by AnonYMous
“Glum? Am I usually glum?”
“What’s going on, Magnus?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Really.” And with that he picked up The Times.
“Oh, Magnus,” I continued. “You’re not going to Catnip’s lecture are you? I told Victoria I definitely didn’t intend to. But for some reason she seems to want to go. I can’t imagine why. Anyway, I told her I would go if you went. But I was sure you wouldn’t.”
Magnus looked up. “Actually,” he said. “I rather thought I would.”
“But why?”
“I thought it might be amusing.”
“Amusing?”
“Seeing her suck up to Barraclough. Why not?”
“I can’t understand you, Magnus. This is totally inconsistent. You think she’s ghastly. Why in the world would you want to hear her give a lecture?”
Magnus giggled as he went back to The Times. What, I wondered, was going on?
Both Magnus and Victoria refused to discuss the lecture further. Magnus avoided the issue whenever I mentioned it. Victoria simply insisted that I had promised to go if Magnus went and Magnus was going. I couldn’t understand why they were so intent on the matter.
The day before the lecture I told Victoria I had a bad cold and would stay in bed. She refused to listen and told me to get up. Eventually I gave in. On the day of the lecture I saw Magnus in the SCR at lunch time. He was sitting next to Agnes, chatting amicably. This was most suspicious; he always looked morose when Agnes was around. Her new book with a university press unnerved him. She was telling him that she had just been granted study leave so she could work on her next volume. He smiled and said something polite. When I sat down, he picked up the Times Higher Educational Supplement and avoided looking at me. Then Agnes asked about the title of Catnip’s lecture. I wasn’t sure and Magnus mumbled something inaudible.
The occasion was to start at five o’clock. Victoria arrived at my office at 4:30. She was looking wonderful in a silk suit and her face was glowing. Several minutes later Magnus knocked on the door. He sat himself down on the sofa next to Victoria. “Look,” I said. “I’ve changed my mind. I really don’t want to go. I have no interest whatsoever in seventeenth-century land tenure. If you both want to attend, that’s fine with me. But I’m staying behind. Anyway, I’ve work to do”
“But you promised …” Victoria protested.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Well, you can’t. You’ve got to come. Magnus and I insist, don’t we Magnus?”
“Come on Harry,” Magnus said. “You said you’d go.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“You can’t,” Victoria spoke quite sharply, “I’ve made a special effort to be here. If you don’t come, you can’t expect me to do all the things you want me to do.”
I knew when I was beaten. “You two are up to something,” Isaid.
Magnus looked conspiratorially at Victoria, and stood up. “Get up, Harry,” he said, “Don’t be a wimp. We don’t want to be late.”
“I’m not a wimp. I don’t want to listen to Bossyboots. And I can’t see why you would.”
Victoria pulled me up out of my armchair. “Get up, Harry. We’re going.” Magnus grabbed my other arm, and they frogmarched me out the door. On the way to the Great Hall, I saw Barraclough striding out in our direction. He was wearing his gown and a mortarboard. “Good,” he said. “I see you’re coming to the lecture.”
“Hello, Vice-Chancellor,” Victoria said with her best smile. He relaxed visibly and doffed his mortarboard with a flourish. He had always had a soft spot for Victoria. Magnus was convulsed in giggles.
“OK,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing …”, said Magnus airily. Victoria was silent. She frowned and walked faster. There was no choice. I had to follow.
A small crowd had assembled by the time we arrived. On the stage was a row of chairs. In the background was a banner with the crest of the university. Most of my colleagues were scattered in the audience. I sat in the back between Victoria and Magnus. Magnus continued to chuckle and stared straight ahead. As the cathedral bells struck the hour, everyone stood up. A trumpeter wearing a red academic gown and a floppy Tudor hat marched to the stage. He began Purcell’s voluntary.
A procession consisting of the Visitor, the Vice-Chancellor, the Registrar, and various other dignitaries marched in. Wanda Catnip entered last. She was dressed in her University of Hull doctoral gown. They all sat on the stage except for the Vice-Chancellor who stood behind a podium. He was resplendent in his black and gold Vice-Chancellor robe. He read several lines in Latin, and then translated them into English. Magnus continued to giggle throughout. Victoria stared straight ahead. I looked at them both – I felt disaster was looming.
