Y Tŵr

Sample translated inti English by Rebecca Thomas

Year 1, Semester 1

The Newsletter

Welcome to the Tower! The Executive Board welcomes students and staff to our new campus. Remember to call by the Welcome Desk to collect your packs. Click here to read the Handbook.

1. The Tower Strategy 3.365: a call for members. Click here for further information and to express interest.
2. The Tower wins a Gold Award for equal opportunities for women. Read the report and the Vice-Chancellor’s response here.
3. Our Green Future: the Executive Board launches a new strategy. Details here.

Click here to read this Newsletter in English.

I was five minutes early and so I read each item of the Newsletter loyally and thoroughly. Having worked for the university for almost five years, I was experienced/cynical enough to see through points two and three. You didn’t have to do anything to win a gold award – you simply had to show ‘evidence of intent’ to ensure equal opportunities. A box-ticking exercise. And relocating the university to an entirely new site with no public transport links was somehow part of a green strategy?! It seemed more likely that certain members of the Executive Board – the committee of important people who oversaw such decisions – were eyeing the holiday apartments built on the site of the old campus.

‘Anything interesting?’

Sioned had arrived, five minutes late as usual.

‘No…’ I replied in Welsh, continuing to scroll. ‘It’s so long…’

‘They get longer each semester. Anyway, welcome to the TOWER.’

I laughed and placed my phone back in my pocket. ‘It’s quite the place, isn’t it?’

Both of us looked up.

‘Did I miss something in the Newsletter? Are we bankers now?’

‘Shhh…’ I winced and looked around. ‘Didn’t you get the email telling us that we had to show a “positive attitude” towards our new site?’

‘HA! No. You know I delete all that crap straight away.’

Sioned had her own unique “positive attitude”. Her criticism wasn’t without merit in this instance either. I’d never seen a university that was so… well, so tall and thin.

‘There’s a lot of glass.’ There was a hint of worry clouding her green eyes as she surveyed the building. ‘I still don’t understand how they managed to afford this.’

‘Staffing cuts.’

‘Well, yes… but even then. How many staff do you need to cut to finance building a large glass tower?! Our wages aren’t that high…’

I shrugged. There was some comment about standards and cutting corners resting on my tongue, but it perhaps wasn’t the most comforting thing to say as we prepared to cross the threshold for the first time. I couldn’t shake the image of a glass Jenga tower. I searched for a positive angle. ‘We aren’t going to have any trouble parking here, at least…’

It was Sioned’s turn to laugh, her pink curls bouncing and her glasses slipping down her nose. ‘True. The car park is majestic. Which is fortunate, seeing as we’ve relocated to the middle of nowhere…’

‘Yes… no escaping for a coffee this semester. I thought that a part of the Tower’s long-term strategy was to “serve the local community”…’

‘To serve the community through looking down on it,’ observed Sioned, ‘from afar.’

It was starting to get busy around us now. A few familiar faces offering a greeting, but they were mostly strangers. First-year students: the only ones enthusiastic enough to arrive at the university before nine on the first day of the semester.

‘They get younger every year.’

‘I won’t state the obvious.’ I felt my phone vibrating against my leg.

Llion: Good luck today! Xx

A stupid smile spread across my face as the laughably simple message melted my stomach.

‘I haven’t seen you this happy in a while,’ Sioned smirked. ‘Things are going well, aren’t they?’

I stuffed my phone back in my pocket, away from her prying eyes. I’d have to spend time composing the perfect response to Llion later.

‘Don’t go planning the wedding yet,’ I warned. ‘It’s only been a month.’

‘You’re counting…’ There was something unnaturally gentle about Sioned’s smile. ‘I’m glad that you’re happy.’

Happy. The stupid smile was still on my face. That had started happening more often over the past month. I wasn’t usually someone who smiled when no one else was looking.

‘Come on,’ I said awkwardly, ‘the porter’s watching us.’

We weren’t allowed to know the porter’s name (The Tower Handbook (Section D.3) – I’d read it from cover to cover, to be fair). A man named Llew used to guard the entrance to the old campus. He was nice and liked to chat about his most recent holiday and the weight he was lifting at the gym. But the Executive Board had found Llew guilty of being too nice (he’d apparently offered coffee to the staff picketing the entrance during the last strike). Llew was one of the first to fall.

The Tower’s glass doors slid open in front of us to reveal an empty lobby. It was busy – the enthusiasm of the first-years filled every corner. Yet it still seemed empty. There was a lino floor beneath our feet and glass in every direction. At the far end of the lobby there was a huge translucent plastic desk with four stations marked by plastic chairs, each one a different colour.

‘They forgot to order furniture,’ Sioned observed. ‘Or ran out of money.’

