6.   My Introduction to Cambridge

Some of the Characters Appearing:   [Year 2000] Mark Henry Foster  Tristan (Tris) Price‑Williams Ivo Richie Carr  Adam Benjamin Carr   16 rising 17, 5ft 11in and still growing 17 just about 18, 6ft and well‑proportioned 19    5ft 10in, chunky and cheeky with it 19   ditto as his twin At St Mark's College  Cambridge Charles (Clarissa) Fane‑Stuart David (Dingley) Dell Albert Tomkins Jason Knott Bryce (Babyballs) McArdle Rev Dr Basil Henson Dr Safar Al‑Hamed  Professor James Tanner  Mr Simon Finch‑Hampton  The 'Servant of the Chapel' and Footlights star The Augustus Pennefather organ scholar Oct 1998‑Jul 2001 An authoritarian Head Porter with an elephantine memory An Assistant Porter with long antecedents A sullen overlooked over‑muscled Aussie rugger forward A very astute Chaplain A knowledgeable Music don A formidable Mathematics don A two‑faced History don with a guilty secret

     Mum had re‑packed my bag for me the previous morning so all I had to do was to assemble

my  washing kit and I was ready.  The twins had phoned the night before just before we had

gone next door and had informed me they would be waiting on Cambridge station and would

see Tris and I wouldn't get lost finding the hotel.  So all was well.  Tris and I left in good

time and got to Liverpool Street Station well before the train was due to leave.  The twins

were as good as their word and we took a taxi to the hotel.  After booking in and being shown

to a very nice room ‑ with two single beds, bah! ‑ Tris and I met up with the twins in the

lobby and went for a guided tour of Cambridge centre.

     We sat for ages in Starbucks near the Market Place while they filled us in on

Cambridge lore.  I learned a lot more about St Mark's.  I knew already that it was a small

college, tucked away behind some of the larger ones, but that it had a long history going back

to around 1400 when its main job was supplying holy clerks for the monasteries and churches

around East Anglia.  Over the years its fortunes had waned but it had retained many links

with the aristocracy as it tended to house the younger and the dimmer scions of the stately

homes of England.

     Also, as Ivo informed us, its other reputation was shared with the more modern

colleges of St Edmunds and Hughes Hall ‑ that of housing the great majority of boaties and

rugger‑buggers intent on winning places in the Boat Race crews, or going for a Blue in the

Oxford versus Cambridge rugger matches.  Unfortunately, it seemed that St Marks came off

third best there with the cream ‑ or scum as Adam sagely said ‑ rising to the top in the other

two colleges.  Still, the twins said they were happy and had played in the college XV in their

first two terms and  looked forward in the Summer term to pursuing the totties even more by

offering to take them punting on the Cam.  As Adam said, "there are well‑known shady

nooks along to Grantchester, not including the nudist camp".

     They'd also done a bit of sleuthing of their own about the elusive Augustus

Pennefather.  Elusive, because I hadn't had any other information except the tales from

Grandmother Foster that Granddad had been a prize chorister and that Augustus had been

found drowned in the Cam below the weir on Jesus Green in 1938.  Apparently he had left a

tidy fortune to the College, derived from family  connections with the pharmaceutical

industry,  but the College had never had another Music Fellow and the Choir School had

been closed and the pupils dispersed to King's and St John's just before the War in 1939.

The Choir School buildings were now converted to student accommodation.

     The twins had done a bit more nosing around as the Augustus Pennefather Organ

Scholar always had the old don's set of rooms which, according to them were palatial but

haunted.  That is, haunted if anyone else attempted to take them over.  Of course, Tris had

been to the College for his interview but the twins said I didn't need to see  it until the next

morning when I went there first of all to try out the organ.  In any case, we'd better get back

to the hotel as we didn't want to be late for dinner.  While Tris and I were up seeing the room

and unpacking when we arrived earlier they had booked dinner in the restaurant for seven

o'clock.

