Voyage of Innocence

‘We live in restless, difficult times. Young people today are keenly aware of the world they live in, and the rights and wrongs existing within our society. We encourage compassion and concern for those less privileged than ourselves; you will find many ways in which you can contribute to the good of others while you are here.

‘We expect, however, that your energies will be first and foremost directed to your studies, the raison d’être of your presence here, so that when you go down, neither you nor your tutors feel that you have wasted your time here.

‘We are a college founded on Christian principles, and Evening Prayers, held at six p.m. in the chapel, are compulsory for all undergraduates; this is an opportunity for us to come together as a community and the time when notices concerning the college are given out.’

She paused for a moment, her cool eyes sweeping over the faces looking up at her.

‘I and the Fellows of our college welcome you to Grace. We hope, and expect, that you will make the best possible use of your time here, and go forth into the world more complete human beings as a result of what you will learn and experience at this university.’

Vee pulled back the sheets and got into bed. The mattress was lumpy and the sheets were starched into discomfort; she’d had worse at school. Goodbye Verity, the Dean’s daughter, she said to herself as she pummelled her pillow into submission. Hello Miss Trenchard, undergraduate of the University of Oxford.

There was a volley of knocks on the wall and Claudia’s voice came through, muffled but comprehensible. ‘For God’s sake, I think they’ve stuffed my mattress with a dead donkey.’

‘Goodnight,’ Vee called back. And from the other side of the corridor came an echoing goodnight from Lally.

THREE

They had a mentor at Grace, the three of them. She was a second-year scientist, called Miss Harbottle. Big-boned and with dark eyebrows that gave her a brooding appearance, she informed Claudia, almost before she’d introduced herself, that she was a Socialist and didn’t believe in titles, nor in any aspect of the aristocracy. The sooner the House of Lords was abolished, the better, she added, giving Claudia a frosty look.

Presumably Miss Harbottle didn’t know about Claudia’s brother, Lucius, but Vee thought he certainly made a strong case for immediate abolition of the Lords. Claudia took no offence at Miss Harbottle’s hectoring manner, merely saying that she knew many people who felt the same way.

‘But while we’re waiting for the revolution, can you tell us all those things we need to know?’

Miss Harbottle sniffed. ‘There’s a notice in your room with all the college rules. About signing out and in and all that kind of thing. What you’ll be fined for, or sent down if it’s bad enough. Men.’ She said the word as though she were speaking of black beetles. ‘There are strict rules about men in the college. You may never entertain a man privately in your rooms, for instance.’

‘It would be difficult, given the size of the rooms and the bed,’ Claudia said with a straight face.

Lally was laughing; Miss Harbottle looked vexed.

Lally quelled her laughter. ‘Tell us about this Freshers’ Fair.’

‘That’s tomorrow afternoon. It’s where you join University clubs and societies, or sign up for sporting activities. Only, please remember that we at Grace prefer to concentrate first and foremost on our academic work. Most first years go, though. It’s held in Schools.’

‘Schools?’ Lally asked. ‘What are they?’

‘Schools is the building in the High, on the corner of Merton Street. Lectures are held there, and it’s where you’ll take all your exams.’

Lally had a map of Oxford in her hand. ‘Here?’

‘Yes. In the morning, there’s Matriculation. There’s another notice about that.’

‘I read it,’ said Lally. ‘Subfusc clothing? Dark skirt and boots, white shirt and tie and cap and gown? Are the boots obligatory?’

‘It means shoes as well. And for dark, read black, please, including stockings. The Dean likes the women from Grace to look well-turned out and all the same.’

Their purchase of gowns and caps took place amid much hilarity. Lally was surprised to find she didn’t get to wear a mortarboard. She looked doubtfully at the soft, square-topped cap that she was handed.

‘It’s mediaeval, miss,’ the assistant said.

‘I believe you,’ said Claudia, perching hers on top of her blonde waves and peering at herself in the tiny mirror that was all the shop afforded. ‘It suits you best, Vee, I think you have the right kind of face for it. Like that portrait of Richard III, dark and introspective and waiting for the Renaissance to come along and liven things up a bit.’

Freshers’ Fair was awash with noisy masculinity. Men talking in loud voices, men on the stands shouting to be heard, male bodies pressing against one another and thrusting to get through the knot of undergraduates clustered round the popular stands. There was only a sprinkling of women, and most of them looked rather alarmed to find themselves among so many men.

