The next topic was described simply as Stanton St Leonard Churchyard. All Jake knew about Stanton St Leonard was that it was a village to the north-west of Oxford, that the living of its church was in the gift of Comyns and that 'by way' of consequence a part of its churchyard was set aside for the remains of Fellows of the college, an amenity not much in use for however long it was since they had been permitted to marry. Probably the local authorities wanted the place concreted over and a community centre or skateboard park built on the site.
The Master looked round the meeting with a serious expression. "Now I'm afraid I have a rather serious matter to draw to the attention of Fellows," he said seriously. After explaining about Stanton St Leonard for the benefit of the recently elected, he went on, "During the vacation a certain Hoyt H. Goodchild, a citizen of the United States, was visiting relatives in the village when he suddenly died. It seems that these were his only relatives; at any rate, there was silence on the other side of the Atlantic and the family in Stanton decided to bury Mr Goodchild in the churchyard there. By a most unfortunate and grievous coincidence the rector was away at the time and the, sexton ill, and evidently neither had briefed his substitute in full, because on returning to their duties they found Mr Goodchild buried at the Comyns end."
There was a general gasp of consternation, almost of horror, in which Jake couldn't quite prevent himself joining. Funny how we all overact at these get-togethers, he thought to himself: what ought to be of mild, passing interest attracted passionate concern or a facsimile of it, ordinary care for the interests of the college came out as crusading zeal. All part of being donnish.
Powle was continuing, "Both men have expressed their profoundest apologies but that's hardly the issue. I must have some guidance here. Senior Tutor?"
"No difficulty that I can see," said Dollymore. "He'll have to come up, won't he?"
Wynn-Williams and some of the other senior Fellows showed their agreement.
"I don't really think we can quite do that," said Powle.
"We won't have to do anything, Master, it's up to those two in Stanton to set right their mistake."
"There would have to be an exhumation order, which might not be easy to obtain. And there are the feelings of Mr Goodchild's relatives to be considered, surely."
"They'll be village people, I don't expect much obstacle there. And as for the exhumation, the authorities are bound to understand our historic right not to have a total stranger, and an American at that, in our own sacred ground. Why, some of those graves go back to the time of the Civil War."
"I think everybody here understands that, Senior Tutor, but I very much doubt if the authorities would, to the point of taking action that is. They'd be nervous of the publicity and I couldn't blame them."
"It's out of the question, sir," said the political scientist who ran a current-affairs programme on TV.
"Out of the question to do what is fully within our rights and in conflict with no law?"
"I'm afraid that in this case we'll have to bow to the opinions, the prejudices if you like, of .... outsiders," said Powle.
"Good God," said Dollymore. "What a world it's become."
"You're proposing that no action be taken at all, Master?" asked Wynn-Williams.
"Not necessarily. Are there any suggestions?"
There were none for half a minute. Then a natural scientist of some sort asked where Goodchild's grave was in relation to the others and was passed a marked plan of the churchyard. On examining it he said,
"As one might have expected it's at the end of a row and it also happens to be near the yew hedge. One might be able to plant a section of hedge, or transplant one, better, so that the intruding grave is as it were segregated from the others."
This suggestion was debated at some length; in the end it was agreed upon. But Roger Dollymore hadn't finished yet. He said defiantly,
"It'll be all very well until the autumn."
The writer in residence, who had often declared that he had done no writing at all as yet and had no plans for doing any while in residence, and who was wearing a red-and-black upper garment the material of which had been fashioned by human ingenuity, and who had uttered a loud yelp of deprecation on hearing Dollymore's first proposal for the treatment of the offending cadaver, said, "What happens in the autumn then?"
Dollymore said as to an imbecile, "The leaves fall."
"And?"
"And cover the ground."
"So?"
"So somebody has to clear them eh-way."
"Like?"
"Like? Like?"
"I mean who, you know."
"Oh who. Well not the sexton is what I'm suggesting."
"Why not?"
"Because his responsibility is to us, not to Mr .... Goodchild or his relations. He must have nothing to do with that grab and it'll be an ugly sight by Christmas."
"I think we can probably come to some compromise arrangement there," said the Master with a confident smile. "Now—Garden Committee to report on the south lawn."
So it went. Nearer and nearer came 12: Admission of Women, and step by step Jake's anxiety mounted, some of it now detaching itself and identifiable as anxiety about his anxiety. What the bugger was wrong with him? He hadn't had a hangover for thirty years but he could have sworn that today's was a radical departure. Well, thirty years were thirty years, weren't they?
Finally, by way of closed scholarships, a report from the Wine Committee, a discussion of a vile sculptured thing some people wanted put in the front quad and stuff like the recommendation from the historian of drama (the one who put on plays full of naked junior members of the university torturing one another) that the library should start a sexism section, 12 arrived. It opened innocuously enough with a summary of what the other colleges had done in the matter of admitting women and what their policies for the future were, as far as these could be discovered or inferred, all ably presented by young Whitehead. And it went on, if not innocuously then at any rate not leading to physical violence, with Dollymore back in the limelight outlining what he saw as the case against admission. Quite radiant with hypocrisy he led off with the point made by Smith in Jake's hearing a couple of weeks earlier, that to let women into men's colleges reduced the status of the women's colleges. After that he mentioned the harm he thought would be done the academic performance of Comyns undergraduates by the distraction from their studies he thought they would suffer. Then he unwisely stressed the opposition of the college staff to the scheme, unwisely because it was hard to think about the college staff without thinking first and foremost of Ernie, and if there was anything that could have united that motley Governing Body it was that whatever Ernie was opposed to you were for. As his final argument he dilated on the incompatibility between a mixed college and the kind of intimate communion which members of Comyns had enjoyed for seven centuries; undergraduates came and went, but Fellows lived their lives here. "All that," he ended, the dramatic effect heightened rather than the reverse by his bleating tones, "all .... 'this' .... would be lost—for ever."