     Four well‑fed lads concluded a very substantial meal at about half‑past nine.  The

twins said that they would write and thank Tris's dad.  As we said goodnight to them in the

lobby Ivo turned to me.    "Early night for you, me lad,"  I was informed, "We don't want you

falling asleep while you're playing all that interminable Bach tomorrow.  And, as for you,"

he turned his attention to Tristan, "No keeping him awake with your insatiable demands."

Ivo and Adam were well aware of Tris's sexual needs and his stamina.  Adam laughed and

gave Tris a playful punch on the arm.  "We'll see you here on the doorstep dead on ten in the

morning and if our little cousin is tired out there'll be another body  below the weir!"

     Little cousin indeed!  I was at least two inches taller than either of the pair of them

but it was nice of them to be so concerned about my welfare.

     So, we had an early night.  I peed and showered first while Tris was downstairs

checking for the ninety‑ninth time what time breakfast was to be served in the morning.

Actually, he'd been down and pinched a single red rose from the lobby display and when I

came out of the shower I found it on the pillow of the bed I'd chosen.

     "That's for you," he said.  "It might sound a bit sentimental but it's almost as if we're

on our honeymoon.  A hotel room and just the two of us...."

     ".....but no shenanigans tonight as I must be fresh as a daisy in the morning,"  I

countered, shaking my head and putting on a straight face.  Poor Tris.  He looked so

woebegone.  I relented.  I'd fooled him.  I put my still‑damp arms round him.  "Go and have

a shower and I will let you into my bed.  It's still early and I want to talk to you anyway."

     Some boys can shower quickly when there is a promise of things to come.  I was just

in bed so I opened up the duvet as he came into the bedroom.  "I hope you washed all the

important bits," I said as he hopped onto the bed and landed beside me.  As usual we put our

arms around each other and just savoured the closeness of our two bodies.  "I want to talk to

you first," I stroked his back feeling the muscles over his shoulder‑blades, "I want to say how

glad and happy I am that we can be together like this and you want to be with me.  I'll need

your presence tomorrow but I shall know  you'll be there caring so deeply for me."

     He moved over slightly and gently kissed me on my nose.  He stroked my back as

well.  "Marky, I have to be with you."

     We moved our heads together and kissed each other on the lips, just brushing the tips

of our tongues.  We lay still for a couple of minutes.

     "I want to tell you about last night," I whispered.  "I want to tell you about Francis

and what happened."  Tris was suddenly alert.  "No Tris, nothing like that happened.  We

talked."

     I told Tris exactly what had happened.  Francis's appearance by my bed, his questions

and that final refusal on both our parts to be tempted.

     "When I looked at Francis standing there I saw myself and I really wanted him.  I

wanted him so badly but I knew I couldn't..."

     Tris kissed my cheek.  "Yes, he came and asked me if he should ask you to tell him

things.  I said that was what big brothers are for so it was my fault you were tempted.  I'm

sorry.  Frankie is just beautiful, he reminds me of you when I first began to realise I loved

you.  You've just described how his body looks.  That was how I saw you first at Disney and

the months following when you developed so quickly.  I wanted you so terribly all that time.

I wanted to smother you with love and share my body with you."  He brushed his cheek

against mine.  "When I plucked up courage to tell you of my love you accepted me

immediately and I knew all was right with the world."  He shook his head slowly against me.

"I couldn't have blamed you if you had succumbed to that temptation.  If he has as lovely a

young cock as you had when you were thirteen and a half I would have been sorely tempted,

too.  Don't forget, that was when I first tried taking you into my mouth and found you fitted

perfectly."  He shook his head again.  "No, Marky I couldn't have blamed you, but I'm so

glad you didn't."

     Gradually and gently we began to explore each other's bodies.  The duvet was

discarded as I sat up and caressed his well‑formed pecs.  I bent over and touched his nipple

with the tip of my tongue and then drew rings around the pinkness surrounding it.  I put a

hand on his firm stomach and felt the firm muscles beneath his soft skin.  I lay back and he

repeated my actions while I basked in the full‑blown sensuality of his so‑light touch.

