The Campus Trilogy

by AnonYMous

  Lady Barridon appeared like a Marilyn Monroe look-alike. She was certainly pretty with her short blonde hair, her painted red mouth and her pneumatic figure. No wonder Barridon had found a new lease of life in marrying her. But her conversation was dire. I heard in detail about her exhibition in Edinburgh two years previously. I learnt that she had been awarded an art prize by a small private gallery in Chichester where she occasionally exhibited. I asked her what the prize was and she loftily informed me at length that in the art world it was the equivalent of an Oscar.

  She then told me all about her new job at the university; how she was going to persuade all her famous friends in the art world to donate to St Sebastian’s. When I asked her why they would do that, she looked at me as if I were an idiot child and said breathlessly, ‘They’ll do it for Me!’ Then she enumerated in elaborate detail how all these famous artists (none of whom I had ever heard) thought that she, Olive O’Shea, was the most important female artist since Barbara Hepworth. I objected that I understood that Miss O’Shea worked in water-colour while Barbara Hepworth was a sculptress. This was news to Lady Barridon and she was inclined to argue the point, but she was diverted by telling me that an owner of the most famous gallery in New York was always begging her to assemble an exhibition for him. When I asked the name of the gallery, she became vague.

  Altogether, the conversation lasted without a break through the prawn cocktail, past the turkey-with-all-the-trimmings stage and through the Christmas pudding and brandy sauce. I was only rescued by Flanagan banging his fork against his glass, standing up and intoning, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen … the Queen!’

  With a certain amount of clattering, we all stood up and sat down again while port, madeira and sweet sauterne were poured out by the waiters. I thought several of them looked tired, but I consoled myself with the thought that at least they were subsidising their student loans with some extra earnings. Then I realised that they were almost certainly doing it for nothing – it was all probably part of Flanagan’s so-called ‘student work-experience’.

  While this was going on, the conversation at the table turned to holiday plans over Christmas. Lord Barridon was polite enough to ask me if we intended going away after the festival. ‘All those services must be very taxing … what?’ he said.

  Before I could frame a tactful answer, Olive cut across me. ‘We’re going to Nice. I’ve got lots of friends in the South of France and they’ve been begging me to go and stay with them for ages. We’ll be gone a month.’

  I was a little surprised. ‘I thought you’d got a new job at the university here.’ I said. ‘Won’t you have to be working?’

  ‘I shall be working,’ declared Olive loftily. ‘I shall be cultivating my contacts. It’s always such fun in France. Rhaoul Duval has cleared his gallery in Menton so I can have a little exhibition. His gallery is generally thought to be the most avant-garde on the coast. But of course, he’d do anything for me. He said it was a commercial decision. He couldn’t afford to pass by the opportunity of showing my pictures for anything or anyone. Isn’t that so, Toots?’

  Lord Barridon looked a little bemused, but nodded his head. ‘I like to stay in England,’ he said, ‘but Olive finds it a little dull here …’

  ‘Oh don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud!’ declared the young Lady Barridon. She suddenly swept to her feet, overturning my empty water-glass as she did so. ‘I hope you will all excuse us,’ she said, ‘but I need an early night. I’ve had a very tiring day and I feel a migraine coming on. It was nice to hear all about your work, Harry. Come along Toots.’ And, without looking back, she stalked out of the Great Hall. Toots, otherwise known as the Right Honourable Baron Barridon of Horworth, obediently tottered out after her. I glanced at Victoria and, behind the Vice-Chancellor’s back, she crossed her eyes.

  With enormous noise and commotion, Alf Flanagan got back on his feet. Again he struck his glass with a spoon and cleared his throat. The company fell silent. I felt a chill of forboding. I suspected this could be a very long speech.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ the Vice-Chancellor began. ‘I want to welcome you all most warmly to this happy and festive celebration.’ Standing, he made a striking contrast in his dinner jacket, pink cummerbund and and striped bow tie with the naked, athletic figure towering in the picture behind him.

