Early Life and Career

    Philip Fletcher was born on 3 March, 1903 in Hoylake-cum-West Kirby, Cheshire. His parents were William Charles Fletcher and Kate Edith Penny. He attended Homefield Preparatory School in Sutton from 1913 to 1916, and the Highgate School in London from 1916 to 1922.
    In the 1959 Impala, the Vice-Principal ‘Fritz’ Goldsmith writes, “From his earliest years, ‘P.F.’ had lived in an atmosphere pervaded by schools. His father, W. C. Fletcher, Second Wrangler at Cambridge in 1886 or thereabouts, was the Headmaster of the Liverpool Institute from 1896 to 1904, and the first Chief Inspector of Secondary Schools from 1904 to 1926. A Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge and one-time President of the Mathematical Association, he is still remembered as a brilliant teacher of Mathematics.
    “His son, Philip, born in 1903, was at Highgate School from 1916 to 1922 and became its youngest Head of House. After spurring a very small House to win most of the Inter-House Competitions, and monopolising the Mathematical prizes, he finally became Head of the School.”

    Responding to our inquiries about PF’s own school days, Theodore Mallinson of the Highgate School Foundation Office wrote to us that PF “was indeed here from 1916-1922 and you certainly ought to have a special section on him in your website. He was a great man. I knew him when I was a boy at Marlborough from 1922-1927. Sadly (at Highgate) we do not have in our records any decent photographs of him; however, all is not lost: there was a whole school photograph in 1919 and he must be in that.” During a visit to Highgate in the summer of 2005, Christopher Collier-Wright discovered that the Highgate School photograph taken in 1919 was a yard wide, with five (or so) lines of boys. Seeking out the fifteen year old Fletcher would have been a daunting task. Fortunately, his name was one of a few included on an accompanying list, and Gordon Tweedale, Director of Art at Highgate, kindly photographed the image for us.

Philip Fletcher, 15, at Highgate School, London in 1919
    Another discovery at Highgate was Philip Fletcher’s entry (below) in the Valete list published in the School journal, The Cholmeleian, in December 1922 which testifies to his wide interests and abilities:



    And finally, on the boards that line the walls of Highgate’s “Big School” hall where honours awarded to old boys are listed, the following entry appears under University Scholarships: “P. Fletcher 1921 St John’s College Cambridge.”

    Moving on to PF’s time at Cambridge, 1922-25, we found that another of our correspondents, Jonathan Harrison of the library of St John’s College, Cambridge was able to turn up a splendid photograph showing PF as a member of the Eagles Club in 1925, which we copy below.

1925 group photo of The Eagles, a social and sporting club at St John’s College, Cambridge.
Philip Fletcher, aged 21, stands in the second row from the back, second from the left.
(Reproduced by kind permission of the Master and Fellows of St John's College, Cambridge.)

Philip Fletcher, standing second from right at the Eagles Club dinner in Cambridge in May 1925.
(Reproduced by kind permission of the Master and Fellows of St John's College, Cambridge.)

    Upon returning from America, PF became an assistant master at Marlborough College. He was there from 1926 to 1934, but from 1931 to 1933 he took a break of seven terms to teach at Geelong Grammar School in Australia. The Curator at Geelong, Michael Collins Persse, writes of PF that “He is part of a long series of connections with Marlborough, whose present Master, Nick Sampson, was head here till last June.” (Geelong is an internationally famous boarding school, the main campus of which is situated near Corio, across Port Philip Bay from Melbourne. The school celebrated its 150th anniversary in 2005 with a visit from one of its old boys, HRH the Prince of Wales.)
    PF’s contributions to Geelong’s extra-curricular activities are recorded in successive issues of The Corian, the school’s yearbook. As Assistant Scoutmaster, he drove a group of boys to camp and it was recorded that “on the way those in Mr. Fletcher’s car had an exciting experience, for the car seemed determined to imitate a kangaroo by bounding through the traffic.” In addition, his Cambridge-acquired rowing skills were not neglected for he coached “novice rowers on the lagoon”, and had “a crew of boat sloggers if not stylists in the fourths.”
    Another talent of which we at the Prince of Wales were unaware manifested itself at Geelong: “The annual courses of musketry were completed before the term had finished, and owing to the keenness and efficiency of Mr. Fletcher, we can safely say that more cadets know how to handle a rifle and obtain the best results than ever before in the history of the school.”
    A recruitment notice in The Corian of December 1945 illustrates PF’s lasting regard for Geelong. The Headmaster of Geelong, J.R. Darling (1930-61), responding to an appeal from PF who had recently taken over at the Prince of Wales, writes that “he is in urgent need of assistant masters and would like some Old Boys from this School. Details of what sounds like a fascinating job can be obtained from me.” It would be interesting to know if anyone responded to that call.

    PF returned to Marlborough College, but not for long. Thanks to Terry Rogers, the College Archivist, we have the following excerpt from the speech given on Prize Day in July 1934 by the Master, George Turner: "Mr. Fletcher’s appointment here was the last benefit done to the School by Dr. Norwood, my predecessor, and Fletcher was the first newcomer here to help guide my own trembling hands upon the steering-wheel. It is hard to exaggerate our debt to him for his untiring and devoted service during the past 8 years - for even when he was temporarily absent in Australia the inspiration of his work was alive here, as it will be long after he has started his important new work as Second Master at Cheltenham. We knew we could not keep him long, and though we hoped – as I believe Mr. Fletcher himself hoped - that he would have time to settle down again at Marlborough, we knew that he was a man destined for bigger work; and now we must look out for a time when the effect of his stimulating energy spreads beyond the spheres where we knew it well, the classroom, the Camp, the Club, the rifle range, to that scene of sudden reversals of fortune, the cricket field."
    (George Turner became Principal of Makerere College, Uganda, in the late 1930’s. Twenty years after Mr. Fletcher’s resignation, the super-abundant energy and legendary efficiency of the ubiquitous "P.F." were still affectionately remembered on a Guest Night in Marlborough College.)

    In 1934 at the age of thirty-one, PF became Second Master and Head of Military and Engineering at Cheltenham College. (He remained there until 1945, deputizing as Master (headmaster) on more than one occasion. But the top position could never permanently be his since PF was a graduate in mathematics and Cheltonian tradition required that the permanent Master of the College be a classicist. Not surprisingly therefore, PF would eventually seek a headmaster’s or principal’s appointment elsewhere, in Great Britain or in one of the colonies or dominions.)
    When we wrote to Cheltenham asking for information about PF’s eleven years at the College, we had a swift reply from Tim Pearce, Secretary of the Cheltonian Society. Of PF he wrote, “He is actually not as well recognised here today as he should be and you have prompted me to do something about that. I plan to do a bit of a feature on Philip Fletcher for the next Cheltonian Society News, due out in the autumn.” In the meantime, Tim kindly provided the following cartoon and valedictory notice. He also provided the portrait photograph of PF lighting his pipe that appears below.

“P.F.! It would be impossible even in several pages to describe or explain all that these initials have come to mean. Their owner came to us in 1934 to succeed the redoubtable John Mercer as Head of Military, and his time corresponded with the most critical period through which the College has ever passed. In times of falling numbers and financial duress, of war and evacuation, of profound reorganization of work and leisure and feeding, Mr. Fletcher has borne the part of a principal and more than once has had to assume the helm until it is difficult to imagine the College without him or to picture its life unimbued by his personality, energy and service.

P.F. and other members of the Staff at Cheltenham College

    “He has served four Headmasters and done more than any other to initiate three of them. On Mr. Pite’s tragic death in 1938 – when he had only been here three years himself – he had to take the lead during the interregnum of that ominous summer term. He rose to the occasion – many who read these words will remember his speech at prize-giving that year – without realizing for one moment how indispensable he was. That winter Mr. John Bell began his illness, and once more Mr. Fletcher had to take the reins. The writer will never forget an occasion when Mr. Fletcher visited him to seek his advice. He had been approached about an important Headmastership and thought it would be inconvenient if he left Cheltenham. But he genuinely was not sure. It was a startling glimpse into the essential humility of the man. Fortunately, the answer was clear: it was impossible to contemplate what would happen if P.F. left at that juncture. And so a good appointment was lost for Cheltenham’s sake and with no suggestion of anything but that it was the most natural action in the world. At this time in addition to his own work he was acting for the Headmaster in answering letters, composing reports for Council, interviewing parents and fulfilling the multifarious duties at College House.
    “And then came the crisis of the evacuation to Shrewsbury (1938-39, on orders from Whitehall) with Mr. Bell still far from well. It has often been a matter of remark that at times of critical decision those who have been expected to be the most levelheaded and reliable fail, and those from whom it would be least expected rise to the occasion with surprising strength. Mr. Fletcher was neither of these. We expected his strength and it was there. He literally carried the evacuation on his shoulders. Simultaneously it seemed – an illusion produced by that faithful old car of his! - he was chief removal contractor and porter of 120 tons of furniture, sorting and packing, at this end, and unloading at the other – while working out the endless details of timetable and dovetailing with Shrewsbury. At Shrewsbury he was typically to be found in the most uncomfortable, bleak and desolate billet that he had allotted to himself in that severe winter which none of us will forget. With equal energy he threw himself into the great return to Cheltenham in 1940 with its study of central feeding plans and endless committees on all aspects of College life.