‘There’s a peculiar smell in here,’ Lally said, wrinkling her elegant nose.

‘Men,’ Claudia said instantly. ‘I bet Hugh’s school smelt like this, didn’t it, Vee? It’s when they’re all together, there’s always a pong. And some of them here don’t wash that much, if you ask me. Don’t worry, you’ll get accustomed to it.’

Vee wasn’t worrying about the smell. Her eyes were scanning the tables and placards and banners proclaiming various activities: some sporting, some erudite, some absurd, like the Tiddlywinks Soc. ‘I’m sure most of these clubs and societies don’t welcome women,’ she said to Lally, who had her startled look again.

‘Too right,’ said a man wearing cricketing flannels and blazer, who was sitting at a nearby table. ‘This is what the university’s all about, sport and having a good time, and you female undergraduates come butting in, wanting to work and take life seriously, it’s a crashing bore.’

‘I play baseball back home,’ Lally said, ignoring the cricketing fan. ‘Do you suppose there’s a baseball club?’

A burst of song rose from the other side of the room.

Lally cupped her hand to her ear. ‘That sounds fun. I like to sing.’

‘Gilbert and Sullivan, and I bet they don’t take women members, either,’ said Claudia. ‘They’ll get singers for the female roles up from London.’

Lally went over to investigate a stand where they were singing madrigals and came back to report that was men only, too. ‘Imagine, they have men singing alto and soprano, did you ever hear anything like it? When there are women around.’

‘They think it’s traditional, I expect,’ Vee said. Her attention had been caught by a lanky individual in a faded pair of flannel trousers, held up at the waist by a frayed tie. On his top half, he wore a grubby fawn jumper. ‘Join now, join now, equal shares for everyone, that’s our motto,’ he was bellowing through a megaphone, drowning out the frail sound of the madrigal group.

He was an arresting figure, with dark hair that fell forward from an untidy parting to be pushed back with an impatient hand, a hand with long, muscular fingers, a strong hand. He radiated energy, but there was a quirkiness to his mouth that suggested the intensity was alleviated by a sense of humour.

‘R-A-P-M-O-C,’ Claudia read out the sign propped on the table. ‘Rapmoc? What on earth’s that?’

The young man lowered his megaphone. ‘Rational and Political Men Only Club.’

‘There you are,’ Vee said. ‘You asked, and he’s told you, if you’re any the wiser for knowing.’

‘Good Lord, it’s Alfred Gore, isn’t it?’ said Claudia. ‘My mother’s your godmother, only you never come to see her, so perhaps you aren’t aware of it. You were at Eton with my brother Jerry. Stop brandishing that megaphone and tell us why you don’t want women in your club.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Claudia Vere.’

‘I suppose you are,’ he said, after giving her a hard stare. ‘You’ve got Jerry’s eyes, all you Veres have those very blue eyes. Anyhow, don’t take any notice of the club name, we welcome people of all sexes. Or none. Come along and drink beer and talk serious politics. Thursday evening in the Arnold Room at Balliol.’

‘What a bore that sounds,’ Claudia said.

Vee had seen Hugh on the other side of the room. ‘Hello, Hugh!’ she called out, standing on tiptoe, and waving a handful of leaflets. ‘Over here.’

Hugh surged through the crowd, followed by a tall, fair man with a handsome face. ‘Vee, this is Giles Hotspur, we were at Repton together, and we share a set. My sister Verity, only we call her Vee. Hello, Alfred, no good shouting your wares, however much you yell and make a noise, it won’t add up to a sensible argument. Don’t go near that organization, Vee,’ he said, waving towards Alfred, who had started work again with his megaphone.

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s the Communist outfit. They aren’t allowed to be the Communist Society or club or whatever, the proctors won’t have it. You’ll be in deep trouble with your Dean if you attend a meeting and get busted. Red faces, never mind red politics. That’s why they call themselves that idiotic name. It’s Com Par backwards, you see. Bags, there, is a Marxist.’

‘Bags?’ said Claudia.

‘It’s all he wears. Hasn’t got a suit as far as anyone knows. Always goes about in disreputable bags and a ghastly pullover.’

‘Is he very hard up?’ Vee asked. ‘Surely, if he went to Eton …’

‘His people have got plenty of money, but since he took up the Cause, he likes to identify with the working masses who don’t have many changes of clothes. Solidarity, you see.’

Vee only had a vague idea of what a Marxist was. Both at school and at home, it was a word that wasn’t mentioned, and when she’d asked a question at either place, she had quickly been silenced. ‘Are all Communists Marxists?’

