I was seated in Professor Brown's stuffy little office. It was a couple of hours before giving my 1st ever lecture and to say I was nervous was an understatement. My heart seemed to be pounding in my chest, I was well out of my comfort zone and the kiss between Sam and I was playing on my mind and had been since Sunday night. Ever since then he hadn’t been anywhere near me apart from meal times. Just passing the time of day with small talk, no kisses, no flirting, nothing. What was his game, I needed to put these thoughts behind me and move on. The lecture, after all, was more important than any affair of the heart.
Professor Brown's tweed jacket was once again, slung carelessly over the back of his old wooden office chair, the one that creaked alarmingly. The top button of his shirt was undone and his gray tie hung loosely around his neck. He was reading my script for my part in the lecture he was giving. The silence was palpable. The half rim glasses hung on the edge of his nose. A stack of slides sat near him in a box.
He put my script on his desk and looked at me. “Maybe a little dry. But overall not bad for a first lecture. Don’t forget though that you’re lecturing to political students, they will think that they know more than you. It’s up to you to let them know that you know more than them. Be prepared to put them in their place. I will operate the slide machine for you,as you will for me”.
We had gone through the routine on Monday, that’s when he had first read my script, I had reworked it since then, working into the early hours of Tuesday morning, he had approved of the idea of the slides. And he had shown me how to work the slide machine.
“Yes it’s much better than Monday my boy, much better”. He said as he finished reading my script. “Now let’s go to the cafeteria and get a cup of tea and a slice of cake before we go to the lecture hall”. He stood doing up his top button, fixing his tie. And putting on his jacket.
The uninspiring cafeteria wasn’t a place I frequented often. Its white walls and ceiling were stained brown with cigarette smoke. The floor was covered in black and white linoleum floor tiles. The black plastic chairs and accompanying metal tables with gray plastic tops made the whole place look old and tatty. The counter was staffed by older ladies nearing retirement. Wearing hair nets and flowery tabards, often flirting with some of the male students. I found the whole place cheap and tacky. Its sandwiches looked curled up and dry. The cakes, stale and most unappetising. Other food like mashed potatoes, chips, pies, stews and such were available, but like everything else looked unappetising, oh for a decent catering budget, I thought to myself. Bored looking students dotted around here and there were chatting quietly or reading books, newspapers or working on thesis or papers that were due. Empty plates and cold brews in front of them. Often with half smoked cigarettes releasing their acrid smoke into the air.
I was seated in a chair playing with an old fashioned sugar shaker. I ignored An ashtray half filled with cigarette ash, and its accompanying stink. Professor Brown was carrying a tray filled with cups, a pot of tea, milk, teaspoons, sugar and a couple of unappetizing looking cakes.
He placed the tray on the table. Then sat opposite me he passed me a cup. I put a bit of milk in the cup. And waited for the tea to brew.
“So how do you feel, my boy”? He asked while filling his pipe and lighting it.
“Nervous. I’ve never been outgoing, but like you say it would be good to share the knowledge I’ve accumulated over the years”. I showed him my hand which was shaking”.
He puffed on his pipe, thinking momentarily, removing it from his mouth he gestured with it.
“I’m always nervous before I lecture. I’ve been lecturing for 15 years or so. It’s something you get used to. The nerves never go away though. What if a student gets the better of me, what if the slide machine doesn’t work. What if I forget to bring my script with me. These negative thoughts are always with you. But you mustn’t show your nerves. Never let the students get the better of you”.
I poured tea into our cups as he spoke. Then stirred in sugar. I was thinking about the lecture and about a certain blue eyed blond boy who had kissed me on Sunday night. How he felt as I held him. Could I go through with the lecture? I wanted to run. Run back to the house and work in silence on my thesis. Which wasn’t far off completion.
Professor Brown looked at me, his head cocked to one side in a curious manner.
“Penny for them, my boy”
“Oh sorry, I was miles away. I’m just nervous, that's all, I’m letting my thoughts run away with me. I need to get a grip, Professor”.
