Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's
by
Joel
Some of the Characters Appearing: [Year 2000] Mark Henry Foster 16 rising 17, 5ft 11in and still growing Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams 17 just about 18, 6ft and well-proportioned Ivo Richie Carr 19 5ft 10in, chunky and cheeky with it Adam Benjamin Carr 19 ditto as his twin
At St Mark's College Cambridge Charles (Clarissa) Fane-Stuart The 'Servant of the Chapel' and Footlights star David (Dingley) Dell The Augustus Pennefather organ scholar Oct 1998-Jul 2001 Albert Tomkins An authoritarian Head Porter with an elephantine memory Jason Knott An Assistant Porter with long antecedents Bryce (Babyballs) McArdle A sullen overlooked over-muscled Aussie rugger forward Rev Dr Basil Henson A very astute Chaplain Dr Safar Al-Hamed A knowledgeable Music don Professor James Tanner A formidable Mathematics don Mr Simon Finch-Hampton A two-faced History don with a guilty secret
- My Introduction to Cambridge
Mum had re-packed my bag for me the previous morning so all I had to do was to assemble my washing kit and I was ready. The twins had phoned the night before just before we had gone next door and had informed me they would be waiting on Cambridge station and would see Tris and I wouldn't get lost finding the hotel. So all was well. Tris and I left in good time and got to Liverpool Street Station well before the train was due to leave. The twins were as good as their word and we took a taxi to the hotel. After booking in and being shown to a very nice room - with two single beds, bah! - Tris and I met up with the twins in the lobby and went for a guided tour of Cambridge centre.
We sat for ages in Starbucks near the Market Place while they filled us in on Cambridge lore. I learned a lot more about St Mark's. I knew already that it was a small college, tucked away behind some of the larger ones, but that it had a long history going back to around 1400 when its main job was supplying holy clerks for the monasteries and churches around East Anglia. Over the years its fortunes had waned but it had retained many links with the aristocracy as it tended to house the younger and the dimmer scions of the stately homes of England.
Also, as Ivo informed us, its other reputation was shared with the more modern colleges of St Edmunds and Hughes Hall - that of housing the great majority of boaties and rugger-buggers intent on winning places in the Boat Race crews, or going for a Blue in the Oxford versus Cambridge rugger matches. Unfortunately, it seemed that St Marks came off third best there with the cream - or scum as Adam sagely said - rising to the top in the other two colleges. Still, the twins said they were happy and had played in the college XV in their first two terms and looked forward in the Summer term to pursuing the totties even more by offering to take them punting on the Cam. As Adam said, "there are well-known shady nooks along to Grantchester, not including the nudist camp".
They'd also done a bit of sleuthing of their own about the elusive Augustus Pennefather. Elusive, because I hadn't had any other information except the tales from Grandmother Foster that Granddad had been a prize chorister and that Augustus had been found drowned in the Cam below the weir on Jesus Green in 1938. Apparently he had left a tidy fortune to the College, derived from family connections with the pharmaceutical industry, but the College had never had another Music Fellow and the Choir School had been closed and the pupils dispersed to King's and St John's just before the War in 1939. The Choir School buildings were now converted to student accommodation.
The twins had done a bit more nosing around as the Augustus Pennefather Organ Scholar always had the old don's set of rooms which, according to them were palatial but haunted. That is, haunted if anyone else attempted to take them over. Of course, Tris had been to the College for his interview but the twins said I didn't need to see it until the next morning when I went there first of all to try out the organ. In any case, we'd better get back to the hotel as we didn't want to be late for dinner. While Tris and I were up seeing the room and unpacking when we arrived earlier they had booked dinner in the restaurant for seven o'clock.
Four well-fed lads concluded a very substantial meal at about half-past nine. The twins said that they would write and thank Tris's dad. As we said goodnight to them in the lobby Ivo turned to me. "Early night for you, me lad," I was informed, "We don't want you falling asleep while you're playing all that interminable Bach tomorrow. And, as for you," he turned his attention to Tristan, "No keeping him awake with your insatiable demands." Ivo and Adam were well aware of Tris's sexual needs and his stamina. Adam laughed and gave Tris a playful punch on the arm. "We'll see you here on the doorstep dead on ten in the morning and if our little cousin is tired out there'll be another body below the weir!"
Little cousin indeed! I was at least two inches taller than either of the pair of them but it was nice of them to be so concerned about my welfare.
So, we had an early night. I peed and showered first while Tris was downstairs checking for the ninety-ninth time what time breakfast was to be served in the morning. Actually, he'd been down and pinched a single red rose from the lobby display and when I came out of the shower I found it on the pillow of the bed I'd chosen.
"That's for you," he said. "It might sound a bit sentimental but it's almost as if we're on our honeymoon. A hotel room and just the two of us...."
".....but no shenanigans tonight as I must be fresh as a daisy in the morning," I countered, shaking my head and putting on a straight face. Poor Tris. He looked so woebegone. I relented. I'd fooled him. I put my still-damp arms round him. "Go and have a shower and I will let you into my bed. It's still early and I want to talk to you anyway."
Some boys can shower quickly when there is a promise of things to come.
I was just in bed so I opened up the duvet as he came into the bedroom. "I hope you washed all the important bits," I said as he hopped onto the bed and landed beside me. As usual we put our arms around each other and just savoured the closeness of our two bodies. "I want to talk to you first," I stroked his back feeling the muscles over his shoulder-blades, "I want to say how glad and happy I am that we can be together like this and you want to be with me. I'll need your presence tomorrow but I shall know you'll be there caring so deeply for me."
He moved over slightly and gently kissed me on my nose. He stroked my back as well. "Marky, I have to be with you."
We moved our heads together and kissed each other on the lips, just brushing the tips of our tongues. We lay still for a couple of minutes.
"I want to tell you about last night," I whispered. "I want to tell you about Francis and what happened." Tris was suddenly alert. "No Tris, nothing like that happened. We talked."
I told Tris exactly what had happened. Francis's appearance by my bed, his questions and that final refusal on both our parts to be tempted.