Catnip blushed with pleasure as the Vice-Chancellor praised both her scholarship as an economic historian and her invaluable efforts for the university as Dean. He explained that a group of assessors had recently agreed that she should be appointed to a personal Chair. They had particularly commended her contribution to our understanding of land tenure in the seventeenth century. He then held up a copy of her recently published book. This study, he explained, was the fruit of years of sustained and dedicated research and was of seminal importance. In fact it was based on her PhD thesis which she had written twenty years earlier. I happened to know that the revised version had been rejected by several university presses before being taken on by an obscure American publishing house. However, it was no secret that Barraclough was adept at ignoring realities for his own purposes.
There was polite applause when Wanda stood up and walked up to the podium. In her hand was a depressingly thick wad of paper. I wondered how long we were going to have to endure all this. The Vice-Chancellor sat down in a large wooden chair at the edge of the stage, and rearranged his gown. He nodded to a photographer sitting in the front row who stood up and took Catnip’s photograph. She smiled. Then she started. We were clearly in for a very dull hour.
I looked across at Victoria. Her face was raised toward the speaker with every appearance of absorbed interest. Magnus was fidgeting. I settled myself in my seat and sighed. How had I got myself into this situation? I closed my eyes and tried to think about something else.
Suddenly there was a commotion at the back. The door swung open and a huge man wearing a hairy brown gorilla costume entered. He bellowed as he lollopped toward the stage. Barraclough looked stunned. Sloth stood up, and then sat down again. Wanda looked pale, but she stood firm by the podium. He stopped in front of her, swung around, beat his chest and bellowed again. Then he took two bananas out of his pocket and presented one to Wanda. “Congratulations,” he said. He peeled open his own banana and proceeded to eat it while he capered about the stage. Then he did a somersalt and threw the banana skin on the floor. He gave a great shout, blew Wanda a kiss and snatched the lecture off the podium. Catnip tried to grab it back, but he held it above her head and, still prancing, proceeded to screw up individual sheets and throw them among the audience. There was another photographic flash from the front.
Initially the audience seemed stunned. Then Barraclough started patting his pockets underneath his robe and eventually he brought out a mobile telephone. He seemed to have some difficulty turning the machine on, but after a few seconds he started speaking urgently into it. The gorilla leapt into the air and off the stage. He threw the remaining lecture sheets onto the floor. Still beating his chest and bellowing, he cantered out of the hall. Wanda was left holding the banana.
The audience slowly came to life and the Vice-Chancellor stood up. He put on his mortarboard and strode to the podium. Under cover of the audience chatter, Magnus was convulsed with laughter. Victoria hissed at him to be quiet. We waited to see what would happen next.
Wanda left the banana on the podium and sat down in her chair. Barraclough leaned over her in discussion. She was clearly shaken by what had happened and showed signs of becoming tearful. I saw her say,
“But I haven’t got my paper! He took it!”
After several minutes, Barraclough walked to the podium. “This has been an outrage,” he fulminated. “As Vice-Chancellor, I will not tolerate such behaviour in my university. Whoever is responsible will be subject to the most severe discipline.” Wanda snivelled as he continued. “I’m afraid this event will have to be cancelled. Given the circumstances, I think it will be better for Professor Catnip to deliver her most interesting lecture at a later date so she can be spared such an unforgivable interruption. Can I ask you all to leave quietly after the procession?”
He swept off the stage and the rest of the university officers tried to reassemble their dignity. Raggedly they followed Barraclough out of the Great Hall, leaving the audience in a state of happy confusion. Magnus was weeping with joy. I had never seen him so elated. Victoria poked him with her forefinger. She spoke severely. “Pull yourself together, Magnus,” she said. “Poor Wanda. What a terrible thing to happen!” I looked at her. She gazed back at me. Her face was completely expressionless.
