The Campus Trilogy

by AnonYMous

  ‘Well the quality inspectors are coming in February. He couldn’t afford to hang about,’ Felix pointed out.

  ‘He was very laudatory about the Sloths,’ I said.

  ‘Fine words butter no parsnips! We all know they’re hopeless. Jenny Sloth’s made a mess of everything. She’s lost more documents than she’s found. And as for that dozy individual her husband. He seems to be asleep most of the time. Do you think the inspection can be delayed? After all, there should be a Vice-Chancellor in charge on these occasions.’

  ‘I have no idea, Felix. I’m only the Visitor. I suppose it’s up to Council to decide what should be done.’

  ‘Aren’t you the Chairman?’

  ‘No, I’m not even a member. The Visitor is essentially a figurehead, or the final arbitrator if there’s an appeal. But he’s not supposed to take executive decisions.’

  ‘But the Council has always been hopeless. They never do anything except rubberstamp Flanagan’s decisions.’

  ‘They’ll have to act now,’ I said. ‘They’ve no alternative.’

  Felix paused. ‘Look, Harry,’ he said. ‘I’m serious. There’s a vacuum at the top without Flanagan. The most senior person in the university is the Registrar. Sloth is as bad as his wife. He gets everything wrong. You know he’s a narcoleptic – he’s usually asleep during meetings. He can’t be left in charge.’

  ‘It’s not up to me, Felix.’

  ‘Oh come on, Harry, you’ve got to face facts. You’ll have to intervene. We’ll fail the Quality Control inspection if you don’t, and then the whole place will be in serious trouble. Come on, you’re a clergyman. It’s a matter of Christian charity.’

  I thought this was a bit thick coming from Felix. He was, after all, Jewish.

  ‘I’m sorry, Felix. I can’t. The university statutes won’t allow it and anyway, I’ve got my hands quite full enough with the cathedral.’

  Felix sighed and we said our good-byes.

  I put the telephone down and it immediately rang again. This time it was Magnus. ‘Did you see Flanagan’s email?’ he asked. ‘Really that man goes too far …’

  ‘He probably always has …,’ I said.

  Magnus was not to be halted. ‘I was in the middle of writing a really damning review of a new Hebrew grammar. It’s written by some rabbi who teaches at the University of West Wales of all godforsaken places. It’s intended for beginners, but that’s no excuse. It’s grossly over-simplified, full of errors, completely unscholarly. No wonder the young can neither think nor remember if they’re fed pap like that …’

  I was used to Magnus’s comments on his fellow-Hebraists’ work. If he had ever written a good review I had never heard of it. ‘Magnus, I hate to interrupt, but I’m busy. I’ve got a sermon to write. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Well … Flanagan’s just sent us all a farewell letter.’

  ‘I know. I’ve read it,’ I said.

  ‘So who’s supposed to take his place? It can’t be that cretin Sloth. I was actually ringing to suggest that you take it on.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m just the Visitor,’ I said.

  ‘But you could be Acting Vice-Chancellor. At least for a short time. You don’t have much to do.’

  ‘I have a colossal amount to do,’ I said indignantly. ‘The cathedral is not all plain sailing, I can tell you. Remember I’ve never been an administrator. I was an academic. Being Vice-Chancellor is definitely not my sort of thing. This is for the University Council to decide.’

  ‘But you know they can’t make up their minds about anything.’

  ‘Well they’ll just have to.’

  ‘I think,’ said Magnus gloomily, ‘that for the first time in history, we are about to witness the demise of a British university.’

  A couple of days after I had spoken with Felix and Magnus, I received a formal letter from the Chairman of the University Council. After Flanagan’s bombshell, there had been an emergency meeting. The Chairman wrote that the session had been dedicated to sorting out interim arrangements until a new Vice-Chancellor could be appointed. It had been unanimously agreed that Registrar Sloth would take over as Acting Vice-Chancellor.