"When I looked at Francis standing there I saw myself and I really wanted him. I wanted him so badly but I knew I couldn't..."
Tris kissed my cheek. "Yes, he came and asked me if he should ask you to tell him things. I said that was what big brothers are for so it was my fault you were tempted. I'm sorry. Frankie is just beautiful, he reminds me of you when I first began to realise I loved you. You've just described how his body looks. That was how I saw you first at Disney and the months following when you developed so quickly. I wanted you so terribly all that time. I wanted to smother you with love and share my body with you." He brushed his cheek against mine. "When I plucked up courage to tell you of my love you accepted me immediately and I knew all was right with the world." He shook his head slowly against me. "I couldn't have blamed you if you had succumbed to that temptation. If he has as lovely a young cock as you had when you were thirteen and a half I would have been sorely tempted, too. Don't forget, that was when I first tried taking you into my mouth and found you fitted perfectly." He shook his head again. "No, Marky I couldn't have blamed you, but I'm so glad you didn't."
Gradually and gently we began to explore each other's bodies. The duvet was discarded as I sat up and caressed his well-formed pecs. I bent over and touched his nipple with the tip of my tongue and then drew rings around the pinkness surrounding it. I put a hand on his firm stomach and felt the firm muscles beneath his soft skin. I lay back and he repeated my actions while I basked in the full-blown sensuality of his so-light touch.
"You are so beautiful, too," he whispered as he put his head down next to mine on the pillow. "You may not be as sporty as me but you have a really superb body. You look like one of those lovely statues we've seen in Italy." His hand went gradually down my torso and I shivered with delight as he brushed his fingers across my belly and into my pubic hair. His fingers touched my fully erect penis. "There's one big difference, though. Not only do you look as beautiful but you possess that flawless addition which they only have in miniature. Yours is perfect. Whatever the twins say, I need you tonight. I need to feel that perfection and to taste those juices only you can produce for me."
I felt the same about him. I whispered that I needed to taste that sweetness which always came when I first laved the tip of his most mighty weapon and then to revel in the tang of the potent juice which would spurt and flow in abundance. Gradually we tongued each other's firm young bodies and turned head to toe diagonally on the bed until simultaneously we tested each other's first sweet outflow and then slowly but relentlessly we sucked on those youthful rods and licked and nipped our rapidly risen ball sacs until both of us sensed the other's climax was near. I received Tris's jerking, spirting,
teeming load, swallowing as much as I could, moments before I passed into that state where nothing else could ever matter. I felt those massive jolts deep in the root of my shaft, then felt the surge as my spunk gathered pace and my face and neck muscles went into that involuntary rictus of perfect rapture as I gave Tris my love, my being, me.
We unwound slowly. Both of us were panting with the extreme exertion caused by such gradual and unhurried means. Both of us lay and must have shared the same thoughts of complete togetherness as without a word our hands touched and our fingers linked. We turned and our tongues collided, still coated with the other's self.
"That was my love for you," Tris murmured as we parted.
"Mine, too," was my heartfelt response.
I found the duvet on the floor and pulled it up to cover us. We woke in each other's arms exactly at seven o'clock. At least a full eight hours sleep for both of us.
I felt so well, so refreshed as I gazed into Tris's blue eyes.
"Thanks for last night," I grinned as he smiled at me. "I don't think the twins will be bundling you over the bridge. It was perfect."
True. We had sucked each other many times before but there had been an intensity of regard and respect for each other which transcended all those other occasions.
We showered and breakfasted, I checked my music and my clarinets and we were ready waiting when the twins turned up.
They looked at the pair of us. Ivo turned to Adam. "They did and they had an early night!"
No more was said as we crossed the road to the bridge. "Looks a bit fast flowing," I said as I nudged Tristan.
"What a way to go," he murmured as we looked down at the rushing and tumbling water.
We marched steadily across Jesus Green without more conversation, the twins probably sensing I might be a bit uptight. As we got near King's we turned down a small dark alley.
"This is a bit like Diagon Alley!" I said spontaneously, almost looking for the brickwall with the magic brick to press. But as we walked down there was a narrow lane and I was amazed at what then appeared. A high wall with a tall tower at one end and with a small door inset.
Ivo opened the door and we stepped inside. What appeared was a perfect mediaeval building of tall mullion windowed walls with a Chapel with that tower. Set to the side was a main entrance with a large wooden door and a smaller one again set within it. Beyond that was another wide enclosed door which was open and I could down to the river through that.
"This will all be yours" said Adam, holding my arm. "It belongs to all the students who've ever been here. It's part of us and we're part of it."
That was said with pride and sincerity. Adam showed again his good self.
"Have to introduce you to old Albert. He's got a memory like an elephant. He remembers every student that's been through that door." Ivo pointed to the wooden door in the porch. "He's the Head Porter. Mr Tomkins to us mortals, Old Albert otherwise. So, here we go."
We turned into the inner porch and there was another door with glass in it. Above it the legend 'Porter's Lodge'. There was somewhat of a commotion going on within. We entered and stood in a row by the door. I took in the scene. Old Albert proved to be a small, gnarled old man in a smart dark suit who was roundly telling off, in a very loud voice, a much larger young man, who I deduced to be a student, for leaving his bicycle not in the proper rack. His tirade finished he surveyed we four as the large young man turned and rushed past us out of the door.
"Mr Carr and Mr Carr, sirs," he said, much more quietly, "You are up early this morning. I saw you hurrying out before nine. I see you've come back through the Night Door."
"Yes, Mr Tomkins," Ivo said, very politely I thought, "We have been to collect my cousin and his friend. This is Mark Foster who most probably will be the next Augustus Pennefather Organ Scholar and his friend..."
"....I know him," interrupted Old Albert, staring at Tristan. "He was here for interview last year. Let me see. Double-barrelled." He leered at Tristan who was almost open-mouthed. "Money and father's a QC - money is Price-", his face screwed up, "- Williams!" he crowed triumphantly.