Victoria, Magnus and I left quickly and went directly to my room. Magnus stretched out on my sofa, convulsed in giggles. Victoria poured us all a drink. I sat at my desk. “OK,” I said, “Explain!”
Victoria poked Magnus. “Oh, joy! Oh joy!” he gurgled. “The happiest day since I came here.”
“You two are responsible, aren’t you?”
Victoria smiled. “It was good, wasn’t it?”
I sighed. “You’d better tell me all about it.”
“Magnus didn’t do anything,” Victoria explained. “It was all my idea. I saw an advertisement in the back of Private Eye for kissograms. So I called them. Well, they do various kinds of things: kissograms, stripograms, and gorillagrams. It all sounded intriguing, so I went up to London a few days ago and spoke to the person who runs the organization.”
Magnus couldn’t stop chuckling. He rolled over and buried his head in the sofa. “So,” Victoria continued, “I didn’t want anyone to know who I was. I borrowed a blonde wig from a Women’s Institute friend, got a 52 bus from Knightsbridge to Willesden, and pretended I was Welsh. I used my best Welsh accent. Anyway, the place was located in a little room up the stairs from a greengrocer. I spoke first to a receptionist and then to the person who dresses up as a gorilla. He was splendid. I told him that my son was a student at St Sebastian’s and was having endless trouble with the Dean. I explained in detail what I wanted, and paid in cash. I stressed that there was to be no stripping, or kissing. Everything had to be respectable. But I also said that, without actually stealing it, the Dean had to be separated from her lecture. I paid him with the money I got from the article in Country Life. It cost a hundred and seventy-five pounds plus VAT.”
“Don’t worry, Harry,” she emphasized, “no one will ever know it was me.”
“You’re a genius, Victoria,” Magnus said looking up from the sofa.
The following day there was a photograph of the gorilla and Wanda on the front page of the St Sebastian’s Gazette with the headline ‘Gorilla Disrupts Lecture’. Clearly the photographer had been busy. The article explained that Professor Catnip had just been appointed to a personal Chair, and she was to deliver her inaugural professorial lecture. Just as she began to speak, a gorilla jumped up to the podium, handed her a banana, and then tore up her lecture. It quoted Barraclough who expressed outrage that anyone could have behaved in such a way. He declared that if this prank were done by students, they would be sent down from the university. If staff were responsible, they would be dismissed. The article went on to say that Professor Catnip was deeply shaken by this incident and would be taking sick leave for an undetermined period. The lecture would be postponed to a future date.
The Senior Common Room was buzzing with gossip. Magnus and I sat next to Wendy Morehouse who was talking to the History department secretary. She said that the gorilla had left a card with the porter. He asked if it could be put on the noticeboard. The Registrar had been trying to reach his organization all day, but there had been no answer. The Vice-Chancellor was determined to find the person who paid for the gorillagram. I asked about Wanda. Was it true she was going on sick leave? The History secretary nodded. She had been so disturbed by what had happened, that she was unable to concentrate on work. It had been agreed that she would come back as soon as she recovered. Wanda had sent her an email, saying she was going to see the doctor and would send in a doctor’s certificate later in the day. “It is a great tragedy,” she sighed. Magnus spluttered behind his newspaper.
Pilkington was at another table near us. He was lamenting what had happened with several members of the department. He shook his head as the others looked on sympathetically. I tried to overhear what he was saying. Like the secretaries, he related that the gorilla had left his calling card. The organization was called Kissogram UK, and he had looked it up on the internet. Alongside pictures of a naked woman wearing a g-string, there was a photograph of the gorilla. London based, it listed costs. Pilkington was puzzled that students would be prepared to pay nearly two hundred pounds, and he suspected that the gorillagram might have been sent by a member of staff. The VC was determined to interview any possible culprits. The question was: who had a grudge against Wanda?
CHAPTER EIGHT
What Kind of a Deal Can You Offer Me?
Rumours were circulating throughout the week about Catnip’s lecture. The Vice-Chancellor was determined to discover who had hired the gorilla, and he had eventually contacted Kissogram UK. Initially the owner refused to give out any information. But after threats of police investigation, he revealed that a Welsh woman with blonde hair had paid in cash for him to visit the university. She was the mother of a student who was currently having difficulties with the Dean.
