The Campus Trilogy

by AnonYMous

  I am writing to you as the Visitor of St Sebastian’s University. As you will be aware, the Funding Council has recently commissoned its consultants to investigate the university’s practices and procedures. The university has already been issued with a draft report which gives a general outline of the findings. However, it did not include the recommendations for future development.

  We have now received the final version. It would be very helpful indeed if we could have a private discussion about the situation. I know you must be busy, but I would be very grateful if you could arrange a mutually convenient appointment. Our Chief Accountant will also be present.

  Yours sincerely,

  Roy Greengrass

  (Sir Roy Greengrass, Chief Executive Officer,

  UK Funding Council for Higher Education)

  Since I was due to go to London for a meeting of the Church of England Consultancy Committee on Medical Ethics on Friday, I asked my secretary to arrange the meeting for that afternoon. It was a sunny summer day when I took the train from St Sebastian’s and arrived in London within the hour.

  The committee meeting took place in Church House in Westminster. Afterwards, I crossed the river to go to the Funding Council’s headquarters on the South Bank. The offices were on the twelfth and thirteenth floors of a tall plate-glass building overlooking the Thames. I took the glass lift and much enjoyed the view.

  Seated in the reception area and managing the switchboard was an efficient Indian lady in a sari. She asked me to take a seat. I leafed through brochures about the work of the Funding Council while I waited to be summoned. Several minutes later, Sir Roy emerged. Over six feet tall and stout with it, he was wearing a grey pin-striped suit and had a military moustache. ‘Thank you for coming, Provost,’ he said. ‘It’s very good of you to give us your time.’

  I was then led into a large office with another superb waterside vista. Already seated at a round table was a diminutive woman wearing a red tight-fitting dress. She was introduced as Mrs Morganstern. Although she looked about eighteen, she turned out to be the Chief Accountant. Coffee was available and she poured it out for all three of us. I noticed that her fingernails exactly matched the colour of her dress.

  Sir Roy then handed me the consultants’ final report. It was over sixty pages long. ‘Now, Provost,’ he began, ‘this is a copy for you to read at your leisure. As you can see it is extensive. After the report of the Quality Control Agency, we felt that St Sebastian’s needed a full review.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. The report looked dauntingly dense.

  ‘I regret to say,’ continued Sir Roy, ‘the consultants found much to deplore. Their conclusions can only be described as damning. Consequently, we at the Funding Council are very concerned about the future of the university. This is why I asked for this meeting.’

  I remembered my conversations with Felix and Magnus. This was exactly what they had predicted. I had the unworthy thought that if only John Pilkington had chosen more commonplace names for his imaginary examiners, the university would not be in this predicament. Reluctantly, I turned back to the matter in hand.

  ‘But I’m just the Visitor,’ I said. ‘I have no real power in the institution. I’m not even on Council.’

  Sir Roy surveyed me coolly. ‘Yes indeed. We’re aware of that. But this is precisely why we wished to consult you. As Visitor, you’re now in a relatively independent position – although as an emeritus professor, you are more familiar with St Sebastian’s foibles than most.’

  I felt this was not the moment to mention that I had left my Chair under a cloud and had never been honoured with an emeritus title. Sir Roy was still speaking. ‘We’re also aware that you never served under Lord Flanagan of Fandonegal. We do accept that many of the present difficulties stem from that particular regime. Nonetheless, the combination of your familiarity with the university, your independence as Visitor and your position as Provost make you the ideal person to act as mediator.’

  Mrs Morgenstern fidgetted during Sir Roy’s speech. She seemed to have little patience with his convoluted turn of phrase. He was not to be silenced. ‘Now, Provost, you will know that the Funding Council is not in a position simply to take charge. This must be the responsiblity of St Sebastian’s own Council. Otherwise the independence of Britain’s universities would be meaningless. However, we do have the power to withhold funding altogether. I have to tell you that we cannot see our way clear to financing the university in its present state with its existing managers. There must be a major transformation if the institution is to continue at all.’

  ‘I see,’ I said again.