P.F., notoriously camera shy, at Cheltenham College, 1934-45

    “To those who knew him least his outstanding powers seemed to be those of organization with an exceptional mind for detail. Those who knew him more found out the spiritual basis of his approach to life and of his teaching – his powers of sympathy and friendship and wise counsel. The Head of Military had no false dignity and always did all in his power to lessen any gulf that tended to arise between the older and younger members of the staff. He went out of his way to motor, walk and talk with newcomers to whom he introduced the joys of the Malvern Hills, Church Stretton, and our local haunts. There is no need to mention his work in the allotments into which he put the same indefatigable energy which he had long displayed on the towpath at Tewkesbury. It was the only activity the results of which could be weighed – 99½ tons of potatoes and vegetables in four years. Could more important things be placed on similar scales the total would be equally astonishing. And lastly of his great ability as a teacher some of his old pupils have already written in the letter from Oxford published in our last issue.
    “Needless to say, his lightning course upset people at times. Nor was suffering fools gladly his strongest point – though suffer them he did with infinite patience. Some of us got furious on occasion, yet once, after debating on how “intolerable’ and “impossible” and “monstrous” some action of his had been, a man ended by saying “But I can’t help loving the man all the same.” Perhaps that is the truest note on which to end. We all depended on P.F. and we all – members of Council, staff, boys and old boys – loved him. Cheltenham College once more owes an immense debt to its head of military.”

    (Old Cambrians who served on PF’s Tuesday afternoon work parties at the Prince of Wales School, having read about the tons of potatoes, will now realize that their burden was light compared to that of their earlier counterparts at Cheltenham.)

The Prince of Wales School


Main building and Quad in 1932, one year after completion of construction at Kabete
Photograph by H.K. “Pop” Binks of Nairobi. The Prince of Wales School was designed by Sir Herbert Baker

    PF left Cheltenham College in 1945 to become Headmaster at the Prince of Wales School in Kenya. We found information about his interview and selection in File CO 1045/110 at the Public Records Office in Kew, London, entitled Vacancy for Headmaster of the Prince of Wales School, Nairobi. If any undeserving candidate thought that during the last months of the war he could slip into a congenial colonial headmastership, he was doomed to disappointment. The evidence, sufficiently bulky to require tying up with ribbon, shows that the Colonial Office took this appointment most seriously; indeed their Education Adviser C. Cox wrote “…we want to get a really first class man with boarding school experience for the most important European school in British Colonial Africa.”
    Applications were invited from local education authorities and public schools in Britain and from the colonies and dominions including Southern Rhodesia and the Union of South Africa. About twenty strong candidates were short-listed, of whom three attended a final selection board on 28 March 1945. It is noted that the successful candidate, Philip Fletcher, had some other “irons in the fire”: he was in the running for the headmastership of Taunton School and of Upper Canada College, he was also under consideration for the posts of principal of Makerere College, Kampala, and Director of Education, Nigeria.
    Barely legible penciled notes taken during the interview by one of the assessors hint at the Fletcher we knew at the Prince of Wales:

Self depreciation.   Good thinking before he answers on importance of PofW.
Impressive to look at after listening to - weight.
Self confidence over 4 headmasters - experienced & weighty.
Too tense for Kenya?     Level headed.
Kept up with Americans or Australians?
Education rooted in religion.
Self-confessed lack of culture.     Intellectual stiffness.     Trite answers to political or cultural affairs, acute self criticism.

    "No Headmaster could have thrown himself into his task with more selfless devotion. From 7.30 in the morning, or earlier, till 11 p.m. or midnight or later, with breaks of four or five days each holidays to visit parents up-country, he worked at the highest pressure to make the Prince of Wales School a happy and friendly school, teeming with activity in work, games and societies, and one of the best organised in the Commonwealth.”
    The high regard in which PF was held by his former colleagues at Marlborough, Cheltenham and elsewhere greatly enhanced the standing of the Prince of Wales School. As a former pupil from the PF years has discovered, “While I was at the school, I was under the vague impression that the PoW was a so-called 'Public School' in the English sense, i.e. an independent school of some weight and reputation. As you probably know, the thing that qualifies an establishment for membership is whether the existing Heads elect a newly appointed HM as a member of the so-called Head Masters Conference (HMC). It was rare thing indeed for a Head appointed to an overseas school, and a government one at that, to be elected. I decided to follow this up and the other day I received an e-mail from the administrative offices of the HMC which said, ‘Our research has borne fruit. Mr. P. Fletcher was elected into membership on the 16th of May,1946. He was, at the time, Head of the Prince of Wales School, Nairobi’. I think that is a further mark of the respect in which he was held by his schoolmaster colleagues at the top of their profession, though perhaps it would have had little impression on his pupils!” (Nigel J. Brown, Nicholson 1952-57, and Staff 1966-70.)
    "In 1948,” as the Goldsmith tribute continues, “there came a crisis over the continued and alarming increase in numbers, resulting in the Headmaster's dramatic interview with the then Governor, Sir Philip Mitchell, to insist that a new school must be opened at once. This interview, which brought about the inception of the Duke of York School (initially) within Government House itself, earned the following tribute from Sir Philip in his King's Day speech on October 11,1948:

I had one of those painful interviews with Mr. Fletcher with which no doubt most of you are familiar; I had the slight advantage that it was in my study and not in his, but the result was what you would have expected. It began by my saying, 'You've got to take another hundred boys next January,’ to which he replied, ' You've got to build a new school'. I said I couldn't build a new school by the middle of January, and we argued about it and the whole question quite a bit. But, as I have said, the result was what you would expect, and we have, in fact, decided to build the new school at once. In this episode between your Headmaster and myself you have an admirable example of the disciplining of myself by himself. But, joking apart, the episode was in fact an admirable example of that discipline which enables a man - which, indeed, compels a man - when he sees that a thing is wrong, to go straight to the highest authority and say, ‘This is wrong and must not be done'. (December 1948 Impala Magazine extract.)

    “During Mr. Fletcher's Headmastership, the material appearance as well as the spirit of the school has been transformed. Among the additions have been the Hawke-Grigg block, the "temporary" School Hall, which for so long served also as a chapel, the magnificent Swimming Bath, the Squash Rackets court, the new Science Block, the Wood and Metal Workshops, several new playing fields, including a second Hockey pitch, and finally the School Chapel. The wonderful response by past and present parents and boys and by friends of the School to the Chapel Appeal, which enabled some £18,000 to be raised in two years, is perhaps the greatest testimony to Mr. Fletcher's work here. In the Chapel for which he laboured so tremendously a plaque could well be inscribed with his name and the famous words ‘Si monumentum requiris, circumspice.’ (If you seek a memorial of him, look around you.)

    (F.H. Goldsmith) “Some of us will remember PF for his brilliant teaching of Mathematics to forty-odd Fifth formers in the Lecture Theatre; others for the enthusiasm he could inspire in a reluctant Tuesday afternoon working party. Many will remember him best for his topical and challenging addresses in Chapel, painstakingly prepared and impressively delivered. Hundreds of boys will gratefully recall evening interviews in his office, in which their shortcomings or their future careers were helpfully discussed.
    “Some three thousand boys have passed through Mr. Fletcher's hands in Kenya. His labours on behalf of leavers have been stupendous, and in almost every post there comes a letter to him from a grateful Old Boy in some part of the world. There is not one of us who has been in close contact with him who has not drawn inspiration from his supreme efficiency, his understanding of boys, his private generosity, his deep religious conviction and his complete dedication to his work. On King's Day in 1948 he said 'I look for the day when boys may leave here aflame with the love of God and Man, seeking nothing for themselves save the opportunity of work to do and strength to do it.' None could have done more by example and encouragement to achieve that high aim.”

    (M.T. Saville) “During my six years as Editor, I have received help in boundless measure from the Headmaster, who has taught a lesson, not always easy to learn, in that he always takes infinite pains to have every detail correct down to the last inverted comma: nothing is slip-shod, nothing incorrect and nothing is too much trouble for him. It was no use to think 'Oh, he won't notice', you soon learned that he would and did - and said so!
    “Now it is the Headmaster's turn (to leave school). It is to him, at the end of this term, that our thoughts turn, and we wish him "God speed, good health". A new decade of the century is almost upon us; Mr. Fletcher will remember so many endings and so many beginnings. Let us hope this ending, now, will be a happy memory for him. For look! the sunshine is striking on the beautiful stonework of the new Chapel walls; the breeze is sighing through the gum trees behind the new Science block, and making ripples across the new swimming pool; the grass on the new playing fields is drying rapidly. You can see the Aberdares again, today! Remember us, sir, in technicolour, as it were. We know you love the beauty of Kenya; the loveliness of the setting of this School. And for what you have done, created, worked for, achieved, with full hearts we say ‘Thank you’.”