  Because of the impending visitation from the Higher Education Quality Control Agency, it was felt that measures must be put in place to emphasise the stability of the institution. A new appointment sub-committee of the Council had already been set up. One of its tasks was to draft a job description of the Vice-Chancellorship and to place an advertisment for candidates in all the serious national papers. It was anticipated that interviews would take place in the Spring. The Council recognised that the person appointed would in all likelihood have to give his or her existing institution adequate notice. (At this point, I wondered why someone had not insisted that Flanagan had served out his notice in accordance with the terms of his contract. Presumably Lord Barridon had been brought in again to insist that the needs of the Upper House were greater than those of St Sebastian’s.) In any event it was recognised that the new Vice-Chancellor would probably not be in post for at least a year. In the meantime, Sloth would occupy the role.

  Later in the day I had a telephone call from the Registrar himself. He sounded almost awake. The last time I had spoken to him was when I was still employed by the university and we had parted on less than friendly terms. However, all this past history was now forgotten. He needed my help and he could not have been more civil.

  ‘Harry,’ he began, ‘there is a pressing matter that I must discuss with you. As you no doubt know, we are due to have a visitation from the Quality Control Agency in February. I understand that there will be a delegation consisting of four members who are planning to stay a full week from Monday morning to Friday evening. We have already booked them into the White Hart Hotel, but we wonder if there might be a possiblity that, as Provost of the cathedral and Visitor of the university, you could entertain them in your house perhaps on their first evening. The university will of course pay for any costs. We can provide the food and drink. Students in the Catering department will prepare dinner, and they will also act as waiters and waitresses. We can also supply all the dishes, glasses and cutlery. They’ll do all the washing up, too. I realise this is a last minute request and we don’t want to inconvenience either you or Victoria, but I can’t tell you how grateful we would be …’

  I realised that the time had come to bury the hatchet. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’d already offered our services to Flanagan and it would be nice to have a big dinner party in the Provost’s House dining room. It’s much too big just for Victoria and me.’

  ‘So what will you need?’

  ‘Well I must ask Victoria, but, if we can get her, may I invite Emma Glass to prepare the food? She is very well-known in culinary circles and she’s a wonderful cook. I’m sure she’d produce something memorable.’

  I could hear Sloth thinking about this. He hesitated and then made up his mind. ‘You’re right. She’s excellent. I had a meal in her house once and it was the best food I think I’ve ever eaten. But she will need some help serving and washing up and so on.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘We’d be very grateful if the Catering department could send in some students. But there’s no need to worry about dishes and so on. Both Victoria and I have inherited several sets of plates over the years and far too much silver. It’ll go better with the style of the house than modern university pieces.’

  The Registrar sniffed. Too late I remembered that when we were colleagues he had made no secret of his resentment of my privileged background. Still in the circumstances he had no choice. ‘That would be very generous, Harry,’ he said stiffly. ‘I only hope the students don’t break it all when they do the washing up.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said.

  ‘Well thank you. That’s a real weight off my mind. I’ll be in touch nearer the time. Now I’m afraid there’s one more thing …’

  ‘Oh …?’ I waited.

  ‘If you can possibly spare the time,
we would like you to be involved in the visitation. I know it’s a lot to ask because you’re so busy with the cathedral. But as the university Visitor, it would be most helpful if we could include you in some of the discussions. After all you were a professor here for eleven years, so you know all our ways.’

  ‘I never served under Flanagan,’ I pointed out. ‘There have been a great many changes recently.’

  ‘Yes … well …,’ said Registrar Sloth.

  I took pity on him. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’ll look in my diary and see when I’m free.’

  ‘That’s really kind. Your being around would add weight to the proceedings. I’ll get my secretary to email you with the schedule right away. I realise I should have asked you earlier about this, but things have been terribly hectic. And now that Flanagan’s gone …’

  ‘Oh yes. I meant to congratulate you on your appointment as Acting Vice-Chancellor.’

