The Campus Trilogy (61 page)

By the time he reached Fandonegal, he was a veteran of several
expensive rehabilitation courses. He had more or less failed his ‘A' levels and Fandonegal, under Flanagan, had been the only
university
prepared to accept him. James, who told me the story, was not enthusiastic. ‘All the students seemed to regard Tristram as a bit of a joke. He did no work at all. Lay in bed all day and was
obviously
still taking drugs. He had much too much money and never bothered to go to any lectures. Freddie said he was hopeless.'

‘How did he manage to graduate?' I asked.

‘That's just the point,' said James. ‘The Pro-Vice-Chancellor, O'Flannel, or whatever his name was, took an interest in the boy. He was given chance after chance. I honestly don't think that if he'd been anyone other than the Honourable Tristram Barridon that they'd have taken so much trouble. On one occasion the
Pro-Vice-Chancellor
even drove him to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. Anyway he was allowed to do his exams by himself in the university sanitorium and he emerged with a very respectable lower second class degree …'

‘Do you think he got it by fair means?' I asked.

James laughed and shrugged his shoulders. ‘How should I know? Freddie always maintained that this O'Flannel did the exams for him because he was anxious to keep in with his father …'

‘Well Barridon now lives near St Sebastian's,' I pointed out, ‘And Flanagan has just given his new young wife a most lucrative job …'

James and Vanessa returned to Gloucestershire on the Friday and that evening Victoria and I were invited to be guests of
honour
at the St Sebastian's Christmas feast. It was a black tie
occasion
, so I climbed into my ancient dinner jacket, trying to ignore how tight it had become. Victoria looked wonderful. Her dark slenderness was perfectly set off by the wine-red velvet dress and the triple string of pearls she was wearing.

We found ourselves at eight o'clock in the panelled Great Hall which was decorated with holly and mistletoe. The bizarre, super-life-like portrait of St Sebastian was lit up. Somehow, in the candle-light, it looked better than in the day-time. We were at the top table and I was placed next to Alf Flanagan on one side and Lady Barridon, otherwise known as Olive O'Shea, on the
other. Victoria was on the other side of the Vice-Chancellor and had old Lord Barridon on her right.

Lady Barridon appeared like a Marilyn Monroe look-alike. She was certainly pretty with her short blonde hair, her painted red mouth and her pneumatic figure. No wonder Barridon had found a new lease of life in marrying her. But her conversation was dire. I heard in detail about her exhibition in Edinburgh two years previously. I learnt that she had been awarded an art prize by a small private gallery in Chichester where she occasionally exhibited. I asked her what the prize was and she loftily informed me at length that in the art world it was the equivalent of an Oscar.

She then told me all about her new job at the university; how she was going to persuade all her famous friends in the art world to donate to St Sebastian's. When I asked her why they would do that, she looked at me as if I were an idiot child and said
breathlessly
, ‘They'll do it for Me!' Then she enumerated in elaborate detail how all these famous artists (none of whom I had ever heard) thought that she, Olive O'Shea, was the most important female artist since Barbara Hepworth. I objected that I
understood
that Miss O'Shea worked in water-colour while Barbara Hepworth was a sculptress. This was news to Lady Barridon and she was inclined to argue the point, but she was diverted by telling me that an owner of the most famous gallery in New York was always begging her to assemble an exhibition for him. When I asked the name of the gallery, she became vague.

Altogether, the conversation lasted without a break through the prawn cocktail, past the turkey-with-all-the-trimmings stage and through the Christmas pudding and brandy sauce. I was only rescued by Flanagan banging his fork against his glass, standing up and intoning, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen … the Queen!'

With a certain amount of clattering, we all stood up and sat down again while port, madeira and sweet sauterne were poured out by the waiters. I thought several of them looked tired, but I consoled myself with the thought that at least they were subsidising their student loans with some extra earnings. Then I realised that they were almost certainly doing it for nothing – it was all probably part of Flanagan's so-called ‘student
work-experience
'.

While this was going on, the conversation at the table turned to holiday plans over Christmas. Lord Barridon was polite enough to ask me if we intended going away after the festival. ‘All those services must be very taxing … what?' he said.

Before I could frame a tactful answer, Olive cut across me. ‘We're going to Nice. I've got lots of friends in the South of France and they've been begging me to go and stay with them for ages. We'll be gone a month.'

I was a little surprised. ‘I thought you'd got a new job at the university here.' I said. ‘Won't you have to be working?'

‘I shall be working,' declared Olive loftily. ‘I shall be cultivating my contacts. It's always such fun in France. Rhaoul Duval has cleared his gallery in Menton so I can have a little exhibition. His gallery is generally thought to be the most avant-garde on the coast. But of course, he'd do anything for me. He said it was a
commercial
decision. He couldn't afford to pass by the opportunity of showing my pictures for anything or anyone. Isn't that so, Toots?'

Lord Barridon looked a little bemused, but nodded his head. ‘I like to stay in England,' he said, ‘but Olive finds it a little dull here …'

‘Oh don't be such a stick-in-the-mud!' declared the young Lady Barridon. She suddenly swept to her feet, overturning my empty water-glass as she did so. ‘I hope you will all excuse us,' she said, ‘but I need an early night. I've had a very tiring day and I feel a migraine coming on. It was nice to hear all about your work, Harry. Come along Toots.' And, without looking back, she stalked out of the Great Hall. Toots, otherwise known as the Right Honourable Baron Barridon of Horworth, obediently
tottered
out after her. I glanced at Victoria and, behind the
Vice-Chancellor's
back, she crossed her eyes.

With enormous noise and commotion, Alf Flanagan got back on his feet. Again he struck his glass with a spoon and cleared his throat. The company fell silent. I felt a chill of forboding. I
suspected
this could be a very long speech.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen,' the Vice-Chancellor began. ‘I want to welcome you all most warmly to this happy and festive
celebration
.' Standing, he made a striking contrast in his dinner jacket, pink cummerbund and and striped bow tie with the naked,
athletic
figure towering in the picture behind him.

‘This is indeed an historic occasion,' he intoned. ‘It is a time for looking-back and for taking stock. We have every reason to
congratulate
ourselves. When I came to this university over two years ago, St Sebastian's was in serious trouble. Our buildings were run-down; our accounts were in the red and we were
suffering
from a student recruitment crisis. Our political masters were worried. Questions were even being asked about the future viability of the institution. There was talk of tightening our belts, possible staff redundancies and some even mentioned the
possibility
of amalgamation with the dreaded Arrowsmith Teacher Training College.

‘But I am delighted to tell you, Ladies and Gentlemen, that all this has changed. There is no such defeatist talk now. We have become one of the most popular universities in the country. We are overwhelmed with applications. In the most recent poll of student satisfaction conducted by the
Sunday Times
, we came second in the whole country. Only students at Oxford are
happier
and we all know they are the most dreadful swots.'

A ripple of obsequious laughter echoed round the room and a few brave souls began to clap. But the Vice-Chancellor had not finished … indeed, he had scarcely warmed up. He raised his right hand to hush his listeners. ‘And how has this splendid state of affairs come about?' he asked magisterially. ‘You might well ask! The answer is vision. Here at St Sebastian's we have a clear vision. We know what our customers want and we are
determined
to give it to them. As everyone in business knows, no one ever went broke pleasing the customers. No, indeed! And that has been my constant motto as I have built the foundations for the university's prosperity. You can't go wrong if you please the the customers.' I looked at Victoria who winced.

‘And who are our customers?' Flanagan went on. ‘They are the students, of course. Our wonderful students on whom we all depend. We have seen them in action tonight serving this
delicious
dinner and I'm sure we all want to congratulate them on their sterling performance. Let's all give them a clap.'

The young serving staff who were standing along the walls of the room looked embarrassed as all the diners applauded their efforts. The Vice-Chancellor waited for the noise to die down before he continued. ‘I want to give you an illustration and I hope
you will permit me to indulge in a little reminiscence. When I was an undergraduate many years ago, my tutors insisted that I
follow
a strict course of study. There was no freedom of choice. We were compelled to learn about subjects in which we had no
interest
and which proved to be of no relevance.

‘I am proud to say that here at St Sebastian's we have broken with such constricting regulations. We are a modern institution. If I may say so, we are a real liberal arts university in the best sense of the word. Our students come to us seeking to expand their horizons. And we permit them to do so. We are not
narrow-minded
reactionaries tied to the traditional subjects. We are not pedantic intellectuals stuck in our ivory tower. We do not force our students into unnatural strait-jackets. We respect them to decide for themselves. Here at St Sebastian's we do not even chivvy them into stuffy exam halls. We have introduced a wide range of alternative modes of assessment that stretch their minds and test their real abilities. We are truly a twenty-first century university, perhaps the first in the whole country.'

Flanagan signalled to a nearby waiter to refill his glass. There was a brief pause, and then he continued. ‘Our hallowed halls of learning are now filled with eager men and women who are
pursuing
subjects in which they have a real interest. We at St Sebastian's do not shrink from exploring new areas of learning. No, indeed! We are like the adventurers who set out from the stale old countries of Europe and discovered a brave New World on the other side of the Atlantic full of fresh opportunities and challenges.' I glanced at Felix and Magnus who were at a nearby table. Felix was sitting with his head in his hands, but Magnus, who was next to him, was gazing at Flanagan with bright-eyed fascination.

Flanagan did not shrink from difficult subjects. ‘Soon we will be having an inspection by the Higher Education Quality Control Agency. I welcome their coming because I know what they will discover. They will perceive our excellence and they will marvel at it. And so they should! Ladies and Gentlemen, you see gathered together in this room some of the most able academics and administrators in the country. Men and women I am proud to call my colleagues. It has been a privilege to work with them. Together we have pursued our vision; we have stood firm; we
have overcome difficulties and we are owed our success. Together, we have constructed what is generally acknowleged to be the most progressive curriculum in the British Isles. No
wonder
students are hammering on our doors to come in.

‘But we are not complacent. No, certainly not! While we have been working on our innovations, we have also been sponsoring partnerships around the globe. Those students who live in
foreign
lands can now receive the unique benefits of a St Sebastian's education at places convenient to themselves. Ladies and Gentlemen, let me remind you, we are only following the great St Sebastian's tradition. Our founding fathers, in their wisdom,
created
this place to be a missionary college. In the nineteenth
century
our graduates went out to preach the Gospel in far-away lands. Things are no different today. Through our partnerships in Asia, Africa, Australia and America, we continue to follow our vocation of enlightening the world.'

Flanagan took a hankerchief from his sleeve and wiped his brow. He lifted up his glass. ‘We have much to be proud of,' he boomed. ‘Let me propose a toast. To St Sebastian's University! May we go from strength to strength!' There was a noisy
scraping
of chairs as we all got to our feet. ‘In the past,' he declared, ‘St Sebastian's outreach was to the heathen! Today it is to the
ignorant
. Let us enlighten them with our knowledge. Let the unique St Sebastian's brand of learning illuminate their minds!'

‘To St Sebastian's,' we all chorused and the Hall reverberated with the sound of enthusiastic applause.

As we walked home, Victoria could not stop laughing. ‘We never had speeches like that at Girton,' she said. ‘You know, Flanagan is the wrong name for the Vice-Chancellor. He should have been called Frankenstein; after all, he's created a monster!'

As Lord Barridon had predicted, Christmas was an exhausting time in the precincts. There were a great many additional
services
. It seemed as if every single institution in St Sebastian’s had to have its own separate carol celebration. We had the police; the ambulance service; the Mayor and Corporation; every place of education and every civic society. The university was certainly not forgotten. One evening there was a sumptuous candle-lit Nine Lessons and Carols service. The youngest first-year student tackled the first reading and we worked up to the climax of Alf Flanagan unfolding the mystery of the Incarnation from St John’s Gospel. It was quite a performance.

In addition Victoria and I felt we should do our duty by the secular customs of the festival. We ordered two large Christmas trees, one for my study and the other for the drawing room upstairs. Victoria spent a happy morning in Woolworths buying silver and gold decorations and yards and yards of tinsel. Both trees looked superb by the time she had finished with them. We had a large evergreen wreath on the front door and we decorated the house with holly and ivy for the traditional choirboys’ treat.
This was a gargantuan tea-party to take place after Christmas Day Evensong. We recruited our cleaning lady, Mrs Thomas and her husband, the Chief Porter at the university, to do the catering and organise the games. They were quite unphased by it all.

It has to be said that all these celebrations went off very well. The Precentor, Percival Samuel, had accepted that we must have all the old musical favourites and every congregation sung them with a will. Indeed I was rather afraid the cathedral roof would blow off by the time the final notes of ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’ had been sung by the massed university students. As December wore on, I was relieved to notice that the Precentor’s temper improved. Everyone likes being praised and it was clear that his efforts were generally appreciated. By the time Christmas Day itself arrived, he was his old self once more.

The cathedral had the usual two morning services on the 25th of December. A Matins at ten o’clock and a Sung Eucharist at half past eleven. All the Canons were present, robed and looking their best. Unfortunately, I had still not been forgiven by Reg Blenkensop. He turned his back on my greeting of ‘Happy Christmas,’ and sat in stony silence throughout the services. There was one consolation, however. Marmaduke did not appear. I heard afterwards that he had sneaked into the Blenkensop larder and had stolen most of their turkey. For once, sin was fittingly punished. He spent most of Christmas Day being very, very sick.

Following the marathon in the cathedral, Victoria and I checked that all was well in the Provost’s House. Mr and Mrs Thomas had the preparations for the afternoon party well under control; I could not believe the quantity of sandwiches, cakes and jellies which were being manufactured. Then Victoria and I set off for the Priory to join Sir William and the other residents for Christmas lunch.

We arrived bearing gifts. Victoria had ordered a pair of
slippers
for her father from a small shop in the Burlington Arcade. They were in burgundy velvet and each one was embroidered with a small dormouse. I have to say, they were not cheap and, for the umpteenth time in our marriage, I was thankful that I had inherited a considerable private income. I gave my father-in-law a sizeable bottle of his favourite single-malt whisky. In defiance
of all the Priory rules, when we arrived, the old man concealed it behind his shoes in the bottom of his wardrobe. Bess had a huge chewable bone which we found in the local pet shop. To ensure peace on earth and mercy mild, we also bought a similar, rather smaller version for Pookie. There was a nice bottle of port for Matron and small tokens for all Sir William’s particular friends among the ladies. The gardeners had not been forgotten. Victoria had insisted on complicated Swiss pocket knives. I was not sure that this was prudent, but my wife was determined that they were a better choice than improving books.

When we arrived, Sir William was in a particularly good mood since he had been successful at cards the night before. After carol singing, the authorities had arranged that a local vicar would
celebrate
midnight mass for those who wished to attend. To Matron’s dismay, Sir William had set up a rival entertainment in the shape of a racing demon tournament in the residents’ lounge. It proved to be popular. The staff had great difficulty in getting them all to bed by one o’clock in the morning. The excitement was too much for old Mrs Germaney and she spent much of Christmas morning in bed to recover from palpitations.

‘I say, Victoria,’ Sir William greeted us. ‘Had a splendid evening last night. A jolly good sing-song, carols and all that, and then we had a damned exciting competition afterwards. Mrs Blenkensop is quite a hand at racing demon.’ Sir William, who was sitting in his tweed chair, pressed the lever and was evicted out of it.

Victoria kissed her father and put the presents on his bed. ‘Matron told us all about it,’ she said. ‘I understand you and your lady friends were very late to bed.’

‘They were jolly good sports. I won nearly every hand.’

‘Really, Daddy! You must behave.’

‘Behave? Of course I behaved. There wasn’t any cheating.’

‘No. But you really mustn’t keep everyone up so late.’

‘Nonsense! They had a damned good evening!’ he said.

It was time for lunch. We all went into the Priory dining room which had been decorated for Christmas. There was a large tree in the corner with flashing green and red lights. Underneath were piles of boxes for the residents. Each table had a wreath in the middle and there were brightly decorated crackers at each place.
I sat next to Mrs Mackenzie who told me that Pookie and Bess were now best friends.

‘I understand you had quite an evening,’ I said.

‘Oh Sir William takes it all very seriously. Mrs Blenkensop and I normally partner up for canasta. I think Sir William thinks that’s a game for sissies and it’s certainly been a lot more fun since he’s been with us! He stirs us all up!’

‘You’ve got to be careful,’ I said. ‘He’s won an awful lot of money over the years playing blackjack. His last efforts in Atlantic City meant he could install central heating in his old home.’

Mrs Mackenzie laughed. ‘Don’t you worry about us, Professor Gilbert,’ she said. ‘His memory’s not what it was and anyway we only ever play for matchsticks!’

As we were talking, I noticed that among the other visitors were Canon and Mrs Blenkensop. They were sitting at another table at the opposite end of the room. I watched them for a moment. All three were talking animatedly.

‘I didn’t notice that the Blenkensops were here,’ I said to my neighbour.

‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘They’re often around. He’s a very good son to his mother and she’s devoted to him.’ Mrs Mackenzie looked sad as she said this. Neither she nor Mrs Germaney ever seemed to have visitors.

Lunch went on for a very long time. Victoria and I had to leave at three o’clock before the mince pies in order to be in time for Evensong. The Blenkensops were also making a move. I walked over to their table.

‘Do you want a lift back to the precincts, Reg?’ I asked.

‘Thank you Provost, but we have our own car,’ he replied stiffly.

‘Well would you like to come to the choirboys’ party after the service? There seems to be an incredible amount of food.’

Blenkensop opened his mouth to say no, but Mrs Blenkensop cut across him. ‘That would be lovely, Harry,’ she said. ‘Cyril Woodcock invited us last year and we greatly enjoyed ourselves.’

Reg looked sulky, but his wife, for all her meek appearance, was determined. ‘Come on Reg, it’ll do you good. You need to have more contact with young people. You’re becoming much
too stuffy. You can do your magic tricks …’ I had never
associated
my difficult colleague with conjuring abilities, but it cast an interesting light on his character.