  ‘This is indeed an historic occasion,’ he intoned. ‘It is a time for looking-back and for taking stock. We have every reason to congratulate ourselves. When I came to this university over two years ago, St Sebastian’s was in serious trouble. Our buildings were run-down; our accounts were in the red and we were suffering from a student recruitment crisis. Our political masters were worried. Questions were even being asked about the future viability of the institution. There was talk of tightening our belts, possible staff redundancies and some even mentioned the possibility of amalgamation with the dreaded Arrowsmith Teacher Training College.

  ‘But I am delighted to tell you, Ladies and Gentlemen, that all this has changed. There is no such defeatist talk now. We have become one of the most popular universities in the country. We are overwhelmed with applications. In the most recent poll of student satisfaction conducted by the Sunday Times, we came second in the whole country. Only students at Oxford are happier and we all know they are the most dreadful swots.’

  A ripple of obsequious laughter echoed round the room and a few brave souls began to clap. But the Vice-Chancellor had not finished … indeed, he had scarcely warmed up. He raised his right hand to hush his listeners. ‘And how has this splendid state of affairs come about?’ he asked magisterially. ‘You might well ask! The answer is vision. Here at St Sebastian’s we have a clear vision. We know what our customers want and we are determined to give it to them. As everyone in business knows, no one ever went broke pleasing the customers. No, indeed! And that has been my constant motto as I have built the foundations for the university’s prosperity. You can’t go wrong if you please the the customers.’ I looked at Victoria who winced.

  ‘And who are our customers?’ Flanagan went on. ‘They are the students, of course. Our wonderful students on whom we all depend. We have seen them in action tonight serving this delicious dinner and I’m sure we all want to congratulate them on their sterling performance. Let’s all give them a clap.’

  The young serving staff who were standing along the walls of the room looked embarrassed as all the diners applauded their efforts. The Vice-Chancellor waited for the noise to die down before he continued. ‘I want to give you an illustration and I hope you will permit me to indulge in a little reminiscence. When I was an undergraduate many years ago, my tutors insisted that I follow a strict course of study. There was no freedom of choice. We were compelled to learn about subjects in which we had no interest and which proved to be of no relevance.

  ‘I am proud to say that here at St Sebastian’s we have broken with such constricting regulations. We are a modern institution. If I may say so, we are a real liberal arts university in the best sense of the word. Our students come to us seeking to expand their horizons. And we permit them to do so. We are not narrow-minded reactionaries tied to the traditional subjects. We are not pedantic intellectuals stuck in our ivory tower. We do not force our students into unnatural strait-jackets. We respect them to decide for themselves. Here at St Sebastian’s we do not even chivvy them into stuffy exam halls. We have introduced a wide range of alternative modes of assessment that stretch their minds and test their real abilities. We are truly a twenty-first century university, perhaps the first in the whole country.’

  Flanagan signalled to a nearby waiter to refill his glass. There was a brief pause, and then he continued. ‘Our hallowed halls of learning are now filled with eager men and women who are pursuing subjects in which they have a real interest. We at St Sebastian’s do not shrink from exploring new areas of learning. No, indeed! We are like the adventurers who set out from the stale old countries of Europe and discovered a brave New World on the other side of
the Atlantic full of fresh opportunities and challenges.’ I glanced at Felix and Magnus who were at a nearby table. Felix was sitting with his head in his hands, but Magnus, who was next to him, was gazing at Flanagan with bright-eyed fascination.

  Flanagan did not shrink from difficult subjects. ‘Soon we will be having an inspection by the Higher Education Quality Control Agency. I welcome their coming because I know what they will discover. They will perceive our excellence and they will marvel at it. And so they should! Ladies and Gentlemen, you see gathered together in this room some of the most able academics and administrators in the country. Men and women I am proud to call my colleagues. It has been a privilege to work with them. Together we have pursued our vision; we have stood firm; we have overcome difficulties and we are owed our success. Together, we have constructed what is generally acknowleged to be the most progressive curriculum in the British Isles. No wonder students are hammering on our doors to come in.