     "You are so beautiful, too," he whispered as he put his head down next to mine on the

pillow.  "You may not be as sporty as me but you have a really superb body.  You look like

one of those lovely statues we've seen in Italy."  His hand went gradually down my torso and

I shivered with delight as he brushed his fingers across my belly and into my pubic hair.  His

fingers touched my fully erect penis.  "There's one big difference, though.  Not only do you

look as beautiful but you possess that  flawless addition which they only have in miniature.

Yours is perfect.  Whatever the twins say,  I need you tonight.  I need to feel that perfection

and to taste those juices only you can produce for me."

     I felt the same about him.  I whispered that I needed to taste that sweetness which

always came when I first laved the tip of his most mighty weapon and then to revel in the

tang of the potent juice which would spurt and flow in abundance.   Gradually we tongued

each other's firm young bodies and turned head to toe diagonally on the bed until

simultaneously we tested each other's first sweet outflow and then slowly but relentlessly we

sucked on those youthful rods and licked and nipped our rapidly risen ball sacs until both of

us sensed the other's climax was near.  I received Tris's jerking, spirting,  teeming load,

swallowing as much as I could, moments before I passed into that state where nothing else

could ever matter.  I felt those massive jolts deep in the root of my shaft, then felt the surge

as my spunk gathered pace and my face and neck muscles went into that involuntary rictus of

perfect rapture as I gave Tris my love, my being, me. 

     We unwound slowly.  Both of us were panting with the extreme exertion caused by

such gradual and unhurried means.  Both of us lay and must have shared the same thoughts

of complete togetherness as without a word our hands touched and our fingers linked.  We

turned and our tongues collided, still coated with the other's self.

     "That was my love for you," Tris murmured as we parted.

     "Mine, too," was my heartfelt response.

     I found the duvet on the floor and pulled it up to cover us.  We woke in each other's

arms exactly at seven o'clock.  At least a full eight hours sleep for both of us.

     I felt so well, so refreshed as I gazed into Tris's blue eyes.

     "Thanks for last night," I grinned as he smiled at me.  "I don't think the twins will be

bundling you over the bridge.  It was perfect."

     True.  We had sucked each other many times before but there had been an intensity of

regard and respect for each other which transcended all those other occasions.

     We showered and breakfasted, I checked my music and my clarinets and we were

ready waiting when the twins turned up.

     They looked at the pair of us.  Ivo turned to Adam.  "They did and they had an early

night!"

     No more was said as we crossed the road to the bridge.  "Looks a bit fast flowing," I

said as I nudged Tristan.

     "What a way to go," he murmured as we looked down at the rushing and tumbling

water.

     We marched steadily across Jesus Green without more conversation, the twins

probably sensing I might be a bit uptight.  As we got near King's we turned down a small

dark alley.

     "This is a bit like Diagon Alley!" I said spontaneously, almost looking for the

brickwall with the magic brick to press.  But as we walked down there was a narrow lane and

I was amazed at what then appeared.  A high wall with a tall tower at one end and with a

small door inset.

     Ivo opened the door and we stepped inside.  What appeared was a  perfect mediaeval

building of tall mullion windowed walls with a Chapel with that tower.  Set to the side was a

main entrance with  a large wooden door and a smaller one again set within it.  Beyond that

was another wide enclosed door which was open and I could down to the river through that.

     "This will all be yours" said Adam, holding my arm.  "It belongs to all the students

who've ever been here.  It's part of us and we're part of it."

     That was said with pride and sincerity.  Adam showed again his good self.

     "Have to introduce you to old Albert.  He's got a memory like an elephant.  He

remembers every student that's been through that door."  Ivo pointed to the wooden door in

the porch.  "He's the Head Porter.  Mr Tomkins to us mortals, Old Albert otherwise.  So,

here we go."