“Please, my boy, call me Barry. I know you're nervous. You're not an outgoing person at the best of times but let me assure you, it will grow on you my boy. The fact that you’re intelligent enough to share your knowledge with others in a lecture hall, as well as a school, is more than most people get the chance to do. Just think of it, your future could be filled with not only lecturing but being paid to research and write about the subject that you love. I’ve never written enough. That’s something I regret. But I want to cut back on my lectures and do more writing. I want to publish more books. I've only been published once, I’ve been too lazy. Too much drinking, too much food and not enough research”. He let out a small laugh.
Barry suddenly gave me a sharp look and swayed slightly in his seat. He went pure white and seemed to be struggling to breath.
I stood and looked at him, a concerned look on my face. “You ok pro… I mean Barry. Do you want a glass of water?”
Barry shook his head and seemed to take a deep breath and come round. The whole episode lasted only a few seconds.
“Sorry my boy, that’s been happening a bit recently. I need to see a doctor. I will make an appointment later today.” He said, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. The episode seemingly forgotten.
“Slice of cake my boy?” He asked, offering me a slice. I sat back down, taking the proffered slice of cake, feeling slightly nauseous.
I was stunned that Barry Brown didn’t seem too concerned about his health and that he had opened up to me about his frustrations. I still wasn’t sure I wanted this life of lecturing. I wouldn't be able to take the nerves. But what else could I do with my PhD? Be a school teacher. The thought of trying to teach history to a group of angst ridden, bored and spotty teenagers filled me with dread. No, that's not me. Researching for the police? Well that’s an option. Nice and quiet. No pressure. Just reading about old cases and working out how they could fit into modern detective work. But would that involve blood and gore? I need to do more investigating on that one. I smiled internally at my little joke.
The building superintendent was standing outside the door, waiting to welcome the professor and myself. He was a small thin man about 60 years old, with thin white hair, his eyes were small and a greeny blue, his features were sharp and he was wearing a crumpled, baggy suit.
“Good morning Professor”. His voice was thin and reedy.
“Good morning Gerald, this is Andrew, he will be assisting me this morning and guesting in his very first lecture”.
“Well good morning to you young Andrew, and good luck”. He said, offering his hand which I took gladly.
“Thankyou”. I said, shaking his hand whilst juggling my script from one hand to another.
“You’re nervous son, nothing to be nervous about, they're all here for the same thing, to learn,” he advised sagely.
The man called Gerald continued to speak. “Well professor, it's a good crowd of 180 students in there”.
“Good, good”, Barry replied absentmindedly, "well my boy shall enter the lion's den?”
He walked through the door of the lecture hall, I followed, my nerves hitting new heights, a polite round of applause following us as we walked to our positions.
Barry Brown walked onto the stage and stood behind the lectern, a large screen behind him. I sat in a chair next to the slide projector, fiddling with my script nervously, I could see the small box of slides next to me, a porter had taken them down when Barry and I were in the cafeteria.
I wasn’t really listening to Barry as he began to speak to the Students about today’s lecture, its title was General Elections from 1900 to 1910. That’s why I was chosen to take part in today’s lecture, because I knew so much about the 1906 general election.
I glanced around me as Barry spoke. Students of all colors, shapes and sizes, filled ⅔ of the seats. The lecture hall itself seats 280 students and is a new building recently opened. It was a brilliant white building with purple seats, its bright lights and large open expanse, with tiered seating and large stage made it a modern, warm and bright space to give and receive lectures.
“First slide”.
Barry’s words brought me back to reality, I placed the slide into the machine and slid it home, a black and white photograph of Lord Salisbury filled the screen.
“Concentrate boy”. I muttered to myself. I looked up at Barry and listened to his lecture.
“And so the Liberal party won a landslide victory in the 1906 general election. With the Labour representatives winning 29 seats. And to tell us why he believes this result was the beginning of the end of the Liberal Party as a major political force, please welcome to the stage, PhD student Andrew Roberts.”
Polite applause greeted the announcement. This is it. It's my turn. My nerves are shredded, my palms clammy with sweat and I’m shaking from head to foot. I climb the steps to the stage. Heat hits me and I start to perspire the sweat beading on my brow. The blue suit I’m wearing, with a white shirt and purple tie, feels uncomfortable. As I approach the lectern my legs turn to lead I can hardly walk. Barry is waiting for me.