  ‘But we are not complacent. No, certainly not! While we have been working on our innovations, we have also been sponsoring partnerships around the globe. Those students who live in foreign lands can now receive the unique benefits of a St Sebastian’s education at places convenient to themselves. Ladies and Gentlemen, let me remind you, we are only following the great St Sebastian’s tradition. Our founding fathers, in their wisdom, created this place to be a missionary college. In the nineteenth century our graduates went out to preach the Gospel in far-away lands. Things are no different today. Through our partnerships in Asia, Africa, Australia and America, we continue to follow our vocation of enlightening the world.’

  Flanagan took a hankerchief from his sleeve and wiped his brow. He lifted up his glass. ‘We have much to be proud of,’ he boomed. ‘Let me propose a toast. To St Sebastian’s University! May we go from strength to strength!’ There was a noisy scraping of chairs as we all got to our feet. ‘In the past,’ he declared, ‘St Sebastian’s outreach was to the heathen! Today it is to the ignorant. Let us enlighten them with our knowledge. Let the unique St Sebastian’s brand of learning illuminate their minds!’

  ‘To St Sebastian’s,’ we all chorused and the Hall reverberated with the sound of enthusiastic applause.

  As we walked home, Victoria could not stop laughing. ‘We never had speeches like that at Girton,’ she said. ‘You know, Flanagan is the wrong name for the Vice-Chancellor. He should have been called Frankenstein; after all, he’s created a monster!’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  That Nightmare of a Cat

  As Lord Barridon had predicted, Christmas was an exhausting time in the precincts. There were a great many additional services. It seemed as if every single institution in St Sebastian’s had to have its own separate carol celebration. We had the police; the ambulance service; the Mayor and Corporation; every place of education and every civic society. The university was certainly not forgotten. One evening there was a sumptuous candle-lit Nine Lessons and Carols service. The youngest first-year student tackled the first reading and we worked up to the climax of Alf Flanagan unfolding the mystery of the Incarnation from St John’s Gospel. It was quite a performance.

  In addition Victoria and I felt we should do our duty by the secular customs of the festival. We ordered two large Christmas trees, one for my study and the other for the drawing room upstairs. Victoria spent a happy morning in Woolworths buying silver and gold decorations and yards and yards of tinsel. Both trees looked superb by the time she had finished with them. We had a large evergreen wreath on the front door and we decorated the house with holly and ivy for the traditional choirboys’ treat. This was a gargantuan tea-party to take place after Christmas Day Evensong. We recruited our cleaning lady, Mrs Thomas and her husband, the Chief Porter at the university, to do the catering and organise the games. They were quite unphased by it all.

  It has to be said that all these celebrations went off very well. The Precentor, Percival Samuel, had accepted that we must have all the old musical favourites and every congregation sung them with a will. Indeed I was rather afraid the cathedral roof would blow off by the time the final notes of ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’ had been sung by the massed university students. As December wore on, I was relieved to notice that the Precentor’s temper improved. Everyone likes being praised and it was clear that his efforts were generally appreciated. By the time Christmas Day itself arrived, he was his old self once more.

  The cathedral had the usual two morning services on the 25th of December. A Matins at ten o’clock and a Sung Eucharist at half past eleven. All the Canons were present, robed and looking their best. Unfortunately, I had still not been forgiven by Reg Blenkensop. He turned his back on my greeting of ‘Happy Christmas,’ and sat in stony silence throughout the services. There was one consolation, however. Marmaduke did not appear. I heard afterwards that he had sneaked into the Blenkensop larder and had stolen most of their turkey. For once, sin was fittingly punished. He spent most of Christmas Day being very, very sick.

  Following the marathon in the cathedral, Victoria and I checked that all was well in the Provost’s House. Mr and Mrs Thomas had the preparations for the afternoon party well under control; I could not believe the quantity of sandwiches, cakes and jellies which were being manufactured. Then Victoria and I set off for the Priory to join Sir William and the other residents for Christmas lunch.