    M.T. Saville writes in the Impala, “Few boys will ever forget Final Assembly in the third term of 1959, when B. G. McIntosh, the Head of School, made a presentation, on behalf of every boy, to the Headmaster. He spoke briefly, but sincerely and most appreciatively, of Mr. Fletcher's long and devoted service to this community. The presentation was a cheque, with which the Head¬master might buy something for his new home, and thereby recall, in his retirement, the affection felt for him by the boys of this School. The clapping and cheering which greeted this, lasted for so many minutes, that it was with difficulty, being so moved, that the Headmaster found words to reply. A call by the Head of School for three cheers for the Headmaster brought a response that could be heard all over the compound.”

Retirement

    Appropriately, the last people Philip Fletcher spoke to on Kenya soil were a couple of his old boys, and it happened quite by chance. Derek Caister (Clive, 1952-57) tells the story: “In 1960, Brian Stacey and I were working in the East African Customs & Excise Department, attending a passenger ship at the Mombasa Kilindini docks, when we spotted "Flakey" heading towards the ship. We greeted him at the gangplank, both of us in uniform, Stacey with a full beard and myself with a moustache. After studying us for a few moments he said, "Caister - Clive House; Stacey - Nicholson!! We had pre-sailing drinks onboard with him, and that was the last time we saw that truly amazing and dedicated man.”
    Mr. Fletcher was on his way home to England to live with his sister at 20 Amberley Road, Rustington, in Sussex. Once settled, he bought a leather-inlaid desk with the cheque he had received at the final school assembly, and from it he wrote scores of letters to old boys over the next ten years, demonstrating his famous recall of names, dates, houses, and talents.
    Formal recognition of Philip Fletcher’s career in colonial education came when he was named an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) on 11 June 1960. He went to Buckingham Palace to receive the award on 8 November that same year. The citation, “Headmaster, Prince of Wales School, Nairobi, Kenya” seems pretty thin considering his charismatic leadership and distinguished service; but maybe everybody knew that just the words “Prince of Wales School” said it all.
    After the UK branch of the Old Cambrian Society was established in 1961, PF became a frequent guest at its annual dinners in London. Many old boys who were living and studying in Britain visited him at home in Rustington. For his part, besides keeping touch with his extensive family of Old Cambrians, PF continued to teach part-time.
    The final years were spent in a care home. Elizabeth Scoble-Hodgins, daughter of former Prince of Wales Maths teacher, “Amoeba” Walker, tells us that “Mum and Dad kept in touch with PF in England. There was a period after his sister died when he was in a very sorry state when Mum would bring his washing home and return it with new replacements. They visited him regularly when he was admitted to the care home where he sadly died from Parkinson's disease in 1976.” PF died on February 15th at the age of seventy-two. His funeral took place at Guildford Crematorium in Surrey on February 23rd 1976, and his ashes were buried in the Garden of Remembrance there. An entry has now been inscribed in the Book of Remembrance held at Guildford Crematorium, on the page for 15th February. It may also be viewed on line at www.scribesltd.co.uk/guildford. The wording is as follows:

Philip Fletcher Died 15 February 1976, aged 72 years Headmaster of the Prince of Wales School, Nairobi, Kenya 1945-1959 Remembered with Affection and Respect

Acknowledgements

The Webmaster and Secretary of the Old Cambrian Society (UK branch), Steve Le Feuvre (Clive 1970-75), together with the editors of this feature, Brian McIntosh (Rhodes 1953-59) and Christopher Collier-Wright (Hawke 1954-59), gratefully acknowledge the kind cooperation and valuable assistance provided by:

• Theodore Mallinson of the Foundation Office, Highgate School, and Gordon Tweedale, Director of Art, Highgate School 1973-2005
  
  
• The Master and Fellows of St. John’s College, Cambridge, and Jonathan Harrison, College Librarian
  
  
• Mathew T. Reeder of the Seeley G. Mudd Manuscript Library, Princeton University
  
  
• Michael Collins Persse, Curator, and Ann Drayton, Geelong Grammar School, Australia
  
  
• Terry Rogers, Archivist of Marlborough College
  
  
• Tim Pearce, Secretary of the Cheltonian Society
  
  
• Paul Johnson, National Archives Image Library Manager, Kew, Surrey
  
  
• Lesley Watling, Ceremonial Secretariat, Cabinet Office, London
  
  
• Keith Hendry, Bereavement Services Manager, Guildford Borough
  
  
• Old Cambrian contributors living in many parts of the world
  
  

Old Cambrian Recollections
(In chronological order by final year of attendance)

Some of these recollections (usually the shorter ones) were taken straight from the alumni section of the Old Cambrian Society’s website. Some were written specially for this feature, and one is from an Old Boy’s published book. Additional memories or anecdotes about PF are invited from other Old Cambrians and they should be sent to the Webmaster.

Leonard Gill (Grigg, 1944-48), from his book, Rollicking Recollections, Trafford, 2003
My time at university was not entirely wasted. I returned to Kenya in 1950 at the age of nineteen, a humbled young man, now more than ready and eager to get down to a job.     Dad had now more or less washed his hands of me. He suggested that I go to see the headmaster of my old school, the PoW. 'Pink Percy' Fletcher had taken up the job of headmaster of the PoW after the end of WW11, and had proved to be a dynamic, no-nonsense, professional with a record of having sorted out pretty tough schools in England and Australia. His nickname came from his florid coloring, resulting from his healthy lifestyle.
    I doubt that there was anybody on the planet more suitable for the job he had to do. As students, we respected him from the moment that he set foot in his office, and we came to admire him as he boldly sorted out problems, abolished unnecessary rules and restrictions that were difficult to enforce, and were frequently ignored. Pink Percy inspired self-discipline leading to self-control. He had always regarded me with a jaundiced eye, and rightly suspected that I was one of the more idle and aimless members of society. But I was sure that he would give me good advice to put me on an appropriate path.
    I approached him with some apprehension. I was going to have to admit to my abysmal failure at university which would bear out all his opinions of me. I had made an appointment to see him, and he was awaiting my arrival. He came out to greet me, ushered me into his office, and invited me to sit down. He sat opposite me and opened with, ‘Hum! Gill. Hopeless at mathematics. What can I do for you?’
    I explained my position and my painful failure at Trinity College Dublin. He must have sensed that I was truly humbled. He seemed to feel that the school had failed me, and that he personally should be held responsible. We argued this point for a few moments. He had come to the school only shortly before I left. It was hardly fair to hold him responsible for the years during which I had developed into a feckless lout. We agreed to disagree on this point, and turned to the question as to what path I should now follow.
    He opined that I enter commerce, and should seek employment with a large enterprise which offered proper training. I applied to an oil company and an import/export firm, and was accepted by the latter. Dalgety & Co. Ltd. was an Australian firm with an office in the City of London which supervised the East African branches. I'm sure that Pink Percy had a lot to do with the company accepting me, and I'm sure there was no better organization in which to start my commercial life.
(If anyone is interested in learning more about Len Gill’s three published books, please contact the Webmaster.)

Paul Heim (Hawke/Scott, 1946-50)
Percy Fletcher was a formative influence on most of us. I remember him as a truly great and good man. He gave the impression of some slight eccentricity, with his neighing laugh and untidy appearance, but he was a man who knew boys through and through, and who could bring out the best in each of them. When he thought it was justified, he fought for them too. What is more - even though he could not have come from a more typical public school background - he was open minded, tolerant and far-sighted. He was a man of high principles, who made it his business to pass these on. If anyone knew right from wrong, he did, and he did not hesitate to tell you about the distinction. If necessary, he was ready to back it by physical punishment. He also tried to teach us to be well behaved in our daily lives. He discouraged profanity and bad language. I well remember his talk to boys about to leave school, warning them against certain temptations of which we knew little at the time. His advice to those who were tempted by persons of doubtful character was to raise one’s hat and say “no thank you, madam”.
    One remembers well his tall figure, sparse ginger hair, untidy appearance, commanding presence and frightening insight. One also remembers his patent love for his school as a unique institution. I think we became better men because of his influence in our lives.

