Phil Kaveny

The Fiction of Philip Kaveny

Her Name Is Freya Part II by Phil Kaveny

Read Part I First Here: Her Name Is Freya, Part I

 

 

Twelve hundred years later in Oxford University just at that instant this happened.

 Aerial view of Oxford, and Oxford University

Then Joe Wainwright was ordered by his advisor to stop his dissertation defense. He told the armed campus security forces would called, if he refused to cease reading his original translation of the highly problematic Norse Saga “Her Name Freya” because he had failed summarily in his defense of his dissertation, even though he had only read the first fourteen hundred words. He failed because he had as the Christian theologians of a bygone age might say he had committed academic heresy, He offended the Holy Ghost of academic conformity, by actually making his dissertation interesting to an informed public. Rather than a bunch of sparrow fart English professors, with shinny backs to their well, worn and thread bare trousers. That is to  say the second generation of academics of Oxford Academics’ who still despised J.R.R Tolkien, and C.S Lewis, for making Oxford famous, for being something other than an aristocratic, finishing school in the popular consciousness.

TOLKIEN

This is a 1967 photo of J.R.R. Tolkien. Tolkien is the author of “The Lord of the Rings” and was a Oxford University Professor. (AP Photo)

 

Now Joe would go directly to the academic hell of teaching forty class hours of freshman compositions a week, to the children, of post-colonial British elites. Mostly young men who would not know complete English sentence if Si ça les mord dans le cul. Who only got into Oxford because their families funded a professorship.   Further no reputable academic publisher would touch Joe’s dissertation, as he found himself on Oxford University’s Liste permanente de merde

 

Joe Wainwright’s doctoral committee’s chairman Dr Brian Woodcock halted the reading of this first chapter of his doctoral dissertation.

Woodcock smashed his fist on the table in a very unprofessorial and unprofessional way as he shouted.

“Godamm it Wainwright we warned you about doing this. “

The two men had hated each since Joe Wainwright, won a fellowship to Oxford University  in 2012 after he was honorably  discharged  from the Royal Marines  anti terrorist commando intelligence  duty in Kurdistan, after winning a Victoria Cross, for which he received no publicity, because legally and technically , he was the man who never was in Kurdistan, .   Joe had vivid memories of Dr. Woodcock At the faculty party where Dr Woodcock said.

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            “I spit on your Victoria Cross, and a country which gives it to baby killers like yourself”.

            Professor Woodcock was an American also tall, almost imperially slim like Joe Wainwright. He was well over six feet tall and imperially slim, with sandy hair and steel blue eyes, his lovers said he seemed to look into the heart of your soul when he listened to you. He muscles were like spring steel, and he was always well but a bit understatedly dressed. He was more the classic American made sports jacket and jeans type, and nobody complained when he taught in a well pressed natural fabric jogging suit. Another thing that everyone talked about was that he could actually afford to buy American made clothes. But that was what he looked like on the surface, and for him form was everything. And the content of Joe Wainwright’s ability and intuition to see at glace meanings that others ponder over like bricklayers was the Like a Stone Professor Woodcock could not remove from his shoe. He also knew that Joe grew up on the East End of London. Further, Brian knew that though Joe was definition an officer and a gentleman, in the Royal Marine’s, and had taught street Arabic at the British West Point Sandhurst Joe had enlisted at age sixteen, to avoid incarnation, and that’s how they found that Joe had a gift for language that presents about as often as an American Major League Baseball pitcher, has a natural one hundred and ten mile an hour fastball.

Dr. Woodcock was single thirty three years old and had written a break though dissertation at Yale at twenty four, taught there for seven years, and then was hired with tenure at The University of Wisconsin Chippewa Falls when he left Yale, based on his brilliant feature article The Modern Association Language Journal entitled, “Teachers and Learners, a False Dichotomy, let’s all learn from each other in the Cooperative Pedagogy of the learning circle.” He jumped on the position at Oxford University English Department Chair, when he produced a huge grant from the government of “The Kingdom to lead a project to apply British Educational and leadership values to the process of transformation of The Kingdom’s away economy based on extractive industries.

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Not everyone felt like Dr. Woodcock about Joe Wainwright though Joe kept silent.  Pamela Brown, other Anglo Saxonists from Northfield, Minnesota told Brian Woodcock that Joe Wainwright had put his ass on the line to protect the rights of likes of him to call Joe a baby killer. But then they back to the present to her Dr. Woodcock who had now risen to full professor status, and announced with contempt in his voice.

