A google search of “George Whitfield” and “Hampton Grammar School” will yield a number of colorful and thoughtful anecdotes about my old headmaster, but I am surprised not to find more. As headmasters go, he was a big hitter.
Without his ever speaking a personal word to me in six years (More on George here) the calls to battle of this Commodore in the Noble Navy of Truth contain in concentrated form the spirit of an approach to education that wrapped me in layers of discouragement and disempowerment, a binding that it has taken me decades — almost an entire career in education — to figure out how to fully unravel.
The published and forthcoming posts on George Whitfield in this blog — and many of those on other aspects of life at Hampton Grammar School — document the removal of one of the strands of cloth used in my own educational mummification. My experience at Hampton is a narrow band that I am particularly happy to now see waving in the wind, and I’m attaching it here as a tail to the stringless high-dancing homing kite that is my life.* “Free at last!”
One of the privileges of being a member of the Sixth Form, a young man at the gates of adulthood, was to be able to sit once a week, alongside all the other 240 or so sixth formers in the front seats of the school Hall for a two-period discussion with the Headmaster. George’s idea, I think, was that we needed to be stimulated, nurtured and guided by his intellect and moral rectitude, through discussion of a wide range of topics that he would invite us to suggest to him a few days before each week’s discussion. This was an enriching opportunity for us to go beyond the examination-focused study of the three Advanced Level GCE** subjects which we had each chosen from a range of traditional “arts” or “science” subjects.
I found much of what we talked about actually quite interesting and even refreshing sometimes, because George was a thoughtful and intelligent man, and because he was ready to talk to us in a way that showed more about him than we were able to see in morning assemblies. But I never connected with him as a human being.
These sessions weren’t actually “discussions.” I’ve characterized them as such because I think that is how he himself described them. In fact they were 80-minute monologues, two-way discussions only in the sense that the thinking aloud that George shared with us was based on the questions that he found in the letter box in his office door: those that he deemed appropriate for the coming session.
It may have happened, but I do not remember any of the boys ever speaking during these sessions. Nor do I remember any eye contact that made me feel he was talking to me, even when he once spent a long time discussing a question from me. I myself often speak to large groups of people, and always know, from people’s eyes and expressions, that there are people with whom I am communicating on deeply personal levels, often perhaps at a non- or trans-verbal level. I sense myself subtly acknowledging individuals too. To acknowledge individuals while speaking to a group was not George’s style, as I remember it, though I think he was very good at communicating fear and transferring guilt to individuals en masse, particularly during his school assembly addresses.
At some point during my Lower Sixth year I remember one of several periods of what would now probably be diagnosed as depression, when I decided to place a question in George’s letter box. I had been shuffling through each moment of my life for three weeks or so, under an adolescent cloud of doubt about the worth of anything that I was doing. Perhaps George could say something about this in the next discussion session. Perhaps his answering my question would bestow value on my life.
The note I placed in the letter box was very close to, if not exactly these words: “Can you prove to me that human effort is not futile and ridiculous?” For a few days after the point of no return, when I had slipped the question into George’s letter box, I had felt slightly apprehensive. I feared he might disapprove of my question and rebuke me for it. So when he said, at the beginning of the next session, that he was actually going to seriously address it, my heart began to pound hard and fast.
George had obviously given time and careful thought to my question. His approach was to answer it, somewhat in the manner of a model examination essay, by focusing on my use of the word “prove” and carefully considering different meanings of the word “proof.” He talked about three kinds of proof: scientific, logical and mathematical. I didn’t quite understand the difference between the latter two in particular, but his conclusion was that the topic of my question could not be addressed as a matter that could be proven or disproven. While impeccably addressing the words he was failing to respond at all to the heart of the question, which would have been better expressed as: “Everything that I am trying to do is striking me as meaningless and of no value. Can you help me?”
Now I understand that he didn’t know — ordained man of God though he was — either how to recognize or how to answer a question from a troubled heart. As an educator and priest he should have been able to sense the desperation behind the words. Had he been able to do so he might have (helpfully) referred me to a psychological counsellor, or at least tried to talk to me from the heart about his Christian faith.
Here are a couple of the questions I would ask him if I now had a chance to go back to that school Hall in 1967.
- Sir, are you happy with your life and at peace with yourself?
- If you are, why is it that when I am around you I always feel afraid instead of happy?
And I would find it natural for him to to be able to answer these questions honestly, on the spot, as one human being to another, though I would nevertheless show him respect by submitting them in advance as requested.
Perhaps, in the end, he was just trying to show us what it is to be a perfect schoolboy, by submitting to us a perfect homework assignment that he had worked on for a couple of days. Poor man. What he must have gone through in his education!
I always assumed he felt the need to compensate for his smaller-than-average physical stature by never showing any hint of sensitivity that might be construed as weakness. My tai chi teacher was once asked by the great (though short) Russian conductor Gennady Rozhdestvensky for private lessons. John told him that a prerequisite of serious study would be an honest attempt to relinquish his ego. GD frankly admitted he would find that impossible, having over so many years worked ceaselessly to build an impenetrable ego in order to command unruly orchestras. My human contacts with Whitfield were few. There was an occasion where I had to seek his permission to attend the funeral of a boy I had been very fond of and who had died on his motorcycle on the way to school. I found GW’s first words startling: “I didn’t know he was your friend.” That was about it. I also recall a couple of very awkward visits to his home (!) with a small group of carol singers at Christmas. We would do the rounds of elderly folk living on their own and had a jolly time. Then came the downer with the unavoidable visit to GW. His wife was friendly and welcoming but he remained the same gritty person we saw at school, trying but failing to force out a half-smile through clenched jaws.
