Renate and Paul

CHAPTER ONE

At the beginning of October 1980 Renate Needham felt very proud of having been admitted at the Polytechnic near her home to read a degree course in German. Ever since the end of the war she had yearned for a degree, but domestic obligations had made studying for such a goal quite impracticable, not to say impossible. Now, however, retirement afforded her the time, her son no longer depended on her and her three small pensions made it just possible to meet her reduced commitments for four years without having to supplement her income. Resources would be stretched to the limit, she would have to forego all luxuries, there would be no question of extending the course; if she failed to make the grade in any one year, or in any one subject she realised the whole enterprise would have to be abandoned. She was very conscious that she did not really possess the required academic qualifications for admission. However, she did a test and was granted an interview at which her exceptional command of the German language, her familiarity with everyday life in Germany, her skillful use of words at the right time, to the right people just tipped the scales in her favour. She was admitted.

Here it is pertinent to step back a few decades to learn something of Renate Needham. Born shortly before the end of World War One of a British father and a German - naturalised British - mother; both parents almost old enough to be her grandparents. At this time owing the strength of Sterling, her retired architect father found he could live more comfortably on the Continent than he could in Britain; so the family moved to Köln on the banks of the Rhine and stayed there until 1932, when, following the crash of the British Pound the family had to return to Britain. Thus Renate lived in Germany during her babyhood, her early childhood and her elementary school years. Then at the age of twelve, coming thirteen she was moved to England where she had to adapt to an entirely different way of life. The shock of the experience defies description; fortunately her parents had always insisted on speaking English at home and often entertaining British guests with whom Renate was encouraged to talk; hence the trauma of rehabilitation was markedly softened by her splendid command of English, only a narrow vocabulary betrayed her continental upbringing. Being a down to earth girl, who knew she had to settle in Britain, she did everything she could to fit in to the community. To her credit she was settling quite well in her parents’ milieu, she took to translating which seemed to offer a promising career to which she was all the more fitted because she kept in touch with former acquaintances, one of whom was the daughter of one of her father’s friends who spent two summers with the Needham family; Renate and Christiana Webber quickly became firm friends.

As she entered adolescence her relationship with her mother worsened to such an extent that she was determined to leave home when she was twenty one, by which time she felt she would be perfectly well equipped to earn her own living in London; before this could happen however, she was conscripted. Thus for the second time in her young life she was uprooted totally against her will and her whole existence was overturned, and on this occasion she did not even try to make the best of things. Not surprisingly, she never came to like military life which she found brutal, coarse, primitive to a point of vulgarity totally impregnated with incompetence, arrogance and snobbery. She rarely experienced that so called ‘togetherness’ about which she had heard so much. She was resentful and lonely, but she did eventually find a few acquaintances among her peers, one of whom was a brutally frank girl from somewhere up north who spoke her mind thus endeared herself to Renate by voicing her opinion of officers; for some years Renate kept in touch with this out of the ordinary Samantha Goodyear; but deep down she only lived for demobilisation. She was tacitly contemptuous of most of her officers whom she regarded as self opinionated upstarts; except two. Both men, both regular serving soldiers; the Captain quartermaster, a cheerful little officer who often made her laugh and his right hand man, one Staff Sergeant Bellinger who taught her a lot about the traps and snags of store keeping, he was a tall gaunt rigid individual with a dry sense of humour which could occasionally be biting, but a man who stood by his staff specially if they were in trouble. After four and a half years conscript service she had no doubt whatever that she preferred serving with male officers any time and that by and large the army was a thoroughly loathsome and detestable institution.

She returned to civil life very embittered and went back to translating; but those first years were marred by a catastrophic marriage which was brought to a close by an unsatisfactory divorce because she felt the settlement did not provide adequately for her and her Son; the husband was angered by what he considered a grossly excessive penalty. After that they never saw each other. In Renate’s case the experience begat a strong hostility for the very institution of marriage, she only ever spoke of it when she had to, she introduced herself as ‘Miss’. She was never directly rude to men but she kept them at arms length; yet parallel with this, whenever it came to doing business she much preferred dealing with men; specially if she had the subordinate position. Otherwise she was establishment orientated, she respected those who succeeded by their own efforts and she always lived below her income.