  We arrived bearing gifts. Victoria had ordered a pair of slippers for her father from a small shop in the Burlington Arcade. They were in burgundy velvet and each one was embroidered with a small dormouse. I have to say, they were not cheap and, for the umpteenth time in our marriage, I was thankful that I had inherited a considerable private income. I gave my father-in-law a sizeable bottle of his favourite single-malt whisky. In defiance of all the Priory rules, when we arrived, the old man concealed it behind his shoes in the bottom of his wardrobe. Bess had a huge chewable bone which we found in the local pet shop. To ensure peace on earth and mercy mild, we also bought a similar, rather smaller version for Pookie. There was a nice bottle of port for Matron and small tokens for all Sir William’s particular friends among the ladies. The gardeners had not been forgotten. Victoria had insisted on complicated Swiss pocket knives. I was not sure that this was prudent, but my wife was determined that they were a better choice than improving books.

  When we arrived, Sir William was in a particularly good mood since he had been successful at cards the night before. After carol singing, the authorities had arranged that a local vicar would celebrate midnight mass for those who wished to attend. To Matron’s dismay, Sir William had set up a rival entertainment in the shape of a racing demon tournament in the residents’ lounge. It proved to be popular. The staff had great difficulty in getting them all to bed by one o’clock in the morning. The excitement was too much for old Mrs Germaney and she spent much of Christmas morning in bed to recover from palpitations.

  ‘I say, Victoria,’ Sir William greeted us. ‘Had a splendid evening last night. A jolly good sing-song, carols and all that, and then we had a damned exciting competition afterwards. Mrs Blenkensop is quite a hand at racing demon.’ Sir William, who was sitting in his tweed chair, pressed the lever and was evicted out of it.

  Victoria kissed her father and put the presents on his bed. ‘Matron told us all about it,’ she said. ‘I understand you and your lady friends were very late to bed.’

  ‘They were jolly good sports. I won nearly every hand.’

  ‘Really, Daddy! You must behave.’

  ‘Behave? Of course I behaved. There wasn’t any cheating.’

  ‘No. But you really mustn’t keep everyone up so late.’

  ‘Nonsense! They had a damned good evening!’ he said.

  It was time for lunch. We all went into the Priory dining room which had been decorated for Christmas. There was a large tree in the corner with flashing green and red lights. Underneath were piles of boxes for the residents. Each table had a wreath in the middle and there were brightly decorated cra
ckers at each place. I sat next to Mrs Mackenzie who told me that Pookie and Bess were now best friends.

  ‘I understand you had quite an evening,’ I said.

  ‘Oh Sir William takes it all very seriously. Mrs Blenkensop and I normally partner up for canasta. I think Sir William thinks that’s a game for sissies and it’s certainly been a lot more fun since he’s been with us! He stirs us all up!’

  ‘You’ve got to be careful,’ I said. ‘He’s won an awful lot of money over the years playing blackjack. His last efforts in Atlantic City meant he could install central heating in his old home.’

  Mrs Mackenzie laughed. ‘Don’t you worry about us, Professor Gilbert,’ she said. ‘His memory’s not what it was and anyway we only ever play for matchsticks!’

  As we were talking, I noticed that among the other visitors were Canon and Mrs Blenkensop. They were sitting at another table at the opposite end of the room. I watched them for a moment. All three were talking animatedly.

  ‘I didn’t notice that the Blenkensops were here,’ I said to my neighbour.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘They’re often around. He’s a very good son to his mother and she’s devoted to him.’ Mrs Mackenzie looked sad as she said this. Neither she nor Mrs Germaney ever seemed to have visitors.

  Lunch went on for a very long time. Victoria and I had to leave at three o’clock before the mince pies in order to be in time for Evensong. The Blenkensops were also making a move. I walked over to their table.

  ‘Do you want a lift back to the precincts, Reg?’ I asked.

  ‘Thank you Provost, but we have our own car,’ he replied stiffly.

  ‘Well would you like to come to the choirboys’ party after the service? There seems to be an incredible amount of food.’

  Blenkensop opened his mouth to say no, but Mrs Blenkensop cut across him. ‘That would be lovely, Harry,’ she said. ‘Cyril Woodcock invited us last year and we greatly enjoyed ourselves.’