the hard kitchen chair in Sir Cathcart D’Eath’s drawing-room he felt approved. He basked in the General’s genial disdain.
‘That’s a nice black eye you’ve got there,’ Sir Cath-cart said. ‘You look as if you’ve been in the wars.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Skullion. He was quite pleased with that black eye.
‘Well, out with it, man, what have you come about?’ Sir Cathcart said.
‘It’s the new Master. He made a speech at the Feast last night,’ Skullion told him.
‘A speech? At the Feast?’ Sir Cathcart sat up in his chair.
‘Yes, sir. I knew you wouldn’t like it.’
‘Disgraceful. What did he say?’
‘Says he’s going to change the College.’
Sir Carthcart’s eyes bulged in his head. ‘Change the College? What the devil does he mean by that? The damned place has been changed beyond all recognition already. Can’t go in the place without seeing some long-haired lout looking more like a girl than a man. Swarming with bloody poofters. Change the College? There’s only one change that’s needed and that’s back to the old ways. The old traditions. Cut their hair off and duck them in the fountain. That’s what’s needed. When I think what Porterhouse used to be and see what it’s become, it makes my blood boil. It’s the same with the whole damned country. Letting niggers in and keeping good white men out. Gone soft, that’s what’s happened. Soft in the head and soft in the body.’ Sir Cathcart sank back in his chair limp from his denunciation of the times. Skullion smiled inwardly. It was just such bitterness he had come to hear. Sir Cathcart spoke with an authority Skullion could never have but which charged his own intransigence with a new vigour.
‘Says he wants Porterhouse to be an open college,’ he said, stoking the embers of the General’s fury.
‘Open college?’ Sir Cathcart responded to the call. ‘Open? What the devil does he mean by that? It’s open enough already. Half the scum of the world in as it is.’
‘I think he means more scholars,’ Skullion said.
Sir Cathcart grew a shade more apoplectic.
‘Scholars? That’s half the trouble with the world today, scholarship. Too many damned intellectuals about who think they know how things should be done.Academics, bah! Can’t win a war with thinking. Can’t run a factory on thought. It needs guts and sweat and sheer hard work. If I had my way I’d kick every damned scholar out of the College and put in some athletes to run the place properly. Anyone would think Varsity was some sort of school. In my day we didn’t come up to learn anything, we came up to forget all the damned silly things we’d had pumped into us at school. My God, Skullion, I’ll tell you this, a man can learn more between the thighs of a good woman than he ever needs to know. Scholarship’s a waste of time and public money. What’s more, it’s iniquitous.’ Exhausted by his outburst, Sir Cathcart stared belligerently into the fire.
‘What’s Fairbrother say?’ he asked finally.
‘The Dean, sir? He doesn’t like it any more than you do, sir,’ Skullion said, ‘but he’s not as young as he used to be, sir.’
‘Don’t suppose he is,’ Sir Cathcart agreed.
‘That’s why I came to tell you, sir,’ Skullion continued. ‘I thought you’d know what to do.’
Sir Cathcart stiffened. ‘Do? Don’t see what I can do,’ he said presently. ‘I’ll write to the Master, of course, but I’ve no influence in the College these days.’
‘But you have outside, sir,’ Skullion assured him.
‘Well perhaps,’ Sir Cathcart assented. ‘All right. I’ll see what I can do. Keep me informed, Skullion.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘Get Cook to give you some tea before you go,’ Sir Cathcart told him and Skullion went out with his chairand took it back to the kitchen. Twenty minutes later he cycled off down the drive, spiritually resuscitated. Sir Cathcart would see there were no more changes. He had influence
‘That’s a nice black eye you’ve got there,’ Sir Cath-cart said. ‘You look as if you’ve been in the wars.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Skullion. He was quite pleased with that black eye.
‘Well, out with it, man, what have you come about?’ Sir Cathcart said.
‘It’s the new Master. He made a speech at the Feast last night,’ Skullion told him.
‘A speech? At the Feast?’ Sir Cathcart sat up in his chair.
‘Yes, sir. I knew you wouldn’t like it.’
‘Disgraceful. What did he say?’
‘Says he’s going to change the College.’
Sir Carthcart’s eyes bulged in his head. ‘Change the College? What the devil does he mean by that? The damned place has been changed beyond all recognition already. Can’t go in the place without seeing some long-haired lout looking more like a girl than a man. Swarming with bloody poofters. Change the College? There’s only one change that’s needed and that’s back to the old ways. The old traditions. Cut their hair off and duck them in the fountain. That’s what’s needed. When I think what Porterhouse used to be and see what it’s become, it makes my blood boil. It’s the same with the whole damned country. Letting niggers in and keeping good white men out. Gone soft, that’s what’s happened. Soft in the head and soft in the body.’ Sir Cathcart sank back in his chair limp from his denunciation of the times. Skullion smiled inwardly. It was just such bitterness he had come to hear. Sir Cathcart spoke with an authority Skullion could never have but which charged his own intransigence with a new vigour.
‘Says he wants Porterhouse to be an open college,’ he said, stoking the embers of the General’s fury.
‘Open college?’ Sir Cathcart responded to the call. ‘Open? What the devil does he mean by that? It’s open enough already. Half the scum of the world in as it is.’
‘I think he means more scholars,’ Skullion said.
Sir Cathcart grew a shade more apoplectic.
‘Scholars? That’s half the trouble with the world today, scholarship. Too many damned intellectuals about who think they know how things should be done.Academics, bah! Can’t win a war with thinking. Can’t run a factory on thought. It needs guts and sweat and sheer hard work. If I had my way I’d kick every damned scholar out of the College and put in some athletes to run the place properly. Anyone would think Varsity was some sort of school. In my day we didn’t come up to learn anything, we came up to forget all the damned silly things we’d had pumped into us at school. My God, Skullion, I’ll tell you this, a man can learn more between the thighs of a good woman than he ever needs to know. Scholarship’s a waste of time and public money. What’s more, it’s iniquitous.’ Exhausted by his outburst, Sir Cathcart stared belligerently into the fire.
‘What’s Fairbrother say?’ he asked finally.
‘The Dean, sir? He doesn’t like it any more than you do, sir,’ Skullion said, ‘but he’s not as young as he used to be, sir.’
‘Don’t suppose he is,’ Sir Cathcart agreed.
‘That’s why I came to tell you, sir,’ Skullion continued. ‘I thought you’d know what to do.’
Sir Cathcart stiffened. ‘Do? Don’t see what I can do,’ he said presently. ‘I’ll write to the Master, of course, but I’ve no influence in the College these days.’
‘But you have outside, sir,’ Skullion assured him.
‘Well perhaps,’ Sir Cathcart assented. ‘All right. I’ll see what I can do. Keep me informed, Skullion.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘Get Cook to give you some tea before you go,’ Sir Cathcart told him and Skullion went out with his chairand took it back to the kitchen. Twenty minutes later he cycled off down the drive, spiritually resuscitated. Sir Cathcart would see there were no more changes. He had influence
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