It had certainly put a different complexion on the Dean who stood in the Cloister trying to get his breath.
“My God, a quarter of a million pounds. And the Master sacked him,” he gasped. The Senior Tutor helped him down the Cloisters.
“Come and have a little something in my rooms,” he said. They passed the main gate where a youth was holding a placard.
“Reinstate Skullion,” said the Dean. “For once I think the protestors are right.”
“The danger is that some other college will bag him before we get the chance,” said the Senior Tutor.
“Do you really think so?” asked the Dean anxiously. “The dear old fellow was… is such a loyal College servant.” Even to the Dean’s ears the word “servant” had a hollow ring to it now.
In the Senior Tutor’s rooms the bric-a-brac of a rowing man hung like ancient weapons on the walls, an arsenal of trophies. The Dean sipped his sherry pensively.
“I blame Carrington entirely,” he said. “The programme was a travesty. Cathcart should never have invited him.”
“I had no idea he had,” said the Senior Tutor. The Dean changed direction.
“As a matter of fact I found myself agreeing with a great deal of what Skullion had to say. Most of his accusations applied only to the Master. And Sir Godber is entirely responsible for the whole disgraceful affair. He should never have been nominated. He has done irreparable damage to the reputation of the College.”
The Senior Tutor stared out of the window at the damage done to the Tower. The animosity he had felt for the Dean, an antagonism which had taken the place of the transitory attachments of his youth, had quite left him. Whatever the Dean’s faults, and over the years the Senior Tutor had catalogued them all meticulously, no one could accuse him of being an intellectual. Together, though never in unison, they had steered Porterhouse away from the academic temptations to which all other Cambridge colleges had succumbed and had preserved that integrity of ignorance which gave Porterhouse men the confidence to cope with life’s complexities which men with more educated sensibilities so obviously lacked. Unlike the Dean, whose lack of scholarship was natural and unforced, the Senior Tutor had once possessed a mind and it had only been by the most rigorous discipline that he had suppressed his academic leanings in the interests of the College spirit. His had been an intellectual decision founded on his conviction that if a little knowledge was a dangerous thing, a lot was lethal. The damage done to the Tower by Zipser’s researches confirmed him in his belief.
“Has it occurred to you,” he said, at last turning from his contemplation of the dangers of intellectualism, “that it might be possible to turn this affair of Carrington’s programme and Skullion’s sacking to some advantage?”
The Dean agreed that he had hoped it might unnerve the Master. “It’s too late for that now,” he said. “We have been exposed to ridicule. All of us. It may be College policy to suffer fools gladly but I am afraid the public has other views about university education.”
The Senior Tutor shook his head. “I think you may be unduly pessimistic,” he said. “My reading of the situation differs from yours. We have certain advantages on our side. For one thing we have Skullion.” The Dean began to protest but the Senior Tutor held up his hand. “Hear me out. Dean, hear me out. However ludicrous we may have been made to appear by friend Carrington, Skullion made an extremely favourable impression.”
“At our expense,” the Dean pointed out.
“Certainly, but the fact remains that public sympathy is on his side. Let us assume for a moment that we – and by we I mean the College Council – all excepting the Master, agree to demand Skullion’s reinstatement. Sir Godber would naturally resist and would be seen to resist such a move. We should appear as the champions of the underdog and the Master would find himself in an extremely difficult position. If further we present a reasoned case for our admissions policy -”
“Impossible,” said the Dean. “No one is going to -”
“I haven’t finished,” said the Senior Tutor. “There is a sound case to be made for admitting candidates without suitable academic qualifications. We provide a natural outlet for those without apparent ability. No other college performs such a necessary function. Only the clever people get in to King’s or Trinity. Certainly New Hall admits candidates under, to put it mildly, peculiar circumstances, but that’s a women’s college.”
The Dean sniffed disparagingly.
“Quite,” said the Senior Tutor. “My point is this that a properly articulated appeal on behalf of the scholastically crippled might win a great deal of public support. Couple it to demands on our part for Skullion’s reinstatement and we could well turn what appears to be defeat into victory.” The Senior Tutor fetched the decanter and poured more sherry while the Dean considered his words.
“There may be something in what you say,” he admitted. “It has always seemed to me to be decidedly inequitable that only the intelligent minority should be allowed to benefit from a university education.”
“My point exactly,” said the Senior Tutor. “We cease to be the college of privilege, we become the college of the intellectually deprived. It is simply a question of emphasis. What is more, since we are not dependent on grant-assisted undergraduates, it is self-evident that we are saving public money. The question remains how to present this new image to the public. I confess the problem baffles me.”
“The first essential is to call an urgent meeting of the College Council and get some degree of unanimity about reinstating Skullion,” said the Dean.
The Senior Tutor picked up the telephone.
Chapter 19
The College Council met at ten on Monday morning. Several Fellows were unable to attend but signified their readiness to vote by proxy through the Dean. Even the Master, who was not fully informed of the agenda, welcomed the meeting. “We must thrash this affair out once and for all,” he told the Bursar, as they made their way to the Council Chamber. “The allegations in yesterday’s Observer have made it essential to make a clean break with the past.”
“They’ve certainly made things very awkward for us,” said the Bursar.
“They’ve made it a damned sight more awkward for the old fogeys,” said Sir Godber.
The Bursar sighed. It was evidently going to be an acrimonious meeting.
It was. The Senior Tutor led the attack.
“I am proposing that we issue a statement rescinding the dismissal of Skullion,” he told the Council when the preliminaries had been dealt with.
“Out of the question,” snapped the Master. “Skullion has chosen to draw the attention of the public to facts about College policy which I am sure we all agree have put the reputation of Porterhouse in jeopardy.”
“I can’t agree,” said the Dean.
“I certainly don’t,” said the Senior Tutor.
“But the whole world knows now that we sell degrees,” Sir Godber insisted.
“That portion of the world that happens to read the Observer, perhaps,” said the Senior Tutor, “but in any case allegations are not facts.”
“In this case they happen to be facts,” said the Master. “Unadulterated facts. Skullion was speaking no more than the truth.”
“In that case I can’t see why you should object to his reinstatement,” said the Senior Tutor.
They argued for twenty minutes but the Master remained adamant.
“I suggest we put the motion to the vote,” said the Dean finally. Sir Godber looked round the table angrily.
“Before we do,” he said, “I think you should consider some further matters. I have been examining the College statutes over the past few days and it appears that as Master I am empowered, should I so wish, to take over admissions. In the light of your refusal to agree to a change in College policy regarding the sort of candidates we admit, I have decided to relieve the Senior Tutor of his responsibilities in this sphere. From how on I shall personally choose all Freshmen. It also lies within my power to select College servants and to dismiss those I consider unsatisfactory. I shall do just that. However you may vote in Council, I shall not, as Master, reinstate Skullion.”