There was a general murmur of appreciation of a case well put or at least strongly felt even if not necessarily found convincing. "Thank you, Senior Tutor," said the Master. "Now I call on Mr Richardson to put the other view."
"We are dealing here with an example of something we have all encountered more and more often over the last twenty or thirty years: a trend." Jake spoke a little inexpressibly because most of his attention was concentrated on getting the words out with their syllables in the right places. "I would say two things about trends. One is that while many or most may be undesirable and on those grounds to be resisted, a trend is not undesirable per se. The other is that while no trend can be said to be irresistible until it is altogether dominant, there are trends to which resistance seems likely or very likely to be vain. In such cases it may be better, more advantageous, to yield at once rather than fight on. So we don't resist a policy of admission just because admission is the trend, nor do we resist it if we have no or virtually no chance of winning. In my view that chance disappeared five years ago or more if it had ever existed. I therefore appeal to the anti-admission party to yield at once, thereby giving itself the chance of doing what it would no doubt call salvaging something from the wreck rather than being finally compelled and so losing the option.
"Such is the pragmatic case, and discussion there will turn on the resistibility or irresistibility of the trend. But before we come to that let me briefly state the human case. I see it as divided into three. One, from what we were hearing earlier, both men and women undergraduates are overwhelmingly in favour of admission in general. As with trends, this is not sufficient grounds for resistance. Two, when they arrive here these young people still have some growing-up to do, and to be able to do it in close daily proximity to members of the opposite sex is a clear and considerable benefit." (There was a faint stir of rallying, chaffing etc. at this but Jake didn't notice it.) "Three, admission to men's colleges is the only way so far devised of providing more places for women while leaving relatively intact the present collegiate and university structure."
It was done. He found he was panting and leaned forwards over the table, head lowered, while he tried to recover his breath unnoticed. There was a handy interval before and while Dollymore asked if he might ask a question, was told he might and asked it.
"I'll take up Mr Richardson's 'relatively' intact collegiate structure in a minute; for now I'd like him to tell me if he would whether he regards the provision of more places for women as a, as a clear and considerable benefit."
"Indeed I do," said Jake, grinding it out. "Mr Whitehead's figures show clearly the disparity against women."
"I take that point: women candidates are competing for a proportionately smaller number of places. What assurance have we that to increase that proportion will reveal a similar or comparable increase in the proportion of those found acceptable?"
"I'm afraid .... I suppose...."
"More fundamentally, doesn't Mr Richardson's clear and considerable benefit rest on what I will persuasively call the faith that academically acceptable women are as numerous or about as numerous as their male counterparts?"
Jake's fists were tightly clenched under the table. "In posse if not in esse."
"A dangerous concession, surely, but let that go. May we hear some evidence for this academic parity or approximate parity?"
"The view I'm advancing can't be supported by figures or by self-sustaining facts, only by an adequate number of individual indications that woman is the intellectual equal of man, that her powers of observation, analysis, induction and so forth are on a level with his, and that her admittedly inferior performance numerically .... er .... results from a number of .... social factors of which one is that they can't, I mean she can't get into a university as easily as a man."
The writer in residence spoke. "Look, are you trying to tell us—" He checked himself at something said to him by the philosopher who was co-editor of a London weekly paper, then went on, "Sorry, got it wrong. Is—what?—is Mr Richardson trying to tell us he believes that? About women being equal to men? Does he believe it?" He looked round the room as if pleading for enlightenment. "I mean, you know, like really 'believe' it?"
"I think—" began the Master but Jake rode over him. He didn't know or care whether the writer in residence was trying to do more than, demonstrate the impartiality of his contempt and/or simply draw attention to himself: he (Jake) saw in him a slight physical resemblance to the little bastard from Teddy Hall, who was little in worth, not size, but who by some association led him to think of Chris at the Workshop and even of Rosenberg. Rage and dizziness struck him together.
"Of course I don't believe it, you...." He stopped just in time to avoid technically calling the Master what he had been about to call the writer in residence. "I was asked to put a case and I put it, that's all. No doubt they do think, the youngsters, it's be more fun to be under the same roof, but who cares what they think? All very well for the women no doubt, it's the men who are going to be the losers—oh, it'll, it'll happen all right, no holding it up now. When the first glow has faded and it's quite normal to have girls in the same building and on the same staircase and across the landing, they'll start realising that that's exactly what they've got, girls everywhere and not a common-room, not a club, not a pub where they can get away from them. And the same thing's going to happen to us which is much more important, Roger's absolutely right, all this will go and there will be women everywhere, chattering, gossiping, telling you what they did today and what their daughter did yesterday and what their friend did last week and what somebody they heard about did last month and horrified if a chap brings up 'a topic' or an 'argument'. They don't mean what they say, they don't use language for discourse but for extending their personality, they take all disagreement as opposition, yes they do, even the brightest of them, and that's the end of the search for truth which is what the whole thing's supposed to be about. So let's pass a motion suggesting they bugger off back to Somerville, LMH, St Hugh's and St Hilda's where they began and stay there. It won't make any bloody difference but at least we'll have told "em what we think of "em."
Only then, when he had in a sense finished, did Jake become aware of just how hard Lancewood had been squeezing his arm, of the pantomime of apology, helplessness, agreement and doubtless more that the writer in residence was putting on, and of what sort of silence had fallen. The Master thanked him with preternatural composure but Jake felt he couldn't very well stay after what he had said and how he had said it, matters on which he was already not quite clear. His headache drove and twisted at his brows. He asked to be excused, hurried out and stood in the main SCR with both hands on the back of a chair. Lancewood was only a couple of seconds behind him.