The Secret Chronicles of Henry Dashwood, Vol. 2

Brasenose College, Oxford, October 4th, 1901 (After breakfast) There was a buzz of excitement in the air when Kit Barnes walked into the lecture room to meet his batch of first year undergraduates who were taking his course in current political philosophy. I arrived ten minutes early to bag a seat in the front row and I noticed that two groups had formed around the tall, spotty-faced youth (to whom I readily admit I have already taken an instant dislike) and the burly, blond chap. They are clearly the leaders of the factions who are respectively in favour and against the continuation of the Boer War. Charles Farleigh-Windsor sat down next to me and whispered: 'Hello there, Henry. Where have you been, old bean? The atmosphere hasn't really cooled down since earlier, but I'm damned if I'm getting involved again if some bloody idiots start any trouble. 'You can see for yourself how Maurice FitzAllen and his cohorts from the Imperialist Society are already spoiling for a fight, and that fair-faired fellow Johnny Tomlinson and the pro-Boers won't run from one either. Johnny was the vice-captain of the English Schoolboys rugby team and the bloke with the goatee beard on his right is Paul Adler, the son of the Liberal MP for Whitechapel, who I know has already been pencilled in to represent Oxford in the Universities boxing tournament.' “The boxing ring would be a far more suitable venue to settle their disagreements if they cannot debate the issue like civilised human beings,' I commented sourly, for at heart I am a peaceable soul and dislike violence so much that I never even swished any of the cheeky young fags during my year as a house prefect at Albion Academy. Here let me digress briefly to state that I agree whole-heartedly with the American idea of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness and I make no apology in stating that I am allied to a philosophy of live and let live. My unashamedly hedonistic happiness lies in good food, jolly companions – and as many pretty girls as possible who I can persuade to share my bed! I said as much to Charles who chuckled and said: 'So you think if only we all looked after own business and didn't interfere with others, the world would be a better place, h'm? This might not sound unreasonable at first sight, but I'm afraid I can't agree with you. For a start, not everyone is as easy-going and kind as you, and if everyone followed your path, too many people would duck out of their obligations towards their fellow citizens.' It was not to my credit that I sarcastically observed: 'My goodness, this is a somewhat strange, socialistic argument to be propounded by a scion of the Farleigh-Windsors, one of the oldest and respected families in the county of Herefordshire.' Indeed, I was then going to apologise for the unfair comment when Dr Barnes entered the room and the buzz of conversation died down as he strode to the lectern. There was a collective intake of breath as Dr Barnes cleared his throat, but he began mildly enough and opened by welcoming us to his course. Truth to tell his fifty minute lecture on conventions of the unwritten British Constitution caused not a murmur of discontent from his audience.

However, the fireworks began when he asked if there were any questions we wished to put to him. Maurice FitzAllen rose to his feet and said in a sneering voice: 'And just what are your views on our brave soldiers fighting the Boer terrorists in South Africa?' Dr Barnes looked hard at the pimply-faced youth with barely concealed contempt and then said: 'I'll answer the question and ignore the impolite manner in which it was asked and despite the fact that the matter has little to do with the subject of my lecture. But I will answer it on a once and for all basis. After this afternoon, I will hear no more of the rights and wrongs of the South African campaign.'