The Campus Trilogy (46 page)

‘It seems not,’ I said.

‘Pity … still Sir William’s speech was, by all accounts, quite a tour de force ….’

‘That’s one way of putting it,’ I agreed.

‘And I hear the Vice-Chancellor has taken it out on poor Helga?’

‘That isn’t the official story,’ I said cautiously. ‘But I fear it’s all too probable.’

‘But he’ll have other plans.’ Magnus was not wasting pity on Flanagan. ‘And what about you, Felix?’ he asked, ‘Are you going to have to go back to teaching all the undergraduates?’

‘Yes… Pilkington has informed me that next term I revert to my original schedule. He added a typically moralistic note that it was a pity I ever left it.’

Magnus dunked a shortbread biscuit in his coffee. ‘How many contact hours a week are you supposed to do?’

‘Seventeen.’ I took a deep breath. ‘It’s only for one term now, but I feel bad about it. It means that the students are
short-changed
. I just can’t give them the attention they deserve.’

Magnus had no illusions. ‘Well we all know that in the
modern
university, the students come a very poor second to the imperative of making money,’ he said.

The following week, I received an email from Pilkington
outlining
in further detail my duties for the rest of the year: I would be required to teach all my old philosophy courses, assess all the essays and dissertations, and serve as the first marker for all the exam scripts. This meant that the summer term would be
incredibly
busy. However, my load would diminish the next year because there would be no first-year students. He also informed me that there would be a departmental meeting on the Wednesday of the last week of the spring term.

I had not been very conscientious about attending the Theology department meetings – partly because I had been busy with my Casino Management activities, but mainly because nothing was ever discussed that concerned me. This time it was clear that Pilkington was cracking the whip. I telephoned Magnus to suggest we went together, but it turned out that he had deliberately arranged a dental appointment to conflict with the meeting. I therefore foresaw a very boring afternoon.

On the Wednesday I arrived just as proceedings were about to begin. Pilkington started by going through the minutes of the last
meeting. From them I learnt that the department had agreed to establish a new Centre for the Study of Religious History.

I was surprised. I had heard Pilkington express scorn for what he called the ‘old-fashioned fixations with world religions' and this new centre seemed like a very daring venture for the St Sebastian's theologians. I had a brief fantasy of courses on Indian Religions, New Age Activities, Primitive Magic and Eastern Esoterica. I was soon disabused.

Pilkington reminded us that this initiative was being proposed by the Church historians in the department. It would focus on the development of Christianity from ancient times to the present. All those engaged in this area of teaching and research would be expected to contribute. Already other leading Church historians from universities in Britain and abroad were being contacted to lend their names as research fellows to give the whole enterprise prestige and credibility. The whole department had voiced its strong support for this new development and it was hoped that it would attract funding from a wide variety of ecclesiastical bodies.

However there was a hitch. Pilkington told us that he had had a protest from an unexpected quarter. The Professor of Sociology at St Sebastian's, Ahmed al-Haidari, had somehow got wind of the project. He had invited Pilkington to lunch and had told him that, as a practising Muslim, he found the initiative offensive. It implied that Christianity was the only true religion.

At that point, for the first time since I had known him, Pilkington attempted a joke. He smiled bleakly and said, ‘It's nice to find that even a sociologist can sometimes get the right idea.' Everyone but me chortled and it was clear that we were going to move onto the next item of the agenda with no further discussion. Professor al-Haidari's intervention was going to be ignored.

I was not happy about this and I put up my hand. Pilkington made as if he did not see me, but one of the Old Testament
lecturers
pointed out that I was wanting to say something. Pilkington sighed. ‘Yes Felix …,' he said.

‘John,' I began, ‘I'm afraid I don't understand this. It seems to me that Ahmed is right. Why is this centre to be called a Centre for the Study of Religious History if it focuses exclusively on
Christianity? That's a category mistake. Why not call it a Centre for the Study of Christian History? Surely that would be more accurate?'

Pilkington was not going to argue the matter. He was
dismissive
. ‘All of those who have been involved in the establishment of this centre have agreed on the name. We have spent a great deal of time on this and have talked it over thoroughly,' he said. ‘We believe that the title will be an asset in helping us attract outside funding for research projects so I don't think we should waste any time discussing it any further.'

I did not drop the subject. ‘But,' I objected, ‘it makes no sense to call it a Centre for the Study of Religious History if the only thing to be studied is the Christian tradition. What about Judaism and Islam and the other world religions?'

‘We're not a Religious Studies department,' snapped Pilkington. ‘As you know, it is a matter of pride that here at St Sebastian's we have not been infected with the whole Sixties
pluralist
virus. As a matter of policy we don't teach non-Christian world-views. So it's obvious that when we refer to religion, we mean Christianity.'

‘It's not obvious to me,' I said. ‘And it's misleading.'

My colleagues were becoming impatient. Pilkington shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think as usual you're in a minority of one, Felix,' he declared and he passed on to the next item. This happened to be arrangements for the installation of a coffee machine next to Wendy Morehouse's office.

