The Campus Trilogy

by AnonYMous

  ‘And the other?’ I persisted.

  ‘Olive O’Shea,’ answered Penelope. ‘She actually scored a little higher than me though I honestly don’t see how. She’s hardly been into the place since she was appointed and she’s certainly never published. She did turn up for a couple of days when she demanded a new room because the one she was allocated was too small. And she did agree to serve on the redundancy committee. Then she disappeared again. I believe she’s with her husband in the United States at the moment.’

  ‘Look Penelope,’ I said. ‘this conversation must be confidential. I’m going to see Sloth in a couple of days. He tried to pretend to me on the telephone that these redundancies were a groundless rumour, but now I know the facts, I’m going to confront him.’

  ‘But what can you do?’ Penelope was despairing.

  ‘Well,’ I insisted. ‘There are two lines of attack. In the first place I am going to insist that the scores are revisited. It’s clear that Mrs Sloth is not the person to do them. I’ll request that Felix Glass goes through everyone’s curriculum vitae and at least then it’ll be done fairly. He’s a nice man and he won’t let his personal prejudices get in the way …’

  Penelope agreed cautiously. ‘That’s true … but it doesn’t solve the problem. If my score is raised, then someone else is going to be at the bottom. And then they’ll be sacked. The whole thing’s just as ghastly …’

  ‘I said there was a second line of attack. Now you must keep this to yourself. He obviously hasn’t told you, but I saw Morris for tea the other day. The national office of the union is taking this whole business very seriously. They’ve got a legal opinion from an expensive barrister who says that Sloth’s not followed the correct redundancy procedures. As a result the whole exercise is invalid.’

  ‘No need to go to a posh lawyer … I could have told you that for nothing.’ Penelope blew her nose again.

  ‘And if necessary the union is prepared to take out a legal injunction in the High Court to stop the university continuing with this course of action.’

  ‘Wow!’ Penelope was impressed.

  ‘I know …,’ I continued. ‘Apparently an injunction costs about forty thousand pounds. But hopefully the union won’t have to pay. The university is in the wrong and so costs will be awarded against it.’

  Penelope found it difficult to get her mind round all this. ‘You mean the union is prepared to risk forty thousand pounds to save our jobs?’

  ‘That’s what you pay your subscription for,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Wow!’ said Penelope again.

  ‘Anyway,’ I continued. ‘I’m going to tell Sloth about what’s happening. I’ll try to persuade him to delay any action until we know the Funding Council’s plans for St Sebastian’s. It’s stupid to think of getting rid of staff until we know what subjects are going to be taught in the future.’

  ‘So you’re going to be the union ambassador?’

  ‘Well … I’m going to try to persuade the Acting Vice-Chancellor to see sense, to save money and to try for once to act as a rational human being. That’s the sort of thing a university Visitor is supposed to do.’

  ‘From what I know of Sloth,’ observed Penelope gloomily, ‘he’ll be completely bull-headed. St Sebastian’s will end up having to pay for an injunction and Sloth will find the money by making even more staff redundant …’

  As arranged, on Wednesday I set off for Sloth’s office. I had to battle my way through a group of noisy French adolescents who were milling around the West Front of the cathedral. They were all eating ice cream and most of them had dropped their wrappers on the steps. I could detect no sign of a supervising adult. No doubt the teachers had gone to enjoy the shops and had left their charges to entertain each other. I watched as the young people shoved and jostled through the entrance of the great church. Perhaps, I thought to myself, there was something to be said for Blenkensop’s insistence on admission charges.

  When I arrived at the university, I had to wait outside Sloth’s door. He was in the middle of a long telephone conversation. When it finally came to an end, he was flustered. ‘That was my revered predecessor,’ he said.

  I was amused. ‘Lord Flanagan of Fandonegal? What did he want?’

  ‘Oh he’s heard about our staffing rearrangements. He’s not happy about one particular aspect. It’s nothing important. I’ll get Jenny to change it …’

  I was curious. What could Flanagan be concerned about? He had made it fairly clear that he wanted nothing further to do with St Sebastian’s. Knowing his egoism, it must be something which concerned him personally … Then I got it.