‘The most extreme are, and since they’re all extreme, yes, you could say Marxists and Communists are one and the same. However, we’ll all be Communists and Marxists soon, it’s quite the coming fashion. I bet membership of RAPMOC is growing fast.’

Vee was shocked; where she came from, at school and at the Deanery, Communists were Bolshevists, and there was no question but that Bolshevism was the work of the devil.

Alfred was looking at Vee with a quizzical expression in his eyes. ‘Do you know that nearly a quarter of the working population are unemployed? Do you have any idea how difficult it is for an unemployed worker to keep body and soul together, let alone his family fed and housed? The working man can’t take much more, and when he rises up to throw off the chains of capitalism, then you’ll see what the word revolution means.’

‘Is Communism really the answer?’ asked Lally. ‘Matters are pretty dire in the States, but I don’t think anyone’s predicting a blood-red revolution. I guess if Roosevelt gets elected, he’ll do his best for the working man.’

‘With the Depression you’ve got over there? You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Alfred waved his megaphone in the air. ‘Come to our next meeting, then you might begin to understand what politics really is, all you women have your heads in the sand.’

‘Thank you for the kind invitation,’ said Lally, ‘but I think I’ll pass.’ And to Claudia and Vee: ‘I’m going to go sign up for the Bach Choir. They surely have to have women in that.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Claudia. ‘They probably prefer little boys.’

A thought occurred to Vee. ‘Hugh, what are you doing here? You aren’t a Fresher.’

‘I’m manning the Poetry Society stand. Better hop back to it, in fact. Care to join?’

‘Are women allowed to be members?’

‘Of course you are,’ he said, suddenly cross. ‘All these misogynist groups here, they’re out of touch with the times.’

She put her name down, although she didn’t think she’d go to any of the meetings or readings. She’d leave the poetry to Hugh. She signed up for the Literary Society and the French Club, avoided the blandishments of the Women’s Hockey squad – she’d had enough hockey at school to last a lifetime – and looked around for the others. Lally was chatting to compatriots at the Anglo-American Society stand, and Vee went over to join her.

‘Isn’t your pop standing in November?’ said a rangy, clean-cut man who looked as though he, at least, took a bath every day.

‘He is.’

‘Come on over on election night. There’ll be a party for all us Americans, there’s quite a crowd of us here at the moment, and we shall get the results by wireless as they come in.’

‘Sounds fun,’ said Lally.

‘Standing?’ said Claudia, who’d appeared beside them.

‘For the Senate,’ said Lally.

‘I thought you said your father was a doctor,’ Vee said.

‘Yes, but he’s very politically minded. Hates what’s happening in our country with the Depression and everything. He’s running for office so that he can make a difference.’

Vee became aware that someone was hovering behind them. She turned round and came face to face with a man who looked like a cherub. He was gazing at Lally.

‘What a lovely, lovely woman,’ he breathed. He laid a hand on her arm. ‘I say, may I paint you? Oh, please say yes. Everyone loves to be painted by me.’

Alfred, who had abandoned his megaphone for a moment, paused on his way back to the RAPMOC stand; he was carrying a glass of water in his hand. Yelling about the injustices of society gave you a thirst, Vee supposed.

‘This is Marcus,’ he said, waving his free hand towards the cherub. ‘A Balliol man, an artist.’

‘Can you study art at Oxford?’ Lally asked.

‘Law,’ said Marcus, in his soft voice. ‘I’m reading law because I have to, but I paint because I love to. What beauty!’ he went on, looking at Lally again. ‘That exquisite colour of hair – it is natural, I do hope?’ he added, anxiously.

‘Perfectly,’ said Lally, who seemed happy to take Marcus in her stride.

‘Neither red nor brown, and together with a cream complexion, not a freckle in sight, so fortunate, because often that colouring is so sadly marred by freckles, the effect is ravishing. Slightly aquiline nose, hazel eyes, no, golden eyes, long neck, slim as a willow. I shall paint you as Artemis, with a bow in your hand. Please say you’ll come. Not to my room, if that offends your maidenly sensibilities. It can be at the Ruskin, if you prefer, I work there as well. And bring your friends, bring a chaperone. Not that you aren’t perfectly safe, I never touch women, Alfred will vouch for me.’