     We turned into the inner porch and there was another door with glass in it.  Above it

the legend 'Porter's Lodge'.    There was somewhat of a commotion going on within.  We

entered and stood in a row by the door.  I took in the scene.  Old Albert proved to be a small,

gnarled old man in a smart dark suit who was roundly telling off,  in a very loud voice, a

much larger young man, who I deduced to be a student, for leaving his bicycle not in the

proper rack.  His tirade finished he surveyed we four as the large young man turned and

rushed past us out of the door.

     "Mr Carr and Mr Carr, sirs," he said, much more quietly, "You are up early this

morning.  I saw you hurrying out before nine.  I see you've come back through the Night

Door."

     "Yes, Mr Tomkins," Ivo said, very politely I thought, "We have been to collect my

cousin and his friend.  This is Mark Foster who most probably will be the next Augustus

Pennefather Organ Scholar and his friend..."

     "....I know him," interrupted Old Albert, staring at Tristan.  "He was here for

interview last year.  Let me see.  Double‑barrelled."  He leered at Tristan who was almost

open‑mouthed.  "Money and father's a QC  ‑ money is Price‑", his face screwed up, "‑

Williams!" he crowed triumphantly.

     "Your memory as ever is infallible," said Ivo without a trace of irony, "Now, what

about this young man.  We've never let on to you but our grandfather was here.  Our

mother's father and his dad's father.  His name was Foster."  He turned to me.  "I think

Grandma said he was here after the War as an undergraduate though he was here before the

War as a chorister."

     Old Albert surveyed me.  I had the feeling my physiognomy was now stored in his

memory banks.  "I've been here fifty four years so I was kitchen boy then just after the

War.... ....Foster you say?  Big fellow.  Got caught climbing the tower and the Dean said it

was a good job he'd been head chorister or he'd be rusticated.  That was George Foster,

then."  He looked at me and I didn't know if the look was venomous or just natural.  "He

kicked my arse more than once 'cause he said I was a cheeky young bugger but there was

always a shilling for cleaning his muddy boots.  Played the saxophone in some God‑awful

jazz band!  Ha Ha!"  He gave a cackle and a crooked smile appeared as he bent his head

toward me, and held up a piece of paper.  "Good morning, Mr Foster, I was expecting you."

He stopped and looked past us.  " ...Mr Fane‑Stuart has the key to the Chapel for you."

     There was no time then to ask anything more about Grandad.  I wondered why the

twins had kept quiet about him?  What a memory though.  But Old Albert's reminiscences

were cut short by the appearance of a very smartly dressed, willowy young man with a short

black gown, emblazoned with two red panels of what looked like a sheep holding a flag,

draped over his shoulders.  Oh, yes, the College crest, St Mark's emblem.  But my

contemplation was cut short.

     "My favourite hunks," he burbled as he held out both hands and clasped one each of

Ivo and Adam's.  "How divine you look as always."  He turned to Tristan and me.  "And

which of you is the lovely Mark Foster described in such detail by this gorgeous pair."  He

looked at Tris and held up a hand.  "Not you, my dear, you're too, too blond.   They said tall,

dark and more than a little handsome!"  He shook a mane of platinum blond hair as he

looked me up and down.  "It must be you and that description does your radiance less than

proper justice."  He stretched out a beautifully manicured hand with what seemed like a ring

on every finger.  "Charles Fane‑Stuart, Servant of the Chapel."

     I took his hand in mine and was rather surprised at the very firm handshake.  I

realised that even with the affectations Charles Fane‑Stuart was not someone with whom to

trifle.

     "Yes," I said, "I'm Mark," I turned towards Tristan, "And this is Tristan Price‑

Williams my best friend and he'll be a student here next year and, I believe, will be in the

choir."

     Tris's hand was grasped in turn while Charles scrutinised him.  I knew Tris was being

logged in someone else's memory bank.

