The Campus Trilogy

by AnonYMous

  ‘By April? That’s impossible! We’re already in March.’

  ‘That’s what I told him. Anway, he said that the University Council is setting up a redundancy committee this week, and they’re planning to make at least ten people compulsorily redundant.’

  ‘Ten people compulsorily redundant!’ I echoed. ‘That’s disgraceful. Surely the union won’t stand for it.’

  ‘We won’t,’ Penelope reached into her bag and took out a large red looseleaf folder. I recognised it as the old Staff Handbook. I used to keep one in my desk. ‘They’re also planning to ignore the proper redundancy procedures,’ she said. ‘But we’re determined not to let them.’ She turned to the relevant pages in the handbook and read out the statutes regarding redundancy. ‘You see Harry,’ she explained, ‘the university is compelled to take every step possible to avoid compulsion. Compulsory redundancy is the absolutely final resort and is only acceptable if nothing else can be done.’

  ‘What are the alternatives?’ I asked.

  ‘Well,’ said Penelope, ‘first the Council is obliged to introduce a voluntary severance and an early retirement scheme. All vacant posts should be frozen. If a vacancy does occur which really has to be filled, every effort must be made to appoint someone already on the staff from an area under threat. I explained all this to Sloth, but he just wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘But if it’s in the Staff Handbook …? Surely …’ I shook my head.

  ‘I took mine in with me when I went to see him. But he paid no attention. You know what he said? He insisted that the Staff Handbook hasn’t been revised recently and is therefore out of date. Consequently the statutes are irrelevant.’

  ‘That can’t be right,’ I said.

  ‘It isn’t. He’s the Registrar. It was his responsibility to update the handbook. He was meant to revise it and distribute the new versions round the staff at least once a year. But he didn’t. And anyway there aren’t any more in print. So after my meeting with Sloth, I checked it out with Morris O’Murphy – he’s still our regional union officer by the way – and he told me the statutes remain in force unless they’ve been replaced by new ones. He sent an email to Sloth explaining this in simple language, but inevitably he hasn’t received a reply.’

  ‘Appalling!’ I said.

  ‘Harry, you’re now the Visitor. That’s why I’ve come to you. We’re not asking you to act yet, but we want to keep you informed. Next week we’re going to have a union meeting to explain the situation to our members …’

  As Penelope was speaking, her telephone rang. She delved in her pocket and took out a shiny pillar-box-red Blackberry. ‘It’s Morris,’ she said. ‘Do you want to speak to him?’

  Several years ago at the end of my time at the university, Morris had also helped me through my ordeals. Both Victoria and I were very fond of him. We had kept up by Christmas card, but I had not spoken to him since I left the university. Penelope handed me her phone. ‘Hello, Morris,’ I said, ‘It’s Harry Gilbert!’

  There was noisy shouting and rattling in the background. ‘Hi Harry. I heard from Penelope that you’re now Provost. Welcome back!’

  ‘I can barely hear you,’ I said.

  ‘I’m on the train going to a hearing in Manchester. I’m dealing with some fifty-eight-year-old professor who’s got involved with one of his first-year students. Silly bugger! He denies the whole thing, but she kept tapes of their recent encounters. They’re quite sensational … Anyway, has Penelope filled you in?’

  ‘She just told me,’ I said.

  ‘Typical of your university. St Sebastian’s never follows the rules. They make up procedures as they go along. And it’s even worse now that that dozy ignoramus Robert Sloth is in charge. God help us all!’

  ‘Are you visiting St Sebastian’s? Why don’t you come and see us?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll be there for a set of meetings on Thursday and Friday,’ he said.

  ‘Look, Morris. We’re living in the Provost’s House now and we’ve got plenty of room. Come and stay with us. I can’t take sides in this dispute. As the Visitor, I officially have to be neutral. But Victoria would love to see you.’

  ‘Are you sure? That’s really kind!’ There was a pause. ‘Look, Harry. Let me take you both to that splendid Indian restaurant we went to after your case. Wasn’t it called something like the Red Fort?’