  ‘He’s upset that Olive O’Shea is to be made redundant!’

  Sloth blenched. ‘Nothing’s definitely been decided yet. And of course Lord Flanagan is quite right. I don’t know how Jenny made such a mistake. Olive is immensely valuable to the university. We couldn’t possibly let her go …’

  I realised that I was going to have to tackle the matter head on. ‘I’m sorry Robert, but you really must tell me the truth. Whatever you say, these redundancies have been formally decided and the letters of dismissal have already been sent out.’

  Sloth could not deny it. I followed up my advantage. ‘As Visitor I’m not happy with the way the exercise has been conducted. I know there’s been a problem with the heads of departments. But with the best will in the world, Jenny can’t be expected to know the full details of every lecturer’s career … And I have to say that I have detected some very serious anomalies in her judgement.’

  ‘Jenny has done an excellent job …,’ began Sloth.

  I cut across him. ‘But you yourself admit she’s made a mistake in the case of Lady Barridon. I think we do need to discuss the whole matter from first principles before everything blows up in our faces. After all, as you know, you can’t be too careful when it comes to personnel matters.’

  I thought Sloth would be furious, but to my surprise he looked rather relieved. ‘Shall we have some coffee?’ he asked.

  I thought this an excellent idea so Sloth rose from behind his desk to ask his secretary to make it. When he came back, he sat down in an armchair and he gestured that I should sit on the sofa.

  Then he took a deep breath. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. I need to talk to somebody,’ he said. ‘It does seem to be more difficult than I thought. I’ve just received a letter from some expensive lawyer in London. The union is threatening to serve an injunction on the university. They say they’re going to take us to the High Court to stop the redundancies.’

  ‘Have you heard from the High Court itself?’ I asked.

  ‘No, not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. They say we went wrong in some obscure element of the procedure and, as a result, they have the right to stop the whole thing.’

  ‘That’s the way employment law works,’ I pointed out. ‘You’ve got to get every last detail right. Otherwise the whole thing fails.’

  Sloth tried to take a determined line. ‘Well we’re not going to put up with this. We’re not going to give in to a few bolshie union agitators who have no idea about the real world …’

  ‘If they’re going to the High Court, it sounds to me as if they understand the real world all too well,’ I remarked.

  Sloth looked more agitated than I could ever remember. He strode over to his desk and rummaged through a large stack of papers. ‘Where is it? I know it’s here somewhere …’

  ‘What are you looking for?’ I asked.

  ‘I got the accountant to estimate how much money we’d lose if the Funding Council shuts down the partnerships. It’s well over three million … Where did I put it? I had it an hour ago.’

  ‘Don’t worry …’ I tried to be reassuring.

  ‘So you see we’ve got to make cuts. We’ve no alternative and it’s the managers who have to decide where the cuts will fall. Not the unions. After all, managers have to manage …’

  ‘So what will you do about the injunction?’ I asked.

&nb
sp; Sloth tried to sound resolute. ‘What can I do?’ he asked. ‘I’m not going to take any notice of it!’

  I shook my head. ‘Robert, you’ve got to be realistic. You can’t just ignore it. You’ll be in contempt of court. Look, I should tell you about a conversation I had with Morris O’Murphy…’

  ‘That Irish troublemaker! He’s the one who’s responsible for all this mess.’ Sloth clenched his teeth. ‘If it’s the last thing I do, Harry, I’m going to drum out all his wretched union cronies from the campus once and for all … What did he say?’

  ‘He approached me as the Visitor.’

  ‘And he wants you to act on the union’s behalf? I knew it. He’d resort to anything to get his own way.’

  ‘No, actually,’ I said. ‘He didn’t ask me to do anything. But when I heard what the union is planning, I thought someone ought to talk to you about it.’

  Sloth suddenly looked tired. ‘What do you want to say, Harry?’