  There was a pause. Then Sloth sighed. ‘Quite frankly, Harry, I’d rather they’d chosen someone else. Between you and me I’m not sure I’m up to it. Flanagan was always very confident and kept telling me not to worry, but I can’t seem to find all the papers we need anywhere. The inspectors want a full record for the last ten years and I don’t know where they are. And as for all these new degrees and diplomas that Flanagan introduced … There doesn’t seem to be any paperwork at all … I just don’t know what to do.’

  I tried to make sympathetic noises, but Sloth was in full flow.

  ‘Jenny and I are working as hard as we can to fill in the gaps. But the whole thing’s very problematic …’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Why don’t you ask John Pilkington to give you a hand? He’s very efficient and I’m sure he’d get everything sorted out for you.’

  Sloth thought about this. ‘Funny you should say that … Felix Glass made the same suggestion yesterday. You’re right. John is very reliable. It’s a good idea. Thank you.’

  That evening Victoria and I arranged to go to see La Bohème. It was a performance by a travelling company in the local theatre. I am not particularly musical, but Victoria loves opera and, as Provost, I felt it was my duty to support local cultural initiatives. I had seen the piece several times before and I always found Mimi’s death unbearably sad. It made me feel very fortunate to live in twenty-first century Britain with its efficient National Health Service.

  So we were in a melancholy mood when we arrived home at about eleven. As soon as we had shut the front door, we were aware of a lugubrious feline wailing somewhere in the house. We rushed upstairs and, when we had turned the lights on, our first feeling was that the cats must have caught someone’s pet white rabbit. There was white fluff everywhere. Then we saw our poor Siamese Brutus lying limply on the bed. Next to him, Cleo was wailing and, between cries, was licking at his coat. The counterpane was disarranged and there was blood all over it. Then we realised that the while fluff was not from a rabbit. It was from Brutus’s coat.

  ‘My poor Brutus,’ Victoria said as she stroked his head. ‘You’ve been in a fight.’

  ‘Do you think the two of them had a quarrel?’ I was horrified. They had always been very good friends. ‘Cleo’s never bitten him before.’

  Victoria shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly, Harry. Cleo wouldn’t do this. It’s that damn cat Marmaduke. He got into the house somehow. He’s probably stolen all their food and he’s beaten up Brutus. He’s a horrible beast.’

  I brought in a bowl of warm water from the bathroom; Victoria went downstairs to find some salt to dissolve in it. Very gently she started to bathe the wound.

  ‘It’s nasty,’ she said. ‘He’ll have to go to the vet first thing in the morning. Poor old fellow! You’ll be all right. We’ll get you well very soon!’

  I went downstairs to see what had happened. Victoria was right. The cats’ dishes had been licked completely clean and the cat-flap latch was unlocked. Probably Mrs Thomas had knocked it when she was cleaning. Marmaduke had seized his chance and had broken in to claim new territory.

  I went back upstairs to report. ‘Damn Blenkensop,’ I said. ‘Why can’t he control that animal? If there was any justice in the world Marmaduke would be in prison with a conviction for burglary and grievous bodily harm. But instead he and his horrible owner are tyrannising over the entire precincts of St Sebastian’s Cathedral. And I can’t seem to do a damn thing about it.’

  The next morning we took Brutus to the vet. She was sweet with him. She told him he had been very brave, but that in future he must work on his right hook. She washed out the wound with antiseptic, gave him a shot and prescribed a course of antibiotics. I had serious doubts that we would ever get them down him, but we promised to try.

  Later in the day I ran into Blenkensop. He was locking his bicycle to the railings outside the Monk’s Gate. ‘Reg,’ I said, ‘I must have a word with you.’

  ‘Yes, Provost,’ he said icily.

  ‘There was a terrible cat fight in our bedroom last night while we were out at the opera. There was fur everywhere. Marmaduke must have got into the house.’

  Blenkensop looked at me sharply. ‘You saw him?’ he asked.

  ‘No. As I say, we were out. But there was white cat-fur everywhere, and Brutus was bitten. We’ve just come back from the vet.’