"Your memory as ever is infallible," said Ivo without a trace of irony, "Now, what about this young man. We've never let on to you but our grandfather was here. Our mother's father and his dad's father. His name was Foster." He turned to me. "I think Grandma said he was here after the War as an undergraduate though he was here before the War as a chorister."
Old Albert surveyed me. I had the feeling my physiognomy was now stored in his memory banks. "I've been here fifty four years so I was kitchen boy then just after the War.... ....Foster you say? Big fellow. Got caught climbing the tower and the Dean said it was a good job he'd been head chorister or he'd be rusticated. That was George Foster, then." He looked at me and I didn't know if the look was venomous or just natural. "He kicked my arse more than once 'cause he said I was a cheeky young bugger but there was always a shilling for cleaning his muddy boots. Played the saxophone in some God-awful jazz band! Ha Ha!" He gave a cackle and a crooked smile appeared as he bent his head toward me, and held up a piece of paper. "Good morning, Mr Foster, I was expecting you." He stopped and looked past us. " ...Mr Fane-Stuart has the key to the Chapel for you."
There was no time then to ask anything more about Grandad. I wondered why the twins had kept quiet about him? What a memory though. But Old Albert's reminiscences were cut short by the appearance of a very smartly dressed, willowy young man with a short black gown, emblazoned with two red panels of what looked like a sheep holding a flag, draped over his shoulders. Oh, yes, the College crest, St Mark's emblem. But my contemplation was cut short.
"My favourite hunks," he burbled as he held out both hands and clasped one each of Ivo and Adam's. "How divine you look as always." He turned to Tristan and me. "And which of you is the lovely Mark Foster described in such detail by this gorgeous pair." He looked at Tris and held up a hand. "Not you, my dear, you're too, too blond. They said tall, dark and more than a little handsome!" He shook a mane of platinum blond hair as he looked me up and down. "It must be you and that description does your radiance less than proper justice." He stretched out a beautifully manicured hand with what seemed like a ring on every finger. "Charles Fane-Stuart, Servant of the Chapel."
I took his hand in mine and was rather surprised at the very firm handshake. I realised that even with the affectations Charles Fane-Stuart was not someone with whom to trifle.
"Yes," I said, "I'm Mark," I turned towards Tristan, "And this is Tristan Price- Williams my best friend and he'll be a student here next year and, I believe, will be in the choir."
Tris's hand was grasped in turn while Charles scrutinised him. I knew Tris was being logged in someone else's memory bank.
"Come along then," he nodded, then turned to the Head Porter. "Albert dear, I'll take them over to the Chapel, no need to bother your pretty head with them as naughty young Knott isn't around as usual. That boy spends more time making beds for those frightful hulks than helping me get the Chapel in order or busying himself looking after your little Lodge. I shall have to reprimand him very severely as if that would do any good."
I couldn't help noticing that the twins were heaving with silent laughter as Tris and I looked rather bewildered at the twists and turns of the conversation. I noticed that Old Albert said not a word.
Charles Fane-Stuart led the way and the four of us fell in step behind him. He motioned me to walk with him after a few paces. "Usual allowance of time to practice. Up to midday and then lunch in Hall. Dr Al-Hamed and the Chaplain will be at the Chapel just before two-o'clock and I'll introduce you to them. Dr Al-Hamed looks after our Music students and the Chaplain will quiz you on various things. Then you've got an interview with Professor Tanner at four-thirty. Don't worry I'll be around if needed." He squeezed my arm. "We're fairly harmless. I can't say much about the rest."
He turned to the twins who were walking as close as possible so they could overhear what Charles was saying to me, but something had struck a chord of memory for me, too. Al-Hamed. I had heard that name fairly recently. But where? Charles raised a slim bejewelled finger. "If I take young Mark and Tristan to my set they can leave their unwanted things there. I've got Dingley's keys so I can show Mark where he might be living for three years." He turned to me and his mane of hair flew about again. "We're all jealous, my dear, think of the parties you'll be able to host. Invite me, won't you?"
There was an undertone here and I wasn't quite sure. We turned left as we crossed the quad and I saw the Chapel. It seemed huge against the smaller stone and dark red brick three-storey buildings. The tower soared upwards and I imagined Grandad shinning up the side clutching at the hideous gargoyles. Not an enterprise for me!
"This is my little home," announced Charles as we passed into a dark and rather dank passageway. He inserted a key into a very nondescript door and opened that and an inner door and we walked into the most ornate room I had ever seen. It was panelled in a dark wood but hung all around with swathes of brightly coloured silk-like drapery. There were old chairs in every corner done in more modern very elaborate fabrics. There were photographs and rather abstract pictures covering spaces left on the walls. A riot of colour. "Sorry, darlings, if it's a bit OTT but Mother does interiors and thought my drab old walls needed brightening up. Sit down there a moment and you can sort out what you need." This to me. He looked at the others. "Coffee all round? Ivo dearest, pop the kettle on, you're a familiar spirit around here." He looked at Tris then me and held up both hands, palms towards us in a most theatrical gesture. "Couldn't survive without my gorgeous boys! Adam, my hunky hunk, find the biscuits."
I was staring at some of the photos. Most were of a stunning blonde. They must be of Charles's sister, or perhaps his mother when younger, as the likeness was there. She was truly beautiful and that was my unbiased judgement. I caught Tris's eye and his lips were twitching. He was enjoying himself. As we waited I got my music books ready and opened my clarinet case and inspected the contents, just in case... I wasn't agitated... Everything was fine so far... All so new... For some unknown reason I started to think of that rapid fingering near the end of the prelude after that peculiar held chord over the long pedal C. Oh God, if they asked me to analyse that chord! My fingers splayed while I thought of it - five notes in each hand - B natural D natural, F, A flat, B natural again in the left and F, A flat, B, D and F in the right. I heard it in my mind - a diminished seventh. The dissonance ready to set that fleeing downward dash - the same chord now dispersed resolving towards that final cadence in F minor but remembering to flatten the D now in that almost final
semiquaver run. Oh, Bach, how did you imagine such wonderful sounds? I was drawn back to whatever reality was by a mug of steaming coffee being handed to me by a grinning Ivo.
