Mystery and Mayhem
At St Mark's 

by

Joel

15.  [Part One]
My First Few Days

Some of the Characters

Mark Henry Foster          

Tristan (Tris) Price‑Williams   

Gordon Foster                 

Maria (Angelica Matteoli) Foster    

Francis Michael [Microbe] Foster

Ivo Richie Carr               

Adam Benjamin Carr   

Albert Tomkins            

Jason Knott                  

Dr Safar Al‑Hamed      

Charles Fane‑Stuart     

Rev Dr Basil Henson   

Dr Eric Mays               

H.E. Sheik Sayed Al‑Hamed  

James Al‑Hamed         

Aubrey Fullerton QC   

Francesco Matteoli      

Aldo Leopardi             

Mirabelle Fane‑Stuart 

Oliver Jensen              

Hon Jeremy (Tosspot) Foskett   

     Dad and Mum came with me, Tris and our clobber to Cambridge to see me settled in.

Toad kicked up a fuss but was firmly told his schooling was much more important and I

promised he could come and stay at half‑term if that was allowed. 

     Dad said this visit would be a cathartic experience for him and he hoped that after all

these years his feelings about the place would diminish and go.  Because of the position of

the College we had to park on the other side of the river having come along the Backs.  I had

'gone up', as the saying is, a day earlier as I had to sort out the Chapel rota for playing at

services and I wanted some time before the rest of the Freshers arrived to try out the organ

again and really get settled in.  Tris had decided to come with us as otherwise  he would have

had to lug his stuff to Cambridge by train as his father was appearing in a case in Liverpool

and his mother hated driving on the M25 and M11.  Charles had said he'd also be up a day or

so early and there was a large limousine, with a chauffeur, already parked and a host of bags

and cases being ferried in over the bridge by two young lads.

     Tris said he would arrange the unpacking of the car when the boys came back with

the trolley so I took Mum and Dad to the Porter's Lodge so I could introduce Dad again to

Old Albert as well as collect my keys.  Old Albert took one look at me and the crooked smile

appeared.  "Good morning, Mr Foster."   He looked past me, "Mrs Foster, Mr Foster, you are

very welcome."  He came round and shook Mum's hand, then Dad's.  "I'm glad you play the

violin and not that wretched saxophone your father thought he could play!  He was a good

man, though, and loved the College.  And I remember you coming for that recital.  You said

it was the first time you'd had a proper dress suit."

     Dad was silent for a moment.  He shook his head.  "You remembered that!  I'd

forgotten it until now ‑ or rather, I'd pushed it out of my memory as it was all too painful.  I

was so proud and I played my very best.  For Dad!  And now I want to hear my son play."

     Mr Tomkins bowed.  He'd dredged up a memory for Dad and Dad had to go to the

Chapel now.  I needed to play my best, too.

     Just at that moment two figures came up to the Lodge door.  One was Jason Knott, the

other caught sight of Dad.

     "Gordon!" he said delightedly, "I'm so glad to have caught you.  Mrs Foster, so

pleased to see you.  And where's Mark?"

     It was Dr Al‑Hamed.  He was carrying a violin case.  He and Dad began to talk

excitedly once he'd established I was there as well.  He had a big grin on his face and I

guessed why he had been hovering.   Jason led Mum and me to the Chapel and, as he

unlocked the door, he gave me a set of keys with an engraved tag, 'Mark Foster'.  Chapel,

staircase door, organ, my rooms.

     "If you need anything, let me know.  I'll check with Mr Price‑Williams and see that

the boys put your things in your set."

     Mum and I went up to the organ loft and I turned the blower motor on.  I looked at

Mum.  She had a music case with her.  Out came copies of Mendelssohn's 'Elijah'.  She had

sung the soprano solos with the local choral society last Easter.  I opened the book at the

beginning of Part II, 'Hear Ye, Israel'.  I set quiet stops and began the adagio opening.

Mum's voice, though hushed, filled the Chapel.  At the crescendos we raised the

temperature, as it were, and the glorious music rang out.  After the recitative and change of

key we were in our element.  I had played for her practices but now my mother and I were

performing as one.  At the end we carried on with the chorus, Mum singing the soprano part

and me playing the accompaniment and filling in the chorus parts.  Gradually we were joined

by three other parts as three others joined us in the loft.  Dad sung bass with Dr Al‑Hamed

taking the tenor part.  Tris had left the boys dealing with the luggage and was joining in

singing the alto part in his upper range ‑ using falsetto for the high D's.  At the alto entry

'Though thousands languish...' his clear, counter‑tenor voice was perfect.  We finished with

those heavenly chords leading down to the final cadence in perfect harmony.

     I turned and smiled.  I knew I was at home.  Dr Al‑Hamed beckoned to my father and

they went down as Tris and I said how wonderful Mum's singing had been.

     "Only as good as the acoustics and my accompanist!" she said giving me a kiss as I

turned on the organ bench.

     "I think Dr Al‑Hamed has planned something," said Tris, "We'd better go down and

see."

     As we got down the stairs we saw the Chaplain and Charles sitting together in the

middle of the Chapel with an older grey‑haired man.  Dad was with Dr Al‑Hamed next to the

grand piano and he was tuning the violin which Dr Al‑Hamed had brought with him.  The

three of us joined the Chaplain and Charles who had great smiles on their faces.