He clasps my hand and shakes it warmly. He leans in and wishes me good luck then walks off the stage. I lean on the lectern, my hands shaking, I ignore the microphone adjusting my script, my breathing heavy and labored. I finally look up to the audience. 180 pairs of eyes stare back at me, waiting patiently, expectantly. Some have laptops open, others notebooks. Some are smartly dressed and some scruffy. I can’t let them down now. More importantly, I can't let myself down. With my heart hammering in my chest, I glance around then begin.
My voice was quiet. “I guess the story I’m about to tell begins in”….. Barry was gesturing with his hands. Louder his gesture was saying.
Speaking louder, I started again. “I suppose the story begins after the General Election of 1900. 2 new MPs were elected to the Houses of Parliament for a new political movement. That movement was called the Labour Representation Committee, from here on I will call it the LRC. I won’t go into the story of that movement in this lecture, but suffice it to say the first 2 MPs elected were Keir Hardie for Merthyr Tydfil and Richard Bell for Derby.”
“Support for the LRC was boosted by the 1901 Taff Vale Case. Which was a dispute between striking workers and the Railway company they worked for. The union was ordered to pay £23.000. About £3.5000,000 in today's money. This judgment effectively made strikes impossible, because employers could recoup the cost of lost business from unions. The acquiescence of the then Conservative government to industrial interests stunned everyone. Industry was traditionally allied to the Liberals. Because of the rural interests of the Conservatives. This Intensified the support for the LRC. Against a government and opposition that seemed to have no concern for the problems of the ordinary people whose lives depended on industry”.
I looked up from my notes.
“I hope I’m not boring you”. Slight laughter from the students lifted my spirits. I continued.
“1st slide please”. A picture of Herbert Gladstone appeared on the screen behind me.
“The gentleman pictured is Herbert Gladstone. The youngest son of the more famous William Gladstone, the former prime minister. In 1902 this man was a powerful
Liberal MP, the Liberal Chief Whip to be precise.” I paused and looked up from my notes.
“I assume you all know what a Chief Whip is?” I had no idea where that little aside came from but it brought a few light laughs, bringing the students closer to me. So I carried on.
“There had been rising tension between the Liberals and the LRC since the 1900 general election. Both parties were concerned about a possible split in the vote for the political parties of the left”.
“Second slide please”.
A picture of Ramsey McDonald appeared on the screen behind me, bringing a cheer from some of the students and boo’s from those of a more right wing persuasion. I waited for calm.
“Now we all know who this is don’t we? Bringing a chorus of “yes” around the room. Ramsey McDonald was at that time the secretary of the LRC, they had no, nor felt like they needed a leader. He and Herbert Gladstone met and agreed that 31 out of the 50 LRC candidates for the next general election wouldn’t be opposed by the Liberals, that was called the Gladstone-McDonald pact”.
“3rd slide please”.
This man is Arthur Henderson. A future leader of the Labour Party. He won a parliamentary by Election in Barnard Castle in 1903 by just 47 votes for the LRC. The liberal candidate, a gentleman by the name of Hubert Beaumont got 2,809 votes and came 3rd. And this was in a constituency that was being defended by the Liberals.
So we jump now to 1906. In the general election of that year. Henderson defended his seat by 1,652 votes, an increase of 1,605 votes, because there was no Liberal Candidate. This is a direct consequence of the Gladstone-McDonald pact”.
“This pattern continues through other constituencies throughout the country. Mainly in the mining areas of Lancashire, South Yorkshire, the north east of England and South Wales. In the Constituencies where the Liberals felt they weren’t strong, they stood aside and gave the LRC a free run. In consequence the number of LRC MPs rose from 3 to 29. A not inconsequential increase. Why do you ask, does this mean the beginning of the end of the Liberals when they had won a massive majority in the House of Commons of 143 seats over all other parties in the 1906 General Election?”
