Matricide at St. Martha's by Ruth Dudley Edwards Page A

and the Senior Tutor are to be forced to learn’ – she gazed down at the list – ‘to say “animal companion” instead of “pet”?’
    ‘And why not?’
    ‘Because it’s like asking them to learn Urdu.’
    ‘A typically ethnic slur. It implies that Urdu is an unnecessary language for white people to learn.’
    ‘It bloody does not!’ shouted the Bursar. ‘It implies it’s difficult – which it damn well is. You know perfectly well that this would be an impossible task for that generation.’
    ‘Not once the training courses are instituted. Which brings me to my next point. The prime object for this college now has to be to heighten sensitivity and make us all more multi-culturally sensitive. We will have to seek and root out the white racism endemic in our values, attitudes and structures and ensure that no one ever uses any terminology found offensive by any other.’
    ‘I find a great number of these substitutes offensive,’ snarled the Bursar. She seemed, noted Amiss, to have temporarily forgotten her new role. ‘What about me?’
    ‘I should have said “found offensive by any other from an oppressed group”. Next, I want the College made smoking-and scent-free immediately.’
    ‘I don’t detect that you are much in the mood for compromise.’
    ‘When dealing with human rights, compromise is wrong.’
    ‘But you can’t seriously think that you can overthrow the structure, languages, habits and thought processes of almost a century just like that?’
    ‘We’ll see about that.’ Bridget began to assemble her papers and put them into her case. She stood up. ‘I think you will find pressure can be brought to bear to make this step towards recognition of the rights of others preferable to the chaos which is likely to ensue if you strive to retain paternalistic values.’
    ‘I understand you,’ said the Bursar grimly. ‘But I have my allies too.’
    ‘What conclusions should I report from this meeting?’ asked Amiss.
    ‘Standoff,’ said the Bursar. ‘Now you must excuse me. I am going to smoke a pipe in my room; it helps me to plan.’ She shot at Bridget a look that would have made a rhinoceros nervous and stomped out.

----
    12
    « ^ »
    Trapped by a prior engagement with Francis Pusey to be shown around every last nook and cranny of St Martha’s with accompanying no-stone-unturned commentary, Amiss was chafing with impatience to find out what had been the fruit of Jack Troutbeck’s ruminations. But Pusey insisted on keeping him by his side and giving him a glass of sherry before dinner.
    ‘A rare treat for me, dear boy. I have to have the excuse of a visitor. Go on, have another. I will if you will.’
    Amiss was happy to oblige. With the second, Pusey was moved to confidences. ‘I’m depressed, Robert. The writing is on the wall, I fear. There was a stage when I felt that somehow common sense would prevail and we might see the Alice Toon money make our lives here a little less austere, but now I see no hope. Cyril and you and I are caught between these ferocious Amazons and have no power to affect matters.’
    ‘With which side are you sympathetic?’
    ‘Neither. Are we, Bobsy? All we can aspire to now is to avoid being drawn into any rows. Have another sherry, dear boy.’ The fourth followed with considerable speed, so it was in quite a mellow mood that Amiss approached dinner. This was quickly dispelled by the combination of Jack Troutbeck’s absence and the presence of the Reverend Cyril Crowley. Amiss endured the lecture on the role of the Anglican Communion in these days of changing values with as good a grace as he could muster until he got a chance to ask Miss Stamp if she knew of the Bursar’s whereabouts. ‘I’ve got a rather urgent financial problem to sort out with her,’ he confided.
    ‘She’s probably gone out to see her friend.’
    ‘What friend?’
    Miss Stamp giggled. ‘Ooh, there’s someone in the Bursar’s life you know. She slips out once or twice