David Betts (Rhodes, 1948-53)
Today the university system in the United Kingdom, and elsewhere, has become a mass-production industry. Its admission processes are mechanistic and effected via a computerised conveyor belt. Not so, in the middle of the last century, when Fletcher was the Headmaster of the Prince of Wales School. Then it all depended on three things: the reputation of one’s school, the commendation of its Headmaster and finally an adequate Cambridge Higher School Certificate.
    Whenever Fletcher went on ‘home’ leave he spent his time and his money traveling to universities throughout UK to greet and encourage his boys who had become undergraduates, and many of us had the pleasure of meeting him on these visits. He also took the opportunity to seek out university registrars and admissions tutors and convince them of the quality of the School’s preparation for university, and of the calibre of the boys he would be recommending to them.
    I discovered this one day at School when I was summoned to see PF. What misdemeanor was I guilty of this time? None it transpired. He invited me to sit and said that he wanted to discuss my future and suggested that I had the attributes to consider a career in medicine. He went on to explain that for many years he had maintained a good rapport with St Thomas’s, a prestigious teaching hospital of the University of London, had sent a succession of boys there and that they had all been very successful. In 1953 Kester Brown was the only prospective medic in the Biology Sixth Form and he was aiming to follow his father to St. Andrew’s in Scotland. PF was gently twisting my arm and sent me off to consider his proposal.
    I had visited London during a dreadful winter soon after the end of WW2. The cold, dank smog and soot-grimed buildings, the austerity and ration-books was a big turn-off and the prospect of five years of it was too unpleasant to contemplate. So I returned to say to PF ‘thank you but no thank you’. I would prefer to stick to agriculture, remain in Kenya and go to the then Egerton College of Agriculture at Njoro. I was sure this response would make him either crestfallen or angry. He was sympathetic and understanding but asked me to raise my sights a little and consider going to a university in a rural part of England for a degree course in agriculture, and suggested Reading. After discussing this with my parents I went back to PF to say that this is what I would like to do and to seek his help in procuring a place for me. To encourage me further he suggested that to feed the hungry and clothe the naked (nylon was a new expensive novelty and terylene had not been invented) was almost as worthy an occupation as healing the sick.
    Twenty years after that interview I was to join the academic staff at Reading and was able to read what PF had written about me. He told the absolute truth and did not over-exaggerate one’s predicted CHSC results, but he knew so much about each of us that he was able to write a very compelling account of whatever talents or strengths a boy might possess.
    (Further to David’s point about PF devoting his time to calling on old boys while on leave in England, it seems that old boys were equally enthusiastic about trying to see PF. In his 1953 Queen’s Day speech, PF recalls that on his recent leave one old boy “undertook a journey by three buses and one train, followed by a nine mile walk, to spend a night at my hotel.”)

Ronald “Rag” Jones (Grigg/Rhodes, 1946-49)
"Rag" Jones has provided a piece of memorabilia, which testifies to Jake's concern for the progress of his 'old boys':


Jake's reference to 'unduly awkward questions about Latin', had it been delivered to Ron in person, would no doubt have been accompanied by the trademark, 'hee, hee, hee'.

Roger (Rastus) Bond (Hawke, 1948-53)
Headmaster, 'Vluitjie' Fletcher, also a strict disciplinarian, was a man who had the welfare of the school and its boys close to his heart. Shortly after leaving school, I was in Nakuru hospital after being involved in a car accident. There was a soft knock on the door and who should walk in but 'Vluitjie' just checking on the well being of one of his boys!
    You ask whether I can shed any light on the origin of the nickname Vluitjie, or in proper Afrikaans, Fluitjie. Not a lot I’m afraid, but you will remember that at school a mouth organ was called a 'flakey'. I knew that this was an abbreviation of the Afrikaans for mouth organ but It wasn't till I came to South Africa that that I learned how it was spelt in Afrikaans - (mond) fluitjie - pronounced flakey and literally 'a little mouth flute'. In my mind, PF's nickname was firmly associated with flakey the mouth organ because during the time I was at POW an article appeared in The Impala containing a cartoon depicting the names of some of the staff. There was a picture of a tortoise for ‘Mkorbe' Atkinson, a fish for 'Samaki' Salmon, an insect for ‘Dudu’ Knight and a mouth organ for Flakey (Fluitjie). At a Kenya Regiment lunch in South Africa in March 2005, I managed to track down the person who drew the cartoon. It was Dennis Field who left school in 1946/7, but the cartoon was not published until December 1948. He confirmed that a mouth organ was used to depict Fletcher but could not remember any reason why Fletcher was called Fluitjie other than Fluitjie Fletcher sounded well. Interestingly, several people at the lunch thought that Fluitjie was spelt with a 'V'. Before talking to Dennis, I had thought that the cartoon might have appeared in The Commentator, a student newsletter edited by a boy with American roots called Maddox. He was considerably senior to me and was different to rest of us in that he wore a bow tie!

Ron Bullock (Scott, 1948-53)
I suppose I should say something about Flakey, despite very mixed emotions. It was through Bertie and the choir that I first came into closer contact with him. Until then I had seen him only as some remote and rather odd character who had a reputation for not wanting to hear any but religious music and for having an antipathy toward females. I have no idea whether there was any basis of truth for these stories. Certainly there was one occasion when, passing by, he told the Scott prefects to turn off their gramophone. We also knew that we could rapidly drive him from the House dance by putting up one of the girls to go and ask him for a dance. Given these facts, I have sometimes marvelled that his sense of duty, which so conspicuously deserted him on the dance floor, nevertheless enabled him to deliver, just once to each class in their school career, and for a full two hours, that excruciating annual sex-education lecture to which we went in such high anticipation. This he did with a flush to his cheeks and a profusion of snuffles such as I witnessed on no other occasion – which is saying something.
    In the choir he was a perfect menace, everlastingly creeping up behind you and in the most menacing of whispers, growling with his beery breath, “you’re flat!” or “you’re sharp!” God knows if we were, or whether he really knew the difference, but it was very intimidating. On another occasion, Flakey stuck his nose into Scott prefects’ study (or perhaps it was Munya who did this - Mr. Cobb, the Housemaster) and threw open the lockers. Had he been tipped off? In any event, this exposed the still, which I think Peter Powles was operating, and the fermenting bananas and strawberries. That caused quite a furor!
    I had Flakey for only one term of math. I had been quite good at math up to that point, but alas, calculus proved my undoing, despite his reputedly good teaching. The one thing I remember from this time, however, was his rather intriguing approach to problems - “Wouldn’t it be nice if.....” he would say, musing along the blackboard with his chalk. “Oh but it does!!”
    But essentially Flakey was a totally remote being as far as I, at least, was concerned. I remember only a certain fear, tempered by a certain respect. It was enough and I stayed clear as much as possible. This was not always easy when you recall that among his more admirable attributes was his ability to recognize and name every boy in the school within a very short time of their arrival.
    And yet, and yet! In my more senior years I came to realize that he was quite approachable if I saw cause to ask to see him. When I wanted to roam and take the pictures during speech day, which appear on the OC site, Flakey was wholely supportive - I couldn’t have done it without his prior blessing. I only wish the photos had been better - or, perhaps, had better withstood the ravages of time. I see that he also noticed Harry Brice’s camera. Not much escaped him, as everyone has testified. He even rearranged the whole timetable to accommodate my wish to take Maths with my Arts program on entering the fifth form. It is a pity that my subsequent performance did not justify the dislocation that must have been caused.
    Many remember his great interest in our various sporting activities. I believe it was he who extended the schools’ sporting competitions to matches against Alliance High School, no doubt in close cooperation with that other esteemed headmaster, Carey Francis. I well remember his admonitions in assembly before these matches took place regarding behaviour and courtesy. Remember, I'm talking about the early '50s, with Mau Mau in full swing. Given the attitudes of many parents at that time, this initiative was surely a brave act on Flakey's part, socially and politically, as well as an act of leadership. Strangely, I don't remember any matches against Asian schools in my time - perhaps their hockey was just too formidable!
    He was indeed a remarkable man, although to me he remains something of an enigma. I asked to see him before leaving to make a few comments. I remember observing that I thought it difficult for boys who reached the 6th with no mark of distinction on their blazer to distinguish them from the meanest rabble! I have dared to assume that it resulted in the little ‘VI’ which shortly appeared on blazer sleeves, a very sensitive response, I have always thought. And after I returned from university, he took the initiative in calling me to ask if I would like him to recommend me for some job or other at the YMCA, who had approached him for recommendations - not what I was looking for, but again, a reaching out to one of his boys.
    And lest you should think that I imagine he left no mark on me, I still carry the memory of one brief exhortation he made to us in assembly: it should be the goal of every man, he said, to know something about everything and everything about something. I rather took that to heart.

Peter S. Rodda (Hawke, 1952-54)
I remember 'Flakey' Fletcher giving me six cuts for shooting with a catty at ceramic insulators on some redundant telegraph posts in the North valley. He was bird watching with binoculars. Thursday afternoons was his time for beating boys: part of the punishment was having to wait, sometimes for days. He was deadly accurate with the cane, and often one would see boys cooling their painful posteriors in the washbasins of the toilets just round the corner from his office.

Keith Aikin (Clive, 1954-58): Chairman, Old Cambrian Society (UK) since 1961
I joined the Prince of Wales School in January 1954 after two years at St. Clement Dane’s Grammar School in West London where I had just been warned by my Headmaster about my lack of academic progress. My previous school turned me off: I was badly behaved, found the teaching staff uninspiring, and had limited sporting opportunities. I had been disturbed by my mother’s continuing ill-health and frequent hospitalization. Having been interviewed by Mr. Fletcher, I joined the Second Year, being placed in Clive House, and started in Intermediate as a boarder.
    I think it is true to say that my life was transformed from that moment on: I attribute that transformation to PF who had created a school in Africa that reflected his vision of what education should be. Not only had he appointed many outstanding teachers, but he had also provided leadership of the highest quality. He ensured that there was a caring, pastoral structure in the school, that academic standards were very high, that discipline was firm and fair, and that there were ample opportunities for pupils to enjoy extra-curricular activities. It was PF who sensitively broke the news of my mother’s sudden death one Sunday morning during my first term, and it was he who gave me the rock on which I was able to build my life. The ethos of the Prince of Wales School was so positive, and in my case it provided the motivation to succeed at school and the inspiration for my future career as a schoolmaster. Philip Fletcher was my role model.
    When I decided to become a schoolmaster after leaving University College, London in 1963, I had PF and many of the teachers he had brought to the Prince of Wales to thank and to emulate. PF believed in the importance of a balanced all-round education, which he implemented at the Prince of Wales. This ideal was a major influence on me, both in my five years at school and in my subsequent thirty-nine years of teaching - including twenty-six as Deputy Headmaster at King’s Macclesfield.
    PF was a tremendous friend, who maintained a keen interest in my future progress. I thought it a fitting tribute to him when I and a number of other Old Cambrians who were studying in Britain in the early 1960s established a UK Branch of the Old Cambrian Society which flourishes to this day. We were delighted to have him at our Annual Dinner, and we were always made very welcome whenever we visited him in his retirement in Rustington. In common with thousands of Old Cambrians, I owe PF a tremendous debt.