"Marvellous," whispered the Chaplain, "Thanks.  Let me introduce the Master."  He gave my

mother and me a courtly nod of the head.

     At that moment Dr Al‑Hamed sat at the piano and played the four quiet chords

opening Cesar Franck's Violin Sonata.  Dad came in on the fifth chord with that winding

little tune, so hesitant but full of melodic and harmonic promise.  Gradually the interplay

between piano and violin worked its magic.  Time flew as the two instruments gently parried

and thrust until the end of the movement came almost imperceptibly.  The second movement,

almost harsh at its inception began and flowed its course.  The two players were

complimenting each other with cut and thrust now and their enjoyment of playing together. 

The third movement, taking up hints of that opening theme increasing the intensity of the

passion as it ebbed and flowed so that  Dad's playing of the ending ‑ molto lento ‑ was so

heartfelt.  This was only surpassed by the fervour and passion of the final movement where

each player pushed the other to heights I had never experienced before when hearing Dad

play.  The rippling piano part, then the more violent runs and the sheer abandon of the slow

violin phrases above, gave one a real insight how two musicians could conquer all emotions

especially with such rapturous playing.  After that concluding phrase there was complete

silence in the Chapel.  Without thinking I had put out both hands and was gripping my

mother's left hand and Tris's right hand.  Dad put the violin down on top of the grand piano

and he and Dr Al‑Hamed embraced .  Two supreme artists had displayed their talents to the

full.

     They came down the side aisle to where we were sitting.

     Dad was smiling though I could see his cheeks had been wetted by tears.  "I have

exorcised any bad feelings I have harboured about this place over the years."  He looked at

the Chaplain who nodded.  "If you would like, Dr Henson, I would like to come and give a

recital here again."  He turned to Dr Al‑Hamed.  "If Safar will accompany me?"

     The Master stood.  "There will be no hesitation.  The recital must take place.  This

morning's music gives me great hope for the future in the College."  He turned to me.  "Mr

Foster, we chose well."  He gripped my mother's arm.  "Madam, I have heard many sing in

this Chapel but with all honesty I have rarely heard anything as beautiful and musicianly as

your singing, so ably accompanied by your son.  You must come, too, and give your own

recital."  He turned to the Chaplain.  "I must go now, there is trouble brewing as usual, but

thank you for telling me I would have a treat this morning.  I feel much more able to cope

with all my problems now."  He bowed and went out.

     So, my first experience of meeting the Master.  Not over the usual sherry, that would

come later with other Freshers.   But he had set his seal of approval on my appointment and

Mum and Dad had been invited formally to perform.  The Chaplain, Dad and Dr Al‑Hamed

were exchanging amused and pleased looks.  They were then huddled round the piano talking

and arranging things while I introduced Charles to his 'Aunt'.  He was on his best behaviour,

no over‑doing the dramatics.  They kissed warmly and then he announced that Mother would

be meeting Aldo and Uncle Francesco on Saturday week as he would be receiving his degree

at the ceremony in Senate House then.

     "Mother is in the States overseeing the interior restoration of a huge house on the

Hamptons, but she is flying over for three days and Father and Francesco will be coming over

on Friday.  So we shall have to see how they gel."

     Tris and I exchanged grins at the 'Father'.  We would meet Mother, too.

     On the way round the quad to my set, which I would be taking possession of today,

with Mum and Charles deep in conversation, Tris confessed he had phoned Dr Al‑Hamed

after Tris and I had discussed Dad's phobia about St Mark's.  Dad's playing had been

unplanned but Dr Al‑Hamed had thought the only way to overcome things was to confront

them head on.  It had worked.

     I am afraid Mum had a fit of the giggles when she saw my rooms and the layout.  She

admired the main room and approved of the kitchen and the study but couldn't contain

herself when she saw the four‑poster.  When I saw  the Toad again he would be in for a mild

reproof.  The ornate bed had a Manchester United duvet cover on it which I had last seen

adorning the Toad's own double bed!

     As we stood, with the three of them laughing, Jason knocked on the door.

     "Young Mr Foster presents his compliments and wishes you to borrow that to remind

you of him."  He couldn't maintain a straight face either and sniggered.  I gave him as stern a

look as possible. He turned to Mum.  "I took the liberty of listening to your singing and I

would like to thank you."  He turned back to us.  "If you would like to accompany me to the

Chaplain's rooms there is a light lunch prepared.  Dr Al‑Hamed will be joining you."

     He and Mum led the way with Mum obviously asking him all sorts of questions only

someone like Jason could answer ‑ probably, who did the laundry? who made the beds? who

checked the lads ate enough and properly and didn't drink too much? and, definitely, who

checked they had clean undies?!

     Dad, the Chaplain and Dr Al‑Hamed were already there.  Dad was admiring the

violin.  When we were all in, Dr Al‑Hamed explained it was very new.   One of his craftsmen

had recently finished it and he wanted it tested.  Not only that.

     "When I told my father about your experience here with your own father and that you

were coming at last to bring your own son here he said the violin is his gift.  Please accept it.