He must have been watching me. "Relax, old lad, you know it all."
"Just thinking," I said, "Thanks, I need that but I'd better go to the loo, too!"
As soon as I had drunk the coffee Ivo guided me through to the next room, the bedroom, this time quite sparse, and the bathroom and attendant loo. As I peed gratefully I was struck by a montage made of a series of photos of that lovely blonde all in different costumes. If that was Charles' sister she was so elegant and poised. No, nothing stirred. I thought of Frankie and his confession of the hardening of his organ when viewing Jack's downloaded pictures. Oh, God, the organ. The other one! I must get to it.
Calm down, Mark, I commanded myself.
All were ready when I emerged. I picked up my music and the clarinet case. I needed to test the acoustics for those as well. "See you at twelve," Adam said as he gripped my arm and Charles opened the Chapel door.
The organ was in a loft above the door. I stood and looked down the length of the Chapel. It was quite long to the far wall but what really impressed me was that the ceiling was so high and the roof timbers were richly painted. Charles led me to the door leading to the stairs. "The blower motor switch is in the box on the wall. The pistons I am told are all free except for the six on the right side under the Great. Here's the instructions." He gave me a small pamphlet. I glanced at the first page. Piston setting seemed very much the same as St Barnabas's. Tris followed me up the stairs. I glanced at the console. Nothing out of the ordinary. I checked the position of the various families. Good, reeds had red lettering and the strings were in green while the rest were in black. I spent five minutes going through my notes and experimenting with the set pistons. Yes, a gradual build-up to full chorus on the Great with full Swell prepared. OK for the Bach Prelude. Piston 4 then 5 for the held chord, the run on the Choir chorus until the cadence on 5 at the end. Clear stops for the fugue to show up the counterpoint. Yes. I set two of the free pistons up for that. Mendelssohn. A little more romantic. A soft string added somewhere. Fuller tone for the fugue. Then the Alain. A challenge. I tried the Cromorne. Lovely. I built a chorus around that and set three more pistons. Those splashy chords would be OK with a bit of help from Tris.. I looked at him. "I'm ready," I said. He bent over me and kissed my neck lightly.
Everything went well. Surprisingly I could hear the organ well from the console. It was something Reggie had warned me about. "Don't be misled and add stops because you can't hear." I could hear and everything flowed. I played through the complete programme without repeating anything. At one point I asked Tris to draw a Mixture stop. I didn't like it so asked him to cancel it. Otherwise I didn't think I wanted to change anything.
When I finished that last chord of the Fantaisie and closed down the Swell box to an ethereal almost nothingness, then cancelled everything I turned and looked at Tris. Tears were coursing down his cheeks. He stood and wept. "Oh, Marky, you've never played so well. It was beautiful. That Fantaisie! I can't help it." He sniffed and searched in his pockets for his handkerchief. As I stood up from the organ bench he held me in his arms. "My Marky!" I smiled. "My Tris," I whispered back.
It was a few minutes before twelve so we sat together in the choir stalls and looked at the lovely building and I tried out a couple of short passages on one of my clarinets. I stood up and walked down the nave. The acoustic was perfect. As I walked I looked at the monuments and plaques to past dons and students, the two war memorials and the muted colours of two magnificent medieval stained-glass windows. "I shall think of you sitting here singing in the choir next year," I said as I walked back to where Tris was sitting. I put my clarinet down and took his hand in mine.
"And I will be waiting for you to join me with you sitting up there," he whispered gripping my hand.
We heard the main door being opened. In came Ivo, Adam and Charles.
"We stood outside and listened," said Ivo. "You're a star!"
"I've got to convince the jury this afternoon," I said.
Charles smiled at that. But I sensed there was more.
Lunch in Hall was substantial if rather dull - like school dinners but hotter I thought. There was a sprinkling of others in the dining room - another panelled room this time lined with large portraits of be-gowned ancient dons. Quite a few of the young men were quite immense, if not just tall they were barrel-chested and big-arsed. They were invariably in voluminous dark red hooded tops with names and letters on the back and grey or black jogging pants. Others looked like ordinary students and it was noticeable they sat at the other ends of the long benches away from the others.
"Come on, sweethearts," Charles said as the last of our plates was deftly removed by a suave young man in white shirt, black waistcoat and black trousers. "Let's repair to my room and relax and I can show you Dingley's little den as well. He's not around as he's organ-crawling and beer-drinking in Bavaria. He'll come back even more of a little barrel! He's a sweet thing, though."
We left the dining hall with the majority of the large young men still chomping away. I asked Charles who they were as I walking by his side. "They are our mainstay. They are the muscle-bound and the brain-dead. Mustn't be catty but all they think about is winning through brute strength and there are some brutes among them.." He lowered his voice. "Not like your darling cousins who combine strength and beauty with brains. They may act the thicko role with some of the Neanderthals but they are perfection. And if I may comment, your friend is perfection, too. And he's coming here next year?" He looked at me and smiled. "Don't worry, he'll come to no harm. We'll see to that."
We reached the passage way we'd entered before. This time Charles turned to the left and opened identical doors to his own. But now, the room revealed was in no way like his. It was panelled in a radiant light oak, the windows were draped in heavy, rich material and in one corner stood a small grand piano. I cast my eyes around in wonderment. There were a few smallish oil paintings on the walls hung from what looked like organ stops. Below there was a sumptuous turkey-red patterned carpet over the dark stained and polished floor boards with a dining table and chairs and several comfortable looking easy chairs in front of a handsome stone fireplace. I looked up to the high ceiling which was beamed and pargetted. I gasped. I couldn't believe it. If I became the Augustus Pennefather Organ Scholar this would be my room in less then two years time.