  Sir Roy had not finished. I was increasingly feeling that I had not been invited to the meeting to give my opinion. I was there to act as an audience. ‘In our draft report,’ he explained, ‘our consultants indicated that the partnerships established by your previous Vice-Chancellor will need to be curtailed. There’s no justification for British taxpayers’ money being used to finance students at foreign academies and seminaries.’

  I nodded. ‘I didn’t understand how Flanagan got away with it,’ I said.

  For the first time in our acquaintance, Sir Roy’s composure was disturbed. ‘Unfortunately, he was appointed during an interregnum at the Funding Council. I only came on board at the end of last year and I’m afraid my two predecessors were, although admirable in many ways, less than thorough in some of their systems … It took me a little time to establish a more vigilant approach.’

  ‘Of course,’ I reassured him.

  ‘Anyway,’ Sir Roy resumed his old tone, ‘the same applies to many of the university degree programmes. We really cannot continue to finance such subjects as Brewing Technology, Professional Golf and Celebrity Studies. However, if they are to be wound down – and in our opinion, they must be wound down – this will bring about a serious loss of revenue. Of course, we will fulfil our obligation to all current students. But no more can be admitted so the funding will only last for three more years.’

  I tried to conceal my impatience. I wondered if my host would ever reach the point. I had already finished my coffee and I thought longingly of the train back to the Provost’s House. Then at last the purpose of the meeting became clear. Mrs Morganstern handed me a document entitled: St Sebastian’s University/Arrowsmith College: Proposals for Reconfiguration.

  Sir Roy barely paused for breath. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is the blueprint for the reconfiguration of St Sebastian’s University which the Chief Accountant has formulated.’ He looked admiringly at his colleague. She was indeed something to look at. ‘It is, we believe, the only way forward. As you will see, it’s a proposal for the merger of the university with Arrowsmith Teacher Training College. I expect you’re familiar with the college …’

  I nodded. I had certainly driven past it often enough.

  Sir Roy was still speaking. ‘As I am sure you know, Arrowsmith is exceptionally well managed. Its current Principal, Dr Merlin Meddles, is a man of considerable ability. The college itself achieved the Full Confidence of the Quality Control Agency at its inspection eighteen months ago … Unlike the university …’ The words hung unspoken in the air between us and Sir Roy smiled faintly. ‘… its programmes are well-regarded and its recruitment is healthy. The college is very anxious to achieve university status and an amalgamation would enable it to do so.’

  ‘I see,’ I said for the third time.

  Mrs Morganstern passed around a plate of custard creams. Behind Sir Roy’s back, she winked at me and raised her eyes to heaven. Meanwhile my host took three biscuits. I thought about my waistline and with admirable self-control shook my head. Sir Roy continued regardless. ‘The reason we’ve asked you to join us is because we’re going to need your help. We anticipate considerable resistance to these plans from the university employees. People are over-concerned about matters of status, don’t you agree?’

  ‘“The last shall be first and the first last,”’ I quoted.

  He cut across my response.
‘As an independent party,’ he pronounced, ‘we’re looking to you to smooth the transition … iron out any difficulties so to speak.’

  At long last Mrs Morgenstern intervened. ‘You should know, Provost, that there’s considerable funding for reconfiguration. This is an obvious merger. There will be no need for compulsory redundancies. Over the next three years, there’ll be some natural wastage. In addition, we’ll put in place generous voluntary severance and early retirement packages. It will work out very well …’

  Sir Roy was not to be silenced. ‘Now there’s also the question of the senior management. As I’ve already indicated, Dr Meddles is an excellent Principal while the university is at present without a Vice-Chancellor. Arrowsmith also has a first-rate Registrar and Dean. In contrast, the university’s present Dean is on long-term sick leave and the Registrar is of an age that he could retire with dignity. In both cases, the Funding Council is prepared to offer a suitable severance package. But your help in this matter would be invaluable …’

  I concealed a smile. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ I said.