He also said he was most impressed when you came to Ulvescott to give your opinion on Mr

Garside's other work."

     Poor Dad.  The tears did flow then.  He said the violin was one of the best he'd ever

played.  It needed playing in but had the potential tone and response to be a masterpiece.

How could he accept such a gift?

     "By playing as you did today," Dr Al‑Hamed said.  "The recital is already set up for

the end of term when you have checked your diary.  You must play it then, too."

     "And I will come to Ulvescott to play to your father again, too."

     "And Mark must come, too.  We've recently installed a very nice two‑manual organ

there for my father's friend Dr Thomson to play.   Dr Thomson and his sons are the Trustees

of the estate and my father and he are very old friends.  I should say Dr Thomson is my

surrogate father as well, but that's a long story."  Dr Al‑Hamed smiled.

     "The Thomson saga is a long one," said the Chaplain, laughing, "And now your son is

joining us as well, as Dr Porter says he wants to retire soon."

     Dr Porter?  Yes, I'd heard that name.  He must be Ivo's French tutor.

     Mum said she would come just before Easter, if that was convenient, and she would

send in a programme to be approved.  Perhaps it could be combined with some items for the

choir and organ as well.  The Chaplain looked as happy as a sandboy.

     After lunch Dad had to inspect my rooms as well.  His fit of the giggles was over the

frieze of organ stops.  Even more when he opened a cupboard in the passage in the kitchen

and found several ancient looking, dusty organ pipes.  Another guffaw occurred when he saw

the four‑poster and the MU duvet.  Back in the main room he tapped the very fine oak

panelling and said it was probably put up to disguise the original stone wall and there were

probably niches behind as one or two places sounded hollow.  At least it made the room

seem warmer.  As ever practical, and knowing I had the habit of leaving unwanted lights on

at home:  "Who pays for the gas for the fire?"

     Charles was there listening.  "The Pennefather Bequest," he said, "Mark and I are

lucky that we are both warmed by the old boy's last wishes.  'To those occupying my rooms

and those of the Servant of the Chapel I bequeath in perpetuity coals and kindling of like

kind'.  That man has complained that we do not use coals and it is an unjustified expense.

Mr Fullerton said that 'kindling of like kind' could be interpreted as the product of coal or

other naturally occurring fuel and anyway 'coals' was also a generic term."

     'That man' being Pinch‑Bum who was still stirring up trouble.

     Mum and Dad were both thunderstruck when confronted with the decor of Charles's

rooms.  Whatever had been left over from the previous American venture was now displayed

as an even further descent, or ascent, depending on one's particular aesthetic sense, into

riotous colours contrasting or conflicting with heavily patterned fabrics strewn across chairs,

window seats and even making up a very flamboyant table covering.  There were vases of

hot‑house flowers everywhere, too, adding a strong sickly scent to the smell of new textiles.

     "I am afraid Mother has at last reached the nadir of anything resembling taste in her

customers," he hastily said as we stood and gawped, "These last Americans had the idea of a

baronial hall.  Luckily it was not in the Scottish style or we would be covered in dubious

tartans of every shade."  He sighed and held up his hands in a resigned gesture.  "What she

will have left over this time is anybody's guess.  Last I heard she was buying vast amounts of

fake ancient Egyptian artefacts from Harrods."  He was almost looking overwhelmed by it all

himself.  "No doubt a recumbent Sphinx, covered in sequins with lapis lazuli eyes, will be

here by Christmas!"

     Poor Charles.  But he was enjoying it.  He was off again.  He regaled my parents with

a few scurrilous tales of errant dons and did hint at the sad demise of his Ponsonby

predecessor in his post.  Tris and I left him to it as Tris wanted to show me his rooms.  This

was somewhat of a shock.  He was going to be in the top floor rooms that had been both my

Grandfather's, Augustus's originals, and the recently deceased Bryce's.  I asked if he was

worried.

     "Why should I be?  Old Augustus was in here, your Grandfather was in here and there

have been quite a few in the rooms since.  What happened to Bryce was nasty but he's gone.

The rooms have been repainted and I've got new furniture and furnishings from somewhere

around College.  I'll be happy here knowing your Grandad slept here."  He stood in front of

me and hugged me.  "And we'll sleep together in here sometimes as well.  And if Bryce

doesn't like it he can go to Hell!"

     I clutched him tight as he went rigid.

     "Shouldn't have said that," he whispered, "But if he was as nasty as he seemed he's

probably there, or on the outskirts."

     Both he and the twins were staying in College instead of being in one of the

outhouses as all three were in the choir and all three had volunteered for College offices in

clubs.  Ivo was overseeing the Chapel rota, Adam was now Secretary of the Rugger Club and

Tris was the same for the Basketball Club.  So, all four of us, plus Charles would be on the

same staircase.  Matt Thyssen the senior organ scholar, now in his Third Year, was below

Tris and we had to wait and see who Oliver Jensen was.  His name was already painted on

the board at the entrance.   He was having Tris's old rooms above mine and was another

Fresher like me.