I was incensed by Pilkington's attitude. After returning to my room, instead of concentrating on marking the waiting piles of essays, I spent a couple of hours writing a parody of a
well-known
Christian hymn. The original verse went:

It was a hymn we used to sing frequently in Westminster Abbey when I was at school. I hadn't thought of it for years, but I remembered liking the tune. My version went as follows:

I felt better after composing this ditty and went over to the Old Building to see Magnus. He had only just returned from the dentist. His face was swollen and he looked like a hamster. He was also feeling exceedingly sorry for himself. ‘Bloody dentist,' he complained. ‘I'd almost rather spend the afternoon with Pilkington. First she gives me a school-ma'amish lecture about not using dental floss properly. Then she fishes about inside my mouth and finds three enormous holes. She pokes a couple of agonising injections into me and then she gets to work with her damned drill. It was over an hour of complete misery. And when we at last came to the end, then she charged me four hundred pounds for the privilege of torturing me! Honestly, by that time I was expecting a supportive letter from Amnesty International!'

I sat down on his sofa and I told him what had happened at the departmental meeting. As I went through the story, I felt myself becoming angry all over again. How dared Pilkington suggest
that the only religious history was Christian history? It was outrageous!

‘I told them they should call it the Centre for Christian History,' I grumbled, ‘but Pilkington wouldn't listen. He was absolutely determined. And his lack of respect for Professor al-Haidari's views is a disgrace. Ahmed is a distinguished scholar and a very nice man. He even took Pilkington out to lunch …'

‘I wonder where they went,' mused Magnus. ‘I believe he's rather rich. I could do with a good lunch myself after my ordeal!'

There were times when Magnus was infuriating. I tried to drag him back to the point. ‘It's misleading to call it a Centre for Religious History if all the other religions are excluded. And it's insulting.'

‘To you?'

‘Not to me. But it demeans other faiths. Do Pilkington and the others really believe there is only one religion?'

‘Oh I should think so. He's a fearful bigot underneath. But you're not going to change him. And it's not as if anyone is ever going to take any notice of their stupid centre.' Magnus had few illusions about his colleagues. He had worked with them for a very long time.

‘They're always having these idiotic initiatives,' he continued. ‘And they always fizzle out after a couple of years. It's just an attempt to attract money from learned foundations and to
persuade
the powers-that-be that St Sebastian's has a thriving research culture, whatever that is… It also keeps them busy writing letters and having committee meetings rather than actually getting down to doing any work. When all's said and done, Pilkington has only ever written one book and that was a modification of his PhD thesis. I know he's been
commissioned
to contribute the volume on the pastoral epistles to one of those dreary sixth form Bible Commentary series. He's been at it for at least five years. He's had three terms' study leave dedicated to the project and there's still no sign of the finished product …'

I laughed. ‘Oh well …,' I said. ‘Could you manage a cup of tea if I made it?'

Magnus leant back in his chair and, while the kettle boiled, I read him my new version of ‘The Church's One Foundation.'

‘We used to sing that at Winchester,' reminisced Magnus. ‘Rather a jolly tune, I remember. Your version's better. Why don't you send it to Pilkington? It might cheer him up!'

‘Maybe I will,' I said recklessly. ‘Perhaps he'd think better of the whole business.'

After we had drunk our tea, Magnus announced that it was time for sherry. He got out a new bottle and poured me a
generous
drink. By the time we had come to the end of our second glass, the conversation had become more and more hilarious as Magnus suggested a variety of new lines and verses for my ‘hymn'. The upshot was we emailed all the members of the Theology department and sent them a copy of my composition. I told myself there was still a chance they might reconsider their centre's title.

The next morning there was a letter from Pilkington marked Private and Confidential waiting for me in my pigeonhole. I had a sense of foreboding. What was he going to tell me this time? The note read as follows:

I was very upset by this missive. I had had the same room ever since my arrival at St Sebastian's. Why should I move out now? Irate, I telephoned Patricia and explained the situation. ‘You're the Dean,' I said. ‘Can't you intervene?'

There was a pause. ‘I'm sorry, Felix,' she said. ‘It really is John's responsiblity as Head of Department to decide on rooms. I don't think I can interfere. He's already complained to me about your poem. I thought it was funny, but he was furious. It was stupid of you. You should have known that he has absolutely no sense of humour.'

Later in the day I went to see Magnus. He opened the door wearing a bandage around his head. ‘Are you OK?' I asked.

‘I was extremely damaged by that damn dentist.' He spoke with dignity. ‘The pain was excruciating and it is only now
beginning
to wear off. I thought it best to take precautions. I didn't want to sit in a draught.'

Magnus swept several books off an armchair and gestured for me to sit down. ‘You won't believe this,' I began. ‘I got a letter from Pilkington this morning, and he tells me I have to change rooms.'

‘Change rooms?'

‘I'm being expelled from the Arts Block. It's all supposed to be because the department's getting this new lecturer in Church History. I asked Patricia about it. But she said she couldn't do anything since it was up to the Head of Department. Really, she says, it's because Pilkington is so furious about my hymn. Anyway I've got to move.'

‘Where are you going?'

‘Pilkington said I could have Harry's old room.'

Magnus was enthusiastic. ‘But that's over here! How
excellent
! Harry loved his room. Of course, it was full of his antiques and oriental carpets. But the Arts Block is awful. I always refused to go. The architecture's much better here.'