This is the portrait of a woman in her early sixties who was to find settling to an academic way of life not nearly so easy as she had imagined. It was not only having to re-acquire the art, or more precisely, the skill of learning, not only keeping up with the lectures and with the work set by the tutors, not only fitting in with the very relaxed - she felt slap dash - attitude of her peers, not only negotiating the unexpected mishap at home; it was all these elements together. To her dismay she soon started to wonder whether she had bitten off more than she could chew. As the weeks passed her tutors’ comments became more critical though she would not admit it to herself these assessments hurt her, and she started brooding resulting in poorer work therefore, more critical comments which created resentment. A dangerous downward spiral was starting; but a break came just before the Christmas vacation.

On the very last lecture of the autumn term, Paul - that was the name by which Doctor Paul Müller was known - announced that on return from the Christmas break each student would be expected to submit three subjects from which he and his colleagues would select one to become the title of a three thousand word project to be done during the Easter term and vacation.

Renate was over the moon, this was to be her chance to redeem herself in the eyes of her tutors. She was well aware her home had been neglected, her correspondence had fallen behind, the work she was submitting was deteriorating visibly; but then, after settling her domestic problems she would be able to catch up on her reading and make preparations for her project. From then on she was going to shine! The adrenaline was flowing again! As she was cleaning and tidying her home she was thinking of the three subjects to submit to her tutors for selection.

She knew a lot about Köln, its industrial and commercial importance, its history, its legends; she was certain she could write impressively about Otto Edward Leopold von Bismark even if impartiality would prove difficult in the light of her great admiration for him; and thirdly she had a few years previously written five thousand words on the Rise and Fall of the Hohenzollern dynasty. Her problem there would be contracting all she could write into three thousand words; in fact she was considering requesting permission to write eight thousand words if this subject were chosen. She was advised not to do so, and she did not have to.

From that moment her thoughts revolved round these three subjects; her dining room was cleared to accommodate the documentation she already had and was collecting. During the vacation she decided somehow to find the money to go to Cologne to seek inspiration from those two Prussian kings and two German emperors on either side of the Hohenzollern bridge, to hear the German language, to drink copiously that invigorating atmosphere of the Rhineland, be reminded of Dear motherly Frau Keller; and most important to all, stand in front of that wonderful Dom which the RAF and the USAAF were never able to destroy; and as was her wont, shout as loudly as she could:-

-Endlich bin ich in Deutchland and feel better for it.

Yes indeed, the land of her childhood was beckoning her and it would be a while before she would see Germany again. While she was in Cologne, however she used her student card to go to the University library for more up to date documentation.

All this for her project? Well, in great part. When she returned to Britain refreshed in body and soul, armed with copious notes, she realised that her holidays were in fact a misnomer for she had spent four fifths of her time on her degree studies. Nevertheless, she was straining at the lead to return to the Poly, there to learn whether her subjects would be acceptable; and if so, which would be chosen: by the end of the first week every student was informed, Renate was given Cologne and the Rhine Valley.

There was no holding her. The project took over her whole life, she thought about it in her spare moments, in the tube, when doing routine work about the home, when exercising her retriever, even to slipping out of bed to rewrite a paragraph or add a note in her rough script. Enthusiasm pushed her along but she did neglect the irksome subjects, like phonetics, medieval German - beasts of subjects anyway - justifying herself to herself that hours spent on the project would prove more rewarding. What she called an Investment in Time. Her tutors did not share her view, they became either or tepid in praise, poker faced, patronisingly encouraging or openly critical; except for the Principal. Now - unlike Christmas term - this did not bother her one jot for she knew she was going to produce a Magnum Opus that would take the department by storm. It would be a ‘Donner und Britz’, well documented masterpiece liberally illustrated and professionally presented. Nothing and no one else mattered. She had a goal and everything was seconded to that.

Thus January slipped into February which melted into March by which time the manuscript was handed to a typist with access to a machine which accommodated an international daisy wheel. Now, at last, her dining room was restored to its proper purpose and a few days later the completed project was ready to be handed in. She decided to make an appointment with Paul Müller so as to put her project in his hands. He was mildly surprised and said; You need not have gone to so much trouble. You could have left it in the office with Marjory. Like a flash somewhat indignantly Renate answered, after what that has cost me in time, thought, money and lost sleep! Not likely! I am putting it in your hands. Her register and body language made it clear that from that moment her project had become his responsibility. What a relief! A lighter yoke! Now she could give her attention to the enormous amount of reading to be done, and the weeks of notes to be written up. The task seemed insurmountable; in truth it never was fully completed. But what matter? Her great work was going to make her that year’s star student.

