by AnonYMous
‘What on earth is Artistic Dance?’ asked Victoria. ‘I thought all dance was meant to be artistic.’
Magnus giggled while Flanagan became a little evasive. ‘Oh it’s an American speciality,’ he said. ‘But,’ he got back into his stride, ‘the biggest area of growth is Celebrity Studies. That’s another part of the Entertainment Faculty located in the Old College.’
‘Place is full of students. We’ll be like Arrowsmith Teacher Training College soon,’ Magnus complained.
‘Of course it’s full of students,’ the Vice-Chancellor beamed. ‘That’s what a university is for! To attract students! To spread culture and learning! Here at St Sebastian’s applications have quadrupled in the last three years.’
‘The noise!’ Magnus moaned. ‘And the people! It’s unbearable.’ Looking over the menu he ordered a deluxe hamburger with cheese and mushrooms and a double-portion of chips.
‘Now you must try Flanagan’s Finest. That’s the main point of the place, after all,’ said the Vice-Chancellor as he signalled to a waitress. She brought over a large pitcher and four glasses. After he had poured out, he picked up his glass and made a toast. ‘To my new Visitor and his charming wife,’ he said. ‘Let this be the beginning of a prosperous alliance!’ I looked at Magnus who sniggered.
The following week I was invited out to lunch again. This time it was to the university Senior Common Room and Magnus was to be my host. He had also asked an old friend, Felix Glass. Felix had been a senior lecturer in philosophy when I was a member of the staff. He was an expert on the work of the great German Immanuel Kant and, as my views on ethical theory were not exactly the same as his, we had enjoyed many stimulating discussions over the years.
Things had changed while Victoria and I had been in the United States. As a result of Alf Flanagan’s cost-cutting strategies, the Philosophy department had been closed and it looked for a time as if Felix would lose his job. However, to everyone’s astonishment, he had turned his attention to fiction and had published two successful campus novels both loosely based on St Sebastian’s. The first, A Campus Conspiracy, was actually inspired by my original difficulties at the university – though if Magnus had not let me in on the secret I am not sure I would have recognised myself. The second, Degrees ‘R’ Us, was a sequel and focussed on Felix’s own problems at the time of the closure of his department. Magnus was a prominent character in both volumes and held out hopes that they would be taken up by Hollywood and that he would be invited to play himself. He had already practised his Oscar acceptance speech. In any event, both books had done surprisingly well and had had glowing reviews in national newspapers.
The Senior Common Room, panelled in dark oak, was located at the far end of the Old College. Magnus and Felix were standing in the queue when I arrived, and they both ordered cheese sandwiches, crisps, and packets of biscuits. Magnus bought a bottle of Muscadet for us all. This was another change. There was certainly no alcohol for sale in the days when I was the Professor of Christian Ethics, but Felix told me that the sale of wine was another commercial enterprise of the Vice-Chancellor. Indeed I saw several of my old colleagues enjoying bottles of Flanagan’s Finest with their lunches. As always, I was concerned about my expanding waistline. I selected a tuna sandwich and an apple. They looked rather austere on the university plain white plates, but I tried not to look wistfully at my friends’ crisps and biscuits.
We chose places in the corner where we could talk uninterrupted. At the next table were a couple of law lecturers whom I dimly remembered, but they were absorbed in their newspapers and did not notice me. I turned my attention to my companions. ‘So how are you Felix?’ I asked.
‘He’s just been promoted,’ said Magnus coyly. ‘He’s now Professor Glass.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘How splendid! When did that happen?’
Felix looked embarrassed as he explained that he was not exactly a professor of philosophy.
‘What then? Philosophy’s your subject. Don’t tell me you’ve been seduced into Brewing Technology or something …’
‘Well, as you know, I was rescued from redundancy by agreeing to head the Vice-Chancellor’s Entertainment Faculty. The academic programme is divided into three faculties now. Humanities, Social Science and Entertainment. Entertainment is by far the biggest.’
