With twenty-four hours to go, Keith thought he had it sewn up. He checked over the list of club members, putting a tick next to those he had already approached, and who he was confident would vote for him, and a cross by those he knew were supporters of Williams.
The weekly committee meeting held on the night before the vote dragged on, but Keith derived considerable pleasure from the thought that this would be the last time he had to sit through resolution after pointless resolution that would only end up in the nearest wastepaper basket. He sat at the back of the room, making no contribution to the countless amendments to subclauses so beloved of Gareth Williams and his cronies. The committee discussed for nearly an hour the disgrace of the latest unemployment figures, which had just topped 300,000. Keith would have liked to have pointed out to the brothers that there were at least 300,000 people in Britain who were, in his opinion, simply unemployable, but he reflected that that might be unwise the day before he was seeking their support at the ballot box.
He had leaned back in his chair and was nodding off when the bombshell fell. It was during ‘Any Other Business’ that Hugh Jenkins (St. Peter’s), someone Keith rarely spoke to — not simply because he made Lenin look like a Liberal, but also because he was Gareth Williams’s closest ally — rose ponderously from his seat in the front row. ‘Brother Chairman,’ he began, ‘it has been brought to my attention that there has been a violation of Standing Order Number Nine, Subsection c, concerning the election of officers to this committee.’
‘Get on with it,’ said Keith, who already had plans for Brother Jenkins once he was elected that were not to be found under Subsection c in any rule book.
‘I intend to, Brother Townsend,’ Jenkins said, turning round to face him, ‘especially as the matter directly concerns you.’
Keith rocked forward and began to pay close attention for the first time that evening. ‘It appears, Brother Chairman, that Brother Townsend has, during the past ten days, been canvassing support for the post of chairman of this club.’
‘Of course I have,’ said Keith. ‘How else could I expect to get elected?’
‘Well, I am delighted that Brother Townsend is so open about it, Brother Chairman, because that will make it unnecessary for you to set up an internal inquiry.’
Keith looked puzzled until Jenkins explained.
‘It is,’ he continued, ‘abundantly clear that Brother Townsend has not bothered to consult the party rule book, which states quite unambiguously that any form of canvassing for office is strictly prohibited. Standing Order Number Nine, Subsection c.’
Keith had to admit that he was not in possession of a rule book, and he had certainly never consulted any part of it, let alone Standing Order Number Nine and its subsections.
‘I regret that it is nothing less than my duty to propose a resolution,’ continued Jenkins: ‘That Brother Townsend be disqualified from taking part in tomorrow’s election, and at the same time be removed from this committee.’
‘On a point of order, Brother Chairman,’ said another member of the committee, leaping up from the second row, ‘I think you will find that that is two resolutions.’
The committee then proceeded to discuss for a further forty minutes whether it was one or two resolutions that they would be required to take a vote on. This was eventually settled by an amendment to the motion: by a vote of eleven to seven it was decided that it should be two resolutions. There followed several more speeches and points of order on the question of whether Brother Townsend should be allowed to take part in the vote. Keith said he was quite content not to vote on the first resolution.
‘Most magnanimous,’ said Williams, with a smirk.
The committee then passed a resolution by a vote of ten to seven, with one abstention, that Brother Townsend should be disqualified from being a candidate for chairman.
Williams insisted that the result of the vote should be recorded in the minutes of the meeting, in case at some time in the future anyone might register an appeal. Keith made it quite clear that he had no intention of appealing. Williams was unable to remove the smirk from his face.
Keith didn’t stay to hear the outcome of the second resolution, and had returned to his room in college long before it had been voted on. He missed a long discussion on whether they should print new ballot papers now that there was only one candidate for chairman.
Several students made it clear the following day that they were sorry to learn of Keith’s disqualification. But he had already decided that the Labor Party was unlikely to enter the real world much before the end of the century, and that there was little or nothing he could do about it — even if he had become chairman of the club.
The Provost of the college concurred with his judgment over a glass of sherry that evening in the Lodgings. He went on to say, ‘I am not altogether disappointed by the outcome, because I have to warn you, Townsend, that your tutor is of the opinion that should you continue to work in the same desultory fashion as you have for the past two years, it is most unlikely that you will obtain any qualification from this university.’
Before Keith could speak up in his own defense, the Provost continued, ‘I am of course aware that an Oxford degree is unlikely to be of great importance in your chosen career, but I beg to suggest to you that it might prove a grave disappointment to your parents were you to leave us after three years with absolutely nothing to show for it.’
When Keith returned to his rooms that night he lay on his bed thinking carefully about the Provost’s admonition. But it was a letter that arrived a few days later that finally spurred him into action. His mother wrote to inform him that his father had suffered a minor heart attack, and she could only hope that it would not be too long before he was willing to shoulder some responsibility.
Keith immediately booked a call to his mother in Toorak. When he was eventually put through, the first thing he asked her was if she wanted him to return home.
‘No,’ she replied firmly. ‘But your father hopes that you will now spend some more time concentrating on your degree, otherwise he feels Oxford will have served no purpose.’
Once again Keith resolved to confound the examiners. For the next eight months he attended every lecture and never missed a tutorial. With the help of Dr. Howard, he continued to cram right through the two vacations, which only made him aware of how little work he had done in the past two years. He began to wish he had taken Miss Steadman to Oxford with him, instead of an MG.
On the Monday of the seventh week of his final term, dressed in subfusc — a dark suit, collar and white tie — and his undergraduate gown, he reported to the Examination Schools in the High. For the next five days he sat at his allotted desk, head down, and answered as many of the questions in the eleven papers as he could. When he emerged into the sunlight on the afternoon of the fifth day, he joined his friends as they sat on the steps of Schools devouring champagne with any passer-by who cared to join them.
Six weeks later Keith was relieved to find his name among those posted in the examination school as having been awarded a Bachelor of Arts (Honors) degree. From that day on, he never revealed the class of degree he had obtained, although he had to agree with Dr. Howard’s judgment that it was of little relevance to the career on which he was about to embark.