When they re-assembled for the Summer term Renate read on the Students Notice Board, that those students who had not yet handed in their projects should do so by that Friday evening. This did little to ease the discomfort of knowing that she had not done the minimum of required reading, nor had she finished writing up her notes. Though she felt some disquiet, she took comfort from the certainty that her big effort would guarantee her admission to year two and all the work that had been neglected could be done during the summer vacation.

Towards the middle of the summer term projects started trickling through with comments and corrections, but official assessments were to follow by post during the month of July.

Renate secretly enjoyed seeing the red on her peers efforts and laughing at their comments, for she knew her project would be almost redless when it was returned to her. She could not wait.

CHAPTER TWO

One afternoon in June, Marjory nipped into the departmental library to hand Renate her great document. Renate was glad that her good friend Christiana and a few of her fellow students were there to witness - and she hoped - envy her triumph.

As she opened the project and turned the pages her happy expectant smile evaporated into disbelief, consternation and anger. Every page was besmirched with red ink. Her anger was not alleviated by Angela’s caustic:— Cor it could hardly have been redder if Paul had cut his wrist over it. Pity the scum bag didn’t retorted Renate. This remark was very much out of character for Renate did not anger easily because she had been brought up to control herself and life had given her quite a few kicks, but when she did there was no mistaking it, nor was there this time. Her face was white, her expression was thunderous, she was seeing all her efforts crumbling to dust with nothing left but the necessity to abandon the whole degree course.

An expectant silence invaded the room; everyone was waiting for an explosion which never came because her early training in Mutti Keller’s arms prevailed over her strong impulse. Some of those present smirked contentedly, some were embarrassed, some slipped silently out of the room. The tenseness was broken when she spat out with venom Hooligan! Sheer bloody academic hooliganism. This was the moment when Christiana rose from the armchair in which she had sunk and came to the rescue.

Now it is pertinent for the reader to know something of Christiana Webber. Aged thirty five to forty, born and brought up in Strasbourg; officially French but in every other respect more German than Renate was. Currently she was employed in the London office of a firm of solicitors who specialised in maritime disputes. She was therefore well versed in international law. She personally did a lot of business with the Hamburg and Le Havre offices. She was accustomed to taking responsibility, she had learned to handle people, by her very demeanour she commanded respect. French, German and English came naturally to her. Most of the time she spoke German, she resorted to French for light banter but to English when she wanted to assert herself. This was the person who stood by Renate’s side and spoke in a clear calm authoritative English which left no room for argument. Renate you are in no fit state to attend any lectures. We will ask Marjory to inform the respective teachers that we will be absent for the rest of today. We are going to your home together where you will make some of your excellent café filtre and then we will examine this Hooliganism’ as you call it under a microscope. Not before then you will draw you conclusions and decide what action to take, if any!"

With that, Renate obediently rose from her chair and both of them disappeared through the doorway. Soon after, everyone had gone to their allotted classroom and the library had resumed its dignified silence.

Renate and Christiana - whom we will call Chris - sailed out of the college and went straight to St. John’s Wood tube station where they took a Jubilee train to Stanmore. In the street and in the train they spoke little neither being in a chatty mood and the train is not conducive to conversation. When they stepped out of the station each appreciated the cleanliness of the air compared with that of the West End, or any part of central London; in ten minutes they were in Renate’s home.

The kettle was switched on, the coffee tray brought out, the deck chairs placed either side of the garden table and in a few moments they were both enjoying their coffee on the well tended lawn of a suburban garden. How very English! So English that they spoke in English. They chatted about the ridiculous new fashions, the latest "Cosmopolitan’, how well the geraniums were doing, the never failing beauty of the roses, Chrises’ youngest nephew’s hopes for success at cricket…….. Slowly the ruffled feathers went back into place, Renate even laughed at a witty cartoon in her daily, after talking about her plans for smartening her bathroom when she could afford it.

