“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.”
In the Council Chamber a momentary silence followed the Master’s announcement. Then the Senior Tutor spoke.
“This is outrageous,” he shouted. “The statutes are out of date. The position of the Master is a purely formal one.”
“I admire your consistency,” snapped the Master. “As the upholder of outmoded traditions you should be the first to congratulate me for reassuming powers that are a legacy of the past.”
“I am not prepared to stand by and see College traditions flouted,” shouted the Dean.
“They are not being flouted. Dean,” said Sir Godber, “they are being applied. As to your standing by, if by that you mean that you wish to resign your fellowship, I shall be happy to accept your resignation.”
“I did not say anything…” stuttered the Dean.
“Didn’t you?” interrupted the Master, “I thought you did. Am I to understand that you withdraw your -”
“He never made it,” the Senior Tutor was on his feet now. “I find your behaviour quite unwarranted. We, sir, are not some pack of schoolboys that you can dictate to -”
“If you behave like schoolboys, you may expect to be treated like schoolboys. In any case the analogy was yours not mine. Now if you would be so good as to resume your seat the meeting may continue.” The Master looked icily at the Fellows and the Senior Tutor sat down.
“I shall take this opportunity, gentlemen,” said Sir Godber after a long pause, “to enlighten you on my views about the function of the College in the modern world. I must confess that I am astonished to find that you seem unaware of the changes that have taken place in recent years. Your attitude suggests that you regard the College as part of a private domain of which you are custodians. Let me disabuse you of that notion. You are part of the public realm, with public duties, public obligations and public functions. The fact that you choose to ignore them and to conduct the affairs of the College as though they are your personal property indicates to me that you are acting in abuse of your powers. Either we live in a society that is free, open and wholly equalitarian or we do not. As Master of this College I am determined that we shall extend the benefits of education to those who merit it by virtue of ability, irrespective of class, sex, financial standing or race. The days of rotten boroughs are over.” Sir Godber’s voice was strident with idealism and threat. Not since the days of the Protectorate had the Council Chamber of Porterhouse known such vehemence, and the Fellows sat staring at the Master as at some strange animal that had assumed the shape of a man. By the time he had exhausted his theme he had left them in no doubt as to his intentions. Porterhouse would never be the same again. To the long catalogue of changes he had proposed at earlier meetings, he had now added the creation of a student council, with executive powers to decide College appointments and policy. He left the Council Chamber emotionally depleted but satisfied that he had made his point. Behind him the Fellows sat aghast at the crisis they had precipitated. It was a long time before anyone spoke.