‘Oh, pipe down, Marcus, and leave the girl alone,’ said Alfred. He drank his water and dumped the glass on the nearest stand. He gave Vee a direct look. ‘Give RAPMOC a go, Miss Trenchard. It might change your life.’

‘Are you a Christian?’ boomed a voice from across the way. ‘Join OICCU, and spend worthwhile time in the company of your fellow Christians.’

‘One for you, Vee,’ said Claudia.

‘Perhaps,’ she said, feeling suddenly guilty that she was so disinclined to have anything to do with the Christian Union.

Why, Vee wondered, as they left Schools clutching handfuls of leaflets, did Christians dress so badly? Why was she so dowdy in comparison to the dashing Claudia and stylish Lally? It was partly a matter of money, but even so …

‘It’s interesting, the way the men dress,’ she said, as they set off down the High.

‘Several distinct groups,’ agreed Claudia. ‘Tweedy squire-ish ones.’

‘Fops,’ Vee said. ‘Did you see that one in a floppy bow tie and that big hat?’

‘He looked kind of cute,’ Lally said.

‘Better than those grubby ones in duffel coats,’ said Claudia. ‘What is it about duffel coats?’

‘Then there are the don’t-cares, like your friend Alfred Gore,’ Vee said.

‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Claudia. ‘I’m a cynic when it comes to people who look as though they have minds above clothes. I think Alfred’s outfit is just as artfully put together as the bow tie and the hat. Men!’ she added with affectionate scorn.

Alfred took a few minutes’ break from his megaphoning and wandered over to talk to Hugh. ‘Which college is your sister at?’

‘Grace,’ said Hugh, scribbling on a card and filing it away. ‘So’s Claudia, but you know her. She’s a cousin of ours. Don’t know anything about the American one. My word, she’s a looker.’

Alfred raised his eyebrows. ‘Giles might hear you.’

‘Anyone may hear my opinion, she’s quite lovely. Claudia’s grown into a minx, by the look of her.’

‘The Veres are all mad,’ said Alfred. ‘Lovely eyes.’

‘Claudia? A bit intense for me.’

‘No, Vee has lovely dark eyes.’

Hugh considered this. ‘Does she? I’ve never thought about it.’

Alfred went back to his stand and his megaphone.

FOUR

A few days later, Vee found a note from Hugh in her pigeonhole in the Lodge. ‘Hugh’s invited us to tea,’ she said, flourishing a sketch of the three of them.

Claudia was sifting through a handful of her own letters. She had more post than anyone else in their year, most of which she tossed into the bin without a second glance. She twitched the note out of Vee’s hand, looked at it, and laughed. ‘Wicked likenesses, what a devil the man is! Four o’clock at Christ Church. Peckwater 3.4. Do you suppose the divine Giles will be there? If so, I’m definitely on. What about you, Lally?’

‘Does he mean for all of us to go?’ asked Lally.

‘The picture tells its own story,’ Vee said, ‘and, besides, it’s addressed to the three of us.’ She handed Lally the envelope, addressed in Hugh’s elegant script: The Three Graces, c/o Miss V Trenchard.

‘He should be more specific, and name names,’ said Claudia. ‘He might get any three, such as Miss Harbottle, or that girl in the third year who’s so passionate about Moral Rearmament.’

‘It’s what he and Giles call us,’ Vee said.

‘I take it as a compliment.’

‘It might suit you and Lally, but hardly me,’ Vee said, feeling that with her dull Yorkshire clothes, and washed-out winter face, the soubriquet could only count as a courtesy. It irked her, the difference between how Lally and she looked. Lally wore no make-up, but her wonderful colouring and complexion put her in another league from Vee. As for Claudia, she never went out without make-up, which earned her the disapproval of quite half the college.

‘God prefers us to look the way He made us,’ one sanctimonious second-year told her in Hall.

‘Did He tell you so? Then why does He allow make-up to be made or sold?’

‘Make-up is the work of Satan.’

‘I’ll look out for the name when next I buy a lipstick,’ Claudia promised.

‘I’ll meet you at Christ Church, but it won’t be until a little later,’ said Lally, ‘I’ve got a choir rehearsal until four.’

‘We’ll stop off and buy a cake,’ Claudia said as she and Vee set off at a quarter to four. ‘Just to be sure of our welcome.’

They went into Fullers, busy with women in hats having tea. ‘I hope Hugh hasn’t invited that dreary man from the next staircase up,’ Vee said ‘What kind of cake shall we buy?’

‘Walnut, I think,’ said Claudia. ‘All men love walnut cake.’