Now Chris felt was the time to start examining the ill fated project; before doing so she calmly proffered this excellent advice. Remember precis-writing? Don’t rush, read the text at least twice, keep revising your work, remember? Same now! Don’t rush and reserve your comments until we have finished together. You will find it an effort to be objective. That’s why I am here by your side. Now let’s start.

Together they dissected each of Paul’s comments and ninety minutes later they found that Renate only had two complaints; all the other comments were either legitimate questions, alternative suggestions or errors Renate should not have made. However the strain of conceding that Paul was not wrong after all told on Renate for she exploded: Right I’ll ring the rat tomorrow and demand an interview. Oh! Oh! laughed Christiana the embers are still smoldering. Well! tomorrow we will go to the Poly together and we will ask Marjory to arrange an interview for you| with your tutor. When you see him you will raise your two valid points in your usual sensible and courteous manner.

After a few moments of chit chat Chris announced she was leaving but before doing so, offered a final piece of advice. For the rest of today forget about the Polytechnic and everyone in it. Your garden needs some attention, all gardens always do. Take your beautiful dog for a walk and this evening treat yourself to a relaxing hot bath before slipping into a previously warmed bed. You’ll feel better tomorrow. Then as an afterthought and Oh! Take a sleeping draught, by that I do not mean your Courvoisier, or is it Remy Martin? They kissed and parted.

When Christiana had gone, Renate complied with those wise injunctions. The warm bath was sensuously soothing, the previously heated bed added to the feeling of luxurious comfort and the sleeping tablet gave her that final push into the arms of Morpheus. Her last thought Mutti Keller, Liebe Mutti was habe ich gemacht? and a totally dreamless sleep enveloped her for several hours. This long sleep had permitted her to relax fully, now she felt more rested than she had done for months. Slowly she crawled reluctantly out of bed to go to the bathroom where she had what was little more than an invigorating splash of cold water, then she donned her kimono and went down stairs to prepare to enjoy that lovely first cup of tea of the day. There was something about it that was very special, it did really break fast; and of all the meals none was every quite so satisfying as that very first one.

Eventually she rose to wash up all the cups and saucers and plates from the eve’s little snack as well as that morning’s meal. Back in her bedroom, she read the ‘Daily Reflexion’, dressed and was ready to face another day.

A few moments later she was in the train heading for St John’s Wood where she would make for Arnolds to meet Christiana.

Arnolds was a pleasant little tea room, adequately appointed, but not luxuriously so; the staff - mostly foreign students - were pleasant but not obsequious. There was discreet background music that was never blaring and the food was plain as well as competitively priced. They served light refreshments from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m..

This is where Christiana was waiting for her. She had barely sat down at the table that Manfred - whom they had come to know by name - with a wordless questioning smile took their order and returned a few minutes later with a cheerful Kaffee mit Brotchen für die Frauen, Guten Appetit and he disappeared until he was called for the bill. Chris opened up clearly and succintly. You look more relaxed than when I left you yesterday evening. Have you any lectures today? Well I haven’t so when we have done our business with Marjory I will fly because my schedule is very tight. So! It is understood! We go together to the Secretary’s office to request - note that -request an interview for you with Paul. Let me do the talking. For that short time control your emotions and keep your opinions to yourself. Clear! That ‘clear’ was in no sense interrogative, it allowed only submissive assent. This was when Christiana spoke in English. What had been agreed was done.

Marjory turned to Dr Müller’s appointment book and after some exclamation

-You’ll have to wait! Oh, here, he can see you in three days time between 13 hrs and 13.30 OK?

-Yes

-Right then, next Friday at half past one for half an hour.

Well that’s done, said Chris. Now I must leave you. We’ll meet tomorrow when we attend your favourite ‘Linguistics’! she teased and was off.