     "Come along then," he nodded, then turned to the Head Porter.  "Albert dear, I'll take

them over to the Chapel, no need to bother your pretty head with them as naughty young

Knott isn't around as usual.  That boy spends more time making beds for those frightful hulks

than helping me get the Chapel in order or busying himself looking after your little Lodge.  I

shall have to reprimand him very severely as if that would do any good." 

     I couldn't help noticing that the twins were heaving with silent laughter as Tris and I

looked rather bewildered at the twists and turns of the conversation.  I noticed that Old

Albert said not a word.

     Charles Fane‑Stuart led the way and the four of us fell in step behind him.  He

motioned me to walk with him after a few paces.  "Usual allowance of time to practice.  Up

to midday and then lunch in Hall.  Dr Al‑Hamed and the Chaplain will be at the Chapel just

before two‑o'clock and I'll introduce you to them.  Dr Al‑Hamed looks after our Music

students and the Chaplain will quiz you on various things.  Then you've got an interview with

Professor Tanner at four‑thirty.  Don't worry I'll be around if needed."  He squeezed my arm.

"We're fairly harmless.  I can't say much about the rest."

     He turned to the twins who were walking as close as possible so they could overhear

what Charles was saying to me, but something had struck a chord of memory for me, too.

Al‑Hamed.  I had heard that name fairly recently.  But where?  Charles raised a slim

bejewelled finger.  "If I take young Mark and Tristan to my set they can leave their unwanted

things there.  I've got Dingley's keys so I can show Mark where he might be living for three

years."   He turned to me and his mane of hair flew about again.  "We're all jealous, my dear,

think of the parties you'll be able to host.  Invite me, won't you?"

     There was an undertone here and I wasn't quite sure.  We turned left as we crossed

the quad and I saw the Chapel.  It seemed huge against the smaller stone and dark red brick

three‑storey buildings.  The tower soared upwards and I imagined Grandad shinning up the

side clutching at the hideous gargoyles.  Not an enterprise for me!

     "This is my little home," announced Charles as we passed into a dark and rather dank

passageway.  He inserted a key into a very nondescript door and opened that and an inner

door and we walked into the most ornate room I had ever seen.  It was panelled in a dark

wood but hung all around with swathes of brightly coloured silk‑like drapery.  There were

old chairs in every corner done in more modern very elaborate fabrics.  There were

photographs and rather abstract pictures covering spaces left on the walls.  A riot of colour.

"Sorry, darlings, if it's a bit OTT but Mother does interiors  and thought my drab old walls

needed brightening up.  Sit down there a moment and you can sort out what you need." This

to me.  He looked at the others.  "Coffee all round?  Ivo dearest, pop the kettle on, you're a

familiar spirit around here."  He looked at Tris then me and held up both hands, palms

towards us in a most theatrical gesture.  "Couldn't survive without my gorgeous boys!

Adam, my hunky hunk, find the biscuits."

     I was staring at some of the photos.  Most were of a stunning blonde.  They must be

of Charles's sister, or perhaps his mother when younger, as the likeness was there.  She was

truly beautiful and that was my unbiased judgement.  I caught Tris's eye and his lips were

twitching.  He was enjoying himself.  As we waited I got my music books ready and opened

my clarinet case and inspected the contents, just in case...  I wasn't agitated...  Everything

was fine so far...  All so new...  For some unknown reason I started to think of that rapid

fingering near the end of the prelude after that peculiar held chord over the long pedal C.  Oh

God, if they asked me to analyse that chord!  My fingers splayed while I thought of it ‑ five

notes in each hand ‑ B natural  D natural, F, A flat, B natural again in the left and F, A flat, B,

D and F in the right.  I heard it in my mind ‑ a diminished seventh.  The dissonance ready to

set that fleeing downward dash ‑ the same chord now dispersed resolving towards that final

cadence in F minor but remembering to flatten the D now in that almost final  semiquaver

run.  Oh, Bach, how did you imagine such wonderful sounds?  I was drawn back to whatever

reality was by a mug of steaming coffee being handed to me by a grinning Ivo.

