Chancellor,” he continued, “and we are both of the opinion that you have behaved in the same fashion as before. I’m afraid nothing has been said today which convinces me otherwise. Therefore I regrettably have no option than to issue you with a written warning. As you know, a written warning lasts for two years. If there is a further repetition of similar behaviour, then the matter will go before a disciplinary committee. And, I must warn you, Harry, that it could result in your dismissal from the university.”

  “This is totally unwarranted,” Penelope objected. “I want to put on record that the union does not accept this judgment, and as union president I will be encouraging Harry to appeal against your decision.”

  “You have every right to do so,” Pilkington said. “But as you know, the Vice-Chancellor would chair such an appeal. And quite frankly, I can’t imagine the decision would be any different from the previous case. You will simply be wasting everyone’s time.”

  Wanda had not said anything since we arrived. But at this point, she indicated that she had something to add. “As Dean, I want to give you some advice, Harry. It would be far better for you to concentrate on improving your attitude than staging a fruitless appeal. As John said, you are free to do as you wish. But the real question is whether you will be able to exercise self-restraint in the future.”

  Penelope was furious and began putting her notebook and pen back into her handbag. “Come along, Harry,” she said. “I can see there is no point in continuing the discussion.” I got up and followed her out of the room. Later in the day there was a letter from Pilkington in my pigeonhole. I read it and stormed off to Magnus’s room. He was asleep in his battered armchair in the corner surrounded by books. His overcoat was draped as usual over his Canaanite god. “What’s up?” Magnus asked as I entered.

  “Read this,” I said.

  He looked grave as he read Pilkington’s letter. “So you’ve finally been given a written warning. Astonishing!”

  “But Magnus, I didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not my fault. It’s theirs.”

  Magnus nodded. “You’re right. But what do you expect from that shit? He’s determined to get you to leave. And so is Catnip. They’ve convinced the VC. Sorry, Harry, but there’s nothing you can do about this. That is, except take early retirement. Did the VC make you any kind of deal?”

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “He made me a lousy offer. You might do better.”

  “But I don’t want to go!”

  Magnus picked up a short article that was lying on the floor. “You know, I just wrote the most damning review of Professor Macpherson’s new book on Second Isaiah. It made me feel a lot better. Do you want to see it?”

  “Thanks, Magnus,” I said, “but I’m not in the mood.”

  “Pity! It’s one of the most vicious things I’ve ever written. Quite a tonic for depression! You ought to try it!”

  When I arrived home, I was furious. Victoria poured me a glass of whiskey, and our blue-point Siamese, Cleo, sat on my lap and purred as I recounted my interview with Pilkington. Our other cat, Brutus, was busy chasing a paper ball. Victoria waited impatiently for me to finish, and then showed me the latest issue of Country Life. There was a picture of her holding a Georgian teapot and a short article about collecting tea-time porcelain. “That’s splendid,” I said.

  “It arrived this afternoon. Plus a cheque for five hundred pounds.”

  “Well done! I’m really pleased!”

  “So am I,” she smiled.

  “It rather overshadows this stupid written warning,” I said.

  “I’m glad you’re getting all this into proportion. Look, Harry. You’re a professor. You’re in Who’s Who. You’ve published lots of books. You have no money worries. I simply can’t see why you care what Little Miss Bossyboots thinks, or that boring Head of Department, or Barraclough for that matter.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course, I’m right. Just look around you. You live in this beautiful mill-house full of pretty things; you have a lovely office at the university with Gothic windows and a seventeenth-century icon; you can go up to London whenever you want and dine at your club. You have the nicest cats in the world and, most important, you have me. Just what are you complaining about?”

  Sheepishly I couldn’t think of an answer. “Then why don’t we go out to dinner and spend some of the money you earned?” I said. “What about that country house hotel that got such a good write-up in The Times?”

  The Goat and Goose Hotel was located about ten miles from St Sebastian’s in a small, picturesque village that was frequently used by the BBC for historical dramas. The village green was surrounded by timber-framed houses. When we entered, we were shown into the dining room by a silver-haired gentleman wearing a dark suit who was clearly the owner. The prices were astronomic. I realized I would soon be sending another huge cheque to Christian Aid.

  After we ordered, I told Victoria about Catnip. I explained that when I turned my computer on, there was a picture of Wanda and a caption explaining that she had been awarded a Chair and was due to give an inaugural professorial lecture.

  Victoria seemed surprisingly interested. “She’s to give a lecture?” she asked.

  “You remember the lecture I gave?” I said. “Well, it’s like that. All professors do it when they g
et a Chair. I don’t normally tell you about it, because you wouldn’t be interested. They talk about their speciality. It’s usually terribly boring.”

  “But I’d like to hear Catnip. I’ve never heard her lecture.” She embarked on a wickedly accurate imitation of Wanda’s Northern vowels.

  I interrupted. “Why? I have no intention of going. It will be horrible. And after what I’ve endured, I don’t see why I should. Certainly Magnus isn’t going to go.”

  Victoria looked out the window as I went on to explain why our attendance would be entirely inappropriate. “So, I’m not going,” I concluded.

  “Oh Harry, you mustn’t let the side down. You really do have to go.”

  “But why?” I asked. “It’s not as though she’s done anything for me. What she and Pilkington have done is to make my life much worse. Why should I do something for that horrible woman?”

  “Harry, you’re supposed to be the Professor of Christian Ethics. Forgive and forget! All that sort of thing! So, you’ve got to practise what you preach.”

  “Why?” I said indignantly. “It’s all very well in theory. But in practice it isn’t very appealing. She doesn’t like me. And I don’t like her. And she tried to get me to leave. So, I’m not going.”

  “You must go, Harry,” Victoria persisted. “It will be fascinating.”

  “If Magnus won’t go, I’m not going. Why should I?”

  “Well, if Magnus is willing to go, will you, too?”

  “I don’t see why I should. But OK. If Magnus goes, I’ll go.” I felt very safe.

  “Good,” Victoria said, as she polished off her salad niçoise. “You won’t want to miss it!”

  Several days later I had tea with Magnus in the SCR. Magnus ordered two tea cakes and a mug of coffee. He looked very pleased. I wondered why. “Why are you looking so cheery?” Iasked.

  “Oh no reason,” he said as he plonked three sugar cubes into his coffee.

  “Come on, Magnus, how come you’re not your usual glum self?”