The Campus Trilogy (29 page)

‘What did you think of Chantry-Pigg?’ I asked.

Magnus rolled his eyes. ‘Pompous, self-important little prig.’

‘And the new Vice-Chancellor?’

Magnus moaned. ‘I’m only thankful I’ve officially retired!’ He
stared moodily at his statue. ‘Drink up,’ he said, ‘and let’s have lunch.’

I left my briefcase in Magnus’s office, and we set off for the Senior Common Room, which was located at the far end of the Old Building. Panelled in dark oak, it was filled with small tables and armchairs. In the corner a waitress served sandwiches and coffee. At one table nearby, the Dean – Patricia Parham – was chatting to her partner Judith. They were an incongruous pair. It was Judith who was the car mechanic, but she was neat and small-boned. Wearing an elegant black trouser-suit, her blonde hair was freshly brushed and her pink lipstick neatly applied. Patricia, on the other hand, was large and untidy. Her hair was cropped and it looked as if she cut it herself. She wore no
make-up
and her finger-nails were grimy. As usual she was dressed in baggy dungerees and today she sported a badge which read “
I
love my fellow
-
women
”.

Understandably, in view of his previous encounter with Judith, Magnus was wary of the pair. He skirted round where they were sitting to reach the counter. There we both ordered cheese sandwiches and coffee and sat in the opposite corner of the room.

‘So that’s Patricia’s lover,’ I observed. I had never seen her up close before and was surprised at how attractive she was. ‘She doesn’t look big enough to have hit you!’

‘She caught me unawares,’ growled Magnus. ‘How was I to know she would react like that? I only asked her to go dancing. I really can’t see why being a militant lesbian should stop her from doing the foxtrot!’

‘I think she thought you were propositioning her.’ I tried to speak soothingly. ‘Remember she believes that all men are rapists.’

Magnus was not to be consoled. ‘Harry and Victoria thought it was frightfully funny,’ he grumbled, ‘but it was very serious. I might have lost the sight in one eye. As it was I had to wear an eye-patch for weeks!’

As we were speaking, Pilkington joined the queue for lunch. ‘Look, Magnus,’ I said, ‘I’m not sure I want to run into Pilkington. He gave me a terrible time this morning. It’s clear that Theology only took me on because they wanted the Philosophy money.’

‘That’s the only reason for anything in this place. St Sebastian’s may call itself a university, but no one has the least interest in ideas or in transmitting civilisation down the
generations
. All they really care about is being solvent. They practically sell degrees as it is.’ Magnus warmed to his theme. ‘In fact I don’t know why they don’t. The students want the qualifications, but they don’t like going to class and they definitely don’t want to take any exams. The university is desperate for their fees and would also prefer not to go to the trouble of organising courses. Why don’t they just forget about teaching and learning? Cut out the middle-man. That’s what I say!’

‘Isn’t that what’s going to happen with Flanagan’s new
partnerships
?’ I asked. ‘The partner college does the teaching. Well … maybe it does or maybe it doesn’t … The students pay the fees. St Sebastian’s takes a large chunk of the money, asks no
questions
and gives them their degrees.’

Magnus laughed. ‘Well there you go! I always said it would come to that! “Degrees Are Us”! That should be St Sebastian’s new motto!’

I cut short Magnus’s flights of fancy. I wanted to get back to Pilkington. ‘You know,’ I paused, ‘I think he may be a bit
antisemitic
.’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised. If this were Nazi Germany, I’ve no doubt he’d be one of the first to join the SS. He’d love the uniform and the power. He’s quite efficient, you know. Why, what did he say to you?’

I recounted Pilkington’s reasons why he didn’t think I’d fit into the department as Magnus slurped his coffee. Then he bit into his sandwich and crumbs fell on his blazer. ‘Just what I’d expect. The department has become a hotbed of Christian evangelism. Both Harry and I got out just in time. I can’t imagine they’ll get on with Chantry-Pigg in the long term. He’s far too high and they’re complete bigots about homosexuality.’

I went on to explain what Pilkington had said about the philosophers as well as his hints about early retirement. Magnus’s expression was serious. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. This isn’t the first time. It’s just what they did to poor Harry.’ I looked puzzled.