They watched the cake being put in a box. The assistant made a loop with the ribbon and passed it to Vee while Claudia paid. ‘No, put your purse away, Vee, this is my treat.’

Claudia was well aware that her cousin had to watch every penny, and she managed to be generous in a casually kind way that made it impossible to refuse.

‘Which dreary man?’ she asked as they went out of the shop and into Cornmarket.

‘Jonathan somebody. Short and pink and hates women.’

‘A Repton man, what do you expect from your northern wastelands? You’re all years behind the times there. Anyhow, most of the men here hate women, haven’t you noticed?’

‘No, I haven’t. I know a lot wish women had never been admitted to the university, but that’s simply unthinking prejudice. Why should they hate us?’

‘It’s what men do, when women trespass on their territory. Except for those that are queer, some of them get on quite well with women.’

‘Queer? Odd, you mean, men who are eccentric?’

Claudia stopped and turned to look at her companion. ‘Vee! Queer. You know, men who go to bed with other men. Like at their schools.’

Vee was taken aback. ‘Men who go to bed with men?’

‘Yes, of course.’ She gave Vee a quick, concerned look. ‘Do you mean you didn’t know? What did you think they do at school, all those boys cooped up together? They get the habit there, and when they come on here, or go to Cambridge, they just carry on.’

‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with sharing a bed.’

‘My pet, when I say go to bed together, I don’t mean they doss down for a sound night’s sleep. It’s for sex, for heaven’s sake.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

Vee’s upbringing had been sheltered, but she still felt she had a reasonable grasp of the facts of life. Books, a chatty maid and earnest discussions with her more sophisticated friends at school had sorted it out for her – or so she thought. Of course, it was a taboo subject for her parents, as it was for most of their generation. More out of embarrassment than principle, she thought.

‘I expect your mother was going to tell you about men on the eve of your wedding,’ said Claudia. ‘And she wouldn’t think to mention about men’s other tastes. Perhaps she doesn’t know, I’m sure my mother’s a terrific innocent about that kind of thing.’

What about Hugh? He’d been to public school. Only Hugh never talked about sex or love or anything like that.

‘Maybe there are men like that, but Hugh isn’t, what did you call it? Queer. He’s perfectly normal.’

‘My pet, of course he’s queer, everyone knows that. He’s had a tremendous thing going with Giles, why do you think they share a set?’

‘Most of the men share sets. It’s how they room at men’s colleges. They’re old friends, from school.’

‘Yes, and some are friends, and then there are those for whom two bedrooms aren’t really necessary.’ Claudia took Vee’s arm, and drew her out of the way of an angry student on a bicycle. He swept past them, ringing his bell in violent disdain. ‘You can’t tell me you didn’t know.’

Vee felt as though the world had just opened and spat her out. Hugh in bed with another man, for sex? It was inconceivable. ‘And disgusting, I don’t know how you can say such things, Claudia.’

‘They don’t find it disgusting at all, they like it, or they wouldn’t go to bed together.’

‘I don’t know how you can bring yourself to say such things.’ Vee broke away from Claudia, desperate to escape from these awful revelations, and plunged into the traffic, causing a delivery van to stop with a squeal of brakes and a stout woman cyclist to swerve and nearly come off.

‘Vee, I’m sorry,’ Claudia called after her. ‘Honestly, I’d never have said anything if I thought you didn’t know about Hugh and Giles. I mean it’s as obvious as the nose on your face.’

Tears were pricking Vee’s eyes as she whirled round to shout at Claudia. ‘Not to me it isn’t.’

Claudia caught up with her. ‘That’s because you’ve led such a sheltered life in the Deanery, didn’t the girls at school talk about it?’

Vee had bitten her lip in her agitation, so hard that she’d drawn blood. She dabbed at her mouth with the back of her glove.

Claudia put a hand out to touch her cousin’s stiff shoulders, but Vee shrugged her roughly off.

‘Well, it’s as well I’ve enlightened you. You’d have found out sooner or later. Ignorance and innocence aren’t the same, and ignorance can get you into terrible scrapes.’

The glory had gone out of the day, and Vee stalked through the lodge at Christ Church with her head held high and her stomach churning. She walked unseeing past the Custodians in their habitual bowler hats, and almost ran across Tom Quad, wanting to get away from Claudia. Past the great Wren Library, unnoticed, even in the beauty of the reflected late-afternoon light. She dashed over to Staircase Three, but there she stopped.