  ‘Then I can’t see how you can be certain it was my cat. Marmaduke is ginger. If there was white fur everywhere, your cat must have been attacked by a white cat. Did you find any orange hair?’

  ‘No … It was Brutus’ white fur, not another cat’s,’ I said. ‘He’s a gentle creature. He doesn’t know how to defend himself. It’s obvious your cat attacked him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Provost, but what proof do you have that it was Marmaduke?’

  ‘It couldn’t have been anyone else,’ I insisted. ‘You know what he’s like.’

  Blenkensop put his bicycle clips in his pocket and stood stiffly. ‘Before you make serious accusations of this sort,’ he said in a very nasty tone of voice, ‘you should at the very least have substantial proof. I don’t appreciate wild speculations based on no evidence. Indeed I do not! Now if you’ll excuse me, Provost, I have some important matters to attend to.’ And with that he walked off in the direction of the Diocesan Office without looking back.

  CHAPTER SIX

  What an Inspector Has to Do

  Once the New Year began, I was very busy. I was the chairman of various cathedral committees and they all met early in January. In addition, we had our first Chapter meeting of the year. By this time, I had heard from the Archbishop about the vexed question of admission charges. He advised delaying the decision until there was a full audit of diocesan finances in the summer. I circulated his letter to my colleagues before the meeting and the subject was discussed at length. Although Reg Blenkensop continued to be vociferous in his demand for the change, the Archdeacon felt it more prudent to follow the Archbishop’s advice. So when it came to a formal motion, there was one vote in favour of charges (Blenkensop), three against (the Archdeacon, Sinclair and the Precentor) and one abstention (Trend). I was very relieved when we agreed to shelve the subject until the autumn.

  I also had committments beyond the cathedral. Previously the Archishop had asked me to be a member of a Church consultancy committee on medical ethics. It happened that bills on both abortion and euthanasia were being discussed that year in Parliament. The committee felt under pressure to make its voice heard and I had to attend frequent meetings in London. Victoria was also busy writing a series of articles on eighteenth-century snuff boxes for an antiques magazine. Generally, she would accompany me to town to do research in the London Library and round the various auction houses while I was closeted in Church House.

  At the end of the month, I was also due to go to a three-day conference of Deans and Provosts at Wellington Cathedral. I did not look forward to staying in the prescribed university hall of residence with its shared bathrooms and enforced camaraderie at breakfast. To make the idea more bearable, V
ictoria agreed to join me for a little weekend break in a nearby country house hotel directly afterwards.

  The conference was more amusing than I had expected. I caught up with several old friends and I discovered that life in our great English cathedrals was not all milk and honey. Every one of the deans or provosts to whom I spoke had the equivalent of a Reg Blenkensop in his life. It seemed that Christianity does not necessarily make people behave well. One of the most popular sessions was entitled ‘Dealing with Difficult People’. The speaker pointed out that they might be even worse if they were not Christians, but of course that was an unverifiable proposition. When the time came for questions, I felt like putting up my hand and asking for special tips in dealing with difficult cats, but I thought this might sound frivolous.

  I was very glad to see Victoria when the three days came to an end. The Country Lake Hotel was located in a beautiful area of natural forest near Wellington. Our room was on the top floor overlooking a lake and there were green rolling hills in the distance. It was furnished with a comfortable large four-poster bed and a variety of mahogany storage pieces. There was also a sofa where the newspaper could be read in comfort and a splendid old rocking chair. Heavy gold curtains framed the windows and the bathroom was sumptuous.

  We arrived late on Friday and we were both tired. The next morning we decided to have breakfast in our room. Victoria was sitting in her dressing gown when room service arrived – the daughter of the house entered carrying a large tray with a pot of coffee, croissants and toast, home-made jam, boiled eggs, and fresh orange juice. As Victoria poured out the coffee, she started giggling.

  ‘I’ve been dying all week to tell you about a conversation I had, but I thought I’d save it until you had time to enjoy it. Guess who I had coffee with on Wednesday?’

  ‘I have no idea!’ I said. ‘Who did you have coffee with on Wednesday?’