Renate had only one lecture that day, from 11am till noon, she felt there was insufficient time to go to the West End, she did not enjoy wandering around St. John’s Wood or Swiss Cottage, so she decided to remain in the college precincts, dividing her time between the students’ Rest’Room and the library. This turned out to be a mistake! or a least the Students Rest Room part was. Had she been left alone the healing process that had started would have continued and the interview could have assumed a totally different character, but young people the world over cannot resist a chance to tease, often very unfeelingly. So it was this time, her peers’ snide remarks and provocative comments re-awakened her hostility. She pretended not to hear but they struck home. Worse still, she was to have more of it the next day and again on the Thursday. By that evening when she reached home her anger had returned; but this time it was cold as well as calculated. That nasty little Bavarian had torpedoed her only hope of making a favourable impression on her tutors. Now she was left with only the subjects she disliked. There was no point in continuing but she decided that she would stay to the end of that term seeing she had paid to do so and since she had nothing to lose she decided that she would certainly go to see Paul. She had been forced out of the course, she had another weapon and by the time she had done with him he would be so crushed that when his friends took him home, they would slip him under the closed front door. He’d better hope there would be no draught excluder on the inner side. With such uncharitable feelings she returned home that Thursday evening. The eve of the interview.

Her anger had returned because she blamed him personally for destroying her only chance of success by the way he had mutilated her supreme effort. Now, however, she knew exactly what she was going to do and say. She retired that night in a very belligerent mood, strangely enough, she slept well. The next morning she breakfasted lightly, dresses tastefully, made-up discreetly and her scant jewelry oozed quality. When she strode out of her home that morning she could have been mistaken for a top executive going to a board meeting or a barrister going to court. She felt a grievance, she knew her facts and was set to seek redress.

At 1.30p.m. and not one minute before she rapped imperiously at the door; not the usual knock with a flexed index requesting admission but a sharp strike made with the edge of a fifty pence coin demanding it. On hearing Enter she opened the door to see Paul nursing his head in his hands pondering over a newspaper article, looking very worried. He was worried, he was reading the chairman’s report on the precarious state of a company in which he had sunk a very substantial sum, and he was deeply concerned about the prospect of losing everything he had invested i.e. all the money from the realisation of an inheritance.

Renate entered, closed the door and stood there. Her coat unbottoned to show off her dress, he shoulders back, head up she stood there her full five feet ten and a half inches, looking straight at him with her steel grey eyes, unsmiling! waiting! When he looked up he was startled. In a flash he forgot about his shares, he assessed the situation. She was angry. He knew why and he knew what to do, he also knew he had to do it quickly. He realised that the one subject not to be broached was her project! At least not before some softening up. His first words were Renate! You do look tall when you stand upright! Do come in and sit down. Without realising it, he stood up and waited till she was seated before resuming his chair. Her appearance and deportment had taken him aback, but only momentarily for he was a very experienced man. He praised her initiative in embarking on a course like that one; in his praise he carefully avoided flattery, slowly he introduced some favourable comments on her more successful weekly essays. As he was talking he was watching her face soften, her whole frame becoming less tense. At what he considered the right moment he suddenly said.

"But you have not come here to listen to me chattering. You want to ask me some questions, and we’ve only half an hour. I am sure it is about your project. What is it?’

Renate already felt ill at ease and had decided that her complaint about the amount of red ink on her work would appear rather petty, and dropped it but she did complain about his scribble ‘When writing in German do not mutilate the German language’ and added I was quoting a conversation between two Rhinelanders two ordinary people from the Rhine. They do not speak classical German as they do in Hamburg or as you do. What I wrote is precisely how they do speak. You savagely destroyed the atmosphere I was trying to create; in fact, as a whole most of your corrections’ are incorrect and unnecessarily viscous. By the time you have massacred it, it is no longer my project. It is nothing."

Then came Paul’s chance which he took.

-Regarding my remarks which seem to have upset you. When writing in German do not mutilate the German language’ I stand by that! It applies to any language be it Polish, Welsh, Russian, Italian, what have you. As for use of the local dialect to situate the scene, it was totally superfluous because you refer to the Dome, the romanesque church of St George, the carnival in Cologne, the Wallraf Richartz museum, the birthplace of Ludwig van Beethoven, Bonn, the Drachenfells, the industrial importance of Frankfurt and Cologne, the Lorelei, and more. It was well presented, so why spoil such an effort by introducing bad German? May I remind you that this is a degree course! Then came the coup de grace. On reading those criticisms we have asked you to do during the term, it is evident to me you neither like not understand literature. It is equally obvious you have reached an age that you no longer tolerate being corrected. Don’t you think you could use your retirement time more profitably and more agreeably in some other activity?"