I shook my head. I tried to imagine what my old tutor at Cambridge would have said to this programme. He had been appalled when I switched from Classics to Theology at the end of my second year on the grounds that Theology was not really an academic subject, at any rate not as compared with Classics and Mathematics.
‘But I managed to persuade Alf Flanagan to let me continue to teach philosophy to small groups of interested students.’ Felix went on. ‘I didn’t just want to be an administrator. And I must say, I’ve had some very good undergraduates …’
‘So why can’t you be the Professor of Philosophy if the subject is still taught?’ I asked.
‘Well … it’s all rather embarrassing …’
‘Ask him what he’s now called,’ Magnus grinned
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’ Felix squirmed in his seat.
‘Tell us, Felix. I’m sure there’s nothing to be ashamed of. After all, a Chair’s a Chair …’
‘It’s all a big mistake.’
‘A mistake?’
‘Well, it really doesn’t make sense.’
‘Go ahead, Felix,’ Magnus prompted.
‘All right, all right! I’m the Immanuel Kant Professor of Entertainment!’ Magnus dissolved into giggles.
‘You can’t be!’ I said.
‘Well,’ Felix said, ‘Flanagan insisted. What he really wanted was for me to be the Walt Disney or the MGM Professor of Entertainment and he wrote around trying to get a massive endowment from the studios. As it happens, Hollywood isn’t finding things too easy at the moment so that came to nothing. So the compromise was he allowed me to be the Immanuel Kant Professor provided it was made clear that it was for entertainment rather than philosophy. And it’s understood that if he does find some sucker to give the money, then poor old Kant will have to be dropped.’
‘It could be a lot worse,’ consoled Magnus. ‘Think if you were the Frodo Baggins or the Harry Potter Professor of Entertainment. Flanagan is quite capable of that sort of whimsy.’
‘I know,’ said Felix grimly. ‘I live in dread …’
Magnus looked through his post as Felix told me about the growth of his faculty and the changes that had taken place in the university since I had left. All the new departments belonged to Entertainment. There was now Dance, Drama, Fashion, Film, Sports Studies, Travel and Tourism, Catering, Celebrity Studies and, of course, the notorious Brewing Technology. In effect the whole institution had been reorganised and there was no doubt that it was financially booming.
‘But I don’t understand,’ I protested. ‘All this reorganisation takes time. It’s complicated. All the new degrees have to be approved by the central higher education Quality Control Agency. You have to have armies of qualifed external examiners to make sure that your standards are the same as that of degrees in the more conventional subjects. How have you got all this organised so quickly?’
Felix squirmed again. ‘I worry about that every day. To be honest nothing is properly in place. Flanagan insisted that we started and took in students as soon as ever we could and preferably before that. At present we rely on a very cursory system of moderation because we simply do not have enough external examiners and Flanagan won’t give us enough money to pay for them.’
‘But what are you going to do?’ I persisted. ‘I understand there’s to be a quality inspection later this academic year. You’ve got to get it organised before then.’
‘I know, I know!’ Felix wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. ‘I go on about this to the Vice-Chancellor whenever I meet him. But he’s incredibly good at ignoring problems and he refuses to discuss anything. He keeps referring me to Mrs Sloth who’s the new Quality C
ontrol Officer in the university.’
‘Jenny Sloth, the wife of the Registrar?’ I asked.
‘The very same …’ Felix sighed.
Christian charity temporarily failed me. ‘But she couldn’t run a booze-up in a brewery,’ I said.
‘And she can’t see the necessity for an external examiner for Brewing Technology and, in any case, she has already lost the documentation three times!’ remarked Magnus brightly.
‘Only twice actually.’ Felix was deeply gloomy.
I thought the time had come to change the subject. After all this was meant to be a pleasant lunch amongst old colleagues.
‘How is everyone else? How is my old arch-enemy John Pilkington?’
John Pilkington was the Head of the Department of Theology and had been determined to get rid of me. Magnus was amused. ‘Oh he’s risen to great heights. He’s become Dean!’