But my attention was drawn – as the architects had presumably intended – to the wall behind the large desk, the only wall that wasn’t made of glass. There was a large portrait of the current Vice-Chancellor at its centre. I’d never seen him in the flesh, so it was hard to offer an opinion on the likeness. He was sitting behind an oak desk with rows of old books behind him. A window to the old campus. I wondered when it would be replaced by a new portrait that better suited the Tower’s aesthetic. On either side of the Vice-Chancellor there was a series of smaller portraits – the former Vice-Chancellors, the Tower’s royal lineage.

‘They’ve left Susi out,’ Sioned observed.

‘She wasn’t very popular.’

‘Whilst the leadership of all of these white men was a resounding success.’

Sioned proceeded to station number 3, leaving me staring at the Vice-Chancellor’s silent eyes. His gaze was fixed on the space just above my head, as if he knew that I was beneath his attention.

‘Next!’

Station number two. I hadn’t realised that I was in a queue.

‘Welcome to the Tower. Name and job title?’

‘Good morning. Dr Heledd Owen, Senior Lecturer in the School of Arts.’

‘Thank you. This is your welcome pack. It includes details of how to set up your computer and connect to the internet. We’re on Level 0 here. There are lifts through the door to your left. You can of course take the stairs. They’re through the small door on the far left. The School of Arts is on Level 6.’

She paused for breath.

‘Thank–’

‘Your pack also includes The Tower’s approved writing equipment, a laptop case, and a lanyard to hold your staff card.’

‘Oh, great–’

‘As you’ll be aware from the handbook, section Y.4, this equipment is all sold to you at a discount of 50% and will be automatically taken from your wages this month. Note that staff are contractually obliged to use this equipment, and this equipment alone. If you lose or damage the equipment, it is your responsibility to purchase replacements from the Tower’s shop. You can find the shop on Level 1, next to the café.’

‘Thank–’

‘Next!’

Sioned was waiting next to the stairs, a new lanyard around her neck advertising the Tower in multicolour letters. A statement of support for the LGBTQ+ community it seemed. I hadn’t managed to find the practical element of that support in the handbook.

‘I don’t think these are worth the amount they’re charging us,’ I mumbled as I rummaged through my bag.

‘What?! We have to pay?!’

‘Ha, yes. We get a 50% discount. Didn’t you get the spiel?’

‘Oh yeah. But it was so long, I stopped listening.’

I laughed, although Sioned’s facetiousness scared me a bit. Undoubtedly the most discerning person I’d ever met, her attention would immediately jump to the gaps between our managers’ words, analysing their meaning with brutal efficiency. But she’d always been one to disregard rules. If they were stupid rules, then she wasn’t going to waste her time following them. I admired her confidence. I wasn’t confident that the Executive Board would agree.

‘How many red cards do you have now…?’ I asked as we climbed the stairs.

‘Eight. I checked my digital wallet this morning.’

‘Your digital… what?’

‘Oh! I forgot, you’ve never broken a rule in your life, have you? So, you wouldn’t know.’

I couldn’t spare a breath to reply. Sioned had always been more fit than me. Somehow, she managed to go running every morning before work. Not that I should be out of breath after two flights of stairs either…

‘Every time you get a red card, it’s added to the digital wallet on your phone. It’s like the apps you get at coffee shops where you get a stamp for every coffee you buy. Well, bad people like me collect red cards. If I reach ten, I get a disciplinary!’

‘Very… exciting…’ I managed.

‘What are you teaching this semester anyway?’

‘Introduction to Literature, Communication Skills, Welsh for Business, Welsh in the Workplace… all the usual stuff. But I’m teaching Llenyddiaeth a Phrotest (Literature and Protest) too, looking forward to that.’

‘WOW!’ Sioned stopped and turned to look down at me, about five steps behind her. ‘They’re letting you teach a subject that you specialise in?! How?! What did you do?!’

‘I kept my head down and got on with my work. It’s a strategy you could try sometime,’ I laughed. ‘And the numbers are healthy.’

The numbers were more than healthy. There was barely a student in Welsh who hadn’t chosen my module. I always felt awkward boasting. I’d been conditioned not to, to appear modest and let others assess my work without interference. But I’d come to learn over my relatively short career that boasting was a weapon that men wielded masterfully and guarded jealously. And so, I’d vowed to train myself in the craft. Here goes. I was a good lecturer. Every lecturer shines when given the opportunity to teach what they enjoy, of course. But my feedback was good, remarkably good considering that I was a (relatively) young woman (nearly 33). Of course, from time to time a student would feel the need to comment on my appearance. But that didn’t happen so often these days, to be fair, and those comments went straight to the bin. Not that I was supposed to bin feedback… a red card crime if the Central Office came to hear of it.

Sioned shook her head incredulously. ‘Well, if you come across anyone wanting to study philosophy, you know where to send them…’ She waved over her shoulder and strode across the landing of Level 5, to a door labelled SCHOOL OF HUMANITIES (Department of History and Archaeology; Department of Religion and Philosophy; Department of Social Sciences; Department of Law). Advertising a ‘Department of Religion and Philosophy’ was somewhat misleading. Sioned was the department at this point – Sioned and any PhD students she managed to convince to help her.

One more painful set of stairs and I was standing in front of a door labelled SCHOOL OF ARTS. The Executive Board had dissolved our departments in the last re-structuring, branding us all lecturers ‘in the arts’. The intention, according to the email sent to staff, was to foster a ‘collaborative environment’. I was sceptical: in my experience, Welsh was the first thing to suffer in the name of such a policy.

‘A quick word, Heledd?’ a voice called in English.

There was no way to pretend that I hadn’t heard. They must have planned the floor so that everyone had to walk past the Head’s office.

‘Of course.’

I paused awkwardly in the door. There was an emptiness to the large white room, which had one wall entirely of glass and through it a wonderful view of the car park. The Head was sitting on a large leather chair behind a translucent desk in front of the biggest computer screen I’d ever seen. There was an ‘informal conversations corner’ (easy chairs) and a ‘serious meetings corner’ (a table and chairs).

The Head didn’t invite me to sit in any one of those chairs. ‘One moment,’ she said, her eyes still on her screen. I spent the time admiring her perfectly tailored light blue suit and her straight yellow hair.

When I’d joined the university, I’d hoped for a chance to get to know her. Although the university’s commitment to gender equality was celebrated at every possible opportunity, in reality the portraits of the previous Vice-Chancellors in the lobby were more representative of the situation. It was unusual to come across a woman who was only about ten years older than me in a position of power. But our paths had never properly crossed. The pinnacle of our relationship was a smile and a quick greeting in the corridor.

‘Heledd,’ she stated at last, while continuing to type. ‘It’s an exciting day, isn’t it? What do you think of the Tower?’

‘It’s…’ I searched for a safe adjective, ‘very smart.’

‘Indeed,’ the Head smiled at her computer screen. ‘I have two things to bring to your attention. Firstly, regarding your office. You know where you’re going?’

‘Room 6.17, end of the corridor I’m guessing?’

‘Yes, that’s correct. You’ll be sharing this year.’

‘Oh! With whom?’ I tried to bury my disappointment and the memories of rushing up and down the corridors of the old campus searching for an empty room to hold private meetings with students. Despite the cuts to staff, there’d never been enough space in that building and I’d had to share an office every year. But it could be worse, of course. I’d enjoyed Llinos’s company – a coffee and a chat was always a welcome break, especially after the university repurposed the staff room as a ‘networking hub’ for the students.

‘A new lecturer in medieval English literature. Dr Ieuan Richards.’

‘Oh.’

I hadn’t expected to see any new faces on the Tower’s corridors. During the last restructuring, the Executive Board had insisted that no job would be advertised until the financial hole had been filled. Dr Ieuan Richards was presumably a bright enough star and an important enough addition for the university to bend that particular rule.

‘I haven’t met him myself yet, but he comes very highly recommended.’ The Head had finally stopped typing and was looking at me. ‘He’s Professor Simon Edwards’ protégé. Simon wouldn’t let me have a moment’s peace until I offered him a job!’

I nodded, the pieces falling into place. I thought about Llinos, who’d been made redundant during her maternity leave, and felt a flash of anger. The Executive Board had insisted that there wasn’t enough money to keep her.

‘Secondly, your special subject… Linear…?’

‘Llenyddiaeth a Phrotest – Literature and Protest,’ I added in English.

‘Thank you, it sounds much better when you say it! We’re halving the teaching hours and assessments for that module.’

‘For next year?’

‘No, for this year.’

I started at her in shock. Were the Tower’s foundations so unsteady that the floor was moving beneath my feet? ‘But I’ve already prepared the teaching hours and assessments…’

‘I appreciate that. But it will simply mean halving everything. It really shouldn’t take too long for someone as dedicated as you.’

I smiled weakly. ‘Can I ask why …?’

‘We think that this better aligns with our students’ priorities,’ said the Head.

‘And what will the students be doing with the extra time?’

‘Oh, you’ve misunderstood. You’ll still be teaching them, but on a new module. Employability Skills.’

‘But these are Welsh Literature students!’ I couldn’t keep the shock from my voice.

‘I appreciate that, but the most recent satisfaction survey shows that students are increasingly worried about employability. We have to accommodate that.’ She shook her head. ‘There is nothing we can do about it, Heledd. They simply aren’t interested in our subjects, I’m afraid.’