  ‘We both know that it won’t do any good for the university to be served with an injunction. The publicity will be frightful and the cost will be enormous …’

  He was startled. ‘Cost? What do you mean cost?’

  ‘Well, if there really is a hearing in the High Court, and it turns out that your procedure was less than perfect, you’ll have to pay for their lawyers as well as your own. The final bill could run into hundred of thousands of pounds.’

  ‘No! …’

  ‘I’m afraid so…’

  ‘Bastards!’ he exclaimed.

  I continued to try to be soothing. ‘Really, Robert, it would be best to avoid it if at all possible. You admit you’ve definitely made one mistake with regard to Lady Barridon. You don’t want to go through all this and end up being humiliated in public …’

  ‘But what can I do?’ he turned to me like a child.

  ‘Why don’t you just hold up the whole process? Of course there’ll have to be cuts and of course you must manage them. No one denies that. But there’s no need to do it now. Why don’t you wait at least until the Funding Council’s final report? Then you’ll be able to see the way forward.’

  ‘But what about the budget?’ he wailed. ‘It’s supposed to be all sorted out by the end of this month.’

  I felt I was gaining my point. ‘These are very exceptional times. You’ve inherited a difficult situation. Why don’t you just postpone everything? After all, the new Vice-Chancellor, when he or she is appointed, will want to have some say in the decision. Everything is in a state of flux. Just play for time. In my experience, nothing is very often the best thing to do.’

  Suddenly Sloth relaxed in his seat. He looked as if he could go to sleep at any moment. ‘That sounds a very sensible solution,’ he said. ‘Thank you for being so sympathetic, Harry. It always helps to talk things through …’

  The next day, just after we finished breakfast, the telephone rang. It was Sir William. Victoria looked grave and was clearly upset. She kept saying, ‘Oh dear!’ and ‘I’m so sorry to hear that!’ and ‘Are all the rest of you all right?’ When she hung up, she came to talk to me in the study. ‘Mrs Germaney died in her sleep last night,’ she said.

  I found the news hard to accept. ‘But we only saw her the day before yesterday. She came to your class. She seemed fine.’

  ‘Apparently,’ Victoria said, ‘She wasn’t feeling her usual self yesterday. Daddy organised a Scrabble tournament after dinner, but she didn’t want to play long and she went to bed early. Well, this morning one of the carers went in to wake her for breakfast, but she couldn’t stir her. They called the doctor and he said she had died.’

  ‘That is sad,’ I said. ‘She was a nice old lady.’

  ‘Daddy’s comment was “What a way to go!” and he’s quite right. She was eighty-nine you know. Still Matron has asked if you could ring and make an appointment to go over to the Priory. They want you to do the funeral. I said that would be all right.’

  ‘Of course,’ I agreed. ‘What are the arrangements?’

  ‘Daddy wasn’t sure. He rather thought it would be a cremation.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I said, and I took the telephone and rang up Matron.

  The next day the two of us walked over to the Priory. Matron had arranged that the local undertaker would be present too. There was no family to consult and, beyond a cremation, which Mrs Germaney had paid for in advance, there were no special requests. Victoria went to have a little chat with the residents while we held our conference. I asked Matron what had happened.

  ‘It wasn’t entirely unexpected,’ she said. ‘She’s had heart trouble for years.’

  ‘And is there no family at all?’ I persisted.

  Matron shook her head. ‘None that I know of. She told me once that neither she nor her husband had brothers or sisters and they had no children of their own. She certainly never had any visitors. According to our forms, a firm of solicitors is listed as her next of kin. They always paid all the bills for her board and lodging here.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘It does sound sad.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Matron. ‘She was a cheerful person. When she first lived here, her husband was still alive. They came in together. He died about five years ago.’

  ‘Were they from St Sebastian’s originally? Why are there no friends?’

  ‘No. They lived in Manchester and they left their old life behind when they came here. He made a lot of money, I believe. He invented some new form of linoleum and it was very successful.’

  ‘So why did they settle here?’ I asked.

