The Fourth Estate
Keith immediately recognized the name of the editor of the Sydney Morning Herald. How had he found out about the missing money?
“Are you still there?” asked Adams.
“Yes,” said Keith. “What can I do for you?” He was relieved that Adams couldn’t see him trembling.
“I’ve just read the latest edition of the St. Andy, and in particular your piece on Australia becoming a republic. I think it’s first class, and I’d like to reprint the whole article in the SMH—if we can agree on a fee.”
“It’s not for sale,” said Keith firmly.
“I was thinking of offering you £75,” said Adams.
“I wouldn’t let you reprint it, if you offered me…”
“If we offered you how much?”
* * *
The week before Keith was due to sit his exams for Oxford, he returned to Toorak for some last-minute cramming with Miss Steadman. They went over possible questions together and read model answers she had prepared. She failed on only one thing—getting him to relax. But he couldn’t tell her that it wasn’t the exams he was nervous about.
“I’m sure you’ll pass,” his mother said confidently over breakfast on the Sunday morning.
“I do hope so,” said Keith, only too aware that the following day the Sydney Morning Herald was going to publish his “Dawn of a New Republic.” But that would also be the morning he began his exams, so Keith just hoped that his father and mother would keep their counsel for at least the next ten days, and by then perhaps …
“Well, if it’s a close-run thing,” said his father, interrupting his thoughts, “I’m sure you’ll be helped by the headmaster’s strong endorsement after your amazing success with the pavilion appeal. By the way, I forgot to mention that your grandmother was so impressed by your efforts that she donated another £100 to the appeal, in your name.”
It was the first time Keith’s mother had ever heard him swear.
* * *
By the Monday morning Keith felt as ready to face the examiners as he believed he would ever be, and by the time he had completed the final paper ten days later, he was impressed by how many of the questions Miss Steadman had anticipated. He knew he’d done well in History and Geography, and only hoped that the Oxford board didn’t place too much weight on the Classics.
He phoned his mother to assure her that he thought he had performed as well as he could have hoped, and that if he wasn’t offered a place at Oxford he wouldn’t be able to complain that he’d been unlucky with the questions.
“Neither will I complain,” came back his mother’s immediate reply. “But I do have one piece of advice for you, Keith. Keep out of your father’s way for a few more days.”
The anticlimax that followed the ending of the exams was inevitable. While Keith waited to learn the results, he spent some of his time trying to raise the final few hundred pounds for the pavilion appeal, some of it at the racecourse placing small bets with his own money, and a night with the wife of a banker who ended up donating £50.
On the last Monday of term, Mr. Jessop informed his staff at their weekly meeting that St. Andrew’s would be continuing the great tradition of sending its finest students to Oxford and Cambridge, thus maintaining the link with those two great universities. He read out the names of those who had won places:
Alexander, D.T.L.
Tomkins, C.
Townsend, K.R.
“A shit, a swot, and a star, but not necessarily in that order,” said the headmaster under his breath.
SECOND EDITION
To the Victor the Spoils
9.
Daily Mirror
7 June 1944
NORMANDY LANDINGS ARE SUCCESSFUL