I completely disagreed with her opinion – it was an opinion, despite its presentation as fact. Of course, students were worried about employability. This generation of students would leave the Tower to face the worst job market ever. But there was no doubt that my Welsh Literature students loved the subject. And were learning skills!

‘So, I’ll have to design this… Employability Skills… module, then?’

‘Of course not, Heledd! It wouldn’t have been very fair of me to spring that on you on the first day of the semester, would it?!’ she laughed. ‘No, one of my PhD students designed this module last year for our English Literature degree and she’s running classes again this semester. All the materials will be on Gateway already.’

‘Yes, but…’ I didn’t want to state the obvious. I was starting to doubt myself. The issue was obvious, wasn’t it?! ‘That module is in English. My students are taught through the medium of Welsh.’

‘You misunderstand me, Heledd. This will be an English module.’

‘But haven’t we committed to provide a 100% of our teaching through the medium of Welsh for these students? Wasn’t that one of the conditions of the degree programme?’

These were facts, not questions.

‘The Executive Board isn’t worrying about that, and so neither should we. To express my own opinion on the matter, studying all their modules through the medium of Welsh holds them back in terms of employability. Giving them this module in English is a good thing – we’re giving them the opportunity to expand their skills.’

My mouth was empty of words to challenge her. It was one of those frustrating situations where there would be no stopping the words once I’d left her office. The conversation would continue in my head, would prevent me from concentrating on my work, would prevent me from sleeping. But for now, I had nothing to stay.

‘Well, I won’t keep you, Heledd.’

The need to avoid social awkwardness was greater than the desire to protest. I gave up and left the room. I only had about ten seconds to wallow in self-hatred before reaching the open door of 6.17 at the far end of the corridor. A young man with a full head of black hair and black plastic glasses resting on his nose was standing staring purposefully at a full bookcase in the corner of the room. Before I could stop myself, I’d knocked on the door. I cursed my fist. This was my office too!

‘Ah!’ the man jumped and turned to face me. ‘Heledd?’

‘Yes,’ I offered my hand awkwardly.

‘Dr Ieuan Richards, pleasure to meet you,’ he said in Welsh.

He was very pleasant, on the first impression. He had the ability – uncommon among academics – to maintain eye contact. I found myself falling into their penetrating blueness, my cheeks colouring. And his voice, so silky, so…

No, it wasn’t the eyes. It was his ability to speak Welsh that had charmed me.

‘I was deciding how to organise my books. The system makes sense, I think it’s according to category, and then alphabetically by author within each category. But what to do with all the anonymous titles, that’s the question…’ He stared back at the shelf, his eyes wrinkling. ‘There are so many anonymous titles.’

So many books, I realised, my heart sinking.

‘There aren’t any more shelves?’

I stepped into the office, attempting to keep a respectable distance between us. A tall order in such a small space.

‘No… we’ve been given the smallest room, I’m afraid. Because we’re the most junior staff I suppose.’

Him, perhaps. I’d been here for five years. I bit my tongue.

‘I left one shelf for you… The Head mentioned that you work on twentieth-century literature, so I assumed you wouldn’t have many books. Everything’s online these days, isn’t it!’

I didn’t need to respond immediately. I took a few seconds to look around the room, hoping to find the perfect answer – polite but firm – in one of the corners. And then I realised what I was looking at. Or rather, what I couldn’t see. ‘There’s only one desk.’

‘Yes, we’re sharing an office. I thought the Head had explained?’

‘Yes… but I hadn’t realised…’ I closed my eyes for a moment. I only had a small flat. One main room creatively designed to look bigger than it was. And although I was paying through my nose for fancy cables, the internet was unreliable at best. Not to mention the struggle to maintain some sort of work-life balance.

‘Well, I think the easiest thing to do would be to establish a timetable. One of us can work in the office, the other in the library.’

I nodded slowly. The library. There was always the library.

‘To start, it would be fair for me to have three days, you two. I don’t have much teaching this semester, and so I’ll need to desk more often for research work. We can swap next semester. Does that sound reasonable to you?’

Well, reasonable, perhaps. But not fair. Fair would be to divide the week exactly in half. But the eyes were so penetrating and the voice so smooth. And this man was the School’s new star, after all. A man who had succeeded in obtaining a position while everyone else was falling around him. A man I’d be sharing an office with for god knows how long. Was it worth souring the relationship for half a day?

I nodded slowly.

‘Excellent! Well, how about I have Monday through to Wednesday, and you have Thursday and Friday, then? You can add your books to the shelves on Thursday.’

He turned back to the bookshelf, leaving me an intruder in my own office.