"Come my dears, gawp not too long, this is only the first of the set." Charles led us into a smaller room set out as a study with bookshelves and a very superior desk. I looked at the titles of some of the books. Study scores, music text books and... ...a set of ornately bound detective and other stories. I saw Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, Rex Stout, M R James, Edgar Allan Poe amongst others. But, there was more. The next room was the bedroom. A four-poster as the centre-piece, but, I noticed, made up with a modern duvet. A shower room and loo completed that direction. From the main room a small passage led to a well-appointed kitchen with a storeroom and pantry on either side. I gasped again. It was luxury. No way could I aspire to this. The cost of furnishing it. The upkeep. I knew my tutorial fees and general living expenses would be accounted for under the Scholarship and there was an extra hundred and fifty pounds as a stipend as it was called. But all this?
Charles must have seen my look of wonder. "Lawks a mercy," he said putting on a real cockney voice, "The young shaver's jaw's just hit the floor." He stood by me and waved a hand nonchalantly towards the ceiling. "In the sainted Augustus's Will it says nothing may be changed, just replaced or repaired, with all monies for said replacements or repairs to be provided by the endowments as listed. Canny old beast. His stocks and shares were in the early ICI and in Royal Dutch Shell and in about six of the big pharmaceutical companies of the time. The underlying fund is colossal and the college can't get its hands on it because if they try it all goes to Christ Church Oxford. So David Dell is the present lucky recipient of dear Augustus's ill-gotten or otherwise gains. The Scholar, the Chapel and the organ are the only beneficiaries."
Adam had been listening intently. "Yeah, my tutor's always moaning about it. Says the old bastard got his idea from Samuel Pepys. He left his library to Magdalene and if they don't look after it then Trinity gets it."
"True," said Charles, "So our organ scholar gets all this. Of course, in recompense the other two get their rooms done out in a bit less splendour but I am reliably informed that that scamp, naughty young Knott, has been reputed to warm their beds for a fee."
Ivo laughed. "You leave young Jason out of it. Just because you frighten him to death and he won't run around polishing all that brass in the Chapel...."
Charles tossed his head, or his mane to be exact. ".....All I did was compliment the lad. I said he had the cutest little bubble-butt and I could get him a job in the Footlights chorus line any time." He looked at his watch. "Mustn't gossip any longer, my dears, the musical moment is fast approaching."
While he had been talking I had looked more closely at what the pictures were hung from. Yes they were organ stops, I spotted a Stopped Diapason and a Cor de Nuit next to it. Not only that, there seemed to be almost a frieze of them along the walls opposite and adjacent to the windows. I couldn't investigate further as he ushered us out and we went across the passage into his set. I rushed to his loo and had a nervous pee.
Not much, but you never know. Dad was for ever saying that his last stop before going on stage was always to the gents! I gathered up my books and Tris had already picked up my clarinet case so we followed Ivo and Adam out and I waited while Charles shut and checked his door was locked. As he turned to follow me a lumbering giant came down a flight of stairs towards the end of the passage. He barged into Charles and put an enormous meaty paw out and pushed him against the wall. I stepped aside very smartly.
"Move ya bloody self you flaming pouf!" he snarled at Charles who stood his ground as the mountain turned to him. I recognised an Australian accent. "I told you to get outta the fuckin' way, didn't I, ya bloody freak? Fuckin' pouf!" The last almost spat out.
Charles neither moved nor spoke. The huge young man, even bigger than any I'd seen in the dining hall just barged past me, slammed back the main door and strode off across the quad. I looked at Charles who just shook his head at me. Ivo came to the outside door.
"Did I hear Babyballs Bryce in here?" he asked. "What did he say this time?"
Charles looked at me then at Ivo. "Nothing, sweet one. Nothing for you to worry your good self about. Bryce the Formidable was just acting his part and we all know he only goes in for small parts...."
Ivo grinned. "Charles, you're incorrigible. If Bryce said half the things he says to you, to me, or anyone else, he'd be up before the Dean. Why do you put up with it? He tipped you in the fountain at Christmas and what he was roaring, when he got drunk that other time, was unbelievable. It even silenced the boaties and they've heard almost everything."
Charles came out and put a hand on Ivo's arm. "The poor dear can't help it but I'm afraid someone some day will be a teensy weensy bit angry with him. It's all those horrid pills he's been gulping down since he was a nipper. Nipped his little buds they have and he still wants more. Come on, lovely one, let's get young Mark to his testing-place."
The other two were now listening in but said nothing. Charles took my arm and we walked along a path in front of the Pennefather Student's set to the Chapel.
I noticed that end of the rooms must abut against the massive soaring wall.
It was exactly five minutes to two. I went through the porch with Charles and just inside the Chapel were two men. One large, clad in a vividly patterned pullover and a dog- collar. Must be the Chaplain. The other, much smaller, middle-aged, smartly but casually dressed. I looked at his face. He was very handsome still, I could see how he might have looked twenty or thirty years ago. His features were dark, high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. I realised he was Arabic. This must be Dr Al-Hamed.
- The Audition
Charles, Tris and I stood in a row before them. I was feeling a little more than nervous. "Dr Henson, Dr Al-Hamed, may I present Mark Foster, the candidate for today," Charles said indicating me with a mildly theatrical gesture. I stepped forward and was immediately heartened by the smiles I received and the warm handshakes. "And this is his assistant, Tristan Price-Williams, who will be joining us next academic year dependent on his examination results." Charles turned to Tris and me. "I'll leave you now and will be back at four-fifteen for your interview," he nodded at me, "with Professor Tanner."
Dr Al-Hamed was obviously in charge. "You have prepared the required piece?" he asked and smiled. I nodded and said 'Yes'. He looked at a piece of paper on a clip-board. "And you have chosen Mendelssohn, the D major Sonata and the Alain Deuxieme Fantaisie." I said 'Yes' again. "Right, then. Before you start I have to give you some ear-tests. What is your sense of pitch like?"
"Relative," I said, "But I can usually pitch an A and work from there."
"Try it," he said.
I looked at the nearest plaque to concentrate. I read 'Hic jacet....' and sang out as firmly as I could. We were standing just by a grand piano parked under the organ loft. Dr Al-Hamed hit a key. It was A. "Perfect," he said. "What's this chord?" He played an arpeggio up on a major chord, then repeated it as a chord. "First inversion." I paused and took a guess. He was on my side. "First inversion A major."