‘Dean! No!’ I said. ‘But what happened to the old one? That nice lesbian you liked? What was her name? Patricia Parham?’
‘She’s gone off to Miami Beach to be the Head of Women’s Studies on an enormous salary.’ Magnus informed me. ‘There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth when she went, partly because she was so nice, but mainly because her partner was the best car mechanic in the town and everyone’s cars have fallen into little pieces since she left.’
‘But how did Pilkington get it?’ I asked.
‘He was the only candidate,’ said Felix, who was also clearly not happy with the situation. ‘I’ve also had my battles with Pilkington as you may know. The only consolation about his elevation is that he is as worried as I am about the coming quality inspection. And when all’s said and done, he is conscientious.’
‘Never mind!’ I consoled him. ‘At least you’ve written a couple of novels and you must have got some royalties on them.’
‘And movie rights,’ Magnus added pointedly. ‘I’m still waiting for my call from a Hollywood casting director.’
‘You may wait a long time,’ Felix said. ‘I helped with the screenplay, but there were problems and the whole thing seems to be snarled up in some financial wrangle …’ He smiled. ‘Still the books did quite well …’
When we had finished our lunch, Magnus insisted that we paid a visit to the Great Hall. The university had been given a picture of its patron saint, St Sebastian, and Magnus was eagar for me to see it. I happened to know the artist who lived in Virginia, but I was unprepared for what I found. The picture was at least twelve feet tall and was hung at the far end of the room next to an antique longcase clock. It was larger than life in every sense of the word. Every vein and every muscle was outlined in sharp relief. The flesh was intensely flesh-coloured and, at intervals, golden arrows skewered bank notes to the body as streams of scarlet blood flowed from the wounds. Over the saint’s head was a golden halo and his face was lifted upwards toward heaven. It looked bizarre against the Victorian oak panelling.
‘Good God!’ I said. I regret to say that sometimes I forget that I am a clergyman.
‘Absolutely!’ Magnus smirked. ‘It’s quite memorable, isn’t it?’
‘It’s incredible! What’s it doing in the Great Hall?’
‘It’s to drum up custom for weddings,’ Felix said.
‘Weddings? What weddings?’
‘Actually gay weddings,’ Felix explained. ‘Of course the university doesn’t discriminate; it does offer a straight wedding package, but that picture rather pulls in the gay market.’
‘How does it work?’ I had understood that universities were in the business of teaching and research. Flamboyant life-cycle ceremonies were the preserve of cathedrals. Now it seemed the Church had a serious rival.
Magnus started laughing again. ‘It’s one of the Vice-Chancellor’s money-making schemes. He set up a company called Mixed Blessings. He employs an administrator who mainly uses student labour and every Saturday and often on week-days the college building is taken over by one wedding after another.’
‘Does the Mixed Blessings administrator teach as well?’ I asked. ‘Are you now offering a degree in Matrimonial Management?’
Felix shuddered. ‘Don’t suggest it! Don’t even think about it! Flanagan would be onto it like a dog after a rabbit!’
‘Now that you’re Provost, Harry, perhaps you could officiate,’ Magnus suggested. ‘It would be a nice little earner for you!’
As we were chuckling about this, we heard the voice of the Vice-Chancellor in the distance. As he came round the corner, we saw he was showing a delegation of Japanese visitors around the university. They were heading in the direction of the Great Hall; Flanagan was wanting to show off the portrait.
He was delighted to see us and seized the opportunity to make elaborate introductions. There was a great deal of bowing and quantities of Japanese business cards were thrust into our hands. I felt inadequate that I had nothing to give in return. Magnus, however, rose to the occasion. Leading the delegation to the foot of the portrait, he rattled off several very fluent-sounding Japanese phrases. His audience giggled uncertainly and then relaxed when Magnus said something else. When he had finished there were more smiles and bows and Flanagan led them all out.
I knew Magnus was a suberb linguist, but this time he had surpassed himself. ‘That’s very impressive,’ I said. ‘Where did you learn how to say that?’