 

That was his last chance you will never be granted a doctorate from Oxford University and Anglo-Saxon studies. Your contention that this manuscript was authentic is bogus we warned you not to work on it as if it were an actual historical document. And who the f**k do you think you are to publish your papers on your blog as if somebody gave a shit

Joe looked at him with his blue steel grey eyes and Woodcock broke his gaze and turned away from Joe

“This is preposterous. Worse yet your attempt to present the Her name is Freya manuscript a mode accessible for popular readership, at a time when we may well be entering a Nova Dark ages speaks well of your proletariat origins, simply finishing first on your local counsel scholarship exam is no indication that you have the ability or even the stuff to make you an academic, your degree would bring no credit to this department.”

The thing that Dr. Woodcock hated about Joe Wainwright was he never could get his full attention. When he hysterically screamed what do have to say for your Joes mind was elsewhere. At the Gym, Gymnasium as some called  a hundred years ago, but in Joes mind it was three years past, as he felt himself smash into very thin wrestler’s mat, as he remembered how he met Pamela Brown

“Gee Haw”

Screamed Haley Wilson as she fireman- carried Joe Wainwright, Oxford University’s women’s self defense coach, spiking his head into the mat with a resounding thud. Pamela Brown was the first to get to Haley, and pull her off of him as she stood trembling with her knee poised over his throat ready to crush his Adam’s apple. Joe was to his feet in an instant and in the blink of an eyelash; something horrible flashed across Joe’s face. It was a look that terrified Pamela which she had never seen in Joe’s eyes before. Pamela had always thought of Joe as Dr. Wainwright her dissertation advisor the guy who had insisted she take his self-defense because she might need it someday.

            Then Joe face softened as his eyes filled with a boyish twinkle as he laughed out loud and said,

“I fell for the old flop open the Gee and red lace push up bra distraction. Didn’t I Haley?  Well it may work once on the likes of me but the rest of you women of don’t bet your lives on it, not everybody that you meet in a dark alley or on your way home from a pub is as “normal as I am.”

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            ****

That’s how Haley and Pamela met three years before and how Pamela came to sense some of the savage anger both Haley and Joe carried in their hearts for things they were compelled to do in their separate pasts.   Haley would never give Pamela the whole story, and when she told parts of it, she would sometimes tell it to her a bit differently and out of sequence.  However, it did have something to do with members the junior rugby team, being found not guilty but exonerated, from sexual assault.

Joe’s story was common knowledge around Oxford. This meant everybody got it wrong. It also meant that it had taken on the character of a myth. But it was a true myth, as C.S Lewis used to say. It was a true myth though everyone had heard it a different way of telling it including Joe when he had a few pints at The Eagle & Child. Pamela had checked out what was on the record, and found Joe was a man of many talents. He was a master practitioner of the lethal martial arts of pre-gunpowder Europe hand to hand combat. He once got his students so interested in Joe’s demonstration the actual technique that the Anglo- Saxon Hero Beowulf used rip the monster Grendel’s that his students made each turn off their smart phones .Things got a little hot when one of Russian exchange students who happened just miss a place, on Russia’s Olympic Wrestling team at light heavyweight, invited Joe to demonstrate on him. The match never took because the Russian was Joe’s best Student in Anglo-Saxon, and Joe explained to him that he would not be excused from class for a ripped off arm.

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Somewhere on Joe’s not so secret vita it was listed that he had worked as a hand to hand combat consultant to the Israeli Defense Forces. What everybody seemed to know was that Joe had been offered the option of underage Enlistment or incarceration sometime in the mid 1990’s and he and his unit were directly responsible during Madeleine Albright’s War for disrupting the genocide of four hundred Muslim women and children after the husbands and fathers were murdered.

When he won the Victoria Cross it was presented to him and the rest of his squad, not by the then prime minister, because technically the incident had never taken place, and there were no Royal Marines on the ground, but by a former Oxford graduate who only finished with a third in chemistry, but came to be a thorn in the side of many of the elites as she rose to be called the Iron Lady, and had them all to tea. The Iron Lady later who had in her career becomes famous for funding metropolitan British Universities, as she “starved Oxford for funding.

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Pamela thought of the first time she met Joe when he agreed to be her advisor at Oxford. He wore a pair of faded jeans, loafers; a tweed jacket and an Army surplus Khaki shirt with no tie and open at his neck because it was too thick for him to button it.  Joe was not handsome at first, and a little larger than average. At first he seemed built like a bag full of door knobs, till he moved with the easy muscular grace of a male ballet dancer, then there were his eyes, sometimes steel blue, sometimes cobalt, which saw into your soul to see what you needed, and if he could help. Joe would not order Pamela to take his self defense class, but she did take it.

***Now three short years later, Pamela found herself risking her own future standing up for someone and something against an male authority figure that could make certain that she to was on the Oxford University’s Liste permanente de merde.

 

 

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