     Dad was in a much happier mood when it was time to leave.  He said he had had

strict instructions from Francis to book his descent on the College at his half‑term in just over

three weeks time.  In fact, he'd checked with the Chaplain who said he would see the Bursar

and there should be no problem as he would probably be a student in any case in a couple of

years time.  'Thank you, Dad!', I thought.  I'll have to cope with a week of inquisitiveness

and curiosity about everything.  He'd probably want to skateboard round the quad and climb

some of the pinnacles on the tower trying to get the Dean to coach him or, worse, accompany

him.  Still, I always had the Thugs and Tris who seemed better able to control him than me!

     That evening Tris, Charles and I went for a meal at the Café Rouge and we all agreed

life could be worse.  Tris and I slept together in the four‑poster.  Perfect.  I said that the next

night we would try his bed.  He laughed.  "I'll have to sleep on top of you.  It's definitely a

single!  Interesting, though.  If this was old Pennefather's bed, why did he have a double?"

     As soon as we got into bed Tris seemed rather distant and silent.  "I've got something

to tell you," he said at last.  "I wondered a lot last year if we would last together.  You being

at home and me here.  I worried in case you would find someone else.  I will confess I've

been tempted.  Batman, that's Carl, did ask me last term if I'd like to have a weekend in

Manchester with him.  He's got a pal who was working in security for a gay set‑up there and

wanted some advice.  Would I like to go with him and, perhaps?...."  He shook his head.  "I

like Carl very much but I did say no.  He said he didn't think I would say yes but he just

asked.  He said he realised I was faithful and he liked me even better for that, and he wants to

meet you....  So,......."

     I said that I had also wondered.  In any case, did he think we were too young, or too

foolish, to think our relationship would last.   If he said he didn't want it to go on I would be

devastated, but I would realise his life was important to him.

     "You're more than I could ever wish for," he said.  "I did fancy Sammy Patel a bit at

school and there was Ginger Pubes himself, Pat O'Keefe!"

     I slapped his back.  "Slut!" I said, "You're bloody insatiable as it is without sharing it

around."

     "And what about you ogling Milton's bull‑dick.  I bet his would be bigger than

Sammy's and Pat's put together!"

     "Oh, so you measured both, did you!"

     "Only in my mind comparing them with this....."

     So that night was spent in careful contemplation of the love we felt for each other.  At

the end of a long and most satisfying final joint wank I whispered, "I just want you....."

     Next day was near pandemonium.  The place seemed to be crawling with Freshers

just hatched and here I was, a day‑old chick, with little to do but look at lecture lists and

College notices and read the myriad invitations to partake of sherry and other concoctions

from College dignitaries and Societies.  Tris as an old hand disappeared into the scrum of

eighteen‑year‑olds leaving home, not necessarily for the first time as quite a few would have

spent the better part of their lives, so far, in boarding schools, but milling around, sorting

themselves out.  He manned a table handing out information and I escaped to the Chapel and

played contentedly for a couple of hours until hunger told me I'd better look for food.  Hall

was in full swing.  I knew nobody, but at last Tris came in as I was just choosing whether I

wanted a) lasagne, b) toad in the hole, or c) vegetarian quiche.  Thinking of Francis I chose

toad in the hole and was gratified to see three quite plump sausages on my plate.  I then

realised it was Sean who was serving and we exchanged conspiratorial grins as I noted two

sausages on the plate of a rather large young man, rugger or boatie I assumed, in front of me.

     I sat at a table beginning to fill up and Tris came along with a real beauty.  Dark dirty‑

blond‑haired, not like me, blue‑eyed, not like me, full kissable lips, just like me, a dimple in

his chin, which I lacked and a real killer smile, as they say in some of the raunchier stories

I'd found on the Web recently, just like mine.  What business had Tris in talking to such

trash!!  Especially after our discussion last night and after....!!  And flaunting him in front of

me!!   If he thinks he's?...... 

     "Hi, Marky," he said, also with a real killer smile, "This is Oliver Jensen.  I found

him looking lost on our staircase.  Oliver, this is my greatest friend, Mark Foster. We were at

school together, we're neighbours at home..."  He left out 'lovers' for the moment.  "...he's

new, too, he's the new Pennefather Organ Scholar and he's in the set below yours."

     The smile was dazzling.  "Oh, Mark, I am pleased to meet you," he said in a really

pleasant lowish voice, "Tristan rescued me.  I'm afraid I'm quite lost.  Flew in from

Singapore last night and all my luggage is delayed.  Still, I've got a bed and food."  The

smile, full headlights, again.  "Lovely to meet you!"  He put his tray down and gave me a

firm handshake and then sat beside me.  Tris was settling opposite and was staring and

smiling at him.

     Ouch.  I would have to speak to Tristan.  No hanky‑panky with the likes of him ‑ not

unless I'm present.  But then, perhaps I'm judging everyone by how Tris and I feel about

each other, exclusively gay, horrid word.  What's his name Oliver is most probably straight

as an arrow and will curl up into a ball of fright once he find two of his stair‑mates are, wait

for it, l‑o‑v‑e‑r s!  And how will he take to Charles?  Flamboyance personified!  And I would

think dear Adam, if our surmises are correct, might be flattered enough to ask the lad if he

would care for a dish of tea in a quiet nook.  Only wank‑mag Matt would be able to converse

with him without... ...Oh, Oliver, I mustn't make rash conjectures...  My sausages are getting

cold while my sausage is getting warm, and warmer....