“Well the liberals lost seats in urban industrial areas losing that critical connection between the working class and the parliamentary liberal party, a gap that the new LRC filled. Although they didn’t know it at the time. These were seats they would never win back. This gave the LRC a foothold in Parliament. Soon after the general election, they decided to form a new political party, that they called the Labour Party. And elected Keir Hardie as its first Leader. Then they canceled the Gladstone-McDonald pact. The new party's policies were realigned to look after the needs of the working class. This small group of socialist MPs in subsequent elections won more and more seats in industrial areas. The Liberal vote was squeezed and by the 1924 general election they were down to just 40 seats. The rift between Herbert Asquith and David Lloyd George was the final nail in the coffin for the Liberals”.
“Now at this point I could go into minute detail about constituencies won and all sorts of facts and figures. Between the years of 1906 and 1924. But I don’t want to bore you too much”.
A cheer went up around the auditorium, again I waited for calm, then continued.
“In conclusion 1906 gave the Labour party a momentum among the Industrial poor and laid the foundations for future Labour Governments. All thanks to the Gladstone-McDonald pact, and the result of the 1906 general election. Thankyou. Professor”
A small ripple of applause went round the lecture hall as I walked off the stage. But Professor Brown was slumped in his seat.
“Professor”, I shouted. The students looked in the direction I was running. One girl with dyed green hair and round rimmed glasses, lent over him and felt for a pulse.
“I thought he was asleep, I can’t feel a pulse. I think he’s dead”. She shouted, with tears forming in her eyes, this caused panic among the crowd and some started to scream while others looked on nervously.
By now I was kneeling in front of the Professor. A crowd of nervous and panicking students stood round me. I shook him.
“Professor,... .Barry can you hear me, Barry”, I shouted, by now I was shaking him even harder in a panic. He collapsed onto the floor in a heap, knocking me onto my back.
“Someone, call for an ambulance”. I shouted as I was getting to my feet. The same girl with green hair got out her mobile phone and with her shaking hands dialed 999. By now Gerald was on the scene.
“Make way, make way.” He said. I stood, and got out of his way. Others moved back to give him room. He felt for a pulse.
After a short but tense few moments In an emotional voice he said.
“Professor Barry Brown is dead”.
The girl collapsed in a faint. And I slumped to my knees with tears in my eyes.
I arrived home still in a daze. My eyes still red from all the tears I had shed. Professor Barry Brown was more than my PhD supervisor, he had become a friend and mentor to me. He let me research and write at my own speed, never putting me under pressure or giving negative criticism or feedback. His words were a comfort to me, always confident and caring in his own eccentric way. He was popular among students and lecturers alike, always with a kind word to everyone he met. It was his confidence in me that made me sure my thesis will be published in the fullness of time. I will miss him terribly.If it is published then I will dedicate it to him in his memory.
The house was in darkness except for the sitting room. Mel and Sam were waiting for me in silence with the tv turned off. When I entered, they stood.
“We heard what happened Andrew” said Mel, giving me a hug. Sam came up to me as Mel and I parted, he too gave me a bone crushing hug. Patting me on the back.
“I’m sorry for your loss Andy. So what happens now?”
“Well I sat in Professor Taylor’s office this afternoon. You know who she is, she's the head of the history department. She said they need to find another supervisor for me. Barry was the expert in early 20th century history and nobody else is qualified enough to oversee my thesis. So she’s looking outside of Manchester to replace him. Until then I wait. I don’t need to go in now until after the weekend to find out who my new supervisor is”.
“That’s a lot of trouble to go too just for your thesis”. Replied Sam.
“Yes but there’s also the lectures on early 20th century history to think about as well. Prof Taylor can’t do it; she lectures in Medieval History. And nobody else is really qualified.”
Mel looked upset. A tear in her eye. “He was a lovely Man always a kind person to those who spoke to him, always accepting a pint if you met him in a pub. I didn’t speak to him much as I’m studying a completely different subject but he was still nice to me”.
“Are you going to the funeral, Andy?”
“No. Prof Taylor said he came from Bristol. I can’t afford the time when my thesis is still unfinished and time is moving on. So no I don’t think I will go, besides I want to remember him as he was, and not in a coffin. Prof Taylor said she will represent the university.”
Whether they approved of my decision, I didn’t know. But they both respected it. And stayed silent. I couldn’t ask for better house mates, even with our recent disagreement.