  ‘The Taj Mahal,’ I said.

  ‘That’s the one! The union’ll pay and I’ll let you in to all the gory details of what your university is up to.’

  I felt confident about asking people to stay. I knew Victoria was anxious to have visitors. Since the New Year, on and off, we had had workmen in the house. My wife was good at organisation and had planned the whole thing like a military operation. Because of her classes and because she did not want me disturbed, she had insisted that the drawing room, our bedroom and bathroom, the dining room, the hall and the study be painted while we were away for our summer holidays. But all the other bedrooms, bathrooms and domestic quarters were finished. They looked superb and I knew Victoria wanted to show off her handiwork.

  Morris came on the appointed day. He had arrived in St Sebastian’s early in the afternoon and had been closeted for a couple of hours with Sloth and Penelope. Because of his suitcases, he took a taxi from the university to the precincts and, when he arrived at six o’clock, he was just polishing off a packet of crisps.

  ‘I needed some refreshment. That Registrar of yours hasn’t been improved by becoming Acting Vice-Chancellor. It’s hard to believe that anyone can be so dense!’ he remarked.

  He and Victoria were delighted to see one another and he was most impressed by the Provost’s House. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘this certainly puts your old colleagues’ noses out of joint.’

  Between the three of us, we manoeuvred his two suitcases, his bulging brief case and his two tatty carrier bags into the hall.

  ‘How long are you planning to stay, Morris?’ asked Victoria.

  ‘Oh these are just a few papers and my laptop … and the remains of one or two snacks. I’ve got to keep my strength up. I’ve had a very stressful couple of days …’ He stared round at all the portraits in the hall. ‘Who are all these geezers?’

  ‘They’re all former Provosts,’ I replied

  ‘Wow! … Are you going to have your picture painted too? They all look pretty solemn. You might liven them up a bit!’

  ‘No one’s suggested it yet,’ I admitted.

  I took Morris to see his room. He was overwhelmed by the bathroom. Victoria had converted a neighbouring dressing-room and she had found an original Victorian bathroom suite in the cellar. The bath was enormous and the lavatory resembled a vast mahogany throne.

  ‘I’ll be too nervous to use it,’ said Morris. ‘I’ll feel as if the butler is about to come in at any moment …’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I reassured him, ‘the poor old Church of England can’t even afford to provide us with a tweeny, let alone a butler.’

  Morris was as stout as I remembered him, but this did not deter him from insisting we have what he referred to as ‘a slap up meal’ at the Taj Mahal. ‘Treat’s on me,’ he insisted. Before we went, Victoria provided him with a large mug of tea and a tin of biscuits and he disappeared into his room for an hour’s nap. ‘I need it after dealing with your Dr Sloth,’ he said.

  As the cathedral clock struck seven, he reappeared. He had changed from his jacket and was sporting a navy blue sweater with a union badge sewn on the shoulder. He was also wearing a UCU pin in his collar. With a great deal of ceremony, he took two more pins out of his pocket and presented them to us. Victoria immediately took off her grandmother’s pearl locket and stuck the pin into her lapel. She admired herself in the looking glass over the fireplace. ‘Perhaps I could start on a new career,’ she suggested. ‘I’d love to have worked for a trade union. I’ve always been happier outside the tent pissing in, but for some reason I always find myself inside the tent pissing out. Can you explain it?
…’

  I was not sure whether I should be seen supporting the union so I put my gift discreetly in my pocket. ‘It doesn’t really go with a dog-collar,’ I said.

  We walked to the Indian restaurant which was located three doors down from the Mitre tea-rooms. On our way we passed Marmaduke. He was busy hunting some unfortunate creature in the Precentor’s garden. Completely absorbed in his activities, he took no notice of us.

  The Taj Mahal smelt enticingly of curry. I had already reserved a table in the corner, and Morris sat down between us. A young waiter bought us menus and we ordered three pints of lager and six spicy poppadums. Morris helped himself to two and then he embarked on an account of Sloth’s inadequacies.