     He must have been watching me.  "Relax, old lad, you know it all."

     "Just thinking," I said, "Thanks, I need that but I'd better go to the loo, too!"

     As soon as I had drunk the coffee Ivo guided me through to the next room, the

bedroom, this time quite sparse, and the bathroom and attendant loo.  As I peed gratefully I

was struck by a montage  made of a series of photos of that lovely blonde all in different

costumes.  If that was Charles' sister she was so elegant and poised.  No, nothing stirred.  I

thought of Frankie and his confession of the hardening of his organ when viewing Jack's

downloaded pictures.  Oh, God, the organ.  The other one!  I must get to it.  Calm down,

Mark, I commanded myself.

     All were ready when I emerged.  I picked up my music and the clarinet case.  I

needed to test the acoustics for those as well.  "See you at twelve," Adam said as he gripped

my arm and Charles opened the Chapel door.

     The organ was in a loft above the door.  I stood and looked down the length of the

Chapel.  It was quite long to the far wall but what really impressed me was that the ceiling

was so high and the roof timbers were richly painted.   Charles led me to the door leading to

the stairs.  "The blower motor switch is in the box on the wall.  The pistons I am told are all

free except for the six on the right side under the Great.  Here's the instructions."  He gave

me a small pamphlet.  I glanced at the first page.  Piston setting seemed very much the same

as St Barnabas's.  Tris followed me up the stairs.  I glanced at the console.  Nothing out of

the ordinary.  I checked the position of the various families.  Good, reeds had red lettering

and the strings were in green while the rest were in black.  I spent five minutes going through

my notes and experimenting with the set pistons.  Yes, a gradual build‑up to full chorus on

the Great with full Swell prepared.  OK for the Bach Prelude.  Piston 4 then 5 for the held

chord, the run on the Choir chorus until the  cadence on 5 at the end.  Clear stops for the

fugue to show up the counterpoint.  Yes.  I set two of the free pistons up for that.

Mendelssohn.  A little more romantic.  A soft string added somewhere.  Fuller tone for the

fugue.  Then the Alain.  A challenge.  I tried the Cromorne.  Lovely.  I built a chorus around

that and set three more pistons.  Those splashy chords would be OK with a bit of help from

Tris..  I looked at him.  "I'm ready," I said.  He bent over me and kissed my neck lightly.

     Everything went well.  Surprisingly I could hear the organ well from the console.  It

was something Reggie had warned me about.  "Don't be misled and add stops because you

can't hear."  I could hear and everything flowed.  I played through the complete programme

without repeating anything.  At one point I asked Tris to draw a Mixture stop.  I didn't like it

so asked him to cancel it.  Otherwise I didn't think I wanted to change anything.

     When I finished that last chord of the Fantaisie and closed down the Swell box to an

ethereal almost nothingness, then cancelled everything I turned and looked at Tris.  Tears

were coursing down his cheeks.  He stood and wept.  "Oh, Marky, you've never played so

well.  It was beautiful.  That Fantaisie!  I can't help it."  He sniffed and searched in his

pockets for his handkerchief.  As I stood up from the organ bench he held me in his arms.

"My Marky!"  I smiled.  "My Tris," I whispered back.

     It was a few minutes before twelve so we sat together in the choir stalls and looked at

the lovely building and I tried out a couple of short passages on one of my clarinets.  I stood

up and walked down the nave.  The acoustic was perfect.  As I walked I looked at the

monuments and plaques to past dons and students, the two war memorials and the muted

colours of two magnificent medieval stained‑glass windows.  "I shall think of you sitting here

singing in the choir next year," I said as I walked back to where Tris was sitting.  I put my

clarinet down and took his hand in mine.

     "And I will be waiting for you to join me with you sitting up there," he whispered

gripping my hand.

     We heard the main door being opened.  In came Ivo, Adam and Charles.

