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T he T rusty S ervant
in which the Bishop was entered for
the Feeding of the Five Thousand ‘and
he’s going in the Ten Thousand as well’.
During the year of strikes in 1979, he
imagined a National Clergymen’s strike:
‘It is our aim to bring this government to
its knees.’ teachers and through them half a million
children. He became passionately
absorbed in this project and was closely
associated with it for 15 years. When
he was forced to give it up, Prince
Charles saw him privately to express his
gratitude.
A Governor of several schools while
he was a headmaster, he continued after
leaving Winchester notably at Oundle
School and The British School of Paris.
But his major contribution was to join
the steering committee of four which
set up The Prince’s Teaching Institute.
This organisation grew out of the Prince
of Wales’s desire to provide the best
education for pupils of all backgrounds
across the country by inspiring their
teachers with a love of their subject.
Summer schools attended by Simon
Schama, Tom Stoppard and other
speakers led to an expansion of the
programme, which has now involved
and enthused 5000 teachers and head He contributed generously to local
activities, finding the time to chair the
governing body of his local primary
school at Corfe Castle, to be on the
committee of the Dorset Historic
Churches Trust and to teach Greek to
a local girl who has now completed a
degree course in Classics.
He owed much to his wife, Mary,
whose intelligence, sense of fun and
generous hospitality made a huge
contribution to Win Coll life. Their
whirlwind courtship in the summer
of 1969 included a now legendary
marathon drive to Scotland to attend
the wedding of a friend. Normally so
orderly and logical, he forgot the keys to
his parents’ house in Leeds where they
were due to spend the night and decided
to drive on to Edinburgh. On arrival
at 5am, attempting to put the car into
reverse to park it, he managed to pull the
gear lever clean out of its socket. They
made the wedding with a minute to spare
and became engaged two weeks later.
Our deep sympathy goes to Mary,
who looked after him so devotedly
during his long illness, and to Rebecca
(G, 86-88) and Matthew (I, 85-90).
Courtesy of The Daily Telegraph
A memorial service for James Sabben-
Clare will be held in Chapel on Saturday
24th June at 2:30 pm. As a large gathering
is expected, accommodation may become
limited. Please email wincollsoc@wincoll.
ac.uk and a ticket guaranteeing a seat
in Chapel will be issued to you. No one
is discouraged from attending on the day
if they do not have a ticket: an overflow
facility will be available.
Life in Kingsgate Street in the 1950s
Michael Willmot, son of Revd PB Willmot
(Co Ro, 50-77), recalls:
We moved to Winchester from
Oxford in 1950 when my father was
appointed assistant chaplain. We had no
family car then and less than a vanload
of furniture, so a couple of armchairs
were set out at the back of the van on
which we sat for the 50mile journey. The
tailboard was up but the doors above
were left pegged back to give us light and
air. We moved into Mill Cottage on the
far side of Meads, the house on the island
between Logie and the old mill race. The
gardener’s cottage – I still remember the
beautifully tended floral front garden –
was then where New Hall now is.
Our move to Kingsgate Street came
three years later, triggered by the birth of
my twin sisters. Mill Cottage was small
and, with unguarded water surrounding
the garden, too hazardous for toddlers.
In the years after the War the College
had a surplus of staff housing and we
moved into number 68 (now 67 & 68):
it had two kitchens; a walk-in larder/
meat safe; a utility room and five living
rooms on the ground floor; six bedrooms
on the first floor; four attic rooms atop;
and a cellar below. Previously a Rough
House for bachelor dons (with CHo’D
Alexander, cryptologist & chess master,
Reginald Moore, organist, and John
Manisty, mathematician, rail enthusiast
and cryptologist being previous
inhabitants); several rooms still had Yale
locks fitted. We had a lodger for a few
years but she occupied just one room
and one kitchen, so the rest of the house
made a glorious space for all sorts of
activities: there was a weaving loom (my
father), a photographic darkroom (my
mother), a model railway layout (me),
4
a full-size table-tennis table (all) and
much more. The house comprised three
original dwellings knocked together; in
consequence at its core was a landing
with two staircases going down and three
going up – guaranteed to confuse any
visitor and a great setting for ‘murder in
the dark’.
The house was cold and draughty,
the heating basic or non-existent in
many parts. Water was heated by a
coal-burning stove in the family living
room and a gas ‘geyser’ over the bath
was temperamental and occasionally
explosive. There were open fireplaces in
most other rooms with primitive gas fires
installed in some. As children, we must
have become well adapted to chilliness:
I don’t remember this as a discomfort,
although electric fan heaters introduced
in the ‘60s brought a feeling of luxury
to winter living. The electrics were