     "...And Marky's Dad was here yesterday with his Mother and they are going to give

recitals, right Marky?"

     I mentally shook myself awake.  I was expected to answer and the way he was

gabbling on his brain wasn't in gear either.  "That is true," I managed to utter; change the

subject I thought.  "You said Singapore?"  I raised the ending in true Estuary English manner.

I felt a fool.

     "Yes, spent my last holiday there with Dad.  He's with the British Council and I've

followed him around the world during school holidays.  Bit of a bore really, no roots.  Hope I

can settle here after ten bloody years at boarding school.  'Spose it's much the same but

without the masters nagging."

     Another Public School twit.  No, he seemed too nice to be a hearty.  Of course Tris

had to ask.

     "Are you joining the Rugger Club?  I play and I'm Secretary of the Basketball Club,

too."

     Dear Tris.  Showing off our macho credentials, eh?

     "Might.  But I was made to play and I usually got dropped or picked last.  Basketball

sounds OK.  Never tried that seriously, though.  And you're Secretary?  Yep, I think I may go

for that.  I think I'm tall enough."

     Yeah, just on six feet of loveliness!  Oh Tris, if the boy's not straight you've made a

conquest.  Or, you'd better not have made a conquest!!   Oh, wake up, Marky ‑ you are

getting your knickers in a twist!

     "What particular things are you interested in?" I asked before Tris asked him what his

waist size was to fit him out with basketball shorts and would he like to borrow a hardly

worn jockstrap?

     "I love singing," he said, as he forked in a soggy piece of vegetarian quiche.  Green

Party, Save the Planet, Friends of the Earth....  My little brain was listing possible put‑downs

and reasons for not liking him.  What did he say?  Singing?  "Yes, the Chaplain said I must

be in the choir.  Do you run it?"

     My heart did a flip.  Tris you're nowhere now! 

     "I, apparently, have to train the choir ready for some of the Christmas services this

year," I said with new‑found authority, "According to the list that Matt Thyssen left in my

pigeon‑hole today I'm preparing the choir for one of Bach's Christmas Cantatas.  It's the one

for Christmas Day."  I turned and looked at Tris.  "He noted the requirements so you'll sing

the tenor aria, OK?"

     "Just like that?  No try out?"

     I shook my head.  "I don't know it, but I will by next week and we'll start then.  I've

got to find a soprano, alto and bass as well."  I looked at Oliver.  

     The lovely smile.  "I sing bass."

     "As I don't know your voice you'll have to try out.  My cousin is in the choir and he

sings bass, too.  Competition!"

     Tristan looked at Oliver.  "What are you reading?"

     "Music."

     Oh, my God!  Here's me, going to read Maths, with someone reading Music in the

choir!  But then, out of the sixteen in the choir, some must be reading it as well.  Another

question.

     "Why did you choose St Mark's?"

      "Oh, my Grandfather was here," he said, "In fact sometime just before Pennefather

died."

     My knees went a bit weak, good job I was sitting down and it wasn't only the smile.

"What!" I gasped out, "My Grandfather was here then, too!"

     He laughed.  "Family ties are very important here he told me.  His Father was here

before him, but Dad went to the other place, much to his disgust."

     The 'other place' I knew was Oxford.

     Tris's ears had pricked up.  "Is your Grandfather still alive?" he asked.

     "Very much so!" he said, "He was a Fellow at one of the other colleges here but he's

retired down to Dorset.  Useful as I was stuck in school at Blandford and it wasn't too far to

visit."

     "Blandford!" I said, even more overwhelmed, "Do you know the Carr twins?"

     "What!" he burst out laughing, "Ivo the Terrible and Adam Ant the hard man!  I was

in their House!  I knew they were here.  Where?"

     "I'm their cousin and they are in the set above you.  Adam's the bass!"

     "Oh, my God!  Last thing Ivo did was put me in detention for turning up for dinner

wearing my slippers.  I'd forgot and I was hungry!  Anyway, he thought I was a slacker as I

didn't want to play in the House rugger team and Adam used to make me go running instead.

I'd better keep out of their way."  He winced.  "They're in the rooms above?  And you're

their cousin?"

     I nodded.  This was becoming more than interesting.  His Grandfather must have

known mine and the Thugs had kept him in order!  Tris was sitting grinning his head off,

even more so when a stately figure edged it's way through the students either coming or

going.  It was Charles, Servant of the Chapel arrayed in his gown of office and bearing a tray

with, I noted, toad in the hole with four plump sausages.

     "Budge up a bit, precious one," he said to Tris, "I had forgotten that dealing with so

many sweet young things made one's gastric juices flow overtime and naughty young Knott

has been much too engaged in sorting out the problems of so many of the lost and bewildered

he did not prepare my mid‑morning nourishment and I am famished!"  He sighed and shook

his seemingly even more luxuriant mane of silvery hair.  He looked across at me and smiled,

then took in Oliver who was on the end of the bench next to me.  "I see dear Mark has

already made contact, Oliver my cherished one.  You should nurture his friendship ‑ I am not

divulging any College secrets when I praise him ‑," He put a be‑ringed finger to his lips.  "‑

he entranced the Master with his playing yesterday and he is planning to attend Divine

Service at eleven o'clock Sunday morning and Mark is commanded to play the incoming and

outgoing voluntaries."  He was almost skittish.  He nudged Tris.  "I do not want a repetition

of last year's activities when you and certain others,.." A hint of asperity entered his voice.