     "We stood outside and listened," said Ivo.  "You're a star!"

     "I've got to convince the jury this afternoon," I said.

     Charles smiled at that.  But I sensed there was more.

     Lunch in Hall was substantial if rather dull ‑ like school dinners but hotter I thought.

There was a sprinkling of others in the dining room ‑ another panelled room this time lined

with large portraits of be‑gowned ancient dons.  Quite a few of the young men were quite

immense, if not just tall they were barrel‑chested and big‑arsed.  They were invariably in

voluminous dark red hooded tops with names and letters on the back and grey or black

jogging pants.  Others looked like ordinary students and it was noticeable they sat at the other

ends of the long benches away from the others.

     "Come on, sweethearts," Charles said as the last of our plates was deftly removed by

a suave young man in white shirt, black waistcoat and black trousers.  "Let's repair to my

room and relax and I can show you Dingley's little den as well.  He's not around as he's

organ‑crawling and beer‑drinking in Bavaria.  He'll come back even more of a little barrel!

He's a sweet thing, though."

     We left the dining hall with the majority of the large young men still chomping away.

I asked Charles who they were as I walking by his side.  "They are our mainstay.  They are

the muscle‑bound and the brain‑dead.  Mustn't be catty but all they think about is winning

through brute strength and there are some brutes among them.."  He lowered his voice.  "Not

like your darling cousins who combine  strength and beauty with brains.  They may act the

thicko role with some of the Neanderthals but they are perfection.  And if I may comment,

your friend is perfection, too.  And he's coming here next year?"  He looked at me and

smiled.  "Don't worry, he'll come to no harm.  We'll see to that."

     We reached the passage way we'd entered before.  This time Charles turned to the

left and opened identical doors to his own.  But now, the room revealed was in no way like

his.  It was panelled in a radiant light oak, the windows were draped in heavy, rich material

and in one corner stood a small grand piano.  I cast my eyes around in wonderment.  There

were a few smallish oil paintings on the walls hung from what looked like organ stops. 

Below there was a sumptuous turkey‑red patterned carpet over the dark stained and polished

floor boards with a dining table and chairs and several comfortable looking easy chairs in

front of a handsome stone fireplace.  I looked up to the high ceiling which was beamed and

pargetted.  I gasped.  I couldn't believe it.  If I became the Augustus Pennefather Organ

Scholar this would be my room in less then two years time.

     "Come my dears, gawp not too long, this is only the first of the set."  Charles led us

into a smaller room set out as a study with bookshelves and a very superior desk.  I looked at

the titles of some of the books.  Study scores, music text books and... ...a set of ornately

bound  detective and other stories.  I saw Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, Rex Stout, M R

James, Edgar Allan Poe amongst others.  But, there was more.  The next room was the

bedroom.  A four‑poster as the centre‑piece, but, I noticed,  made up with a modern duvet.  A

shower room and loo completed that direction.  From the main room a small passage led to a

well‑appointed kitchen with a storeroom and pantry on either side.  I gasped again.  It was

luxury.  No way could I aspire to this.  The cost of furnishing it.  The upkeep.  I knew my

tutorial fees and general living expenses would be accounted for under the Scholarship and

there was an extra hundred and fifty pounds as a stipend as it was called.  But all this?

     Charles must have seen my look of wonder.  "Lawks a mercy," he said putting on a

real cockney voice, "The young shaver's jaw's just hit the floor."  He stood by me and waved

a hand nonchalantly towards the ceiling.  "In the sainted Augustus's Will it says nothing may

be changed, just replaced or repaired, with all monies for said replacements or repairs to be

provided by the endowments as listed.  Canny old beast.  His stocks and shares were in the

early ICI and in Royal Dutch Shell and in about six of the big pharmaceutical companies of

the time.   The underlying fund is colossal and the college can't get its hands on it because if

they try it all goes to Christ Church Oxford.  So David Dell is the present lucky recipient of

dear Augustus's ill‑gotten or otherwise gains.  The Scholar, the Chapel and the organ are the

only beneficiaries."