“Now if you don’t mind I can’t really be bothered to cook tonight, I know it’s my turn but after today, it’s the last thing on my mind. So I will order a Curry.”
We were sitting at the kitchen table, empty foil trays once filled with the curry that had been delivered were abandoned in the sink whilst we ate in a relatively comfortable silence. The clatter of forks on plates being the only sound. Mel looked at me, put down her fork momentarily, then spoke.
“So how did your lecture go? That’s if you’re ok with me asking that is”
“No it’s ok, I don’t mind. As far as I can tell it went ok. I was so nervous beforehand, it took all my courage just to walk onto the stage. But with Barry’s encouragement, I knuckled down and gave my speech. I forgot about my nerves. I even said to the students that I hope I wasn’t boring them, which made a few laugh. Then when I was nearly finished, I said I wasn’t going to bore them with statistics. Which made them cheer. So all in all I think I won them round”.
“So you’re glad with how it went then”?
“Overall, apart from Barry Brown's death, yes it went as well as I could have expected. My one big regret is that I will never know how Barry felt about my part in his lecture. That will live with me for the rest of my life”.
Sam patted me on the back and joined in on the conversation.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done in that situation. It must’ve been a nightmare for you Andy”.
“It’s definitely something that will stay with me for the rest of my life, that's for sure”.
“I tell you what, why don’t we pop round to the Red Lion tonight all 3 of us could do with a relaxing night with a couple of pints”.
“Well for once I don think I can be bothered looking at my thesis tonight. I will come, Just for a couple though. How about it Mel, fancy a pint?”
“Fuck it, why the hell not”.
The Red Lion is a typical Salford pub. With a lounge bar and a tap room in one corner were the regulars drink and play darts and dominoes. Its roaring open fireplace in the Lounge Bar gives it a homely feel. This is where Sam works a couple of nights a week behind the bar to earn a bit of extra cash, usually on a Thursday and a Sunday night. I sometimes drink there on a Sunday night. I find it helps me to relax.
The walls are an ugly brown due to nicotine stains. There are comfy leather bench seats along the walls and chairs and stools to sit on. The beams are covered in horse brasses and the walls have plenty of photos of Salford from the past. It’s a pleasant regular hang out for ordinary Salford folk.
The 3 of us were seated at a table near the fire, pints of Lager on the table. We had agreed to buy 1 round each. Then make our way home as Sam and Mel both had Lectures tomorrow. I didn’t need to go in. But I would be working on my thesis. Barry wouldn’t want anything less. And I owed it to Barry to make sure it was finished.
We all 3 chatted quite amiably. Paying no attention to the smoky atmosphere. Sam and Mel even had a game of darts with a couple of the regulars. Who we found out later played for the pub team. It’s no wonder they were beaten so easily by the regulars. I just stood and watched, quietly declining when they asked if I wanted a game. One thing I’m not, is a sportsman, even if it is only darts. I answered a number of questions when the regulars found out what had happened that morning. It had been on the local news which had been on a tv, which had been playing high in a corner near the ceiling in the taproom. The Landlord. A large balding, tubby man with his shirt sleeves permanently rolled up and a tea towel hung over one shoulder, shushed for quiet when the story came on the news. It turned out he knew Barry from somewhere. The questions started when Sam piped up.
“Andy was there wasn’t you”? Mel felt embarrassed for me. And told Sam off. Much to the hilarity of the regulars who laughed at Sam’s expense.
We finally wandered home about 10.30. Feeling better for the impromptu night out. I bid them both goodnight and thanked them for a nice evening. We all hugged, then I went to my room and closed the door behind me, got undressed and collapsed onto my bed and tried to sleep.
The following Monday morning found me seated in Professor Taylor’s office. Professor Jean Taylor is the head of the History Department at Manchester university and lectures in Medieval History. She’s a small woman in her mid 50s and is 5ft 3in tall. She has graying brown hair and a hard stare which turns you cold if you're on the receiving end, this stare, more than makes up for her lack of stature. She brooks no nonsense from her students. But she gets results and is highly respected in her field.