He laughed. "Yes, an easy one to start. What about this?"
This was easy, too. It was that chord in the Bach. "Full diminished seventh."
Two chords followed. "Tonic followed by augmented fifth."
He was nodding. "OK, last one coming up."
Had he guessed something? I shivered as the chord rang out. The chord was so familiar, the notes as written, F, B natural, D sharp and G sharp. It was the chord I always played or heard in my mind when he appeared on the scene. "That's the Tristan chord," I said softly, "The opening chord of Tristan and Isolde. It's a half dominant seventh according to the books."
"Show me," he said, getting up from the piano stool.
I sat and played those haunting rising few notes of the Prelude. A to F, down a semitone to E, then that chord. I played to the end of the phrase. The seventh sounding again. That yearning for fulfilment.
"I can see that means a lot to you." He turned to Tris and smiled. "I can see why."
He turned back to me. "I won't spend any more time on those tests. Anyway, these days, composers seem to take great delight in devising chords which baffle the rest of us."
I heard the Chaplain grunt. "That last anthem the choir sang, Lord only knows how they pitched half the notes. Anyway it's my turn." He came and plonked a hymn book on the music rest in front of me. "You say you're a tenor. Let's hear you sing that part in that tune." He pointed at the page. I knew the tune well, 'Irish'. He banged a note. "There you are key of E, G sharp." I sang through the whole tune. He grunted at the end. "OK, come Sunday at Matins you find the first bass has lost his voice, the second bass is missing because he's gone to his grandmother's funeral and the last and only other bass was hit on the larynx playing rugger yesterday. You have to deputise as the third verse is choir only." He hit an E in the bass. I dropped my voice and even hit the two low G sharps quite firmly. He grunted again.
I saw Dr Al-Hamed look at his watch. "Time to play. Don't rush. Have a pause between each of the three pieces. OK?"
I picked up my music and went to the winding staircase closely followed by Tris. He patted my arm at the top as I settled on the organ bench and put the Bach up in front of me. He pressed the button to set the blower motor going. I waited a few moments then pressed the pistons to set the manuals and the pedals. I was off.
Everything went according to plan. I made one change. Just as I was coming near the end of the Bach prelude I whispered to Tris. "After the last run add the Choir Cymbel. I'll nod when." I knew that would add that extra sparkle to the wonderful cadence. Spot on. I was pleased with the result.
The Mendelssohn went a treat. I even smiled to myself when the scales and the twos against threes occurred. Microbe might get another five pound note. I played the Fantaisie with as much feeling as you can put into such a mechanical monster as a three-manual organ. Those crunchy, slushy chords were just right. The soft curlicues of those strange little Moroccan tunes were flawless. That lovely French Cromorne was perfection for the short phrase I had chosen it for. Tris never faltered as he followed my playing and changed stops as indicated on my stuck-on notes. I did make one error when I misread which piston to press just as I was reducing the Swell. Luckily I spotted too many stops popped out on the Great which was to be used next and quickly pressed the correct one. I lingered on that last chord thinking it was a good job I didn't have to analyse it and gently closed the box so all we were left with was... For some reason Alice in Wonderland popped into my head. Yes, ...the grin.
Tris patted me on the arm. "Terrific," he whispered.
We waited a few moments then the Chaplain called up. "Thank you! Now on the music box is a copy of "All hail the power". Tris passed it to me. Yes. The tune was 'Miles Lane'. A great favourite of Reggie's who delighted in what could be done with it. "I want you to play three verses. First registered for general congregation. I suggest the set piston number four. The next verse just accompanying the choir and the final verse the choir will be in unison with the congregation and you can do as you please for a few bars to end. OK. When you are ready."
I set piston four. Great to principal. I chose some quiet stops on the Choir for the second verse. I said quietly to Tris. "Last verse I need to build so listen."
Off I went. A fairly sedate pace for the congregational verse, a bit more rubato and an increase in the enclosed Choir in the chair case behind me towards the end for the second verse. For the final verse I pressed piston six which I knew drew almost all the major stops and couplers. I closed the Swell a bit and set off. Tris was a marvel. I opened the swell more and more until it was fully open at the end of the second line. "Top mixture on Great," I instructed Tris, "And then all on Choir and Swell going up." That reached the end of the third line. "Pedal flues and all Great." Wow that was a build-up. I let loose on the held notes with dashing pedal runs and curlicues of my own in the middle parts. "Bombarde!" Tris drew that final sixteen foot reed stop on the pedals and I gave them the full organ for the final two bars and carried on developing the 'To crown Him' notes over a long held pedal A flat with some unknown chords and sequences of my devising before resting on that glorious low D flat which the powerful Bombarde underpinned before rising to the E flat then the A flat of the final chord.
I sat back and pressed the General Cancel toe piston. Tris shut off the blower motor and we descended to the chapel. The Chaplain and Dr Al-Hamed were sitting on the two chairs just inside the altar rails.
"You enjoyed that," the Chaplain said as I walked up to them. "You see how loud it can be in here." He looked at his fellow assessor who had his clipboard on his lap. I could see the page was filled with small, neat writing. "Two questions and he's yours again."
Dr Al-Hamed smiled. "I'll go and get prepared." Tris followed him down the nave and I could hear them chatting quietly.
As they walked away the Chaplain said, "I just need to know general things. It's correct you are confirmed in the Church of England?" I nodded. I knew it was a condition of holding any Chapel post. "And your beliefs? You are happy to conform to the general tenor of the liturgy?" I said I was, but I still had doubts. "True, we all have doubts and it's honest of you to tell me that now." He smiled. "Back to music now."
I walked to the back of the Chapel. Dr Al-Hamed was smiling and Tris was grinning, too.
"Second instrument time now. Get your breath back because you'll need it and your friend can get some fresh air now."
I winked at Tris and mouthed 'Thanks" as he passed me to reach the Chapel door. I got out my B flat clarinet. I had glanced at the music already set up on the stand and saw it said 'Clarinet B flat' at the top. Dr Al-Hamed came up to me and smiled.