Christopher Collier-Wright (Hawke, 1954-59)
I owe my first encounter with PF to a sin of omission on my French teacher’s part. As form master of 1a, the teacher in question should have supplied me with books the others already had when I made a late arrival in September 1954. He didn't do so, and when it was time for afternoon prep in Junior House I didn't have the wherewithal for my devoirs. Accordingly, I wandered down to the main building and stood under the clock tower, disconsolately looking at the notice boards. PF chanced across me and was most kind - took me to his office, sat me down in one of his basket chairs (that astonished me, one never sat in Hazard's study at Pembroke House) and wrote a note to the duty pre in Junior asking him to help me borrow what I needed. And, next day, my form master duly presented me with my books.
    In 1961, seven years after that first encounter, I visited PF in retirement at Rustington on Sea, Sussex. Perhaps I should say semi-retirement, since he was still teaching some maths at Worthing Grammar School. Rustington is a calm place of tree-lined roads and detached houses, very much on the Costa Geriatrica. Indeed, my Great Aunt Jessie, by definition elderly, lived in the next street. Mr. Fletcher had set up home with his spinster sister, of a similar age, who was serious but kindly, rather austere, and retired after long service - in short, the female counterpart of her brother. A fine reminder for him of warmer days was a McLellan Sim painting of Mount Kenya; another was a trickle of Old Cambrian visitors - Charles Howie and Peter Sprosson had been there the previous week.
    Later on, I think in 1970, I had a round robin letter from PF, addressed to many OCs and written in a care home. He remarked on the fact that four meals were squeezed between nine and six, and commented, in saucier vein than one normally associated with him, on the curvaceous young staff.
    That was the last I heard. Philip Fletcher died on February 15th 1976. It’s a pity I didn't seek him out again, but I was overseas most of the time and preoccupied with a young family.

Dave Burn (Scott, 1955-59)
The following quote appeared in the East African Standard when Jake’s retirement was announced in 1959. It comes from a speech he made a few years earlier, and it sums up his philosophy of what a schoolmaster’s job is all about:

“(It is) to help each boy develop to the full all the powers latent in him - powers of spirit, of mind and body; to encourage in him self-discipline, sympathy, understanding, tolerance, reasonableness; to kindle, if it is possible, interest in religion, art, music and good literature; to develop toughness of fibre, ability to stand up to hardship and hard work, moral courage to stand up for the right – in a word, to help him to become a worthwhile citizen of the Kingdom of Heaven and of the world.”

Brian McIntosh (Rhodes, 1953-59)
In his prime, Philip Fletcher was a big, well-built man with a commanding presence. His hair was sparse and gingery, his complexion pink, and his attire rumpled. He was a confirmed bachelor and a loner who didn’t socialize with the staff or anyone else, and he had no life outside of his position at school. He spoke with a pukkah accent, punctuating his words with outbursts of gleeful laughter, and he walked at a near-run with a fluid, gliding motion that enabled him to swoop down unexpectedly on whomever he wished to address. (Some described the Headmaster’s mirth as knowingly evil - the kind that comes from one who has seen and done every schoolboy trick in the book.)
    Mr. Fletcher was a nature lover, a bird watcher, and a mountain climber who once walked right across Tasmania. This love of walking continued throughout his time at the Prince of Wales: up and down St. Austin’s Hill he strode, and late at night he prowled the compound on foot, causing dismay among returning truants, midnight smokers, and, during the holidays, teenage couples car-parked by the pool. To describe him as ubiquitous barely does justice to his uncanny knack of popping up just when one was bending a rule – or simply contemplating doing so.
    The Headmaster’s spirituality and religious faith were profound, as witnessed by his passionate drive to raise funds for the School chapel, the rigorous devotional schedule he set at Easter 1959 in the new facility, and his love of solemn hymns like Wesley’s, Jesu, Lover of my Soul. Ever concerned for moral fibre, he was known to stop a boy in the hallway and, out of the blue, ask how he was doing in the fight against self-abuse.
    While in private he was called Flakey or Jake for his idiosyncrasies, he always commanded high respect. He could be alarmingly severe when angry or disappointed, and he was a stiff disciplinarian. At the same time, as these Old Cambrian Recollections show, he had a sense of humour, and he could show great sensitivity and understanding. Mr. Fletcher was never ‘popular’ the way a Bertie Lockhart, an Alan Potter, or a Teddy Boase was, but a majority of the lads admired him and felt an affectionate appreciation for his flakey ways.
    My own relationship with him over nineteen terms was positive. It began rather badly, however, when he took me to task over an incident in class: a steamy (for 1953) Mickey Spillane novel was making the rounds and I was the one who got caught with it. A year or so later, he told my parents that I wasn’t academically inclined, but I surprised everyone by being a late bloomer and scoring well in School and Higher School Certificates before going on to university in Scotland.
    As a school prefect I came to know him a little better, and on one occasion I got a rare glimpse of his bachelor quarters when he invited six or seven of us to tea. The décor was spartan, to say the least, but mounted on the wall above his mantelpiece was an impressive set of varnished oars inscribed with the names of his fellow crew members. Below them sat a display of silver cups, framed pictures, and other memorabilia of his rowing days at Cambridge.
    Another vivid memory is that of the House dances in 1959 when our guests were girls from the Boma (Kenya Girls High School). Protocol demanded that Mr. Fletcher entertain Miss Stott, his opposite number, for dinner, and so he gallantly donned an ancient tuxedo by then several sizes too small. I saw him during the evening when he made a late appearance at the Rhodes House dance. His cheery smile and slight buzz had me wondering if he’d taken a few drams to fortify himself for an evening with the redoubtable Miss Stott.
    When Mr. Fletcher spoke to sixth form leavers in 1959, he urged us to avoid debt and wicked women, and he said we should learn how to cook. At the time, I thought the bit about cooking was silly; within a year or two of leaving school I realized it was eminently sensible.
    We Old Cambrians who knew him well are now in our sixties and seventies, and we feel a keen sense of nostalgia for those ‘salad days’ when we were young and ‘green in judgment’. Can it be that the passing years have made us even fonder of the man today than we were a half-century ago? One thing is for sure: we were indeed fortunate and privileged to have attended the Prince of Wales School in the time of Philip Fletcher.

John Davis (Grigg, 1956-60)
I went through school recognising that Mr. Fletcher was special in many ways but it is not until later when you have been though life's experiences that you realize just how special. I remember his farewell function and the rousing send off and the way the sleeves of his slightly untucked shirt were always half rolled up. I also recall his sex talk to us young rabble in the lecture room under the clock tower and walking up the quad afterwards saying to a colleague, 'but I still don't know what to do!' The way he used to sing hymns always fascinated me - he seemed to be slightly out of phase with the rest of us. Also I have a special memory of him teaching me maths in the 5th Form - which effectively sealed my love of the subject and proved very useful in my subsequent civil engineering life at university and afterwards.

Rev. Harry J. Brice (Rhodes, 1955-60)
Four weeks after I arrived at school I had my first opportunity to meet with the Headmaster. My parents and the girls were due to arrive by plane at Eastleigh, and I’d been given special permission to go and meet them. While I waited to be picked up near the main school tower, Mr. Fletcher came over to me, called me by my name and went on to comment about what I had been up to in my first few weeks, asking, “We have a new photographer do we, Harry?” I was one of four hundred new students, and he knew me by name. I was not the new school photographer; I was just a first year rabble with a brownie box camera around my neck. I was impressed. As the years went by, I came to know him as a great man, who stood up for his students.

Jeremy Whitehead (Clive, 1958-62)
I can recall attending the first assembly of a new term and listening to the headmaster, Fletcher, lecturing us on appalling behaviour on the school train to Uganda at the end of the previous term. He was unwise enough to describe one particular event when a group of us had set upon a St Mary's boy and hung him out of the train window by his feet, whereupon the whole school erupted in a great gale of laughter bringing the lecture to an end as he (Mr. Fletcher) was unable to prevent himself joining in the laughter.


*******


Additional Old Cambrian Memories and Comments
(In chronological order by final year of attendance)
Webmaster’s note: the following recollections and comments were submitted (or found in the alumni section) after the Fletcher appreciation first appeared on the Society’s website. Additional contributions are invited from Old Cambrians, including former Staff members and their families.

