John Gledhill
| John Webster Gledhill | |
|---|---|
|
Error creating thumbnail: Unable to save thumbnail to destination John Gledhill | |
| Nicknames | Joe |
| Born |
27 August 1909 East Ardsley, West Yorkshire |
| Died |
23 August 1987 (aged 77) Boston |
| Education | Wakefield Grammar School; University College, Oxford (BA) |
| Roles | Head of Classics |
| Years at BGS | 1937-1969 |
| Departments | Classics |
| Subjects | Latin |
| Spouse | Helen G Stewart (married 1938/9) |
| Children | Thomas D Gledhill; Michael H Gledhill; a daughter |
| Parents | Hubert Gledhill; Jane Furness |
John Webster Gledhill was a teacher of Latin at Boston Grammar School for 32 years, from 1937 to 1969. Beforehand he had taught at Ilkley Grammar School.
His two sons, Thomas and Michael, both attended BGS and won the Parry Gold Medal - in 1960 and 1963 respectively.
Memories
by Adrian Wightman (BGS 1955-1962)
"Joe" Gledhill would terrorize the Latin class with chalk missiles, heave-ho's by the short hairs, and "ladders". I realized in later years that I actually learned some useful things about the English language from this process even though I can no longer conjugate amo, amas, amat, etc, and I distinctly remember that one cannot choose between more than two alternatives, no matter what your dictionary may say, because "alter" translates as one of two. I often wondered if he and "Tilly" Turpin conversed in Latin or Greek on their daily pipe smoking promenades during the lunch break, and I will never forget the day that Joe and a contemporary of mine, Paul Vysny, came to blows in the locker room outside the old assembly hall over some long forgotten jibe.
by David Wortley (BGS 1959-1967)
Latin Ladders - always starting at the bottom at the beginning of each term because my surname began with "W" "Joe" Gledhill - regularly lifting a boy called Clayton up by his sideboards and saying "Is that as clear as mud, Clay?" Joe Gledhill - A Roman Emperor's dying words "Vae, vae concacavi me puto!", which means "Oh dear, I think I have sh*t myself"
by Dennis Morley (BGS 1958-1963)
I can recall only one happy memory where "Joe" Gledhill was involved. One end of term assembly whilst we were singing Floreat Bostona - JG was playing the piano...
When it came to the end of the first verse, the part where 'laborandum' is repeated a number of times, the 'renegade' 5th Remove added a whispered 'cha, cha, cha' to end of each 'laborandum'.
As the song progressed, more and more pupils joined in this now catchy chorus line until poor old Joe could stand the violation of his beloved language no more and crashed down on the piano keyboard, bringing the assembly to a grinding halt. What a wonderful moment that was.
by Oscar Goodwin (BGS 1934-1939)
In 1939 "Joe" Gledhill was a recent master, a tough cookie. Little boys are quick to assess a new master's moral fibre and recognise the danger signals.
Joe was a pleasant enough man, apt to utter the familiar stentorian bellow: "You want flogging boy!" A miscreant was offered a detention or Little Benjamin, apparently a biblical reference that Benjamin was a ruler. The alternative choice was always accepted, a violent thwack of a 12 inch ruler across the palm, painful but not life threatening and sheer delight to the rest of the form. Only the Head, Dot Morris was officially empowered to administer the dreaded Swish with a well practised heavy hand. When he trod the corridors the silence was deafening and an awesome respect prevailed. Human rights were not a consideration in those days and a policeman could walk the streets with confidence.
by Bill Sibley (BGS 1952-1957)
I well remember the first introduction I had to Little Benjamin. Joe asked the class in general to put their hands up if they had never committed murder. Thankfully a sea of hands was raised - including mine. Joe glared around the class and his eye fell on me. "Come out here, Sib" he bellowed. I did so. "Have you never killed a fly?" "Er....!" "Hold out your hand" WHACK "That's for telling lies!".
I remember "Joe" Gledhill's Latin phrases he used to give us. "Ligna in silvam ferre" To carry firewood into the forest. (To carry coals to Newcastle); "Di te pessimum pessime perdant" Allegedly a curse meaning 'May the gods destroy you the worst of all possible fellows in the worst of all possible ways"; "Vestimenta detrahere nudo" To get clothes from a naked man (To get blood from a stone). It says something for a teacher when his pearls of wisdom can still be remembered nearly 50 years later. I think it was Joe who regaled us with the tale of the discovery of a very old pottery container buried somewhere with the inscription "ITI SAPIS SPOTAN DAGO ODONE" A rearrangement of the spaces will reveal the meaning!
by Adrian Wightman (BGS 1955-1962)
I for one cannot hear a warning bell ring without mentally reciting "tintinabulum nos monet".
by David White (BGS 1957-1964)
I still have my "vocab exercise books" from Joe's classes and when treading the chalkface myself was very keen on the Ladder System which only bit the dust after one HMI took a dislike to overt competition. One of my favourite entries is the palendromic graffito from the walls of London (I think) carved by a bored guard:
SATOR AREPO TENET OPERA ROTAS
Read it anyway you like;. Not dull these Roman squaddies! And don't forget folks.... nemo repente fuit turpissimus
by Stan Meeds (BGS 1938-1943)
When I was at BGS he had a habit of writing limericks about almost everyone and one day I had the temerity to return the compliment and sidle up to his desk to show him my effort. He was not impressed.
by Patrick Sedgwick (BGS 1963-1970)
When I was at BGS, on entering the third year, we all had to choose a second language beyond the French we had studied from the age of 11. Our choice was between Latin and German. There were dark suggestions, from certain staff members, about choosing Latin if we wanted to get into Cambridge or Oxford or anywhere else they considered half-decent, but otherwise we were "free" to choose.
I decided, on the basis that most Romans had died some 1,500 or 2,000 years before, that I would rather learn a language through which I could talk with people who were actually alive now, or could read material written by people who had been recently, so I chose German. I also thought it would be more practical a language for what I hoped might be a future dazzlingly successful career in international management, technological innovation, and general mastery of the modern age. My hopes were perhaps in vain, but that is another story.
Whenever it came to that slot in the timetable when the second-language lesson was due, the Latin master, who was known as "Joe" Gledhill although his name was actually John, would come striding into our form room and bellow at the "Germans" to "get out!". It was a form of simultaneous geographical occupation and displacement, whereby the Latin followers got to stay in their homeland – I mean, home form room – and the German followers were evicted, forcibly, literally.
As those of us who had chosen German filed as quickly as we could out of the room, carrying our hurriedly-gathered belongings with us (reference books, pens, writing books, passports), Joe Gledhill would stand by the doorway, eager to close the door shut behind us, yelling "Get out, you Huns!". Frequently, one would receive an acceleration force designed, no doubt, to be of assistance in completing the process more quickly, in the form of his boot kicking one's backside on the way out, accompanied by his exclaiming what seemed to him to be an expletive: “Hun!”.