A Javelin for Jonah Read Free

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 lecturer was allotted his own lecture-room to which his students came or not, as they pleased—and found it crowded. He walked to the dais, glanced at his audience, said, ‘Goodmorning, ladies and gentlemen,’ and placed his lecture notes on the desk.
    “What’s your name, bugger?” asked a