"...had to be roused from their slumbers to take their appointed places."

     I thought, no Saturday night pub‑crawl and monumental piss‑up!  But I couldn't very

well not comply with student traditions, especially if they led to meeting Brad, Whippet and

Carl.  I would be a little abstemious.  In fact, after the hangover experienced with the Sixth

Form bash, I was quite determined not to repeat that ordeal.  I could still remember the little

man hammering away in my skull looking for a way out!

     Tris, as usual, was one step ahead.  "You know Oliver then, Charles?"

     He held up a finger.  "Mother's Aunt Laura is..." The finger moved and pointed

across and tapped out rhythmically.  "...Oliver's grandmother's cousin.  It was Oliver's

grandfather who encouraged me to apply for the post here.  He thought I would be most fitted

for it.  So I have known Oliver since he was that high."  He pointed down to the top of the

refectory table.

     Oliver pouted.  "Charles, don't tell them all that.  And I suppose you got me those

rooms on your stair so you could keep an eye on me?  I knew Grandad had written to you."

     Charles was unperturbed.  "My dear, the rooms were vacant."  The hands went up, a

half sausage speared on his fork.  "The enchanting Tristan was moving on to more rarified

heights and naughty young Knott had a readily alterable list in his hand.  A reprimand for not

cleaning the Chapel brass over the vacation was withheld for the moment and Oliver Jensen

was painted on the staircase board."  He wiped the sausage in the glutinous brown gravy on

his plate and held it up again..  "I did spend time this morning soothing a sorrowful young

man who was having to carry something called a drum kit up three flights on Stair A.

Perhaps the only consolation is that he now inhabits the set above you know who!

     I suppressed the urge to laugh out loud.  Fortuitous, most probably, but Charles's feud

with 'you know who' ‑ the College's own Lord Voldemort ‑ was beginning to hot up again.

The 'noisy Carr twins' now augmented by an unnamed student bashing his drums daily as

well as his bishop!

     Lunch proceeded at a leisurely pace while we heard a little more about Oliver ‑ his

main instrument was the oboe ‑ and the impending visit of Mother, Father and Uncle Aldo.  It

wasn't clear whether Oliver had been apprised of the whole story but he did rather gape when

he heard that my Uncle Francesco was the head of the Matteoli fashion business.

     "I've arranged for Mother to have her usual suite at the Arundel," said Charles when

he was turning his attention to the fruit crumble slathered in thick yellow custard.  I had

chosen the treacle tart as at least the top was open and unknown fruit was not disguised.  "I

thought it better to  have them all separated so Father and Uncle Francesco will be at the

Garden House."  He spooned up a generous portion of the dripping confection.  "We are all

invited to the evening dinner."  He looked at Oliver.  "You will receive the official

notification forthwith, sweet one.  Great‑aunt Laura was most insistent on being present as

well.  I have found a smaller guest‑house for her as we should be all present.  Your

grandfather and grandmother are coming as well but they will be staying with friends."  He

looked from Oliver across to me and then turned to Tris.  "They were most helpful in

Mother's hour of need.  I have much for which to be grateful as far as they are concerned.

Mother's mother passed away ten years ago and was never reconciled to her daughter's

misdemeanour."  He shook his head, the mane swirled.  "I was not allowed to meet her, sad

to say."  He really did look sad and was silent as he took another large segment onto his

spoon and then munched through it.

     Oliver had finished his lunch and sat looking at Charles.  "Dad sends his best wishes.

He said to tell you to get your hair cut."

     Charles put down his spoon.  "Your father should keep his opinions to telling the

Sudanese or Filipinos or whoever to read Shakespeare or Henry James and not to comment

on one's appearance.  He was a source of embarrassment to me when Mother arranged for

him to address the school on his experiences and he spent almost the entire hour expounding

on the iniquities of female circumcision and the need for male circumcision in hot climates.

As the great majority of the school were white, Anglo‑Saxon Protestants from the colder

reaches of the old Empire and almost exclusively entire except for three or four Americans,

there was a certain amount of raucous merriment."

     Oliver laughed.  "Nothing compared to when he came to my school and informed us

that the best singing he'd heard was from eunuchs in India and that the Vatican should still

employ castrati in the Papal choir for their purity of tone.  I had to endure several days of

ribald humour after that."  He looked at me.  "And certain comments from your cousins, too!

Of course, Dad rather likes his drink and there's not much else to do in the evenings in all

those places he's been stationed.  Mum left him because of that...." His face fell.  "....She's

married to an Australian now and has a second family.  Just leaves me and Eddie to cope

with Dad."  I saw Charles nod.  "Eddie's my younger brother and he's at Blandford, too.

He's coming up to sixteen and a bit of a loner."

     I thought of Toad.  He was certainly not a loner.  "My brother's the same age.