The words pierced through her. All she could say was:-

-You nasty little Bavarian and she stalked out of the room deeply wounded because she felt all her efforts had lead to rejection. On reaching the door, however, she turned and added:—I should not have said that!

Paul was ready to be magnanimous when she made the apology she had lead him to expect, her body language was that of a wounded animal and her eyes were ablaze. The words that followed took him completely off balance:—You are a nasty little barbarian.

This was totally unexpected. Paul lost his composure, his thinking was thrown in disarray, anger seized him choking his speech; fortunately his former military discipline came to the rescue. He remembered the immense value of silence! Using all his self control he remained at his desk quite immobile and absolutely silent. Only his eyes and the whiteness of his knuckles betrayed his real feelings. Renate spotted these give aways and was tempted to tease him a little more, but did not because she was fundamentally a kind person, instead she slipped out closing the door quietly behind her. Inwardly enjoying a feeling of triumph. In the corridor some of her fellow students were waiting their turn to see their tutor, some were solely there to see her. How did you get on? asked one of them. O.K.? She had regained her haughty stand, smiled and said There is one born every minute, and right now I am that one. Her fellow students laughed at Renate’s little joke without a shadow of embarrassment. She also knew that Paul would have heard the laughter outside his office door. She kept this happy countenance until she reached the ladies toilet where she took refuge in a little cubicle. Then she cried, but not for long. She waited till her ears told her the toilets were empty to dive for a wash basin where she splashed some cold water on her face, washed her hands and freshened her make up. Then gravitated to the departmental library where she settled in one of the arm chairs and did some hard thinking which led to the conclusion that for some weeks she had reluctantly felt that this four year course was too demanding, a good half of it unbelievably boring. She had acquired a contempt for all but one of the teaching staff whom she regarded as a bunch of conceited self-satisfied nobodies who strutted around the place airing their useless knowledge. They were either critical or patronisingly pleasant. How she loathed them!! except one - the principal - for whom she did have a special regard.

Paul’s analysis was still ringing in her ears. No propensity for literature, unwillingness to accept criticism and advised to use her retirement more agreeably, or more profitably, or both. How disarmingly accurate he was. Yet he had destroyed any hope of her being able to continue into year two. With this thought she started most uncharacteristically to indulge in some negative thinking. How vile, vicious, vindictive ….. here she saw the beginning of an alliteration. Now what more? She added ‘virulent’ thought hard Vi…. noun came to mind ‘viper’. She went to the dictionary which did not help. She forgot about it for a while and leafed through a copy of Tatler. Later the adjective -vitriolic’ was added. Now she scribbled the list. Vile, vicious, vindictive, virulent, vitriolic viper. Hum! Not bad! In fact, quite a good description of him. No sooner had the thought gone through her mind that she was ashamed of it; or rather, of the use she had intended making of it. Instead she took it home where she already had a ‘B’ alliteration. In time she would collect quite a few recurrences of initial sounds which could be used for party games.

Then she consciously turned to some positive and constructive thinking.

Well! There was Samantha from the ATS days with whom she had kept loosely in touch, who then bred and trained horses, had a lot to do with racing, needs some capital and also some staff which she cannot afford. A thought! Renate never shared Sam’s love of horses but had a head for business, did not mind taking her turn at the necessary, if disagreeable, tasks like mucking out; and she could make a small financial contribution. It could be worth a telephone call and even, perhaps, a visit up there! There are other possibilities worth investigating. These thoughts brought the shadow of a contented smile on her face. She had decided! She was finishing with this lot. A great relief and joy flooded her whole being. At the end of the month and term she would finish with the Poly.

After that the IRA could blow it to smithereens for all she cared; and preferably when the teaching staff, except the Principal, were inside. She even wondered why she need bother attending any more lectures. Then the thought came to her mind, that since she was in situ she could slip into the lecture room, sit at the back which was most unusual for her, and settle to the serious business of deciding what she would say to Samantha that evening. Her concentration was helped by some doodling and the lecturer’s droning voice. He was talking some meaningless rubbish about ‘Clavigo’ Beaumarchais and Shakespeare. What was it all about? She knew not neither did she care. Her mind was on Doncaster. As soon as the lecture was over she could not wait to reach home. On the way she was delayed by one of her fellow students. Red haired Tony Oh! Say Ren! Can we have a cup of coffee together in the canteen? I would like to compare notes. I don’t know about you but I am totally confused. Right now I could never write one word about this lecture.

The very idea of going to the canteen at any time was abhorrent to her, but then, when she wanted to reach home, the noisy, smoky canteen whose walls were covered with politically motivated Student’s Union blurb was totally repulsive to her. No she said. I’m in a hurry. Tell you what! Here are my notes, make what you can of them. I don’t want them back. She thrust them in his hands and fled. Enjoy your coffee she sang as she disappeared.

The notes were in fact no more than a sheet of doodling which Tony was about to throw away when a seven pointed star caught his attention. How he thought did she manage to draw that without the aid of a compass, protractor or ruler? Hum! The old bird is quite an artist! But that does not help me make any sense of that lecture.

CHAPTER THREE

Now let’s return to Pauls’ office where we know we will find him very happy and pleased with himself for having in one fell swoop rid the Poly of a student who would never be a credit to it and having given a silly old woman that little jerk needed to help her re-orient her activities more satisfactorily. Well, this is how he justified himself, but in fact he was very unhappy; if only he could turn back the clock to half past one again! How differently he would act!! But he could not and Renate’s wounded eyes haunted him; her words pierced his very soul. How had he come to this. With all the worries he had, why should the words or opinion of a first year student - who should never have been admitted anyway - bother him? But they did! Those eyes of a wounded tigress would not leave him. In addition, he did not know what was going to happen to those shares. This is a rough outline of this thoughts.

"After a life time of near successes and reversals I at last find a post for which my qualifications and experience fit me. It is reasonably well remunerated and I am by and large happy in it. Mother’s brother dies leaving me a substantial sum of money which I, in buying shares of doubtful value, risk losing altogether. I fell for the glib tongue of a skillful share pusher - the oldest trick in the book. Should I mention this to anyone I will be the joke of the staff room. All those thousands just vanished into thin air! What a fool I have been!! In addition to this, Renate’s hurt tigresses eyes keep reappearing, her words keep ringing in my ears the way you savaged my project ….. you nasty little barbarian …..’ What is going to happen? How will it all end?

What if she complains?

He was alone in his office, he leant on his desk, buried his head in his hands and cried. Cried tears of remorse and despair; so pre-occupied was he that he completely overlooked the mundane precaution of locking his office door and there were other students waiting to see him. Because he felt that there was absolutely no way out of the dark dungeon in which he found himself, his distress was intense and very black but it did not last for long for within moments he was already regaining control of himself, wiping away the tears with a large handkerchief, and only in the nick of time for just at that moment a tap came at the door and the Head of Department walked in. What he saw shocked him. Pon my soul! What’s the matter? Swollen face, handkerchief not yet concealed?

-Oh one of those beastly summer colds, they do take some shifting! To this the Principal laughed in disbelief. Oh Paul, I do wish you always lied as badly as this and melted into further laughter, but the smile on his face soon changed into an expression of interrogative anxiety:-

- What’s the matter? Why are you shaking all over? Have you a fever?

-Nothing like that. I am dreadfully worried.

-About what? Would it help to talk about it? and without waiting for an answer Andrew Barraclough used his rank and ordered Paul to accompany him to the well appointed Principal’s office. On the way, the departmental secretary was curtly told No interruptions. In a few moments they were comfortably settled in plush arm chairs.

Now is the time to have a good look at the Principal of the Department. At first glance this six footer in his forties gives an impression of aggressive masculinity, his loud, low-pitched voice is rarely discreet.

Renate remembered one occasion when Andrew being a few moments late was heard bawling in the corridor which prompted some wag to say:

-His Majesty needeth no herald! creating much laughter, which had not subsided when Andrew walked in. Since he wanted to know the cause of the mirth, the same cheeky wag said, Someone among us, who shall remain nameless, on hearing you at the end of the corridor did utter these words of wisdom His Majesty needeth no herald. Andrew guffawed, he laughed for all of ninety seconds and eventually he was able to utter, Oh that is just great!. For that reaction he shot up in Renate’s estimation. A truly real sportsman’ she thought, and she kept a high regard for him for many years.

He is a showman who makes an entry when he comes into a room, his lectures are clear and to the point, so are his questions which invite - nay demand - a succinct answer. Andrew Barraclough is unmistakably a sportsman who boasts that at his advanced age he still plays rugby and he encourages both staff and students to take up some sport be it tennis, running, badminton, fencing, swimming, football, even boxing and he has little regard for those who do not sport whatever. Never having been really ill he became irritated when the physically weak or handicapped requested some concession; above all, he believed firmly that each individual should stand or fall on his own merit and he had the utmost abhorrence for whingers. This rather formidable character was feared by some, venerated by others but respected by all. On the rare occasions he smiled he was most attractive and when he wanted, he could be charming.

It is to such a man that Paul will have to admit his stupidity over the investment of his inheritance. Poor Paul Müller! Even we who are only readers feel sorry for him. He has lost a substantial legacy, he is haunted by Renate’s wounded eyes as well as the possibility she could make a formal complaint; and now, he has to face this seemingly unfeeling, booming giant, and to aggravate the situation Paul is not a sportsman. However, the Principal, as befits someone in authority, listened patiently while Paul unloaded himself. He told about his ineptitude admitting he had fallen for the glib tongue of a share pusher. When he had done he expected a tirade, but Andrew’s reaction was constructive and immediate. -I’ll ring our finance department and ask Bill Munroe to give you an appointment. He’s clued up about Company Law, he’ll advise you on what to do. After all he is not Head of Finance for nothing, is he? A few moments later Paul was told to go to Finance there and then, as Mr Monroe would see him forthwith.

The head of finance was waiting for him and greeted him with a friendly reassuring smile, the more comforting since Mr Monroe looked a well established middle aged businessman, every inch an accountant, or perhaps a solicitor. One could imagine him the senior partner of Blane, Allerdice and Sinclair - Accountants. It would be difficult to visualize him anything else with those striped trousers, black shoes, jacket waistcoat and tie with contrasting white shirt. His gentle manner and quiet speech made one feel in the presence of an expert, of someone to be trusted; even the relaxed atmosphere in the office was re-assuring.

-I understand you have a problem! How can I help? Paul repeated his story, but this time with much less trepidation. Bill - for that is what Mr Monroe told Paul to call him - told Paul exactly what his liabilities were, reassured about some of his exaggerated fears and dismissed him with these comforting words:- Sit tight, do nothing and wait till they write to you, as they certainly will. Bring their letter to me and we will examine it together. Then, and not before then, we will decide what to do. Meantime remember that the very worst that can happen to you is that you will lose every penny you have invested. You have no liability beyond that. That is Statutory Law of England. Should you feel a bit of a fool for having been caught then with a comforting smile he added Join the Club! Thousands have been in the same way and thousands more will in the future. Let’s hope that eventually you will be able to retrieve some of your money. See you anon with the firm’s letter. Bye Bye.

At last a light was appearing at the end of the tunnel regarding the shares; but what about Renate’s haunting eyes, and those piercing words? They as well as the possible complaint destroyed his sleep at night but Fate, Chance, Luck or whatever, takes a part in solving that problem.

Now, however, we turn our attention to one of the outstanding characters of the Poly, and one for whom Mr Barraclough had quite some respect; and so had Renate.

Big Sidney Slater, more usually known as Big Sid. A powerfully built, tall rugby player employed as stoker, King of the Basement, who tolerated no unauthorized people in his domain; by ‘unauthorized’ was meant everybody who worked upstairs; except one. In Sid’s opinion no one deserved the title of worker who did not exert themselves physically, hence the staff upstairs was relegated to the status of wimp, The Principal, of course enjoyed the accolade of ‘Mister’ because he played rugby; therefore, according to Big Sid, he was the best gaffer the Poly ever had, or ever would have.

Sid came to be acquainted with Renate at a staff do; the one before the Christmas vacation. Here it is pertinent to stress that Mr Barraclough insisted on frequent such gatherings which included students, academic staff, office personnel and domestic workers; the principal himself never failed to attend as well as make a mental note of any absentees. At this particular gathering Renate was very aware that the tall extrovert everyone called Sid was doing his full share of entertaining and obviously enjoying every