  ‘I know he’s just started, but he’s the worst Vice-Chancellor I’ve ever come across. And there’s quite some competition for that title, I can tell you … Most of the time I wonder if he’s got any idea what I’m talking about. He gazes vacantly out the window when I ask him a question. Three or four times I actually caught him dropping off to sleep.’

  ‘He suffers from slight narcolepsy,’ I said. ‘It’s not his fault …’

  ‘It’s not my fault that I can’t run a mile in four minutes, but then I shouldn’t volunteer to do the fifteen hundred metres for Britain in the Olympic Games,’ pointed out Morris. ‘He was less than satisfactory as a Registrar, but his efforts as Vice-Chancellor can only be described as pathetic.’

  ‘Did you have to deal with his wife as well?’ asked Victoria slyly.

  ‘That woman! … She’s a basket case … She was meant to come up with all the financial papers for our meeting, but she’d lost them… She thought she might have put them all out with the recycling!’

  Morris finished his beer and motioned to the waiter for another. As he reached for his third poppadum, he pulled a set of papers from the bag he had brought with him. ‘Now I’ve got to show you this,’ he said. ‘It’s from the union barrister.’

  The document was a brief about the redundancy procedures at St Sebastian’s. ‘The guy who wrote it is a London Queen’s Counsel. Sharp as mustard! Anway, the gist is that for once there’s nothing wrong with the university’s procedures as set out in the statutes and Staff Handbook. The problem is that the university has completely failed to follow its own regulations …’

  ‘What have they done wrong?’ I asked.

  ‘It would be quicker to tell you what they have done right. The answer to that would be ‘Nothing!’ They’ve violated every rule in the book in setting up a redundancy committee. For example, there were supposed to be three academic members on the committee elected by Senate. But Senate has never met. So Sloth thought it would be adequate to telephone every university employee, academic and academic-related, to see if they’d be willing to be co-opted. But no one likes to help sack their colleagues, so he only managed to find one volunteer.’

  ‘Who was that?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve never met her. Someone called Olive O’Shea. She’s something to do with public relations. Anyway she should be ashamed of herself, whoever she is …’

  Victoria and I looked at each other. ‘She’s Lady Barridon,’ Victoria said. ‘She and her husband got Flanagan his peerage.’

  ‘Well she still ought to be ashamed of herself. She’s no lady – she’s a scab!’ Morris laughed at his little joke. ‘Anyway, she hasn’t done Sloth much good. The day after she agreed to serve, she disappeared to New York. Apparently she’s gone for six weeks … So what it’s come down to is Sloth has set up the committee without any members of the academic staff on it.’

  ‘Does that matter?’ asked Victoria.

  Morris was shocked. ‘Employment law’s all about procedure. What he’s done is in direct contravention of Statue 38.2. It’ll never stand up in an employment tribunal!’

  ‘Did you tell Sloth this?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course I did. But did he listen? He did not! He just said there wasn’t time to find anybody else. And since they made an attempt to co-opt suitable people to sit on the committee, that was good enough. The university had done its duty …’ Morris seized the final poppadum and crunched his way through it.

  ‘But it’s not enough to try …’ I shook my head.

  ‘Of course it isn’t,’ continued Morris. ‘The upshot is that there is now a redundancy committee which is improperly consituted.’

  At this point the waiter came to take our order. Morris demanded the full Taj Mahal Special Feast. He emphasised that it was to be for four people rather than three.

  As soon as the waiter had departed, he continued. ‘But that’s not all. Sloth wants to rush this thing through as quickly as possible. He’s actually appointed his wife as chairperson of the committee.’ Morris pulled another document out of his bag. ‘Look at this,’ he said. ‘The stupid woman’s worked out a set of criteria for redundancy. Every person in each department’s going to be ranked on the basis of these criteria. The person with the lowest score is going to be sacked.’