‘Oh, of course, you won’t know the full story. Barraclough,
the old Vice-Chancellor, Wanda Catnip, who was the Dean before Patricia Parham, and John Pilkington decided they wanted to get rid of Harry. That’s ultimately why he and Victoria went to Sweetpea, Virgina.’

‘But why?’ I was bewildered. ‘Harry was easily the most
distinguished
academic in the university. He was always being
interviewed
by the BBC and even got some sort of an honour from the Queen for his work.’

‘That was just the point, wasn’t it?’ said Magnus gloomily. ‘Those boring mediocrities always hated Harry. He was far too clever and interesting … and of course Victoria, being Sir William’s daughter, and the fact that Harry was rich in his own right didn’t help either. Anyway, they decided they’d rather not pay his salary and they made up their minds that he would have to go. They all ganged up on him. There was one discipline case after another. You can’t win against that kind of bullying. Everyone knows that. But in the end Harry outmanoeuvred them by getting his Distinguished Chair in the States.’

‘I had no idea he had such a bad time,’ I said.

‘Terrible. I did too! The old Vice-Chancellor kept sending me letters encouraging me to take early retirement. They were even going to make me teach summer school. But then I had a windfall …’

‘I heard all about it in Sweetpea. You won on the premium bonds!’

‘Yes, it was jolly good!’ Magnus smiled. ‘A quarter of a
million
. And I’ve still got the premium bonds so I may have another big prize in the future. You never know!’

‘The chances against it are enormous.’ I tried to put a damper on Magnus’s enthusiasm.

‘That’s what Victoria said before I won the first lot! Actually, I heard her father was rather annoyed about it. He has had the full quota of premium bonds for years, but he’s hardly won
anything
. He said it wasn’t fair.’

‘Oh dear!’ I said.

‘Anyway I took the early retirement deal, and got a nice little cabin on the
Queen Christina
for their world cruise. The trip nearly killed me. Victoria gave me dancing lessons, and I was beseiged the entire time by old ladies who demanded I escort them to the ship’s
ballroom. I was known as the best dancer there. That’s how I got my new job as a gentleman host on board. I’m due to sail in early December on their six-week Christmas Caribbean cruise.’

‘That’s amazing, Magnus,’ I said.

‘All due to Victoria’s instruction.’ He gazed at Pilkington who had sat down at the table next to Patricia Parham’s. ‘I’m afraid you may be in for it, just like Harry,’ he sighed. Then he
brightened
. ‘But try not to worry. I’ll give you a few hints what to do. After all, I’m experienced in these matters!’

I laughed. Magnus always had the capacity to cheer me up. ‘Why don’t you come to lunch at our house on Sunday week? Our daughter Imogen will be home for the weekend from Cambridge and Emma always cooks when she’s at home. I can promise you a good lunch.’

Magnus was delighted. ‘That’s really kind of you Felix. Thank you. Actually I’m planning to go and see what is happening in the chapel that day. Apparently there’s to be some sort of
inauguration
service for that ridiculous friar at eleven o’clock and I thought I ought to put in an appearance. The vision of a nice lunch will sustain me through it.’

‘I’ll come too,’ I said. ‘Now I’ve become a theologian, I ought to have some experience of the university chapel. Eleven o’clock did you say?’

As I had predicted, once classes started I was very busy indeed. Happily, unlike many of my colleagues, I like teaching. Some of the new students were rather intelligent and I had two
outstanding
pupils in the second year. I had already taught them and I knew they were good, but once they started on my course on Kant’s
Critiques
, I realised that they both had exceptional
philosophical
minds. Mary and Rosalind were friends. They did all the same courses, their rooms were next door to each other in their hall of residence and they were to be seen wandering round St Sebastian’s together. From my point of view, the important thing was that they encouraged each other. They were both fascinated by Kant’s subtleties (as everyone should be!) and I could foresee them both doing very well indeed.

In the few breaks I had from teaching, I tried to get to know my new colleagues. Every day I went to the Senior Common Room
for coffee and lunch and I made a point of sitting with the
theologians
. They were not particularly friendly, but they tolerated my presence. I quickly learnt that Flanagan’s scheme of
partnerships
was underway. The Clapham Institute of Evangelical African Theology had already transferred its allegiance from Fandonegal University to St Sebastian’s. Two theological
colleges
had been recruited from Canada, one from India, three from Nigeria and one from Korea.