"I noticed you dropped the key of the hymn by a semitone." Yes, it was printed in A major and I'd played it in A flat major.
"I'd tried the Bombarde this morning and that bottom D flat just rang out. I wanted to use it and I usually play that tune at home in the lower key as the ladies can't all reach an E."
He laughed and nodded. "Two good reasons. Yes, I agree with the first and I don't know your ladies, but I can imagine!" He pointed. "Sight reading. That passage and that one." Thank goodness, I thought, it's the same book that I've got at home. Sight-reading over Dr Al-Hamed walked to the piano. "I see you have the Mozart with you. Shall we try the slow movement?" I changed clarinets and checked my reed was set properly. I nodded to him and we started that oh-so beautiful adagio. His accompaniment was perfect. I felt so relaxed but also so alert. I remembered all the nuances of Jack Brymer's playing and managed the runs and the little cadenza impeccably. I was ready to launch into the last movement but he stood up and smiled. I was just undoing my clarinet when I saw the imperceptible nod which passed between him and the Chaplain. As I wrapped my clarinet in the protective duster the door opened and a tall late-middle-aged man came in.
The Chaplain looked up at him. "Oh, hello James, are we running over time?"
He laughed. "No, I'm a bit early and I've been listening outside." He turned to me. "You must be Mark Foster, I'm James Tanner." We shook hands. This must be the Maths don. He laughed again. "You have some very powerful advocates out there." He turned to the Chaplain again. "The Carr twins have been bending my ear." It was the turn of the Chaplain to laugh.
"We'll leave you to it." He shook hands with me. "Thank you for coming. I was very impressed. We will, of course, in the words of all interviewers, let you know as soon as possible." He turned to Dr Al-Hamed. "Come on, Safar, we'll continue this over tea."
Dr Al-Hamed gathered up his clip board, smiled at me and shook my hand.
"Most impressive," was his comment.
No sooner had they gone out and we had just settled on two chairs by the piano when the door handle rattled and the door swung open. A youngish, sandy-haired, thin-faced man came in, spied us and came over.
"Didn't expect to see you here, Tanner. Harvard this time?" he said in a rather peevish manner.
"No, Simon, it was Yale," James Tanner said very evenly. Even I could sense some hostility here.
The other man sniffed and looked at me. "I don't know if you're one of mine. The Bursar's Secretary seems to have made more errors than usual." He consulted the piece of paper he was holding.
"I'm Mark Foster," I said. He hadn't attempted an introduction.
"Yes, Foster, I see." He looked at James Tanner. "I got diverted by those noisy Carr twins. I told Adam to do me another essay before term started as the last one only deserved a beta. Chattering away, he took not a blind bit of notice. There was that so-called Servant of the Chapel there...." He looked around. "This place should have been closed down years ago. Drains money. All that could be usefully diverted..." He looked at me. "The other one. Friend of yours? Blond, pink and rather sweet?" He gave a nasally laugh. A good imitation of a nanny-goat. I realised I was not supposed to answer. He consulted the piece of paper again. "Foster." He ran his finger across the information there. "Yes, I know the school. South of the Thames." I was given what could only be construed as a disparaging once over. "I suppose you're one of the thick autumnal leaves that strow the brooks of Balham Broadway?"
I'd had enough. Stuff Cambridge if this was what you got! I hesitated, the others weren't like this, though. I must have had an adrenalin rush from the afternoon and I wasn't cooled down yet. I couldn't stop myself. I looked at him and said carefully with as chilly a voice as I could muster. "I would prefer to be strown in Vallombrosa and I don't think I'm particularly thick."
He was taken aback. Not only by someone with knowledge of the error in the Hansard Report but of Paradise Lost as well, and, to boot, was also ready to answer back. He recovered his composure, whatever that was.
"Pert lad!" He shook his head. "Though more erudite than that over-privileged object yesterday." He shook the paper and turned to James Tanner. "Obviously not one of mine, I see he wishes to read Mathematics! I'll say good day."
With that he turned on his heel and positively rushed from the Chapel.
James Tanner let out a large exhalation of breath. He smiled at me and shook his head. "That was Simon Finch-Hampton our illustrious History don."
"I shouldn't think of reading History, then?" I said. I knew I could say something like that to this man.
"You'd be well taught but you'd have to toe the line." He looked at me closely. "What is your connection with the Carr twins? I see a resemblance."
I grinned. We had the same shape of nose, the same set of the eyes and shared rather large ears. "They're my cousins," I admitted.
He nodded. "Yes, I see the resemblance. I know them well as I'm President of the College Rugger Club and they are valued members of the team. Yes. They're a nice pair of lads. But enough of family. My job is to see if you have any mathematical talent as well as that musical ability you were displaying so well this afternoon." He drew out a piece of paper from his pocket. "You're only in the First Year Sixth so I don't expect you to give me the sort of answers I would expect this time next year." He pointed at a formula, the top one of three. "What can you tell me about that."
I recognised it immediately. I'd become hooked on statistics since hearing of Jack's own interest and he'd said his father would always help if I had problems. No problems so far. I'd used Tris's and my own data of certain emissions in practising doing descriptive statistics.
"It's the formula for the standard deviation of a set of data."
"Nominal, ordinal or interval?"
"Interval."
That was that. For the next quarter of an hour I explained all I knew about collecting and describing different forms of data. He showed me a second formula. My knowledge of tan theta was plumbed. Finally I had to expound on my elementary understanding of the concept of limits.
When I'd finished and was a bit breathless he stuck the paper back in his pocket. "Well, Mark, if you get what's required in the A Levels I'll offer you a place for two thousand and one. That's with or without being the next Pennefather Scholar. You'll be in my tutor group and I warn you I don't take to slackers kindly. I spoke to your Head of Maths this morning. We played rugger together here too many years ago. He was most complimentary, so, keep it up." He lowered his voice. "And take it from me, we're not all like Mr Finch-Hampton!"
We stood and shook hands. As soon as he was gone I collected my clobber but there was a rush as four youngsters rushed into the chapel. I was surrounded and all I could hear was a confused babble. "You were terrific!" "What did Professor Tanner say?" "Why was Pinch-bum Hamster here?"
