The Campus Trilogy (70 page)

As the cathedral clock struck seven, he reappeared. He had changed from his jacket and was sporting a navy blue sweater with a union badge sewn on the shoulder. He was also wearing a UCU pin in his collar. With a great deal of ceremony, he took two more pins out of his pocket and presented them to us. Victoria immediately took off her grandmother’s pearl locket and stuck
the pin into her lapel. She admired herself in the looking glass over the fireplace. ‘Perhaps I could start on a new career,’ she suggested. ‘I’d love to have worked for a trade union. I’ve always been happier outside the tent pissing in, but for some reason I always find myself inside the tent pissing out. Can you explain it? …’

I was not sure whether I should be seen supporting the union so I put my gift discreetly in my pocket. ‘It doesn’t really go with a dog-collar,’ I said.

We walked to the Indian restaurant which was located three doors down from the Mitre tea-rooms. On our way we passed Marmaduke. He was busy hunting some unfortunate creature in the Precentor’s garden. Completely absorbed in his activities, he took no notice of us.

The Taj Mahal smelt enticingly of curry. I had already reserved a table in the corner, and Morris sat down between us. A young waiter bought us menus and we ordered three pints of lager and six spicy poppadums. Morris helped himself to two and then he embarked on an account of Sloth’s inadequacies.

‘I know he’s just started, but he’s the worst Vice-Chancellor I’ve ever come across. And there’s quite some competition for that title, I can tell you … Most of the time I wonder if he’s got any idea what I’m talking about. He gazes vacantly out the
window
when I ask him a question. Three or four times I actually caught him dropping off to sleep.’

‘He suffers from slight narcolepsy,’ I said. ‘It’s not his fault …’

‘It’s not my fault that I can’t run a mile in four minutes, but then I shouldn’t volunteer to do the fifteen hundred metres for Britain in the Olympic Games,’ pointed out Morris. ‘He was less than satisfactory as a Registrar, but his efforts as
Vice-Chancellor
can only be described as pathetic.’

‘Did you have to deal with his wife as well?’ asked Victoria slyly.

‘That woman! … She’s a basket case … She was meant to come up with all the financial papers for our meeting, but she’d lost them… She thought she might have put them all out with the recycling!’

Morris finished his beer and motioned to the waiter for another. As he reached for his third poppadum, he pulled a set of
papers from the bag he had brought with him. ‘Now I’ve got to show you this,’ he said. ‘It’s from the union barrister.’

The document was a brief about the redundancy procedures at St Sebastian’s. ‘The guy who wrote it is a London Queen’s Counsel. Sharp as mustard! Anway, the gist is that for once there’s nothing wrong with the university’s procedures as set out in the statutes and Staff Handbook. The problem is that the university has completely failed to follow its own regulations …’

‘What have they done wrong?’ I asked.

‘It would be quicker to tell you what they have done right. The answer to that would be ‘Nothing!’ They’ve violated every rule in the book in setting up a redundancy committee. For example, there were supposed to be three academic members on the committee elected by Senate. But Senate has never met. So Sloth thought it would be adequate to telephone every university employee, academic and academic-related, to see if they’d be willing to be co-opted. But no one likes to help sack their
colleagues
, so he only managed to find one volunteer.’

‘Who was that?’ I asked.

‘I’ve never met her. Someone called Olive O’Shea. She’s
something
to do with public relations. Anyway she should be ashamed of herself, whoever she is …’

Victoria and I looked at each other. ‘She’s Lady Barridon,’ Victoria said. ‘She and her husband got Flanagan his peerage.’

‘Well she still ought to be ashamed of herself. She’s no lady – she’s a scab!’ Morris laughed at his little joke. ‘Anyway, she hasn’t done Sloth much good. The day after she agreed to serve, she disappeared to New York. Apparently she’s gone for six weeks … So what it’s come down to is Sloth has set up the committee without any members of the academic staff on it.’

‘Does that matter?’ asked Victoria.

Morris was shocked. ‘Employment law’s all about procedure. What he’s done is in direct contravention of Statue 38.2. It’ll never stand up in an employment tribunal!’

‘Did you tell Sloth this?’ I asked.

‘Of course I did. But did he listen? He did not! He just said there wasn’t time to find anybody else. And since they made an attempt to co-opt suitable people to sit on the committee, that
was good enough. The university had done its duty …’ Morris seized the final poppadum and crunched his way through it.

‘But it’s not enough to try …’ I shook my head.

‘Of course it isn’t,’ continued Morris. ‘The upshot is that there is now a redundancy committee which is improperly consituted.’

At this point the waiter came to take our order. Morris demanded the full Taj Mahal Special Feast. He emphasised that it was to be for four people rather than three.

As soon as the waiter had departed, he continued. ‘But that’s not all. Sloth wants to rush this thing through as quickly as
possible
. He’s actually appointed his wife as chairperson of the committee.’ Morris pulled another document out of his bag. ‘Look at this,’ he said. ‘The stupid woman’s worked out a set of criteria for redundancy. Every person in each department’s going to be ranked on the basis of these criteria. The person with the lowest score is going to be sacked.’

During my time as an academic nothing like this had ever happened. I was shocked. ‘You mean every academic is going to be awarded a score, like gymnasts in an athletic competition?’

‘Exactly like that. The heads of each department are
responsible
for doing the assessment and filling out the forms.’

‘But they’re not going to be objective … They’ll mark up their friends and downgrade their enemies!’ Victoria had no illusions about the ways of the world.

‘I know… it’s a disgraceful system…’

‘Sloth must be mad,’ I pronounced. It was the only charitable explanation I could find.

‘That’s not the worst of it,’ Morris continued. ‘He insists that the committee makes its recommendations for dismissal by the end of next week when Council meets. That doesn’t give any time for those who are selected to challenge their scores.’

‘But that’s against natural justice …’ I was horrified.

‘Of course it is!’ agreed Morris. ‘Penelope and I pointed out that it’s a fundamental principle that the process of redundancy must be just and fair. It’s obvious that denying individuals the right to make a case against the scores they’ve been allocated is grossly improper.’

‘What did he say to that?’ I found it hard to believe what I was hearing.

‘He shrugged his shoulders and said they would have a chance to complain later. Jenny Sloth is supposed to meet with each
person
who is under threat individually …’

‘But all this should happen in advance,’ I pointed out. ‘Proper consultation should take place before the redundancy committee makes any recommendation. And anyway shouldn’t there be a voluntary severance and an early retirement scheme in place before the university even starts to think about compulsory redundancy?’

The food arrived. There was an incredible quantity. The young waiter had considerable difficulty fitting all the dishes onto our table. Morris helped himself to a huge stuffed paratha and started making inroads into it.

‘Sloth doesn’t understand employment law, or management or anything else,’ he pronounced through mouthfuls. ‘He’s got total tunnel vision. He simply can’t think beyond balancing his budget.’ Victoria and I watched fascinated as the paratha
disappeared
and Morris reached for another. ‘But I can tell you, Harry. We won’t put up with it. We really won’t. Whatever he thinks, Sloth’s got a fight on his hands …’

Morris was up by half-past seven the next morning. He was full of enthusiasm when Victoria suggested a cooked breakfast and he consumed every crumb. ‘I really feel set up for the day,’ he said. Victoria packed him a few sandwiches to keep him going. He was, after all, facing a full union meeting with all the St Sebastian’s members and he did not have good news for them.

The following Tuesday evening was Victoria’s last class. The series had been a huge success and, unlike most evening classes, the number of enrolments had increased over the term. To
celebrate
the final session, Victoria organised that coffee and cakes be served in the drawing room. These refreshments were
prepared
by the Misses Monktons and were much appreciated.

In addition, the more able-bodied members of the audience were invited to go round the house in groups of fifteen or so to see the re-decorated bedrooms and kitchens. Victoria was always
very conscious that the Provost’s House was a treasure that belonged to all the people of the town. It was not just a private residence. Everyone was so grateful and enthusiastic that Victoria promised that there would be another series starting after Easter. ‘Book us in!’ said Sir William, as he gathered the
little
party from the Priory into their taxi.

I heard nothing more about the university until a couple of days later. I was due to give an afternoon talk to the St Sebastian’s Mothers’ Union on ‘The Permissive Society’ and I was sitting in the study adding a few finishing touches. Suddenly the door-bell rang. I was not expecting anyone, but as Victoria was out
shopping
I went to the front door. Magnus was standing outside. ‘Hi, Harry,’ he said grinning. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’

In his hand was the latest copy of the
Times Higher Education
magazine. On the front page was a large photograph of St Sebastian’s Cathedral and underneath was the headline: ‘St Sebastian’s Slammed’. I led Magnus into the study where he flopped down on the sofa. I sat at my desk and skimmed through the article. It was based on an initial draft report issued by the Funding Council consultants. It was not complimentary about the university and its arrangements.

‘This is ghastly,’ I said. ‘How in the world did the
Times
Higher Ed
. get a copy of this? It’s only a draft so it must be
confidential
.’

Magnus stretched himself out. ‘Did you say something about coffee?’ he asked, ‘And perhaps a few bikkies?’

I went off to the kitchen and returned with two mugs of coffee and a box of shortbread biscuits. Magnus helped himself to three and began dipping them into his coffee. He smiled like a snake. ‘Good, isn’t it!’ he remarked.

‘Magnus,’ I said, re-reading the article, ‘it’s frightful! If the reporter has got it right, then the Funding Council consultants fully endorse the Quality Control team’s criticisms of St Sebastian’s. Its lack of coherent procedure is a serious weakness. The Registry has failed to keep adequate records for a
considerable
period of time. There has been no systematic financial
planning
. Many degree courses have never been validated. The Senior Management team has no comprehension of standard good
management practice and is out of touch with both the Council and Senate. The personnel department has no appreciation of staff needs and fails to provide adequate support … It’s a
disaster
from first to last.’

‘I’ve been saying all that for years,’ Magnus commented. ‘No one ever listened to me, but they’ll have to do something now …’

I was surprised to find no mention of the previous
Vice-Chancellor
in the article. After all, the current crisis was largely his fault. ‘Why didn’t they say anything about Flanagan, d’you think?’ I asked.

‘Because he had the very good sense to jump ship before all his sins were uncovered. He was safely ensconced in the House of Lords by the time both the Quality Control inspectors and the Funding Council consultants started poking around.’

‘It doesn’t seem fair,’ I said. ‘Still, Felix was quite right. He said those consultants were like ferrets. It’s clear nothing got past them.’

Magnus giggled. ‘Sometimes there is a particular satisfaction in being right,’ he said. ‘I always knew St Sebastian’s was a
corrupt
place. Look how they treated you! Look how they treated me, for that matter! It’s nice to see them get their just desserts!’

I was suspicious. ‘Look, is there something you’re not telling me?’ Magnus looked at me slyly over his spectacles. ‘Did you have anything to do with leaking the report?’

‘Me?’ He was all innocence.

I tried to look stern. ‘Come on, you’d better tell me …’

Magnus scattered crumbs over the carpet as he explained what had happened. ‘I wanted to photocopy several pages from a Hebrew grammar for my class,’ he said, ‘but that wretched woman Jenny Sloth was hogging the photocopier. She was
reproducing
something confidential for Council and she told me very rudely that I’d have to come back later. So I, obedient and
anxious
to please as ever, went away. But when I returned twenty minutes later, I found that she’d left the original document still in the tray …’

He took a sip of his coffee and drew breath. ‘Well, what would you do?’ he asked. ‘As soon as I saw that it was the consultants’ draft report, the temptation was irresistible. Of course, I couldn’t
actually steal it … I’m a friend of the Provost of St Sebastian’s cathedral and the padre at school taught us that theft is very wrong. But to use the photocopier to create my own personal copy was the work of a moment … and then I replaced the original where I found it in the tray. I got away just in time. As I turned the corner, I heard the silly woman come out of her room to go back to the machine. I’m sure she was very reassured to find it still there!’

‘Well, you can imagine how thrilled I was when I read it. It was everything I’ve always been saying! Tremendous stuff from soup to nuts! Nobody knew what I’d done. I was completely safe. After I had relished every sentence, I wiped off all the fingerprints with my handkerchief, put it in a white envelope and dusted that off. I typed the address so no one would recognise my
handwriting
and I sent it off anonymously to the
Times Higher Ed
…. So here we are! Front page news! Rather explosive isn’t it?’