Perhaps they could meet."

     He looked a bit more cheerful then.  "He's very musical and is just single‑minded.

It's OK as the school has a good reputation for music but...."  Oh, my, he did a real copy of

Charles's hands up, palms out gesture.  "...but, as the saying goes, he ought to get out more."

     Lunch over we parted.  Oliver to hunt down his lost luggage, Charles to sundry duties

in the Chapel, Tris back to his Fresher‑helping stall and me to the music shop in Green Street

to hunt down the score of the Bach and see if there were any organ pieces which caught my

fancy.  Then I must sort out what I would play on Sunday before and after the service.  Bach

before, the second 'Komm Heiliger Geist' from the Eighteen and, for going out, the Karg‑

Elert, 'Praise the Lord, O My Soul'.    The thoughts of that sixteen foot Bombarde, with full

organ, double‑pedalled for the last two bars, grandioso e festoso, cheered me immensely, and

it should be rousing enough to send anyone on their way!  Even the Master!

     The evening meal in Hall was enlivened somewhat when two of the Freshers were

summarily ejected by one of the Porters for chucking bread rolls.  Tris said they'd probably

heard it was the thing to do but such things were reserved for the more exuberant drinking

and dining clubs ‑ and talk of the Devil, why was he here a day early?  'He' was pointed out

to me.  The Honourable Jeremy Foskett, Tosser to his mates, was in earnest conversation

with a large, blond young man who seemed to hang on his every word.

     "I have the feeling Jeremy is something to do with drugs in the College," Tris said to

me later when we were sitting in the comfort of my rather luxurious main room and drinking

a small glass of brandy from a bottle I'd found stashed away in the back of the kitchen

cupboard.  It did have a label round its neck 'To Mark ‑ hope you enjoy this place as much as

I did, Dingley'.  If this was the standard I thought I would.

     "Why's that?" I asked, savouring the VSOP.

     "Those questions he was asking last term.  Had I found anything or taken anything

from Brinley's room and that he was owed money.  Brinley did have that cocaine hidden

away and I wonder if there was more." He shook his head.  "I didn't take it, but someone else

might have.  And then he was drugged with that powerful sleeping stuff and I wonder if that

was because he knew too much.  All very puzzling."

     My Sherlock Holmes deerstalker pressed down over my ears and my magnifying glass

was at the ready.  "Yes, and the inquest, you said, found he'd got cocaine in his system as

well as the Luminol."  I mentally sucked on my Meerschaum pipe having remembered the

name. "We need someone with access to drugs and a knowledge of how pills and capsules

are made and knowledge of poisons.   Jeremy may be connected with the first but you say

he's never done any work and he's on the Arts side anyway, so anything scientific seems out.

So, who?"

     "Dunno," Tris said, "That's for you, Hercule!"

     The deerstalker slid off, but the little grey cells had nothing to work on.

     "I need more information," I said with quiet assurance.

     Bed‑time approached and Tris announced his room would be cold and uninviting and

the double‑bed was comfortable and if I allowed him in he might show me how advanced he

was now he was starting his Second Year in Jurisprudence, but his Sixth in Practical

Sexology.  OK, we did get to have a few hours sleep but we loved and laved and sucked and

wanked before that.

     In any case we were up and about in the morning quite early and as we'd brought a

box of breakfast things we were having boiled eggs and toast at about quarter to nine when

there was an almighty thump on the outer door.  I opened it and in pushed Ivo and Adam.

     "Good, breakfast is ready," said Ivo.  "Auntie said you'd got plenty of grub."

     The kitchen was then invaded and more bread was put in the toaster and four more

eggs out of my now depleted dozen were set to boil.

     "When did you arrive?"  Tris asked.

     "Last night, late.  I must say, Tris, your Mum's a bloody good cook! " said Adam

helping himself to a liberal daubing of butter onto a piece of toast I'd reserved for myself.

"Couldn't start back before we'd told her all about you and shag‑nasty here and your capers

in Italy.  Told her the heat really got to your loins and you and he had the pool‑boy thrice

nightly.  At least in your dreams!"  He laughed.  "Bloody hell, I could have shagged him

myself if he'd had the right equipment!" His chair rocked dangerously as he thrust his pelvis

back and forth in desire or demonstration.

     Ivo sighed.  "Take no notice of him.  If he saw a girl with no tits and a hairy chest it

would set him off.  Anyway, Auntie sends her love and Uncle Gordy says you're to do some

work sometimes in between whoring and frolicking.  Why he calls us the Thugs I do not

know, I just said you'd have the Master's daughter on her knees by next Tuesday and he

twisted my arm right up my back and said no son of his would take so long."

     "Oh, and more news," said Adam, "The Toad is going frog‑hopping this weekend as

recompense for not accompanying you and he says he wants his duvet back in three years

time unstained by youthful juices.  Anyway, if the French economy collapses by Monday

we'll know who to blame."

     "God, and we slept in your bed the night before last," said Ivo. " I asked Auntie why

she put starch in the washer when she boiled your sheets and why did they smell so funny?

