Clandestine

Chapter 3 - Oxford Blues

The golf course at Narooma, on Australia’s south coast, is spectacular. In my youth, as I engaged in surreptitious adventures throughout the United States, I did not have much time for the game. I was introduced to the sport at Oxford but never took up the pastime seriously until I reached Australia in my 40s. I kick myself that I did not stop by Torrey Pines or Pebble Beach on my American journeys.

I receive a small pension from the British government and invested my earnings wisely over the years so that at age 65 I am able to work only occasionally and support my golf and travel. My employment is on a casual basis with the Australian Army Intelligence Corps. I teach courses to new recruits on the topics of Intelligence Analysis, Counter Intelligence, and Psychological operations. My work is, as has been the case since 1956, classified. Most people that I meet who ask what I do (or did) get the simple answer that I do contract work for the military. They rarely ask a follow-up question. They must assume that I peel potatoes or inventory tanks. I never dissuade them from their illusions or attempt to educate.

It turns out that although I matriculated at Oxford on a lucrative scholarship I really wasn’t much of a student compared to my well-bred peers. I attended for four years and earned a liberal arts degree without any particular major or emphasis. I took classes, passed them, and moved on with startling consistency but never felt passionate about anything I studied. I became a generalist, knowing just enough about any topic to get by. I also discovered while at university that I was lazy. This came as a bit of a surprise to me as I had always considered myself a high-achieving whiz kid. It turns out that without my mother’s motivation and with no particular reputation to uphold, I was quite content to wake up at 10:30 in the morning, attend only the lectures that were crucial, and set my sights no higher than the lowest passing standard for my courses.

I continued to play sports throughout university but once again I tried all manner of games without committing to specialising in any one event. I played golf and cricket, tried fencing, and even rowed on the Thames. I continued to swim and enjoyed boxing as a means to keep fit. It was clear that I was never going to reach my father’s physical stature. By the end of my fourth year at Oxford I stood 5 feet 10 inches tall and 155 pounds (when soaking wet). Just as I realized at Oxford that my intellect was not superior to my peers, I understood quickly that my high school sporting prowess had been over-rated.  At Oxford I was decidedly average and I never wavered in the pursuit of mediocrity.

Eleanor was busy with her studies at Edinburgh and we wrote to each other often. In my four years at Oxford I saw her twice, both being times when I returned home to Scotland over the Christmas holiday. I realised that while I was putting in time at Oxford, Eleanor was blossoming at university. She had become passionate about literature, poetry, and the theatre. I briefly contemplated leaving Oxford and fleeing to Edinburgh but, alas, my scholarship at Oxford was too valuable to pass up. Eleanor invited me to come to Edinburgh, and we talked of travelling together after graduation, but sadly our love never turned to romance. The distance made the possibility unthinkable. I imagined that there were many young men who caught Eleanor’s eye whereas, for me, every girl at Oxford suffered in comparison.

My mother never got to see me graduate from Oxford. Just before the conclusion of my final year, in April of 1955, I was awoken by a telephone call from my father who informed me that Mary had suffered a stroke and passed away. The funeral was held at the Presbyterian Church in Motherwell. A procession of my aunts and uncles came to the service and wished my father and me well.

Most of my relatives asked me, during the course of the wake, what my plans were for the future. I informed them that I would be completing my two years of military service and then returning to Scotland to begin a law degree. It sounded like a great plan, but it was a total prevarication. I had no interest in the law and less interest in attending more school, but the story amused my family and was easier to explain than the truth which was that even after four years at Oxford I still hadn’t the foggiest idea what I would be doing with my future.