The Registrar had then been given instructions to look through the entire undergraduate body for all those with Welsh names, and the names and addresses of all students from Wales had been compiled as well. It emerged that over two hundred students were possible suspects. They had all been emailed asking if they knew anything about the prank. To the Vice-Chancellor’s dismay, there were so many possibilities that the task of uncovering the culprit seemed impossible, but he insisted that he was leaving no stone unturned.
Victoria was delighted with the outcome of her adventure, but I felt guilty about Wanda. It was true that she had plotted against me, and that I had been given a written warning. She and Pilkington had conspired and connived with the Vice-Chancellor to see if I would take early retirement. Yet, Wanda was a lonely, rather sad figure whose only consolation was her career. She lived in a drab house on an estate on her small income. We had robbed her of her great triumph, and I was wrestling with my conscience.
Several evenings after the lecture, I told Victoria that I would prepare dinner. I found it difficult to concentrate and I cut my finger while making salad. Then I accidentally spilled water over the Aga while cooking spaghetti. Victoria couldn’t understand why I was being so clumsy. When I told her that I felt bad about what she had done, she refused to listen. “She got what she deserved,” she said
“I suppose so. But compare our lives with hers.”
“That has nothing to do with it. She’s responsible for your troubles, and she ought to have a few of her own. You’re being silly, Harry. My father fought in the Second World War; he was part of the D-Day landings. His colonel was shot in front of him and half his men were wounded. He didn’t sniffle and say he couldn’t go on. He improvised. He had only just left school, but he rallied his troops and they captured the German guns. That’s how he got his DSO. And it’s what you’d have done! If someone had disrupted your lecture, you’d have eaten the banana, made a joke and kept the audience amused for an hour anyway. Little Miss Bossyboots is totally pathetic. She can’t even give a lecture without notes. And then she goes off sick. That’s not the kind of behaviour that put the Great into Great Britain!”
“But that doesn’t make it right.” I sounded
feeble even to myself.
“You’re not being rational. You’re an expert on ethics, right? And you’ve always described yourself as a Christian utilitarian, right? That means you believe in the greatest happiness for the greatest number. Well, do the calculation. Magnus was thrilled. I was thrilled. The audience was certainly happier with the gorilla than they would have been with a boring exposition on seventeenth-century land tenure. The university has something to talk about for a change. The gorilla was delighted to receive his fee. Barraclough has a chance to be even more pompous than usual. Even the Personnel Officer can now justify her existence contacting all the Welsh students. The St Sebastian’s Gazette was pleased to have a sensational story. And the students themselves are enjoying the extra attention. So Wanda’s misery is trivial besides all this. It was clearly the right thing to do.”
“But she’s on sick leave,” I objected.
“That adds even more happiness to the calculation. Think how restful it is for everyone without her!”
“They’re still looking for the person who hired the gorilla. Once they’ve exhausted the student population, they’ll probably start on the staff.”
“Well, if you’re asked, all you have to say is that you didn’t know anything about it. That’s the truth. And if they ask if you know who did it, just lie.”
“I suppose I’ll have to.”
“Good grief, Harry. It’s just a little white lie. Just concentrate on the huge amount of happiness the whole episode has given the university. There was even publicity.”
On the Friday following the lecture, a small article about the gorillagram had appeared in the Times Higher Educational Supplement. The column featured a picture of the gorilla. (Victoria pointed out that the photographer would have been happy with his fee.) Underneath there was a headline: ‘Professor Pooped by Primate.’ The item went on to explain that Professor Wanda Catnip had just been promoted to a personal Chair, and that her inaugural professorial lecture had been disrupted by the arrival of a gorillagram. The Vice-Chancellor was quoted at length. He used all the usual clichés about weakest links and bad apples, and he declared his determination to discover the person or persons responsible. The next week there was a two-line reference to the event in Private Eye. (“Still more happiness!” said Victoria.)