A Javelin for Jonah

“His right wrist? But he’s our shot-putter against the Squadron Club on Saturday!” groaned Henry. “What a fool you are, Jonesy!”

“Well, dammit, he did ask for it! He chucked an Indian club at me. He’s not one of my squad, either. So I got hold of him, and that’s how it was. See you later, I expect.” He left them and sauntered off.

“So there you have the Jonah of this establishment,” said Henry. “Well, the discus people appear to have packed up, so let’s go along in and have some tea.”

“What did Rixie mean about being ill-wished?” asked Hamish.

“What I’ve just said. Jones is literally a Jonah. If he weren’t Gassie’s brother-in-law we should have seen the last of him long before this. Mind you, if only he didn’t put this hoodoo on the works, he ought to be worth his place. He could be a first-class gymnast. Of course, he drinks—that’s his trouble— and it’s a funny thing that, no matter what goes wrong or what accident happens, somehow or other Jones is responsible for it. It’s uncanny—the way, without any evil intention whatsoever, he can manage to bish things up.”

“Are you sure there isn’t evil intention?” asked Hamish. “My mamma,” he went on, “is secretary to a psychiatrist who is consultant to the Home Office, so I’ve been brought up to have a suspicious mind. My father, moreover, is an Assistant Commissioner of Police, so you see, with one and the other, I’m bound to be somewhat biased.”

“I should keep quiet about your connections if I were you, then. You don’t want the students to mark you down as a copper’s nark.”

“I thought none of them had ever been in trouble with the police.”

“That’s not their fault,” said Henry drily.

“What about if they abscond? Do you get much of that sort of thing?”

“Oh, very seldom, very seldom indeed. You’re thinking of the police again, aren’t you? But we don’t call in the police if a man or a girl runs away. We merely inform the parents and leave them to cope.”

“Even if a man and a girl ran off together?”

“Oh, yes. We accept no responsibility at all. The parents understand that from the beginning. Old Gassie, who, as you’d expect when he runs a place like this, is a politician, points out that they’re lucky to have a college willing to take their delinquent offspring. If they won’t admit that, then he washes his hands of them. There’s nothing like coming it a bit, you know. Gassie’s no good at all in some ways—for instance, if you run into trouble, it’s not the least bit of use to think he will back you up—but he does know how to handle the parents. ‘Take it or leave it,’ he says in effect. ‘If you care to send your naughty lad or girl here, we’ll do our very best to keep him or her happy and out of mischief, but, apart from that, we promise nothing.’ Makes ’em sign on the dotted line, too. Of course, he can afford to high-hat them. We’re not allowed by our constitution to take more than a hundred students at a time, so he can lay down the law more or less as he pleases. We’ve always got a waiting-list, you see.”

Hamish digested this information and that evening communicated it, and his observations, in a letter to his mother.

“I think I am going to enjoy it here, dearest mamma. We are very beautifully situated, high up and with a view, I am told, over five counties. The house is large and finely furnished and only the staff and the women students live in it. The men sleep in huts called halls. These are dotted about the grounds, which are well-kept and spacious. Emphasis is on sport—mostly athletics and swimming in the summer, and we play both codes of football, with hockey and lacrosse for the girls, in the winter. The food is above praise and the students have the same to eat as we do. There are ten of us, including the Warden, seven men and three women. The chief of staff, known officially as the Dean and to everybody as Henry, is a very decent sort, and I think I shall get on pretty well with the others. Two of the women are young and seem to be popular with the students. The third is a most fearsome old battle- axe with whom, of course, I’ve fallen deeply in love. It’s reputed that she beats the women students when they don’t please her, but that, I fear, is apocryphal, much as I should like to believe it, for the majority of our girls—God bless them!—strike me as hussies.

“I am put down to take French and German and have offered Russian and Chinese as well. I have only two lectures a day and no supervisory duties, but we are all expected to help coach athletics and swimming. We have two splendid pools, one outdoor, the other under cover. The students do pretty much as they like—I mean they don’t have to attend lectures— but they are not allowed cars or pocket-money. However, as we are miles from anywhere, they seem to take a philosophical view and sweat so hard that the standard of athletics, I am told, is surprisingly high. We have a match on Saturday against the Squadron Club; so that will give you some idea of our quality. Besides, I’m told, though I haven’t seen it yet, the Warden’s cupboard is festooned with the most fantastic array of sports’ trophies you ever saw. He must be the Lord High Pot-Hunter of all time, and the students have picked up the habit, I suppose.”

“Yes, indeed,” Henry had agreed when this was mentioned. “Of course, all the silver gets put behind bars every night. We may love our students, but we don’t trust them. I’m not sure that this withdrawal of all pocket-money is such a good idea, you know. They are not even in a position to earn any, either. It must be a frightful temptation to whip a solid silver cup and flog it to a fence and have a beano on the proceeds. Anyway, look after your own things and don’t leave any money about. I don’t say you would get it swiped, but it’s better not to offer any chances. I suppose Gassie didn’t show you his stock-cupboard with all the loot in it? If not, there’s no doubt he will. It’s the pride of his life. He’s got some obsessive ideas about encouraging the students, you know. Actually, I think he wants to put on a sentimental, proud father act when visitors come, but he may be sincere enough, so I mustn’t be uncharitable. Anyway, in this trophy-cupboard he also keeps the sports-gear worn or used by students who’ve made college records. You can imagine the sort of thing: four pairs of spikes worn by the team who put up the fastest-ever time in the sprint relay; Pong’s shot which brought us a special cup in 1966; Long’s discus; Wong’s javelin; Bong’s hammer, which went so far that it nearly took the head off the Lord Lieutenant; the high-jump bar which Mong cleared at six feet seven in 1969, and Song’s bamboo pole with which he made the record vault before glass-fibre poles came in and catapulted the world record to over eighteen feet. Well, you can imagine the kind of thing, as I said. He’s even got the track-suit he himself wore in the days of long ago when his University, for which he was reserve in some dim event or other, beat a weak A.A.A. team and got a match against Oxford or Cambridge—I forget the details. Get him to tell you all about it. He loves the story.”

“Good Lord! Was he ever an athlete?”

“Of some sort, no doubt. That’s why we go all out for athletics here, and make academic work an also- ran.”

So far as academic work was concerned, Hamish found that the first of his lectures was to prove a trial of strength between himself and the alumni. From various senior-common-room warnings he had received, he was not unprepared for trouble and he was willing enough, although not eager, to face something of a show-down before he was accepted by the students. He walked into his handsome lecture-room on the first floor of the mansion—each