I held up my hands and this quietened them.
"Gentlemen of the jury!"
"Stuff it!" said Adam, "What did they ask and what did they tell you?"
I thought I would give them the good news first. "Professor Tanner told me he would accept me as a student even if I didn't get the Pennefather..." Four bodies crowded me and nearly thumped me to death. I fended them off. "Sorry, but I don't know anything else, except I was probably rude to some nasty little man."
"Bloody Pinch-bum I bet," snarled Adam, "Bastard told me to pull my socks up or he wouldn't be responsible for the consequences."
A silvery laugh came from Charles. "He gave the poor dear lines for being slovenly. I shouldn't worry, sweet one, a beta from him is like gold-dust." He flapped a hand. "Better than being made to stand in the corner. That's what I'd make you do. I could gaze on you, then.."
"Shut up, Charles, you'll give these two ideas," said Ivo almost doubled over with laughter.
"Well, darlings," said Charles, "What are we to do? Precious Mark will have to wait and stew on the other."
Ivo looked at Tris. "Think your Dad will stand for an extra little mouth tonight?"
Tris twigged immediately. He turned to Charles. "Would you join us for dinner tonight? We're at the Arundel. Half past seven."
Charles smiled. "I would be delighted...." He looked from Adam to Ivo. "...That is, if I may be allowed to scan the wine list to discern something with a suitable bouquet. Mother has been most generous with her alms for the needy this Easter." He flapped his hands. "What Mr Horrid of Harrods thinks of his lady's boudoir is not for me to divulge but Mother has transferred a mite or two of her reward to my safe-keeping..." He blew us all a kiss. "I'll be on your doorstep in good time. Now off you go sweet princes. I have to shut up the bally shop."
Tris and I exchanged amused glances as he picked up my clarinet case and I bundled my music together. I looked at my watch. Gosh it was just past five o'clock. My fate was sealed but at least I would follow in Grandad's footsteps. All being well I would be at St Mark's.
Adam and Ivo asked if we would be OK walking back to the hotel. I said I needed the exercise to relax me a bit and I had to phone home, like ET, as soon as I got there. They said they would come across with Charles at half seven, and not to forget to book a table for five, and to give my parents their love and include Francis in that, too. Tris said he was starving as we walked past Trinity College. Nadia's Patisserie was still open so he popped in and came out with two large buns. We chewed on these as we went over the road at the end past the Round Church. I was chewing over in my mind all that had happened today.
What a day! People I'd met, things I'd seen, things I'd done, things said, things unsaid. I thought I must be a bit like poor Frankie. All sorts of important, growing-up things happening and I needed to talk, to hear, to understand.
When we reached the Arundel I said I would go up and make a phone-call while he booked the table. Frankie answered it on the second ring. He must have been delegated to sit and take any messages.
"Yeah, and what happened?" was his first question.
"Don't you think I ought to speak to Mum?" I replied.
"I can shout!" He was getting a bit shirty.
"Hi, Mark," came Mum's voice. She must have picked up the extension upstairs.
"Well, what?" came Francis on the phone downstairs.
"Mum," I said and my voice cracked, "I've been offered a place for Maths. I don't know about the audition. I think I played OK and the questions I was asked were OK."
Mum sensed I was rather, to say the least, emotional. "That's good. They'll let you know about the other soon."
Frankie had listened without interrupting. "Oh, Marky, I'm so glad. You're in!"
"I'll tell you all about it when I get home tomorrow. I've met some interesting people and even if I don't get to be the Organ Scholar I think I'll like it. And Ivo and Adam send their love. Tell Dad won't you."
"Bye, love," came Mum's voice and "See you," from Francis.
Short and sweet! I put the phone down and lay on the bed. Oh, what a day! But, I was pleased about the offer from Professor Tanner. I suppose if I didn't get the Scholarship I would be happy? I would, but it would be nice to have those beautiful rooms. And I didn't know what the ordinary student rooms were like. I thought of Adam and Ivo. Mum had said last week we were all invited to the villa in Italy for the Summer but she and Dad wouldn't be able to go as the orchestra was going on an overseas tour and she had volunteered to help the librarian and do any of the many chores necessary to smooth the way. There would be fun and high jinks at the villa and poor Aldo would be harried and hurried as usual. But he was so good-natured and he and Uncle Francesco obviously liked us there or we wouldn't be invited. I was woken from my dreamy reverie by Tris lying beside me.
"You amaze me, Marky," he said softly, "I would have been so nervous having to show what I could do all by myself like you did this afternoon. At least when I had my interview there were seven others and we couldn't all talk at once so I had time to think. You were so poised and you didn't flap." He stroked my cheek. "You'll be here at St Mark's anyway with me and that's all I want."
"I've still got to get the A level grades next year," I said.
"And I've still got two more exams next week," he said, "School on Monday. Oh blast!"
We contemplated the iniquitousness of our schoolboy existence and realised it didn't finish with the last school bell. We had at least three years each of further study and then what did the future hold? I think it was the first time such realities had hit home. I think Tris had the same thoughts as he was now restless.
"Come on, up," he commanded. "We'd better be tidy if the so-elegant Charles is joining us." He grinned. "I wonder what we'll find out tonight." He shook his head but his hair wasn't long enough and too-gelled to flop. "Come on my dear, let's prink and perm ourselves...."
"....Don't take the mickey," I said, "I think there's more to Charles than meets the eye."
We showered, without arousal, and washed and scented ourselves discreetly with some of Uncle Nick's lotion Tris had appropriated. "He's much too old for this," Tris said as he held up the bottle, shaped like the torso of a well-proportioned young man . "Wasted on him, and what was one of his clients doing giving it to him? I took it before Mum saw it. Bet it was some floozie he was getting a divorce for with the hots for him!"
True, Uncle Nick was a looker still and the photos of him as a teenager in the album Tris had shown me were something to drool over, especially in his running togs. No wonder I had fallen for his son!
To be Continued: