“Honour the name of Richard Pate” ends the school song which for twenty-five years I taught the boys of Cheltenham Grammar School. In April they, the elderly in Pate’s Almshouse and the Fellows of Corpus Christi College, Oxford will pay tribute to their benefactor of 1574. Joining them will be Pate’s Grammar School for Girls and Pate’s Junior School which became associated with them more recently.

When I arrived in 1946, the School stood in the High Street where the smooth face of Sainsbury’s now confronts us. So imposing was the Victorian gothic façade and the fifty foot battlemented tower that visitors sometimes mistook it for the Town Hall. Miss Betty Lewis, a much loved secretary, told me how a lady stumped in demanding “What time does the band play? You DO serve coffee, don’t you?”.

In a niche beneath the tower stood a statue of Richard Pate. There was a portrait of him in the library too, studied during staff meetings. His fur trimmed gown merged into the background leaving his reproachful features floating in space above disembodied hands. Then my eyes would wander to the sad little photograph, taken just before its demolition, of the Schola Grammatica which he built on the same site.

Could this be the same portrait? This oil painting hangs in the Headmaster's Office at Pate's today and was presented to Pate's Grammar School for GIrls in 1948 by Mrs Mellersh.

I discovered that he might have been born in Cheltenham and learned his letters at the Chantry School in the Parish Church on the other side of the High Street. At sixteen he went as a needy scholar to Corpus Christi College, Oxford. Later, a notable lawyer, he settled in Gloucester, becoming its Recorder and MP. Queen Elizabeth I added to the Chantry property he purchased, enabling him to complete his endowment.

One day the Bursar, Miss Murray, who has cherished some original records of the Foundation, showed me a thick yellow parchment. “This” she explained “is the Indenture between the Foundation and the Fellows of the College. He made them the trustees.” She pointed to one edge of the deed. “We have one half and they have the other, which would fit”. I gazed at the quaint little drawings at the head: a boy standing before the Master, others seated on forms, a deterrent birch and an encouraging bowl of apples on the floor.

As a lawyer, Pate knew his job – to the extent of over 16,000 words. The College was to receive a quarter of the endowment in return for administering the remainder which was for the maintenance of the School and Almshouse. Salary structure was interesting. The Master, an M.A., would receive £16 p.a. and was allowed to graze a cow, the Usher (his assistant) had £4 and no cow. If either became “a common haunter of tavernes or alehouses…” or showed “unseemliness in apparel” (I felt grateful for my demob suit) “he should be warned and admonished” twice; the third time “be utterly displaced and removed.” If one fell on hard times “after a long period well and diligently served” there was a room in the Almshouse waiting. Chastened but comforted, I read further.

Tuition was for fifty boys, those within the parish paying 4d p.a., those outside 8d. Four must be able to speak and write Latin fluently, twenty-three have varying ability to translate from English to Latin; the rest must be “ goode children of apt goodnesse to lerne.” Their books were “bound by littel irone chaines.” (Why not the boys? I wondered.)

Pate set great store on prizes and processions. Once a year two Fellows would descend from Oxford and “spend a convenient time in opposing, trying and examining the scholars.” After that they would award “a pen, silver, wholly gilt” (2s 6d) to the first boy, and one “parcel gilt” to the second; others received 4d quires of paper. Then came a procession to the Parish Church with the prize winners wearing “garlands of laurel upon their heads provided for the purpose.” (We continued these processions across the High Street until the move to Princess Elizabeth Way in 1965. They upset motorists, but pedestrians were grateful. Garlands went out a long time ago!).

Regarding these processions four times a year, older Grammarians will recall my predecessor Mr. Craven Broad, who wrote the tune of the School Song. There was this legend of the tunnel, which afforded a relief from “Let the hills resound!” He declared that “in ancient days” a stream ran down the High Street. Crossing by steppingstones was a malodorous hazard, since boys used “accidentally” to fall in. A tunnel was therefore constructed between the School and the Parish Church, but closed when main drainage was installed. He well remembered as a boy being shut in a cupboard before a bricked-up doorway in the cellar. I was disappointed when the demolitions of 1967 revealed nothing, not even one to the old “Fleece” which would have suited “Peggy” better!

It seems that at one period in its history the School declined because of the maladministration by Pate’s old College. By the beginning of the 19th century Cheltenham Vestry Committee, representing local opinion, felt the School “had fallen into inutility and perfect uselessness.” The Fellows’ reverence for books did not include accurate book-keeping. They appreciated the Classics but seemed unaware of the appreciation in land values. A survey revealed that the original endowment worth £73 19s 4d in Pate’s day should have increased to £62,000. Yet the wretched Master was still only receiving £16 – with the prescribed cow in the garden. The Dons idea of finance seem to have become as encrusted as their port.

Small wonder Masters supplemented their withered stipends by taking in more profitable boarders described as the “children of strangers or such as do not learn Latin.” Instruction in the mother tongue (termed “writing lessons 2”) was an extra to be paid for. But the somnolent Fellows felt that one Master was going too far when he proposed to turn part of the School into a lodging-house for visitors to the Spa. The full story of the School’s decline and resurgence will be found in its first history “Tudor Foundation” by Dr. Arthur Bell, the former Headmaster. This fully documented work, to be published this year, will contain a re-assessment of E. R. Humphreys who set the School on its feet in 1852 under a newly constituted governing body. Of doubtful integrity, he did produce results; numbers rose from thirty to three hundred in three years!

His insistence on the Grammarians right to wear the Oxford mortar-board (known to many as the “dabber”) led him into conflict with the newly formed Cheltenham College. Eventually the College adopted a red tassel instead of a black one and Humphreys invited their boys to a Grand Fete held in Old Well on November 5th. Despite the risky date all went well. The highlight of the evening was “a large transparent painting representing two youths, recognised by there respective caps representing the College and the Grammar School, standing with hands clasped over the Chelt”, reported the Cheltenham Examiner. (I note with interest that some present Grammarians have found some discarded dabbers and sport them with great glee.)

Unfortunately the impetus given by Headmaster Humphreys departed with him and was not regained until 1887. In that year the governing body was further enlarged to include representatives of local government. The totally inadequate Schola Grammatica was demolished and the Victorian building erected on the same site. “The heating will be on the principle adopted in the new Public Library; the air will be warmed by hot pipes” it was proudly announced. (in the severe winter of 1947 they froze and I watched plumbers saw through these great things – solid with ice.)

Before my appointment I read in the Ward Lock Guide that “Cheltenham is the only town in England, apart from London, to possess three public schools for boys, the Grammar School having been allotted that distinction by reason of its remarkable record of academic achievements.” This unique statement was made possible by the devoted efforts of R. R. Dobson, Headmaster between the Wars. Nor have scholastic standards declined since his day.

I have not forgotten the girls. An elderly colleague once remarked “Cracks must have appeared on Pate’s tomb in Gloucester Cathedral in 1904 – they started the Girls’ School – he would never have thought they needed education at all!” Rightly the Governors interpreted his wishes in the spirit of the times and opened a school for them in St. Margaret’s Road at Livorno Lodge in January 1905. The choice of name was unfortunate. Since it was decided there was historically only one Cheltenham Grammar School, the boys retained that title and the girls attended Pate’s Grammar School for Girls. An anomaly due to male obstinacy.

At the outbreak of the Second World War Miss Muriel Jennings. The Headmistress, occupied the present buildings in Albert Road before they could be requisitioned by the Army. She even received military aid in the form of a lorry since the building she was leaving became a Y.W.C.A. canteen for the forces. After the war it became the home of Pate’s Junior School, independently administered by the Foundation. We looked with envy at the girls’ palace near the racecourse. In the high Street building the corridors were long and dark, the games field remote. O Level candidates in the Hall shut their ears to the turmoil of traffic and the radio opposite; in the Music Room A Levels wilted beneath the clatter of the conveyor belts and the stench from the Brewery. Dr. Bell decided we must quit and he beavered away until we did.

In 1965, two years before the sturdy tower was demolished one Sunday morning, we moved to Princess Elizabeth Way. We lost a tower but we gained a dome, rather less stately than expected (money ran short) but pleasurable. There were acres of playing fields and the Music Room was splendid. Bryan Little in his “Cheltenham in Pictures” thinks it “the best modern building in Cheltenham.” Now, restored and cleaned, Richard Pate is ensconced in the entrance hall awaiting the homage of 400 years. “Honour the Fellowship” says the song. We can do that too, since the scars of yesteryear have long since healed.

On my retirement they lunched and lauded me at Corpus Christi College. They are jolly good Fellows!