Alumni Biography extract from Raymond Birch (Hawke/Grigg 1942-46)
Discipline was harsh at the School and could not possibly survive today. I don't think it did me any harm though and I had no reservations about sending my own children to boarding school albeit not the PoW. I realize now that Percy Fletcher was an inspired Headmaster and I attribute to him much of what I achieved in adulthood.

Robert Stocker (Hawke/Nicholson, 1943-46)
When Burbley (Bernard Astley) retired, Bush was Headmaster for one term, and then 'Flakey' Fletcher took over. The older boys found Flakey was not strict enough, being used to Burbley. Flaky was only Head for one term before I left. He wanted to talk to my mother about my future. He said, “I do not know what to suggest for Robert, I can just see him on a cattle ranch throwing steers on the ground and branding them”. My mother was not amused. Flakey had been teaching in Australia. (The closest Robert came to fulfilling PF's vision for him was when he joined the East African Tanning Company in Eldoret in 1947. 'Robert Stocker's Memoirs' in the OC Alumni section are well worth a read.)

Alumni Biography Extract from Rob Ryan (Hawke, 1945-50)
Fletcher was a bit of a change from 'Bushbaby' (Forest) who had held the fort during the war years. Cambridge rowing blue and a way with the cane that was impressive, he towered above us and had an evil knowing grin that told you that he could see right through you and read all of your inner secrets. He was a bloody good Head.

W.N. Stephen, (Rhodes 1946-51)
Foremost in my memories of those years was the enormous respect I developed for our Headmaster, P. Fletcher, a respect that grew in later years when I learnt of the generous assistance he gave to promising school leavers. I also have a vivid memory of walking down from Rhodes to the classrooms on crisp clear mornings and seeing the peaks of Mount Kenya almost close enough to reach out and touch.

Ron Bullock (Scott, 1948-53)
Brian and Christopher - I'm sure you are well pleased with the piece - you did a great job. So much about Flakey that I never knew. I think I mentioned that my brother in law had been a teacher at Cheltenham in the 70s. Strangely, he was a Cambridge man, ran the CCF and coached rowing; but he was languages, not math.

Derek Woolfall (Scott, 1948-53)
I just happened to browse the web (having tired of working) at the office, and saw the tribute to PF. It is great, and I wish my memory was better! Also noted that Ron Bullock said he didn't see any sports with the Asian schools. I seem to recall that the PoW played hockey (field) against the Asians, and we also had 'triangular' athletic meets, where the African scored twice as many points as us, and we scored twice as many as the Asians!. About the only item I recall is that I once got caned by PF for not locking my bike in the rack on the North side of the main building (I was a day boy at the time). Good job to all contributors.

Alumni Biography extract from Anthony Sheridan (Clive 1949-54)
Among my memories of school is one of Flakey standing outside his office, tie askew, shirt collar curled up at the points, smoking his pipe and staring intently at me [and all others] that passed at the end of morning school. He always made me feel guilty, usually for good reason.

Ellis Hughes (Nicholson, 1952-55)
I enjoyed very much the article on Flakey; he used to scare the hell out of me at times although I only got one beating from him. And I know he was instrumental in getting me into the Camborne School of Mines, UK. (In his vivid alumni page entry on the website, Ellis offers the following additional comment.) In the article, there is mention of PF’s fast walk. With the black cape or whatever it is called he looked like the avenging angel come to visit. I never, not ever, saw anyone try to put one over him or even argue; frightening chap really until one knew him better, and by then usually too late.

Colin Dyack (Grigg, 1949-55)
The only staff name that could strike terror was "Flakey" – especially when he was on your trail. When it all ended in his study, he had a big smile and said, "I'm going to beat you. Heh, heh, heh!" It wasn't too bad and I always got a handshake and his usual saying of 'Well stood, Dyack". That meant I didn't flinch or cry. Empire stuff!

Ewart Walker (Nicholson, 1951-55)
On the question of PF's name, while I have vague memories that it was Philip, as far as I can remember boys in my day called him either Percy or Vleikie. Vleikie, or Vluitjie as it is noted in other PF notes (see Roger Bond above), meant a mouthorgan in Afrikaans, and I believe it arose from his somewhat inane grin revealing a row of imperfect teeth that looked like a mouthorgan.
    Also, in notes elsewhere where his slightly evil laugh is said to have been a "heh, heh, heh", to me it was always "hee, hee hee." Sorry to be pedantic!
    I think we were all pretty terrified of Vleikie and I well remember Saturday mornings when the whole school gathered in the main quad and then marched down to the new assembly hall via the steps in the main entrance . Vleikie would stand there and pick out two (or was it four) unfortunate lads to read a lesson the next week in assembly. We all hoped against hope we wouldn't be picked and tried not to look in Vleikie's direction as we went down those steps. **
    Vleikie's lack of clothes sense is of course well documented, and I well remember being unlucky enough to sit in the front row of the lecture theatre and see at close quarters the egg stains on his tie .
    But he was a great man for all of that, not least as demonstrated by the fact that when the ship that was carrying him to a well earned retirement in 1960 stopped in Dar es Salaam, Vleikie went out of his way to visit my father and see how his old pupils, we two Walker boys, were getting on.
** Brian McIntosh (Rhodes, 1953-59) writes, "I agree completely with Ewart about the terror of having to read the lesson. When it was your turn to stand up there on the stage, without a lectern, in front of five hundred or more sniggering critics, the audience could tell you were weak-kneed with nervousness because the ends of your khaki shorts would quiver."

Peter Dodd (Nicholson, 1950-56)
I remember Flakey (I thought it was because of his skin, which flaked) one time when Assembly was very rowdy and really out of control (can't remember why); none of the staff present had any effect. I was at the back in the choir. Flakey came in the back entrance and simply walked down the middle aisle and as he went, row by row in turn became quiet until he arrived at the front and all was quiet. Very impressive display of control by fear, I think. Just wish I could have done that.