  ‘Very good,’ said Sir Roy as he helped himself to another biscuit. ‘I knew we could rely on you. It really is the only possible solution to the problem. Once you read the report, I’m confident you’ll agree.’

  He stood up and shook my hand. ‘It’s been so good to hear your views,’ he declared as he guided me towards the lift. I smiled at Mrs Morganstern over my shoulder and I left without another word.

  I heard nothing more from Sir Roy and the Funding Council. The final report was not due to reach the university until the beginning of June and I felt no need to enlighten anyone. I had read my copy on the train. When I arrived home, I had locked it in our bedroom safe, together with the cameo necklace Victoria had inherited from her grandmother. In the meantime there was a respite. Sloth had drawn back from the plans for compulsory redundancy. The budget was in abeyance. The university students were busy with their assessment essays and everything was in a state of suspended animation.

  I had also had not spoken with Reg Blenkensop. We saw each other at services, but he was very quiet. Somehow, there never seemed to be the opportunity for a proper talk. There was no sign of Marmaduke either. The squirrels were becoming quite bold on the Green Court and I noticed a considerable increase in bird-life. The weather was beautiful and, for the first time, Cleo and Brutus wanted to go out. We unlocked the cat-flap and they put their noses through it and sniffed the air. To our delight, they both hopped out and had a little stroll around the front garden.

  Then one tea-time as I was returning home on foot, I came across the ginger menace. He was sunning himself on a low wall near the Monks’ Gate. He looked so relaxed and pleasant that I was tempted to put out my hand for him to sniff. ‘Good afternoon,’ I said.

  Marmaduke stretched himself luxuriously and rubbed his head against my hand. I was astonished. I sat on the wall beside him and stroked his head. He purred his appreciation and showed signs of wanting to come and climb onto my lap. I was already late and could not stop for an extended session. I tickled him behind the ears, paid him several compliments and took my leave. He elongated himself out again in the sunlight and went back to sleep.

  When I arrived home, Mrs Thomas was dusting the hall. Since she also ‘did’ for the Blenkensops, I felt I could ask her a question. ‘Is Marmaduke more friendly than he used to be, Mrs Thomas?’

  ‘Oh yes, Provost,’ she said. ‘A different cat he is since he came back from the vet. Mrs Blenkensop told me what your father-in-law did. A good chat we had together while Marmaduke was sitting on her knee! I told Evan about it when I went home. He laughed fit to bust …’

  Clearly things had changed in the Blenkensop household.

  The regular Chapter meeting was scheduled for the next morning. I dreaded it. The admission charge issue could no longer be put off. A decision would have to be made. At eleven o’clock we all assembled in the library of the Chapter House. It was the last meeting for both Graham Sinclair and Derek Trend, so I had brought along a bottle of champagne. I had also prepared a little speech of farewell. In addition, there was to be a visitor. Earlier in the week, the Provincial Registrar had telephoned to ask if he could be present since there was a particular matter he wished to communicate to the Chapter.

  We took our usual places around the mahogany table as the long case clock struck the hour. I briefly welcomed the Registrar. He was a jovial rotund figure dressed in a dark grey suit with a crimson and gold tie. He was responsible for all the cathedral’s legal work and I had always found him helpful and professional.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he began, ‘I have some important news for you all.’ He produced a file from his briefcase and placed it on the table. ‘This past week,’ he said, ‘I received a letter from the London firm of James, Lee and James. Mr Griffith-James, the senior partner, who is a great-grandson of one of the founders of the firm, has for many years acted for the late Mr and Mrs Gerald Germaney, sometime residents of this city.’

  ‘Was that the Mrs Germaney who lived at the Priory and who died recently? I asked.

  ‘It was indeed!’ The Registrar turned to me. ‘I understand you officiated at her funeral. Mr Griffith-James was also present at the crematorium on that occasion.’ He cleared his throat. ‘There were no relatives and, according to her and her husband’s will, the entire estate has been left to the cathedral. I have to say we are talking about a very considerable sum. A very substantial legacy indeed.’