‘Stopped off in Tokyo on one of the cruises,’ he said. ‘Bought a phrase book for tourists. Thought it might come in handy as a gentleman host. I hoped there might be some meek Japanese ladies who would be content to sit quietly rather than dance exhaustingly all the time.’
‘Did it work?’ I asked.
Magnus shook his head. ‘No. The cruises are only marketed in America. The only Japanese person I ever met on board was one of the cooks. Still I did practise a bit with him.’
‘They seemed pleased. What did you say?’
‘Well I took them to the picture and asked them if they’d ever seen anything so camp in their lives. I’m not sure if I got the right word for camp which is why the reaction was a little uncertain. They may have thought I was saying something improper. Then I told them to make sure that the Vice Chancellor gave them something to eat. Business visiting is very exhausting and one must always keep one’s strength up. They liked that!’
Felix and I looked at each other and shook our heads. For all his faults, Magnus was incredibly talented.
Later in the week, Sir William and Bess came to stay with us at the Provost’s House. Our cats were not pleased. In their view, Marmaduke was a terror and Bess an affront. But some things have to be endured and they decamped to a high chest of drawers and spat at the poor dog whenever she went past. My father-in-law was in good form. He had always liked St Sebastian’s and we got the impression he was looking forward to his new life.
True to her promise, Victoria had found a very nice residential home within walking distance of the precincts. It was located in an old regency mansion known as the Priory and there were extensive grounds. There was plenty of room for both Sir William and for Bess to walk about and there was no objection to dogs. Indeed, on our visit, we were introduced to a small white poodle in a jewelled collar who belonged to one of the old ladies.
There was one room vacant. It was not very large, but it was on the ground floor and it overlooked the garden. We stayed to lunch and the meal was just what my father-in-law liked; basic well-cooked school food. Then we were shown the programme of entertainment and were pleased to see that the other old people looked well-cared for and comfortable. I was a little perturbed that there seemed to be almost no men amongst the inhabitants, but Victoria was not troubled. ‘Daddy’s always liked ladies,’ she said.
We took him round the following Saturday. Sir William was enthusiastic about the grounds, but felt that the gardeners were not sufficiently supervised. ‘Damned untidy herbacious border,’ he remarked. ‘It should have been thoroughly cleared for the winter by now. And the lawn edges are a disgrace!’ I fea
red that the Priory staff would have a hard time under his aegis.
He also liked the room. I thought he would find it too small after the castle, but he was unbothered. ‘I’m used to army quarters, remember. This is very cosy. As long as I’ve got my new arm chair and we can fit in Bess’s basket, I’m happy.’ He ogled all the young carers who were very amused by him. The other old ladies were put in quite a flutter at the idea that a real-life baronet was going to join them and he was remarkably gallant to them all. He even got on with the matron. He addressed her as if she were his sergeant. ‘I say, you’re doing a fine job here, Matron,’ he said. ‘Carry on the good work, carry on the good work!’
So it was decided. Victoria drove him back to the castle to help him select which of his possessions he wanted to bring. Since for many years he had lived mainly in the old housekeeper’s room which was not much bigger than his new residence, the choice was not difficult. It was all packed up by Victoria’s brother Billy and sent off in a van. Victoria followed to set up the new room, leaving her father behind for one last week. During this time, his tenants on the estate organised a surprise farewell party for the old man which touched him very much.
Meanwhile, Victoria was busy. She persuaded the matron to have the room repainted in cream and a dark brown carpet was fitted. This was the scheme Sir William was used to in the castle. She hung a couple of pairs of old gold velvet curtains at the windows and somehow managed to fit in an incredible quantity of furniture. There was his old leather armchair, the new self-lifting contraption, a Regency mahogany gentleman’s wardrobe and a couple of sidetables as well as his bed and a flat-screen television. On the walls, she hung several engravings of Shropshire as well as three or four small ancestral portraits from the castle and an array of family photographs. There was a replica of the arms of his old regiment and pictures of his old school and college. Just before he arrived Victoria set out an enormous bouquet of red-hot pokers in one of the castle vases.