  During my time as an academic nothing like this had ever happened. I was shocked. ‘You mean every academic is going to be awarded a score, like gymnasts in an athletic competition?’

  ‘Exactly like that. The heads of each department are responsible for doing the assessment and filling out the forms.’

  ‘But they’re not going to be objective … They’ll mark up their friends and downgrade their enemies!’ Victoria had no illusions about the ways of the world.

  ‘I know… it’s a disgraceful system…’

  ‘Sloth must be mad,’ I pronounced. It was the only charitable explanation I could find.

  ‘That’s not the worst of it,’ Morris continued. ‘He insists that the committee makes its recommendations for dismissal by the end of next week when Council meets. That doesn’t give any time for those who are selected to challenge their scores.’

  ‘But that’s against natural justice …’ I was horrified.

  ‘Of course it is!’ agreed Morris. ‘Penelope and I pointed out that it’s a fundamental principle that the process of redundancy must be just and fair. It’s obvious that denying individuals the right to make a case against the scores they’ve been allocated is grossly improper.’

  ‘What did he say to that?’ I found it hard to believe what I was hearing.

  ‘He shrugged his shoulders and said they would have a chance to complain later. Jenny Sloth is supposed to meet with each person who is under threat individually …’

  ‘But all this should happen in advance,’ I pointed out. ‘Proper consultation should take place before the redundancy committee makes any recommendation. And anyway shouldn’t there be a voluntary severance and an early retirement scheme in place before the university even starts to think about compulsory redundancy?’

  The food arrived. There was an incredible quantity. The young waiter had considerable difficulty fitting all the dishes onto our table. Morris helped himself to a huge stuffed paratha and started making inroads into it.

  ‘Sloth doesn’t understand employment law, or management or anything else,’ he pronounced through mouthfuls. ‘He’s got total tunnel vision. He simply can’t think beyond balancing his budget.’ Victoria and I watched fascinated as the paratha disappeared and Morris reached for another. ‘But I can tell you, Harry. We won’t put up with it. We really won’t. Whatever he thinks, Sloth’s got a fight on his hands …’

  Morris was up by half-past seven the next morning. He was full of enthusiasm when Victoria suggested a cooked breakfast and he consumed every crumb. ‘I really feel set up for the day,’ he said. Victoria packed him a few sandwiches to keep him going. He was, after all, facing a full union meeting with all the St Sebastian’s members and he did not have good news for them.

  The following Tuesday evening was Victoria’s last class. The series had been a huge success and, unlike most evening classes, the number of enrolments had increased over the term. To celebrate the final session, Victoria organised that coffee and cakes be s
erved in the drawing room. These refreshments were prepared by the Misses Monktons and were much appreciated.

  In addition, the more able-bodied members of the audience were invited to go round the house in groups of fifteen or so to see the re-decorated bedrooms and kitchens. Victoria was always very conscious that the Provost’s House was a treasure that belonged to all the people of the town. It was not just a private residence. Everyone was so grateful and enthusiastic that Victoria promised that there would be another series starting after Easter. ‘Book us in!’ said Sir William, as he gathered the little party from the Priory into their taxi.

  I heard nothing more about the university until a couple of days later. I was due to give an afternoon talk to the St Sebastian’s Mothers’ Union on ‘The Permissive Society’ and I was sitting in the study adding a few finishing touches. Suddenly the door-bell rang. I was not expecting anyone, but as Victoria was out shopping I went to the front door. Magnus was standing outside. ‘Hi, Harry,’ he said grinning. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’

  In his hand was the latest copy of the Times Higher Education magazine. On the front page was a large photograph of St Sebastian’s Cathedral and underneath was the headline: ‘St Sebastian’s Slammed’. I led Magnus into the study where he flopped down on the sofa. I sat at my desk and skimmed through the article. It was based on an initial draft report issued by the Funding Council consultants. It was not complimentary about the university and its arrangements.

  ‘This is ghastly,’ I said. ‘How in the world did the Times Higher Ed. get a copy of this? It’s only a draft so it must be confidential.’