  I felt I had to say something. ‘That was a most generous gesture. The Matron of the Priory mentioned that she was well-off, but I had no idea that she intended to leave any of it to St Sebastian’s Cathedral.’

  The Registrar had not finished. ‘Before you become too excited, it is my duty to point out that there are some restrictions on the bequest. The money cannot just be deposited in general funds. The principle, and the interest which derives from it, may be spent only on the fabric of the existing buildings. Mr Germaney was apparently anxious that they should be maintained and restored to the very highest standard.’

  We looked at each other. We were all thinking about the damp problem in the crypt. I felt I had to grasp the nettle. ‘How much are we actually talking about?’ I asked.

  Putting on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, the Registrar rummaged through the file and took out a thick document with a series of graphs. ‘As you will understand, gentlemen, the valuation of the estate varies from day to day so I can only give you a very general figure. Last Friday the grand total stood at eighteen million, seven hundred and sixty three thousand, four hundred and twenty-two pounds and eighteen pence.’

  Reg Blenkensop opened his mouth and closed it. Derek Trend quickly made calculations on the back of an envelope. ‘Golly!’ I said.

  ‘Golly, indeed,’ said the Registrar. ‘As I said, it is a considerable legacy, but I am sure, with this historic and beautiful building, there is plenty you will find to spend it on.’

  He had produced his sensation and it was time for him to go. He packed up his file again in his document case. Assuring us of his best attention at all times, he left us to ourselves.

  Canon Sinclair was the first to understand the implications. ‘As you all know,’ he said, ‘I shall be leaving very soon. But my heart will always be in the cathedral. That is the best news I could hear. There is now no reason to levy an entrance fee from those who wish to visit our glorious church. It can remain freely open to all.’

  I looked at Blenkensop out of the corner of my eye. He had been very determined to impose charges. I wondered if he was going to be obstinate. To my surprise, there was no bluster. Gravely, he nodded his agreement. ‘In the past, I’ve made no secret of my conviction that entrance fees were necessary if these splendid buildings were to be maintained,’ he said. ‘Recently in this beautiful sunny weather, when I’ve seen the tourists enjoying our glorious precincts, I’ve been beginning to have doubts. In this commercial world, some things should alwa
ys be free. But until this afternoon, I could not see how it was to be afforded. There is such a pressing need for expensive repairs. But now the way has become clear. With this generous legacy, we’re free to continue in the old way …’

  He was indeed an altered Blenkensop ….

  ‘I’ve done some calculations,’ volunteered Derek Trend. ‘Such a sizeable sum would give ample scope for a bold investment programme. I’m leaving too, but I think I may be able to offer some advice in this area. My first degree was in business studies and I had two years experience in a city bank …’

  ‘Thank you, Derek,’ I said, ‘Of course we must give serious thought as to how the money should best be invested. But in the first instance, perhaps we should rely on the guidance of the Registrar and Mr Griffith-James of James, Lee and James.’

  Then I took control of the meeting. “I think you may wish to know,” I said, ‘that Mrs Germaney lived to a good old age and she died peacefully in her sleep. For personal reasons, her husband was devoted to the precincts. He had been a pupil in the Choir School and had suffered greatly as a Japanese prisoner-of-war. Their passing is, of course, a sadness, but their legacy will ensure the continued beauty of St Sebastian’s Cathedral. We are much in Gerald and Edith Germaney’s debt.’

  The Canons all nodded their agreement and we passed on to the remaining business of the day.

  That evening, Victoria and I had arranged to go with Magnus to the opera. It was the same company that had performed La Bohème, but this time it was to be Don Giovanni. Magnus had invited Dorothy to join us and she had arrived in the afternoon by train. Since it was a gala performance, we were all expected to dress up. Dorothy looked very striking in a mauve silk dress with her brooch and a string of baroque pearls. Victoria was in dark green and wore her cameo necklace.

  We met for a preliminary drink in the White Hart Hotel. Magnus was in a hilarious mood. ‘Dorothy has a new MA student,’ he announced. ‘You may have come across her.’