The cathedral Evensong was wonderful. The choir sang
exquisitely
and the hymns, canticles, prayers and lessons went without a hitch. I congratulated the Precentor afterwards and he blushed with pleasure. ‘I’m glad you liked it, Provost. It has all gone well this year.’

Then it was time for the choirboys’ party. We played games; we sang songs; under the supervision of Mr and Mrs Thomas we all ate a colossal tea. Then I felt it was time for a little break so I asked everyone to sit down. When there was a degree of quiet, I let them all into a big secret. They must not tell anyone, but Canon Blenkensop had a hidden talent. In his spare time he was a magician. I was a little afraid that my introduction would raise too many expectations, but I was wrong. My colleague’s magic tricks were superb. I could not imagine how he did them. The boys gasped and giggled and applauded. It was splendid.

Then it was time for parcels from the tree. During the
conjuring
performance, Evan Thomas had climbed into a Father Christmas suit. Every choirboy was awarded his own individual present with an accompanying Welsh injunction, (‘And it’s a good boy, you’ve been this year I hope!’) All the gifts had been carefully chosen by the Precentor and the floor of the drawing room was soon awash with discarded paper and string.

After that it was time for a second tea and the boys did not hold back. I could not imagine where they put all the food they ate. When they really could not swallow another mouthful, we let them loose in a wild game of hide-and-seek all over the house. By this stage the adults had given up. We all sat down among the debris in the drawing room and we silently wrapped ourselves round large glasses of sherry. I can never remember being so exhausted.

But the Precentor was tireless. We saw a different side to his nature. With the cathedral Chapter he was shy and awkward, but with his choirboys he was as loud and boisterous as any of them. At half-past-seven he gathered them all together. Under his
guidance
, we had three cheers for the Provost and Mrs Gilbert, three
cheers for Canon and Mrs Blenkensop, three cheers for Mr and Mrs Thomas, three cheers for absent friends and, finally, three cheers for St Sebastian’s Cathedral and its incomparable choir. Then at last it was time for them all to go home.

When we finally closed the door on the last of them, I said to Victoria, ‘That was terrific! And you know, Blenkensop was quite human today.’

‘Ah,’ replied Victoria, ‘that’s because Marmaduke is
incapacitated
. I think that cat is a very bad influence.’

The next day we felt a little jaded. Mercifully little went on in the cathedral in the period between Christmas and New Year and Victoria and I had resolved to relax. We were having a late
breakfast
in the kitchen when the cats suddenly sat bolt upright. Then we heard a letter being pushed through the front door. There are no posts on Boxing Day so we knew that it must have been
delivered
by hand. Sure enough a white envelope with the address written in green ink was lying on the doormat.

‘It must be a late Christmas card,’ Victoria surmised. ‘No one could have written a thank-you letter this early …’

Unfortunately it was not a graceful note of gratitude; rather it was an irate complaint. Written in a florid hand, it read:

Victoria began to laugh. ‘Greedy little toad!’ she said. ‘What it comes down to is young Rupert ate too much. Don’t worry about the statue. Magnus is an expert on the ancient world and if his pre-Minoan image isn’t art, it’s at least serious anthropology. Doesn’t this woman ever go to museums or art galleries?’

‘Perhaps the loo was a bad place to leave it …’

‘Well I don’t know where else it could go. I really don’t want it in our bedroom and anyway the boys were all over there too when they were playing hide-and-seek… Anyway I don’t think we should give in to this kind of Philistine bigotry.’

‘Don’t you think we should get rid of it?’ I asked tentatively.

‘No I do not! It was very generous of Magnus to give it to us and there’s nothing obscene about it.’

I looked doubtful, ‘Perhaps it should be in a less visited
position
?’ I suggested.

‘Oh all right.’ my wife conceded. ‘For the time being, I’ll put it in the cupboard in the scullery, but it’s not going to stay there for ever… Anyway, what are you going to do about that ridiculous letter?’

‘I’ll ring Percival Samuel,’ I said. ‘As Precentor, he must deal with these kind of communications once in a while.’

Percival answered the phone on the first ring. I told him the story and he sighed. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘The school has a complaining letter from that particular mother at least once a fortnight. Nothing is ever right. If it’s not the music, it’s the teaching and if it’s not the teaching it’s the food. If she would only leave him alone, Rupert could be a very nice boy. And
considering
he has a full scholarship and he is getting a completely free education, you would have thought that the parents might show a bit of gratitude. But no! Something is always wrong. I’m sorry she’s turned her attention to you, Provost. My impression
is everyone had a splendid time last night. I certainly did and I was going to telephone you later this morning to thank you.’