I remember Rev George Whitfield very well. I’m now 74 years of age and have travelled the world, lived on 5 continents and met many people in the process. I was only at Hampton Grammar for 5 years (1957-62) and couldn’t get away quick enough. Whitfield was an atrocious and permanently angry little man who loved to terrorise pupils. During my last year there was a bit of a riot – nothing very serious – so he had all the pupils stand to attention at Assembly for so long that some of the boys fainted. The fact that I can still remember him and still feel anger towards him speaks volumes – and I am not by nature an angry person. He should never have been a headmaster or even a teacher ………. and certainly not a Christian minister !
The cloud of Whitfield. Stern and aloof to all he encountered. Always …… and quick to anger. A man who knew not the meaning of fun or indeed happiness. Smiling was unknown and his life was dominated by an appalling ego. Wholly unfit to be headmaster and I think he mentally damaged a lot of the pupils and staff over the long period of his reign. Even the vicar with whom he worked found him alas impenetrable.
VERY SAD DAYS for all who were unfortunate to experience him.
The more I think about this person, the more distaste I feel. There is so much to query about him yet he got away with it and no one appeared to challenge him. Was he a man of God? Ask was he God’s man?
Now ask yourself would not the kindly Sid Barton, Whitfield’s deputy, have made a superb head. And how happy life could have been for the thousands of boys and many teachers who had to tolerate this imposition. How much intrinsic damage could one man inflict upon the personalities and characters and confidence of so many. True we all over rode the negatives but there is a serious lesson to be learnt here. How many times have we heard this in our lifetimes?
Thanks for reading and commenting, Peter. How are your brothers — I was in touch with Dave about seven years ago and then lost touch again.
Lest anyone is interested, Rev George’ book God and Man in the Old Testament 1949 is available on Amazon and this material formed the basis of some of his sixth form monologues.
To be frank I wish I had not found your site Kevin because it has brought to mind so many of the deficiencies that colleagues of similar period had to tolerate and I guess much if not all had been buried in half a century.
One of his popular phrases was ‘short shrift’ which he used fairly often.
Anyway that is enough. I do hope that those in authority NOW do not look upon the Whitfield years
without looking at the cracks. Their is much to be learnt here and it is my fervent hope that present and future management treat students as a very precious commodity under their care
and do not seek to exploit their personal ambitions on the back of the school. Equally they should treat their colleagues with respect, equality and LOVE.
THE BIG LESSON TO COME FROM THIS CONCERNS LOVE. SADLY WHITFIELD DID NOT POSSESS / RECOGNISE THIS MOST IMPORTANT ELEMENT THAT SHOULD LINK ALL HUMAN BEINGS.
HOW COULD THIS HAVE HAPPENED?
One final comment. No head should remain in post after five years of tenure. Whitfield was in situ FAR too long and weak yes men governors allowed an unhealthy climate to prevail at his whim.
The main conclusion may be based on not what he achieved, but what he missed and the potential talent and flair he overlooked through stubborn narrow mindedness.
WHAT A DREADFUL LEGACY OF SHAME.
George will be waiting at the Gate in his familiar mortar board, gown and brandishing his cane. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time he will say. Oh boy SHORT SHRIFT all over again. But no, he will be as we all would have wished him to be whilst at school full of love, kindness and compassion ……but regret. Don’t worry George, few of us achieve Christian goals.
THE END
FAITH LOVE AND HOPE and the greatest is…….
Before he was headmaster at Hampton and before he was ordained he was headmaster at Stockport School. I was in my first year and he was my English teacher for part of the course. Quite why he chose to teach us is unclear as it appeared to be his only teaching role in the school..He asked the class to write a two stanza poem on ‘heroism’. I remember that he became incandescent with rage accusing me of having the work done by my parents. The poem was my own effort, the text of which I can not now remember but I will never forget the unpleasant way he reduced me, an 11 year old boy, to tears that day.
I dare say you were not alone. Good job he left, only to take his temper to Hampton.
By the way read his book – God and Man etc. Full of quotes – nothing original from George – he simply regurgitated the thoughts of others. How on earth could Stockport and Hampton make the same mistake?
Although my time at HGS marked the unhappiest years of my life I do remember many of the individual teachers with affection. Not so GJNW. As I reach this stage in life I do though remember him telling a shocked assembly that he had decided to retire with the words on the lines of: “we all retire; it’s just a question of whether it’s at a time of our own choosing or otherwise”.
Years later I met someone whose first teaching job was at HGS. He told me his key memory was of the day that GW visited the staff room (other than for formal meetings). I expressed surprise at this only to be told that the norm was for the phone to ring in the staffroom with a message like “Would Smith please report to the headmaster”, as if they were just another naughty boy.
Amusing to read Tony’s comment about staff being summonsed by telephone message to Whitfield’s room. He would have loved the power of emails even more – what a shame!
I had several encounters with George Whitfield in my time at HGS. None were of any profit to either of us, perhaps because he seemed to think I was someone else. During one of the one-way headmasterly ‘discussions’ which you describe so well I screwed up the courage to ask him about so-called ‘cryogenic suspension’ (then in the news for some reason) and its alleged capacity to restore the long dead to life. If it worked, would that in any way affect Christian doctrine about death and resurrection? His one-word answer ‘No’. Good to have that cleared up.