Roy Ashworth (Rhodes, 1953-58)
Thanks for bringing to my attention this tribute to Fletcher. It is very touching, but he remains an enigma, doesn’t he? It has had me dredging up many memories. Perhaps I can shed a bit more light.
    Like many others, I now realise, I felt that I had a unique personal relationship with Vleike. I have four encounters (apart from the many everyday ones) to offer.
    The first was before I arrived at PoW. My brother, Rob, four years older than me, was an outstanding athlete and ball-player (he almost certainly still holds several school records, at various ages). Aged about 16, he was playing in a school 1st XV match against an adult team (Army, I think) when he suffered amnesia. No-one knows why – no-one saw him receive any blow that might have caused it. Rob was brought home to our house where I spent several hours trying to restrain his erratic, comic behaviour. Fletcher arrived to visit the invalid and I was left with him while my mother attended to Rob. I did not know who he was, so was not intimidated, and we had quite a chat. After I had explained what had been going on, he peered at me through his ridiculous little glasses and went “Heh, heh, heh!”
    Which reminds me of the thing in your recollection that I cannot picture: Fletcher’s “gleeful laughter”. (Roy is referring to Brian McIntosh’s contribution, above.) It does not describe his laugh adequately. He had a very discomfiting laugh, more of a “Heh, heh, heh”. Not so much “knowingly evil” as someone described it, but definitely slightly sinister. This idea may just be a legacy of when I was up for some misdemeanour, but I seem to remember it from each encounter, whether he was about to cane me or praise me! Also, what is missing in everyone’s description is his physicality, his very powerful forearms, biceps and shoulders, undoubtedly from rowing.
    Fletcher could be menacing, too, as I discovered in my second significant encounter with him. Sent to see him over some misdemeanour, I can recall him reprimanding me and then throwing open a desk drawer (which, for some reason, I knew normally contained his cane) and pointing into he said: “It’s empty this time: it won’t be next time!” In a similar vein, I remember he thrashed three boys for bullying. He stood up in Assembly, announced the fact and explained why. He then told us he had given them “Eight of the best” with his polo stick, and added, ferociously: “If they say it did not hurt, they are lying!”
    A third and more “heavy” experience with Fletcher was when I abandoned confirmation classes. For weeks I was hounded by Capon, various missionary classmates, seconded creeps from the prefecture, Burton (my Housemaster, whose heart was not in it); and finally, after some six to eight weeks of escalating pressure, by Vleike himself. First, he called my father who tackled me over a weekend exeat. After asking what the problem was, my father allowed me to make my own decision. (That’s a memory to cherish!) Finally, all else failing, I was summoned to face Fletcher.
    Full of trepidation I faced him in his office. After allowing me to explain myself, followed by some discussion, he eventually urged me to go through the motions – attend the confirmation ceremony, now just a week or so away – as I could later ignore it, if I still felt that way. After a very long silence, tortured with apprehension, I dared to whisper, “Sir, are you asking me …. to stand in front of the Bishop …. and lie about my beliefs?” I seemed to stand under his gaze for ages. “Let’s leave it, then. Off you go, Ashworth.” It was the end of all the harassment, and I was never confirmed.
    Finally, although I had many other encounters with Fletcher – you alluded to my being discovered at the swimming pool with my then girl-friend, Heather Walker, and to the years of Working Parties – the most illuminating, undoubtedly, was when I punched someone, while a prefect! This occurred during a truly awful house soccer match that was being so badly refereed, by an ineffectual, bungling player/prefect, I’ll dub him PP, that I had to step in to help restore some order. My initial success was undermined by our goalie, I shall call him Garibaldi, who lay on the ground and refused to resume play, and challenged me to make him get up or “eff” off. He was a stocky, heavy, muscular character, with small round glasses (not unlike Fletcher’s!) Seething, I went over to him and hauled him to his feet. He muttered some imprecation so I slugged him! His glasses flew off and he fell back down! Next thing he was wailing about blood. My blow had broken his glasses and caused a small nick by his eye.
    Greatly exaggerating his injuries (which later did not harm my reputation!), wailing “I’m going to tell the Headmaster.” he waddled off at high speed towards the main school.
    I knew I had blown it - badly - and after some hesitation told PP he’d better carry on without me, and stalked off after Garibaldi. We had been playing on a pitch down beyond the swimming pool. I followed Garibaldi across the road through the line of trees onto the main athletics field in front of the main school. When I looked back I saw the game had been abandoned. PP with the remaining nineteen players trailed me at a distance.
    Looking ahead, I saw, to my dismay, Fletcher, stained grey flannel pants held up with an old tie, shirt sleeves rolled up very high, dressed the way he always was after normal school hours, striding down the steps from the car park in front of the main school, heading towards us. (There are plenty photos of him in ill-fitting suits that testify to his disregard of dress, and I am sure that he influenced my own disregard of dress!)
    My “victim” reached Fletcher ahead of me. I could see him gesticulating and babbling away. By now seriously glum, angry (at him, me and everyone else), still hyped, I stood off saying nothing. I can still remember feeling flushed and rigid with tension. When Garibaldi had finished, Fletcher gravely took his arm and came over to me.
    “Ashworth?” As briefly as possible, I explained how the game had become chaotic, how I had tried to restore order and how Garibaldi had challenged me. I ended defensively, “So I hit him.”
    Expecting the worst, I was dumbfounded when Fletcher, after gazing at me a few moments, put his head down and went “Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh!”
    He linked arms with both of us, and started strolling back towards the main school.
    “When I was at school,” he told us, “I was Head of School. One day I had a problem with a boy who refused to do what he was told. I lost my temper and more or less kicked him down some stairs. Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh!”
    Young Vleike bashing another boy! We were being slowly towed across the immaculate lawns (where I had, by then, spent five years of Tuesdays – and not a few Saturdays - on all fours with Vleike, weeding). Fletcher was now in reminiscent mode, head down, strolling along, arms linked with ours. After a few more reflective “Heh, heh, heh!’s,” he paused and, turning to Garibaldi, gave him a rueful smile and said “I know how difficult it can be when people disobey you.” Garibaldi nodded and looked crestfallen.
    There followed several more “Heh, heh, heh!’s” then he squeezed my arm, put his face very close to mine and said, “Turned out he was the son of the Shah of Persia, or something! Heh, heh, heh! …. Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh!”
    I was too stunned and relieved to laugh.
    “I learned not to lose my temper.” By now we were at the steps leading up to the tarmac apron. He stopped us, peered at me very earnestly and said “You must learn from this, Ashworth.” I could only gulp and nod.
    Turning to Garibaldi, he said, “And you should learn not ignore prefects when they tell you to do something you know is right.”
    Finally, to both of us, “Now shake hands…… good, now off you go.” He turned and resumed his original direction. Garibaldi and I stood speechless, watched by twenty expectant faces, before we turned and trudged off to our houses.
    I’ll never understand why I did not become head of school!

The Mystery of the Persian Prince
(a Postscript by Roy Ashworth)

    When I described the circumstances that led PF to tell me how, as Head of School, he had kicked another pupil down some stairs; and how it had “turned out he was the son of the Shah of Persia”, I had no idea as to the real identity of the boy he attacked. Moreover, I had not considered he might literally have meant “the son of the Shah of Persia”.
    Imagine my astonishment when I was told, in the summer of 2005, that Christopher Collier-Wright (one of the authors of the original feature, above) had identified the boy in question!
And he undoubtedly was a Persian Prince! Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh!
    Incredibly, Christopher has not only named him, Reza Merza, but found a photograph of him (left) in the same Highgate School Photo of 1919 in which Fletcher appears, listed in the photograph's caption with a footnote: "connected to Persian Royal Family”! I am told that his Valete entry in Highgate’s magazine, the Cholmeleian, indicates a school career “far less distinguished than that of PF, his Head of School”.
    Inordinately chuffed that a long-buried memory, teased out by Christopher and Brian’s original research, had been so elegantly confirmed, I set out to trawl the web to see if I could learn more about our prince.
    Reading Persian genealogies – as others will confirm – is no picnic: these blokes never had less than half-a-dozen wives. Also, they kept them very busy. Lastly, they liked to play around with the same names and, just to confuse poor colonial boys, not only changed their names but also changed the spelling of their names: Reza Merza appears, variously, as Merza Reza, Reza Mirza, Riza Merza, etc.; Qajars can be spelt Kadjars .....
    At first cut, Reza Merza seems likely to be related to the last Shah of Iran, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, born in 1919. Not so fast .....
    The late Shah was the first son of Reza Shah Pahlavi (also known as Mohammad Reza Khan and earlier known as Reza Khan Mirpanj – see what I mean?), the first of the Pahlavi dynasty. Reza Shah Pahlavi (Dad) only took over in 1926. He was a soldier who rose through the ranks and was not related to any previous dynasty. While he had other offspring, the only one born in the right time frame was a daughter born in 1903 by his second wife, Taj Mah, whom he divorced within a year. In any case, any earlier son would have been his heir. (All of the above can be found on the web: enter almost any of these names in Google and you will get thousands of references.)
    Reza and Merza, it seems, are very common names (harking back to earlier Persian heroes). I think that our prince was royal, but from a previous dynasty – not necessarily even Qajar (the dynasty deposed by the Pahlavis). I think it is also probable that his name was slightly anglicized: e.g., dropping “Mohammed” from before or after these names.
    If I am right, the chances are high that our lad, educated in England, was already exiled. If, on the other hand, he was a Qajar, he would very likely have exiled himself after Ahmad Shah (last of the Qajars, described as “pleasure loving, effete, and incompetent …” q.v.) was deposed in the 1919 coup that later led to Mohammad Reza Khan, the first Pahlevi, being elected Shah in 1926. In either case, it is highly likely that his offspring are alive & well in UK.
    I had hoped that, before submitting this article, I would be able to report that I have found out what happened to Reza Merza, the man. It would bring closure, as they say. I have dug up several Reza Merza’s in the UK and one in Denmark and have tried to contact them. To date, I have drawn a blank.
    If you know anyone who speaks Persian, or if any of you enjoys this kind of research, please feel free to join in.
    With many thanks to Christopher Collier-Wright and Brian McIntosh.
                    Roy Ashworth

Michael Wolff (Hawke 1954-9)
This website feature prompts me to tell a true tale which is in no way intended to detract from the wonderful eulogy for its subject, Phillip Fletcher, OBE.
    Michael Wisdom (Hawke 1954-57) and his friend Martin Konstant (now alive and well in South Africa) were known as the "Bushmen" at the Prince of Wales. In the mid-1950s they were caught in the off-bounds valley below the Hawke/Grigg dining room where the old railway line used to run. They had with them an air gun which they managed to hide before the Housemaster George Outram caught them and reported them to Fletcher.
    For this seemingly minor transgression they each received 24 strokes of the cane which Fletcher came to administer at Hawke House on three consecutive nights. I maintain that this punishment stands as a record to this day and was considered to be fairly extreme even by the standards set in Tom Brown's Schooldays. Those of us who hid and listened to this beating can vouch for the fact that neither Bushman flinched one iota.
    Bushman, Michael Wisdom adds the following personal note: “The punishment certainly did not fit the crime, but the list of our ‘misguided errors’ accumulating in PF`s little black book weighed heavily against us, necessitating the use of the polo stick by installments.”

Dave Burn (Scott, 1955-59)
Congratulations Brian and Christopher, you did a great job on "Flakey". Steve as well for all the hard work he puts in to the OC web site.

