Sir Adrian Cadbury: Life is sweet

Sir Adrian Cadbury, born into wealth built on chocolate, has spent 25 years as chancellor of Aston University. He tells Chris Arnot how things have changed

The taxi driver at Birmingham International scrutinises the map, which has been drawn with meticulous care and despatched to me well in advance. It shows the way from the station to the home of Sir Adrian Cadbury, who is shortly to retire, at 75, after spending the past third of his life as chancellor at Aston University.

"I think Jasper Carrot lives round here," the driver ventures, as we spin through the manicured countryside. He's right. "We see him jogging past quite regularly," Cadbury later confirms. "Very nice man, Jasper," he adds. "Does a lot for charity."

The same could be said of Cadbury himself, although he is very different in terms of accent and demeanour. On a warm summer's day, he is sporting a tie with an Aston University crest under an immaculately cut dark blazer. He's a stickler for standards, but his easy manner and ready laugh temper any tendency towards stiffness or earnestness.

Cadbury was born into wealth built on chocolate, but has also inherited the Cadburys' staunch Quaker social obligations. Trying to improve the lot of the less fortunate has long been a family tradition, and education has always been seen as a fundamental tool. His grandfather, George Cadbury, used to take literacy classes in a Birmingham pub. "I think it was closed at the time," says Cadbury, conscious, perhaps, of his grandfather's antipathy to alcohol.

There are no longer any family members on the board of Cadbury-Schweppes. Cadbury himself stepped down as chairman in 1989 and his three children have moved into other lines of business. His brother, Dominic, is chancellor at Birmingham and must have been rather taken aback by Aston's elevation in the university tables - 13th in the Guardian's league on the quality of teaching, sandwiched between Durham and St Andrews, and well ahead of its more venerable redbrick neighbour.

Has there, I wonder, been any good-natured brotherly ribbing? Cadbury chuckles before dismissing the idea. And, needless to say, he takes no personal credit for the impressive performance. The day-to-day running of universities is, after all, the province of vice-chancellors, with the role of chancellor largely ceremonial. Isn't it?

"I don't think many chancellors can take much credit for a university's overall performance, but Adrian can," says Aston's VC, Professor Mike Wright. "He's generous of spirit, always popping in and out, and has been incredibly supportive. He attends almost every student event and, for me, he's always there as a sounding board."

It was one of Wright's predecessors, Fred (now Sir Frederick) Crawford, who most needed Cadbury's support, back in 1981. Margaret Thatcher's government was two years old and flexing its monetarist muscles. Like a character in a David Lodge novel, Crawford had just arrived in a grey Birmingham, devastated by the crisis in manufacuring industry, from sunny California, where he had been head of plasma physics.

"We'd lured him back from the States," says Cadbury, "only for him to have to face savage reductions in spending. Our resources were cut by 31%. It was the worst time I can remember.

"I went to see Sir Keith Joseph [then education secretary] to make a plea for clemency. I recall him putting his head in his hands and groaning that it was all terrible. Saddened as he was, though, he felt that the government had to do what it was doing in order to cut public expenditure."

Aston had been a university for only 15 years when the Joseph axe fell. Staff numbers were pruned by 30% and the number of home students was sliced from 4,670 to 3,640. Crawford's experience in the US led him, eventually, to build up the business school and science park, both of which would have long-term financial benefits.

"It has become more important to make use of the intellectual property of the university to pull in research funding," says Cadbury. "In the States, there was always much more interaction between universities and business."

But if higher education in the UK is heading along the American route, what about the suggestion from another former Tory education secretary, Lord Baker, that chancellors should become like their counterparts in the US - given a decent salary in return for being full-time fundraisers?

"I take his point that a lead needs to be given," says Cadbury. "The difficulty is that for my generation, and subsequent ones, university was more or less free. The key thing is not whether a chancellor is involved, it's whether we can move to a situation where our alumni feel they should put something back to help the next generation."

How much cajoling or arm-twisting that requires will cease to be his immediate concern after August, when he will hand over the chancellorship to Sir Michael Bett, former deputy chairman of BT. Cadbury is reluctant to be seen as interfering, but says: "Fundraising is one area where I could still be useful because of my contacts."

He is, for one thing, a former non- executive director of the Bank of England. For some in the City, however, the name Cadbury is forever synonymous with the committee he chaired into corporate standards in the scandal-ridden early 90s. His subsequent book, Corporate Governance and Chairmanship, was recently translated into Japanese.

He plucks a copy from his coffee table, before producing an item that has apparently given him even more pleasure - an engraved silver pen. "This means a lot to me," he admits. "It was kindly given to me by the students who have made me president of the athletics union." He has been keen on sport since his own Cambridge days, when he won a blue for rowing and was in the boat that represented Britain in the 1952 Olympics ("We came fourth.").

In those distant days, higher education was a privilege afforded to very few. "Now the government wants 50% of the population to go, but it won't provide the money," he says. "We need more institutions to cater for the demand for what will have to be largely vocational courses. But we [Aston] won't be among them. We're good at what we do, with four basic schools and a reputation for getting more graduates into jobs quickly than just about anywhere else."

As ever, he is looking forward to the graduation ceremonies this month, even though they will be warm work. "We like every student to have a video, so the lights are on me all the time. And I'm swathed in thick, dark robes. But it's their day and I like the idea of it being a completion of all their work. I've only missed one ceremony in 25 years."

Have students changed much in that time? "They tend to be better dressed these days. Less ironmongery - earrings, studs and so on - and the Doc Marten boots have gone. Encouragingly, there are a lot more women now."

A lot more alcohol consumption, too, among students as a whole, I suggest. He seems reluctant to appear too Quakerish on the issue. "I accept what you say," he concedes. "There probably has been an increase. All I know is that when I go to student sporting dos, everybody behaves quite responsibly."

All the same, it's perhaps as well his grandfather can't see the figures lurching home down Corporation Street on Saturday nights. It might have upset his theories about the link between education and moderation.

The CV

Name Sir Adrian Cadbury

Age 75

Job Chancellor, Aston University

Before that Managing director and chairman of Cadbury-Schweppes

Interests Corporate governance

Likes Golf (playing and watching on TV) and other sports; reading biographies and novels, particularly John Le Carré and David Lodge

Dislikes Sloppiness - in dress, for instance, "although students should be allowed some freedom"