Unlike Barry Brown's old office, Jean Taylor’s office is neat, tidy and clean with everything in order and in its proper place. The walls are white. The wooden floor, polished. The furniture is modern and contemporary but comfortable. It’s a pleasant and functional environment. With plenty of books and research material on shelves along one wall.
I sat nervously, fidgeting and rubbing my knees with my palms as Professor Taylor. Finished off what she was doing on her computer. Finally she turned in her swivel chair and spoke.
“Well Andrew. I asked around some of the students about how they felt about your part in the lecture. And almost all of the students I asked were impressed with your part in it”.
“Thankyou Professor. I must admit I was very nervous, but with slight encouragement from Barry. Sorry, I mean Professor Brown. I knuckled down and did the best I could. I'm glad people enjoyed it.”
“Did you enjoy it though? Public speaking isn’t the easiest thing in the world. It is nerve wracking. And then with what happened to Professor Brown. I dread to think how you felt”.
She was absentmindedly playing with a pen as she spoke. Her legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles.
“I wasn’t sure how I felt at the time. I was concentrating on my speech. It was my 1st time speaking publicly and I was very nervous as a result. As you know I’m not the most confident at the best of times. But thinking back, I quite enjoyed it. That was until the sad demise of Professor Brown. I was broken when I found out what happened. Thankyou though for giving me the time to grieve last week. It was very kind of you”.
“It was the least you deserved. And I’m glad you enjoyed it. Professor Brown thought a lot of you. He spoke to me about publishing your thesis. I haven’t read it and I won’t. That’s a job for another person. You've put a lot of effort into your thesis. I will speak to your replacement supervisor about it.”
“Thankyou”. I was interrupted by a knock on the door.
The door was pushed ajar and a head appeared around it. A security man spoke.
“Sorry to bother you Professor. But there’s a lady here, wishes to speak to you”.
“Thankyou. I’m expecting her. Let her in”.
“Yes professor”.
A few minutes later a Lady walked into the room. It was a Lady I knew from my time at Warwick university. I stood. Professor Taylor spoke.
“Ah it’s so good to meet you. Angela isn’t it?” We all shook hands.
The woman was a small,fat, taciturn lady in her middle years her hair was completely White and done up a severe bun. She wore a flowery dress and flat shoes. When she spoke, she spoke fast”.
“Professor Angela de Silva at your service. I believe I’ve been seconded here as a temporary replacement for the late Professor Brown. A sad loss indeed. So sad.”
She looked at me and continued.
“And you must be Andrew Roberts, the PhD student I’ve heard so much about. I know you from somewhere. Though for the life of me I can’t remember where from”.
“Yes, I remember you Professor de Silva, you were my Professor at Warwick when I was doing my masters there”.
“Of course, of course. I remember now, a very talented student. I can’t wait to read your thesis. It's caused quite a stir I believe. Have you got a copy on you, perchance"?
Professor Taylor looked on slightly bemused. But she decided to stay quiet.
“Yes of course.” I said, handing her my copy. “Here take mine I can always print more”.
“Thankyou young man. Now if you don’t mind, I want to speak with Professor Taylor”. Professor Taylor looked at me and smiled as I walked out the door.
I left Professor Taylor’s office, my mind full of worry. After the death of professor Barry Brown, I knew I needed a new supervisor. The last person I was expecting was Professor De Silva. Not that she was a nasty person, she wasn’t. But what she was, was a perfectionist. Who got the best out of her students by whatever means necessary. But once you had got through that tough outer shell she was as nice as pie. But what did all this mean for my thesis? Would I have to re-write large chunks of it? Would it still be published? More importantly would she like it?
One thing was for sure. I would miss Barry Brown. I saw him, not only as my supervisor but later as a friend. He saw me as an equal. I realize that now. That was why he asked me to speak in the lecture. Not because he didn’t know about the collapse of the Liberal Party. But because he believed in me. And more importantly he believed in my ideas.
As I walked off campus towards the bus stop I knew for a fact that the last thing I needed right now was all this extra stress just before my viva voce, that was just around the corner. I groaned as I walked with my hands in my pockets and bag on my shoulder, my head full of worry.
End of Chapter 5.
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