     Adam had been listening intently.  "Yeah, my tutor's always moaning about it.  Says

the old bastard got his idea from Samuel Pepys.  He left his library to Magdalene and if they

don't look after  it then Trinity gets it."

     "True," said Charles, "So our organ scholar gets all this.  Of course, in recompense

the other two get their rooms done out in a bit less splendour but I am reliably informed that

that scamp, naughty young Knott, has been reputed to warm their beds for a fee."

     Ivo laughed.  "You leave young Jason out of it.  Just because you frighten him to

death and he won't run around polishing all that brass in the Chapel...."

     Charles tossed his head, or his mane to be exact.  ".....All I did was compliment the

lad.  I said he had the cutest little bubble‑butt and I could get him a job in the Footlights

chorus line any time."  He looked at his watch.  "Mustn't gossip any longer, my dears, the

musical moment is fast approaching."

     While he had been talking I had looked more closely at what the pictures were hung

from.  Yes they were organ stops, I spotted a Stopped Diapason and a Cor de Nuit next to it.

Not only that, there seemed to be almost a frieze of them along the walls opposite and

adjacent to the windows.  I couldn't investigate further as he ushered us out and we went

across the passage into his set.  I rushed to his loo and had a nervous pee.  Not much, but you

never know.  Dad  was for ever saying that his last stop before going on stage was always to

the gents!  I gathered up my books and Tris had already picked up my clarinet case so we

followed Ivo and Adam out and I waited while Charles shut and checked his door was

locked.  As he turned to follow me a lumbering giant came down a flight of stairs towards the

end of the passage.  He barged into Charles and put an enormous meaty paw out and pushed

him against the wall.  I stepped aside very smartly.

     "Move ya bloody self you flaming pouf!" he snarled at Charles who stood his ground

as the  mountain turned to him.  I recognised an Australian accent. "I told you to get outta the

fuckin' way, didn't I, ya bloody freak?  Fuckin' pouf!"  The last almost spat out.

     Charles neither moved nor spoke.  The huge young man, even bigger than any I'd

seen in the dining hall just barged past me, slammed back the main door and strode off

across the quad.  I looked at Charles who just shook his head at me.  Ivo came to the outside

door.

     "Did I hear Babyballs Bryce in here?" he asked.  "What did he say this time?"

     Charles looked at me then at Ivo.  "Nothing, sweet one.  Nothing for you to worry

your good self about.  Bryce the Formidable was just acting his part and we all know he only

goes in for small parts...."

     Ivo grinned.  "Charles, you're incorrigible.  If Bryce said half the things he says to

you, to me, or anyone else, he'd be up before the Dean.  Why do you put up with it?  He

tipped you in the fountain at Christmas and what he was roaring, when he got drunk that

other time, was unbelievable.  It even silenced the boaties and they've heard almost

everything."

     Charles came out and put a hand on Ivo's arm.  "The poor dear can't help it but I'm

afraid someone some day will be a teensy weensy bit angry with him.  It's all those horrid

pills he's been gulping down since he was a nipper.  Nipped his little buds they have and he

still wants more.  Come on, lovely one, let's get young Mark to his testing‑place."

     The other two were now listening in but said nothing.  Charles took my arm and we

walked along a path in front of the Pennefather Student's set to the Chapel.   I noticed that

end of the rooms must abut against the massive soaring wall.

     It was exactly five minutes to two.  I went through the porch with Charles and just

inside the Chapel were two men.  One large, clad in a vividly patterned pullover and a dog‑

collar.  Must be the Chaplain.  The other, much smaller, middle‑aged, smartly but casually

dressed.   I looked at his face.  He was very handsome still, I could see how he might have

looked twenty or thirty years ago.  His features were dark, high cheekbones and an aquiline

nose.  I realised he was Arabic.  This must be Dr Al‑Hamed.