Brod Purdy, (Rhodes, 1958-61)
Here are four memories of Philip Fletcher. First, Rick Watson and I one day were in the old Scout hut (the one on the playing fields opposite the main building) when PF wandered in. Nothing wrong? Well, I was in the loft having a crafty 'Crown Bird' cigarette whilst checking on the state of our pombe (home-made beer)! I was so surprised I dropped the lighted cigarette end onto the floor whilst PF was directly below me. For some reason it did not reach ground level. At the same time Rick was convincing PF that he, Rick, was the only one in the hut! He succeeded...but then we realized that PF would have seen the tell-tale wisps of blue smoke emanating from the roof of the hut!
    Second, the rule of having to collect a signature from PF should one be so foolish as to wish to borrow a 'pushie' to visit one's 'sister' at the Boma on a Sunday afternoon - having already proved that one had a sister over there! (Funny, my sister always knew when I'd been to the Boma, even though she never saw me there.)
    Third, PF's remarkable memory for names. When first at POW, I lived in Embu, site of the famed 'Izaac Walton' restaurant where we as a family sometimes went for a special treat. One visit we were joined by PF (father being head of science at the local secondary school) to my embarrassment. But not so much as a couple of youngish fisherman who were desperately trying to make themselves invisible to no avail. PF saw them, wandered over, and addressed them both by their names, years and Houses! Impressive stuff.
    And finally, on my first day at POW as a very new former English Public Schoolboy I found I had been put in Rhodes House, then known for its Afrikaaner bias...and hence not great lovers of the English as I discovered when I stuck a picture of Winston Churchill on my study wall. Because my family had arrived from Northern Rhodesia, that was the end of any discussion: Rhodes it was, and PF would brook no changes. Equally, I expected to go into Form 3A, having always been in the A-stream at all previous schools, but now I ended up in 3B. Once again, PF would not agree to a change. Some years later I had occasion to stay on at the beginning of the holidays with Humphrey Skett when his mother, as School Secretary, admitted it was she who had assigned me to 3B since 3A was already full.

Martin Langley, (Nicholson, 1956-61)
I thoroughly enjoyed this feature on Jake Fletcher. Kudos to Christopher Collier-Wright and Brian McIntosh for their effort and for filling a serious void on the website. Jake was a truly dedicated and wonderful headmaster who commanded much respect and affection from the majority of boys at the school.
    I have a piece of memorabilia of Jake to share with OC's. In those days, at the end of each year, on the last night of term, each dining room put on a bean feast for everybody with cake, trifle, etc. It was Jake's custom to visit the three dining rooms in turn to share in the festivities and to celebrate with the boys the end of another school year. He would usually rock up with his pink face grinning from ear to ear, and walk around the dining room randomly distributing friendly words to the happy and cheerful lot present. In his last year as headmaster in 1959, he did not make the tour of the dining rooms. The attached scan of an undated and now yellowing piece of government issue memo paper was found by me in the Nich House prefects’ common room the day after school ended in December 1959. It was a note from Jake somewhat formally declining the invitation to attend the end of year party. As a Uganda boy I always had an extra night at school in order to catch the train to Kampala the next day. On that night, with the school deserted and ghostly, a bloke could wander around at will with very few prefects (unless they were from Uganda) or masters around to challenge him. I had wandered into the pre's common room, found this memo discarded on the floor, and decided to keep it as a souvenir. (Many Old Cambrians, seeing PF’s calligraphy again after so many years, will no doubt have flashbacks to his handwritten comments on their reports.)


    I suspect that the main reason for PF not attending the parties that year was a result of a mood brought on by his retirement and the emotions he must have been feeling after such a long, happy and eventful tenure as headmaster. There was also a scandal afoot at the end of his reign that I understand affected him deeply. In late 1959 some dayboys from the POW (and other schools) got up to mischief. Among other things they mugged a taxi driver in Nairobi and stole money. The Nairobi magistrate, in sentencing them to a caning in early January 1960, made some comments that reflected badly on the headmasters of the concerned schools to the effect that if some headmasters had been stronger the events might not have occurred. Jake apparently took the criticism to heart, and I believe he was quite depressed over the perceived ill repute brought on the school. I remember the sombre mood that pervaded the school because of it. Jake deserved better for sure.
    I too went to visit Jake in Rustington in 1962, with fellow OC Rod Thompson (Rhodes) and Jake served us tea from a silver tea service. It was a wonderful visit, Jake being warm and relaxed, and my only regret is I did not have a camera to record the occasion. It was like a pilgrimage for me as I was so much in awe of him! (I never kept in touch with Rod Thompson, but I heard in 2004 from his sister who happened upon the OC website, and she reported that Rod had sadly passed away in 1982 aged only 40 yrs, of a brain aneurism.)

Danny Rose, (Nicholson, 1959-64)
    At morning assembly, "Jake" Fletcher, the legendary headmaster, then nearing retirement, clad in his black gown, made a speech to the boys. He had received a complaint from an African small-holder growing maize next to the school boundary. Two boys had been smoking "out of bounds" in his field the previous day, and had damaged some of his crop. "Jake" requested that the culprits report to his office that morning. He said that they would be beaten for the offences of breaking out and smoking (six of the best with a cane), and that their parents would be required to pay compensation for the damaged mealies. He said that he knew the calibre of boys of the school, and expected the culprits to report to him, despite the promised punishment.
    Next day, he announced that he had been proud that the boys had reported as expected, had taken their punishment like men, and had acted honourably. Times change. I told this story to my teenage sons, both pupils at public school in England some years later. They looked at each other, burst out laughing, and said "bloody fools!" O tempora! O mores!

Elizabeth Scoble-Hodgins, daughter of Staff Member, Mr. L.V. “Amoeba” Walker, and pupil at the Kenya Girls High School, 1957-61
    When asked if I would write a few lines about PF from a staff daughter's perspective, I immediately remembered the nerves I had before meeting him for the first time when I was seven. Our family had to live with him at first as there was no staff house available, and so my sister and I had been lectured on our behaviour. In fact, however, PF did all he could to make us at home in his bachelor pad and as we spent a Christmas there, we girls were bought encyclopedias as presents and a Christmas Tree was erected, much to the house boy's amazement.
    A later memory is of PF and Dad spending hours in our dining room sorting out the school timetable. During one session he helped Dad put out a grass fire which we kids had started trying to cook mealies and which was threatening to destroy Junior House. I clearly remember his red face on that occasion.
    PF also rescued me from the top of one of the wooden watch towers built during the Mau Mau. He promised not to tell my parents if I promised not to climb it again; and he kept his promise.
    Working late into the night during the holidays he caught my sister Heather and friends at the swimming pool. This time he did tell my father, but only to comment on how difficult it must be to bring up two daughters at a boys school!
    I can think of many other incidents which show how soft he was under the harder exterior.
    Mum and Dad kept in touch with PF in England and there was a period after his sister died and he was in a very sorry state when Mum would bring his washing home and return it with new replacements. They visited him regularly when he was admitted to a care home where he sadly died from Parkinson's disease in 1976.

This obituary was published in The Cheltonian in 1976. The dates refer to his period of service at Cheltenham College.

OBITUARIES
PHILIP FLETCHER, O.B.E. 1934-1945

In announcing the appointment of a new Head of the Military side, the Headmaster in his Speech Day address in 1934 referred to P.F. as “a beacon and landmark to many of us”. These words were prophetic in a far wider sense than he intended them to be. The Headmaster was, of course, referring to the head of flaming red hair with which many of us had become familiar during combined operations Field Days with Marlborough, as well as on other occasions when the two schools met. Beacons have saved many a shipwreck and it is not difficult to imagine how near to disaster the College might have come in the troubled waters of the 1930's without the light of P.F's presence among us.
    After a highly successful career at Highgate and St. John’s, Cambridge, where he collected a first in both parts of the Maths Tripos, he spent a year at Princeton University U.S.A. as a traveling scholar before joining the staff at Marlborough. He came to Cheltenham during years of recession and political uncertainty. Furthermore, as the war drew nearer, the College suffered a severe blow in the untimely death of its Headmaster, A.G. Pite, and P,F. found himself in charge until the appointment of John Bell. The new Headmaster’s health was none too good when he arrived, and deteriorated further with the declaration of war and the worry of the move to Shrewsbury. The burden of this upheaval fell largely on P.F.’s shoulders, and it was his tireless energy, good humour and patience which sustained us in those difficult days. It was not till the summer of 1940 when a stable regime had once more been established that he was able to return to his normal routine as Head of the Military and Engineering sides. Needless to say the routine of those days entailed a great many extra jobs.
    Among them he took on the organization and running of the College garden which kept us supplied with vegetables during the war, and at the Summer Farming Camps his drive and never-failing good humour were the mainstay of their success.
    In a letter from Oxford in the summer number of the 1945 Cheltonian, there is a moving tribute to P.F. from one of his former pupils and one cannot do better than to repeat this passage. ‘Everyone who met him was at once aware of P.F.'s sincerity, ferocious energy and reserve of power. He went straight to the point and then on to the next. To his pupils he was more than a teacher: he was an unforgettable example of the way to tackle problems, of staying power and sheer guts.’ If this isolated passage suggests an an almost superhuman efficiency, it is because it omits other references to the kindness, understanding and unwavering self control which inspired a deep affection and respect among those who were taught by him.
    It was no surprise to us that he was offered an important Headmastership in Kenya after the war. We were sad to lose him but few men have left the College with such a record of devoted service. The Prince of Wales School was the perfect environment for him, and that splendid academy thrived under his remarkable leadership.
    One who served under him can testify to the affection in which he was held, to his kindness and understanding, and to a devotion which was in every way complete. Not only did he give all his enormous energy during term time, but he spent his vacation on safari all over East Africa visiting parents, boys and old boys. He richly deserved the honour he received on completing his task. Back in England, he continued to teach full time for several years, until overcome by a long and frustrating illness which he bore with abundant cheerfulness.
    P.F. was indeed one of the great schoolmasters of our time.

L.I.D. (L. I. Davidson)