She gave me a very old‑fashioned look and said she hadn't washed them since you left and

anyway she always just used Persil, but the buggers were so stiff and stinky it was like

sleeping between layers of cardboard like a dosser!  So endeth the news.  Believe what you

want and what's the news here?"

     "All's well," I said, ignoring all the jibes and outright lies.  "Charles has got the

family here next week and we're all invited to a celebratory dinner.  And we've met a friend

of yours.  Oliver Jensen."

     "Oh Christ!" breathed Ivo, "Sweet Polly Oliver!  Everyone in the Sixth Form was

after his cute little butt.  I never got a look in as he wouldn't play rugger."  He laughed and

pointed his egg‑spoon at Adam.  "This hulk used to take him running.  'To the woods, to the

woods'," he warbled in a falsetto voice, "And used to come back with a smile on his face and

a wet patch on the front of his running shorts."

     "Fuck you, Delilah!" Adam said, "I fell in the stream when I slipped and those kids

just stood and laughed.  Anyway, he wouldn't play your rough games because he played the

oboe and didn't want his teeth kicked in like that other poor kid."  Adam laughed.  "God, he

was hung, fifteen, and he had a dong like a donkey and balls to match!"

     "He has offered to sing bass," I said.

     "That fits," said Ivo.  He pointed the spoon again at Adam.  "I don't know how that

thing sings so low when his danglies don't even dangle."

     Having witnessed Adam's hirsute pendulous knackers more than once that was a

further lie.

     "Did you play the skin flute with young Polly, with him trying out your miniature

oboe, on your excursions?" asked Ivo of his brother.  "He'd show you some intricate

fingering, no doubt, and  I expect he had to tell you to suck and not blow."

     Tris was giggling to himself.  "That's one thing you two wouldn't have tried out, I

suppose.  With him saying it was a sixty‑nine and you insisting, c'est vraiment, soixante‑

neuf, je suppose?" 

     "Oh my God," said Ivo, "This is usually a double act.  But, just join in.  My pleasure."

     I was curious.  "And did anyone ever get into Oliver's favour?"

     "Cuz, you are being coy," said Adam, laughing, "Many tried but I never heard that

anyone succeeded.  I do remember though, I thought of him a good few nights, but I wasn't

really into the younger generation."

     "He's truly beautiful," said Tris, "He's just like my Marky.  Truly beautiful."

     Adam smiled and nodded.  Yes, Adam, I thought, you're wondering.

     Ivo thrust the last piece of toast into this mouth and stood.  "Come on, bro, we'll go

and invite Trixie Fifibelle to breakfast."  He hoicked his brother up, who was still dipping his

toast soldiers into the remnants of his second egg.  "Leave that to fester ‑ we can finish the

rest of the food parcel when we get him down here."  He turned to Tris.  "Is that a pack of

bacon there?  Two slices each in a toast sarny for him and me and you'd better boil a couple

of eggs for the prodigious infant."

     They clattered off out of the kitchen.  Tris and I went to the main door and listened.

There was a great thumping going on at the door above.  I realised they were using the golf

club which for some unknown reason had been residing in a cast‑iron umbrella stand in the

small passage between my two doors.

     "Open up, open up, in the name of the Lord!"  I heard Ivo bellow.

     A door opened and I heard a rather despondent voice say, "Oh, I thought it might be

you".

     "Come on, breakfast is served," said Adam.  "Come as you are.  We'd better carry

you as your little feet will get cold."

     There was a slight scuffle and a cluttering down the stairs.  Oliver was carried head

first into my main room and stood up looking a bit dazed and confused.  All he was wearing

was a pair of past their sell‑by date boxers and a look of bewilderment.  As he stood the

boxers slid indecorously to his ankles and, yes, it was true, young Oliver had the equipment

of an Olympian God to match his Olympian beauty.

     "Pull your knickers up, young man!" Ivo commanded, "You'll give this lot

palpitations if you stand around like that.  Adam, do your duty as you must have done many

times with all those sprogs you were hammering!"

     Adam bent down and swiftly yanked the boxers up Oliver's legs and covered his

dignity.

     I went through to my bed‑room and came back with a dressing gown.  "Better have

this before you freeze.  They have no decorum, that pair.  Anyway, it's true, there is breakfast

if you want it."

     Oliver nodded and smiled.  My heart melted and I saw Tris staring.  "Thanks, I'd love

something to eat.  I was still asleep so I suppose I've missed breakfast in Hall."

     I rushed into the kitchen just in time to rescue some very crisp bacon.  We all sat and

there was silence while we finished off what was left.

[Notes:  There are some idiosyncrasies about Oxbridge pronunciation.  For example, the Cambridge College named Gonville and Caius has the second of it's founders pronounced as ‘keys’ - always a good way to get visitors to Cambridge flummoxed.  Also, Magdalene in Cambridge and Magdalen in Oxford are both pronounced ‘maudlin’.   If you ever visit Cambridge look for the statue of Henry VIII above the gateway to Trinity College.  In his left hand he holds the Orb and in his right - no, not the Sceptre one might expect, but a wooden chair-leg.  Some naughty students at some time pinched the Sceptre and substituted the chair-leg which is renewed when it looks too worn.  Also, remember Trinity College has produced more Nobel Prize-winners than the whole of France.]