  ‘Ah,’ said Matron. ‘Mrs Germaney told me all about it once. Her husband grew up in a village near St Sebastian’s and, when he was a boy, he went to the Cathedral Choir School. After he grew up, of course, he was swept into the Second World War. He was that generation. He fought in the Far East and spent much of the war in a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp.’

  ‘Oh no!’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Apparently it was every bit as bad as everyone says. When he came out he weighed about five stone. Anyway, what kept him alive through all the horrors was his memories of the St Sebastian’s buildings. He went over and over them in his imagination while he was living the nightmare of building the Burmese railway. So when he retired and there was nothing to keep them in Manchester, he was determined to end his days here. After his experiences, he wasn’t religious, but he spent a lot of time in the cathedral. I was always ordering a taxi for him.’

  ‘And were they happy?’ I asked.

  Matron nodded. ‘I hope so. He wasn’t an easy man, but they were very fond of each other. I think it was a good time for both of them. Edith Germaney was a very sensible woman.’

  The funeral arrangements turned out to be quite straightforward. The St Sebastian’s Crematorium was just outside the city, beyond Arrowsmith College and the Law Courts. In the event, the only people present were two representatives from the Manchester factory, a dark-suited lawyer from London, Victoria, myself and a good-sized party from the Priory. It was enough. I think Mrs Germaney herself would have been happy about it.

  By the end of April things had settled down. There was no more talk of redundancies at the university and the residents of the Priory were back to their usual routine. Even the cathedral seemed to be running smoothly. Then, on the last Sunday of the month, at Sung Eucharist, Canon Sinclair asked if he could see me after the service.

  It was a beautiful spring day and the garden was just beginning to come into flower. We walked across the Green Court together towards the Provost’s House, I moderating my steps to his. Standing on the doorstep, he admired the flower beds. ‘I shall try to do some gardening in my retirement,’ he said as we stepped into the hall.

  We went into the study and I poured out sherry for both of us. Canon Sinclair took the glass with a shaky hand. ‘Provost,’ he said, ‘I think the time has come for me to leave St Sebastian’s. There’s no doubt this Parkinsons thing is getting worse. I don’t feel I’m as much use as I
should be. The cathedral needs someone more able-bodied.’

  I hated to hear him speak in this way. I knew he was devoted to his job and he was much loved by the congregation. ‘But, Graham,’ I said, ‘you’re a crucial figure in the Chapter. We can’t do without you.’

  The old man smiled sadly. ‘It’s kind of you to say that. I don’t deny I shall miss it all very much, but I’m due to retire at the end of the year in any case. I’m not as well as I was and I think I ought to step down by the end of the month.’

  I nodded. ‘Well if you’re really sure … We’d be more than happy to have you until December.’

  ‘No, Harry. The time has come. I’ve talked it over with Jean. We must go.’ He looked up at me. ‘Do you know, I’ve been here on and off for more than sixty years?’

  ‘No!’ I said.

  ‘Yes … I was a choirboy in the cathedral and I was educated in the city. I went away to Oxford of course, but I did my first curacy nearby. Then I was vicar of the parish church for many years before I became a residential canon.’

  ‘And where will you live now?’ I asked.

  ‘Not too far away … When we inherited a little money, Jean and I bought a small cottage in the country, just outside the city. Over the years we’ve rented it out. The lease is just coming to an end and the tenants want to leave. So everything’s come together. It will be just fine. Yes, just fine!’

  ‘At the very least, I hope you’ll continue to worship here,’ I said.

  Again Canon Sinclair smiled. ‘We will indeed! But be assured, Provost, I intend to take a back seat. No more sermons. And no more duties.’ He looked out of the window and sighed. ‘It’s a pretty place. Full of memories. But there’s a time for everything. And the time has come for me to go.’

  I had no sooner said goodbye to Graham Sinclair when young Derek Trend appeared on the doorstep. He was someone I always felt vaguely uneasy about. He was polite, helpful, amenable and eager. Yet I had no sense of him as a person. I had no idea of his real views or feelings. I felt I did not know him at all. On this occasion he looked excited and asked if I could spare a minute to talk with him.