Stephen Winkley

I was terribly sorry to learn of the recent and untimely death of my old teacher Stephen Winkley. He had the bad luck to teach me in every one of my five years at Cranleigh School, and was over that time a formative influence (a compliment only to the extent that one approves of the resulting form). He taught me ancient history, led a trip to Rhodes, introduced me to Beowulf, Samuel Beckett (he directed Peter Longshaw and John Tolputt among others in a stunning staff production of Godot which opened doors), Jacobean tragedy (I was Bosola in his production of A Duchess of Malfi), and discreetly helped me prepare for Oxbridge, among many other things, some duties, most kindnesses. During a rough patch he supported me when others were naturally losing faith, but that support was based on some steely advice: he always told it like it was. Running the Sixth Form Centre he made us all feel clever and inculcated a kind of university atmosphere in which it was actually cool to compare Pinter and Orton and talk about Georgian poetry. His range of interests was inspirational. The simplest comments stay longest: 'I would defy anyone to read the last books of The Iliad and not be moved' - and so we did, and were. Beyond anything, over five years I learned from Dr Winkley (as I must think of him) a style of conversation which amounted to a civic education in itself: laconic, ironic, allusive, mischievous, hilarious and, under it all, deeply humane. One sermon he gave, citing All's Well, 'Simply the thing I am shall make me live' was, the rumour went, an attempt to reach out to a desperately troubled boy. Only later have I come to recognise that behind all the breezy off-handedness in his manner was a tremendous work ethic and a passionate, stubborn commitment to get the job - whatever the job - done properly. Beyond school we lost touch bar the odd meeting: I dropped in to see him in his College study in Winchester with no warning and he found time to chat; and I remember a fleeting crossing of paths at the Bodleian when I was finishing my thesis. 'It's on medieval romance,' I ventured. 'Oh, I am sorry,' was the inimitable response.
The years rolled past, and his majestic career took him to Uppingham. I seem to have made a habit of missing the good doctor: he left Winchester the year before I arrived; and while I made an extremely undistinguished start to teaching at Rossall School, he came out of retirement to bring that school to new life - an apt measurement of our differing abilities to adapt to a unique environment. Recently I've been looking through the headmaster's blog newsletter that he produced at Rossall, and it was a sheer delight to recognise that voice and mind at full pitch. Bold opinions, kind comments, an amazing feel for detail. How typical too that he was able to pick up on social media so quickly and effectively, while others look on such things of this century with suspicious eyes. He wrote a reference for my present job, and in a note telling me he had done so wrote 'I hope you prosper' - the last written comment I had from him. Such prosperity as I have enjoyed I owe in large part to Stephen Winkley and a fantastic generation of teachers at Cranleigh in the early eighties (among them Jonathan Leigh, Peter Longshaw, John Tolputt, Nicholas Menon). Heartfelt condolences to the family. Warm memories that will last a lifetime. Truly a teacher in the ancient tradition, who passed on not only knowledge but a manner of thinking, and through thinking, living and feeling more deeply. Salve atque vale, magister.