I was curious about the Korean institution, the Reverend Kwan Christian College of Seoul. India, Nigeria and Canada had all been part of the British empire; no doubt all their students could work in English, but this was not the case in Korea. One day, when I happened to be sitting next to him at lunch, I asked Pilkington how we were marking the students’ work.

‘It is rather a problem,’ he said. ‘I’m hoping we’ll be able to find a part-time Korean interpreter.’

‘But how are you managing now?’

Pilkington shrugged. ‘Well … the Korean tutors mark the
students
’ work and we just have to accept the grades they give them.’

‘The Quality Assurance Agency is not going to be happy with that,’ I remarked.

Pilkington was not troubled. ‘I’ve talked to the
Vice-Chancellor
about it. The QAA is not due to visit us for another four years and I’m sure we’ll have sorted out something before then.’

On the Friday evening before the new chaplain’s inauguration service, our daughter Imogen arrived home. For her Sociology course at Cambridge, she needed to organise a practical project. She had arranged to go to the local Women’s Refuge on Saturday to meet the director and several of the residents. It was lovely to have her home again. She admired my new study and the
dining-conservatory
and we had a riotous supper together. Emma and I were relieved to see that she was eating properly. There had been a time when she was in the sixth form at school that she had been difficult about food. We had worried about anorexia, but she had grown out of it and now she enjoyed Emma’s cooking as much as I did.

On Saturday we pursued our separate interests. After
breakfast
, Imogen set off for the Refuge and Emma went into
St Sebastian’s to buy food for Sunday’s lunch. She was working on a programme about Welsh cuisine so I knew the main course would be Welsh lamb, but she was anxious to find some
laverbread
– apparently a form of sea-weed, and various exotic
unpasturised
cheeses. She was well-known in both the St Sebastian delicatessens. I stayed at home to work on my new book. I realised that with my current teaching load, I was going to have to work every week-end if I were to meet my publisher’s deadline.

On Sunday morning Emma stayed at home to prepare lunch while Imogen and I walked to the University chapel. En route we bumped into the Provost as he made his stately way out of the front door of his beautiful house. I had met him briefly on several occasions at graduation ceremonies, since he was the Visitor of the University. I didn’t think he would remember me, but he smiled affably as he hurried by. Then, as we passed through the Trinity Gate, I saw Wanda Catnip, the former Dean, striding ahead of an old lady who I assumed to be her mother. Wanda was complaining loudly that they were going to be late. The old lady trotted breathlessly behind.

As we reached the chapel, Jenny Sloth, the estranged wife of the Registrar, was genuflecting elaborately and making her way to the front seats on the right. Imogen and I chose places at the back on the left. I put my coat over the next-door chair to save it for Magnus. There was no sign of him. Directly in front of us were sitting Patricia Parham, and her friend, Judith. Judith was dressed in a neat navy blue dress and coat for the occasion, but Patricia had remained loyal to her old dungarees. They were busy with the hymn books. Judith found the first hymn and was
pointing
it out to Patricia like a mother helping a six-year-old child. Patricia did not seem to resent it.

The cathedral bells sounded eleven, the organ struck up and a procession began to file into the chapel. We all stood up. First, in a long blue robe, came a rather effete-looking young man of the kind Pilkington disapproved. He was holding up a large silver cross. Then came another young man of a similar type; he was enthusiastically swinging a censer. There were clouds of smoke and the smell was overpowering. Behind him walked the
blue-robed
choir. It was at that moment that Magnus appeared. He
barged his way in front of the procession, saw me, waved and appropriated the seat I had kept for him. ‘Good God!’ he said in a not very quiet voice, ‘aren’t the smoke alarms working today? What a stench!’ Imogen giggled while I tried to ignore him.

I was surprised to see my two pupils, Mary and Rosalind, in the choir. I had had no idea they were religious. After the
students
had all entered, there was a short pause for effect. Then the Vice-Chancellor marched in. He was in full fig. There was a Tudor hat with a gold tassel on his head. He wore an ample black academic gown with red panels and gold brocade insets and his hood flowed down his back. He looked squatter than ever. After him came the clergy as a not-very-well-matched pair. Both were wearing magnificent white and gold copes, but Chantry-Pigg looked ascetic to the point of starvation while the Provost sported a comfortable Anglican plumpness. The three processed up the aisle. Flanagan sat in a special individual stall near the choir while the clergy placed themselves on two thrones, one on either side of the altar.