compressed into eight lectures, and all with Dr Mayfield's bland assumption that progress was continuous and that liberal attitudes were somehow independent of time and place. What about Ulster? A fat lot of liberal attitudes applied there in 1978. And the Empire hadn't exactly been a model of liberalism. The most you could say about it was that it hadn't been as bloody awful as the Belgian Congo or Angola. But then Mayfield was a sociologist and what he knew about history was dangerous. Not that Wilt knew much himself. And why English Liberalism? Mayfield seemed to think that the Welsh and Scots and Irish didn't exist, or if they did that they weren't progressive and liberal too.
Wilt got out a ballpoint and jotted down notes. They had nothing at all to do with Mayfield's proposed course. He was still rambling speculatively on when lunchtime came. He went down to the canteen and ate what was called curry and rice at a table by himself and returned to his office with fresh ideas. This time they concerned the influence of the Empire on England. Curry, baksheesh, pukka, posh, polo, thug words that had infiltrated the English language from farflung outposts where the Wilts of a previous age had lorded it with an arrogance and authority he found it hard to imagine. He was interrupted in these pleasantly nostalgic speculations by Mrs Rosery, the Department secretary, who came to say that Mr Germiston was sick and couldn't take Electronic Technicians Three and that Mr Laxton, his stand-in, had done a swop with Mrs Vaugard without telling anyone and she wasn't available because she had previously made an appointment at the dentist and...
Wilt went downstairs and crossed to the hut where Electronic Technicians were sitting in a stupor of pub-lunch beer, 'Right,' he said sitting down behind the table, 'Now what have you been doing with Mr Germiston?'
'Haven't done a bloody thing with him,' said a red-headed youth in the front. 'He isn't worth it. One punch up the snout and...'
'What I meant,' said Wilt before redhead could go into the details of what would happen to Germiston in a fight, was what has he been talking to you about so far this term?'
'Fucking darkies,' said another technician.
'Not literally, I trust,' said Wilt hoping that his irony would not lead to a discussion of interracial sex. 'You mean race relations?'
'I mean spades. That's what I mean. Nignogs, wogs, foreigners, all them buggers what come in here and take jobs away from decent white blokes What I say is...'
But he was interrupted by another ET 3 'You don't want to listen to what he says. Joe's a member of the National Front '
'What's so wrong with that?' demanded Joe. 'Our policy is to keep '
'Out of politics,' said Wilt. 'That's my policy and I mean to stick with it. What you say outside is your affair but in the classroom we'll discuss something else.'
'Yeah, well you ought to tell old Germ-Piston that. He spends his bloody life telling us we got to be Christians and love our neighbours like ourselves. Well if he lived in our street he'd know different. We got a load of Jamrags two doors off and they play bongo drums and dustbins till four in the ruddy morning. If old Germy knows a way of loving that din all fucking night he must be blooming deaf.'
'You could always ask them to quieten down a bit or stop at eleven,' said Wilt.
'What, and get a knife in the guts for the privilege? You must be joking.'
'Then the police...'
Joe looked at him incredulously. 'A bloke four doors down went to the fuzz and you know what happened to him?'
'No,' said Wilt.
'Had his car tyres slashed two days later. That's what. And did the cops want to know? Did they fuck.'
'Well I can see you've got a problem,' Wilt had to admit.
