Originally published in the Chelmsfordian 2002-2003.

First published in November 1895, the Chelmsfordian magazine has reported school life for over a century. Frank Rogers, perhaps the most significant Headmaster in school history, was its founder, and it quickly received critical acclaim, from noted individuals - Alfred Harmsworth, founder of the Daily Mail said “beyond all question the most ambitious of these [magazines edited by schoolboys] is The Chelmsfordian,”) and The Spectator remarked “The Chelmsfordian… is an admirable specimen of public school literature… varied, vivacious and well-illustrated.” We hope this year’s magazine is no different!

Above: The Chelmsfordian 1900

Aside from the obvious (lack of photos, etc), there are clear differences between the early magazines of the 1900s and the glossy, impressive (we hope) publications produced today. As the school had no bi-weekly newsletter as we do today, the Chelmsfordian’s main function was to act as the official news outlet for the school. Therefore much of it was filled with what we try to keep out of the magazine now—rather mundane matters such as lists of exam results and notices about uniform. On occasion, however, the monotony is broken – amongst a long list of various minutiae one finds “Allan wants to know if anyone has found any aniseed balls lately” in the December 1913 edition – and, faced with having to write a House Review every term, Mildmay decided to write their summary of Summer 1936 in verse:

A is for All the conduct marks gained,
B for the Boys who have oft been detained.
C for the Cricket the 2nds have lost;
D for the Demon who bowled to our cost.
E for the Eyes of our House Masters “blest”,
F for our Firsts, who will beat all the rest.
G for the Gymnasts, both fat ones and thin,
H for the House Shield we’re hoping to win.
I is for Industry with honours repaid,
J is for Johnson – all games he has played.
K is for Kemp, a boarder notorious,
L is for Ledger, a trumpeter glorious.
M for “M’sieur,” “directeur” of our fate
N for the New boys who’ve joined us of late
O, O.F. Longley, as broad as the “ark”,
P for the Prefects who lurk in the dark.
Q for the Quickness our House-room pulled down,
R is for Rust who meets ___ down town.
S for the Swimming and S for the Sports,
T, Tennis stars, who play on the courts,
U is the Use of trying to serve.
V is the Vitriol the slackers deserve.
W, Mr Wright, “deutsch Direktor” at school,
Teaches boys how to save life at the pool.
X for Exams, full of cunning and wile:
May all Mildmayites get through in fine style.
Y is for Young, who becomes quite abusive
When one speaks of Gwen. F., a female elusive.
Z for our Zeal, not to mention our Zest;
And now that I’ve finished, I’ll take a long rest.

Above: A lesson in what is now the Old Gym, 1900

The magazine is an excellent resource to find out about the more eccentric activities of the School-particularly in clubs and societies which have enthusiastically published their yearly reviews. Highlights include the Flower-Arranging Society (we suspect (read: hope) that this was a spoof article), the Science Fiction Society led by Mrs Gray, Mr Parmley’s Beekeeping group, and the Juggling Club, which proclaimed “We hope that more people will be able to reap the benefits of this relaxing, enjoyable and inspiring activity as the Juggling Club continues to grow” in 1991.

However, there was still room for pupils’ work (in the 1980s, there was a separate middle section, the ‘literary supplement’, filled with English work, Artwork, and even some word puzzles), and more interesting articles. Frank Rogers regularly contributed with detailed accounts of his cycling tours around Europe, complete with photographs. A talented musician, who often sang solo arias in services, he published sheet music to a new song he had composed. Unfortunately, as Tony Tuckwell recorded in his history of KEGS, two magazine articles in 1905 contributed to his downfall - one explaining his refusal to attend the funeral of a colleague, the other being a “most disturbing article” in which he encountered a Martian, dressed as an Ancient Greek, with whom he had a long discussion about the vices of motor cars. This did not enhance the reputation of a Head who, despite his brilliance, had made many enemies. He resigned in 1909.

One feature which was ubiquitous in early editions was a collection of letters from Old Chelmsfordians studying at Oxbridge. As the school’s representation at these universities declined at one point, this was discontinued - perhaps for the best, because (as I’m sure the Headmaster would like me to mention) now we have record numbers of students being awarded places at Oxford and Cambridge, twenty-four last year alone!

It is always interesting to read through the archives of the Chelmsfordian, to see how pupils reacted to the events going on around them, from school-based, such as building work, to international affairs, such as the two World Wars in which 124 former pupils and staff gave their lives. Their names are recorded in the Roll of Honour, located in the Duffield Library. In summer 1945, the Editorial ran as follows:

Although V.E. Day, and all that it stood for will almost have become history by the time we go to press, we feel that we must try to add our expression of hope and relief, however in adequate, to what more eloquent pens have written. War is so akin to the atmosphere and purpose of a school that there were times, perhaps, when we felt that our more academic occupations were somewhat irrelevant to the main course of events; but a moment’s thought will make it apparent that the schools have been attempting to preserve a link between two stages of civilisation, between which the events of the past years have created a dangerous chasm….We must feel some pride at having not been diverted from our purpose, mingled with a good deal of relief that we are on firm ground again…The boys of the School are to be congratulated on having kept their sense of proportion, and the staff deserve our thanks for carrying on in spite of difficulties of organisation and the strain of various duties on the home front…Education has its eye upon the distant future, and it is very easy for a dangerous emergency with its immediate demands to obscure the issue. That this has not happened is a just cause of gratification to all concerned.

In these uncertain times, as the civilised world faces the new threat of terrorism, perhaps we should remember these words.

On a lighter note, the Editor of the July 1925 edition, evidently finding himself short on ideas, wrote the following:
“Who wants to read an editorial?” – “Nobody.”
“Who wants to write one?” – “Not the editor.”
In December 1966, this was quoted at the start of a lengthy “editorial about editorials”.

Whenever this plaintive cry appears, it is followed by some comment on the function of the school magazine. However, how many editors have actually written an editorial about editorials? What are they for? What are we, the editors, supposed to write? This is a problem which has baffled countless literary scholars in the past, or so it would appear from a study of most editorial comments, which usually constitute the most boring, ill-conceived, and badly-written portion of the magazine.  We hope that, this year at least, there are exceptions to this rule!

The 1983 Chelmsfordian was the last school magazine produced for ten years. The collapse of the offset lithe printer meant that production was impossible. In 1990, a committee led by Tony Tuckwell embarked upon a new venture, an annual yearbook bearing the same title. While this was short lived, only lasting for two years, and the two volumes are predominantly filled with photos, they are nevertheless interesting, and unique records of school life. The many photos of staff, a surprisingly large number of whom are still with us today, provided much amusement to the Sixth Form when we looked through them (although of course, the sensitive and mature editorial team of this year’s magazine never even contemplated scanning them in to be used for less respectable reasons at a later date…)

Fortunately, thanks to new school computer technology, the Chelmsfordian made a full comeback exactly ten years ago, as the glossy magazine it is today, with advances in technology meaning that we now can produce it solely using ICT, and can afford far more colour pages at a better quality.

Finally, no research into the history of the School is complete without consulting the memories of Old Chelmsfordians. Here are some extracts from Michael Emery’s memories of his time at KEGS in the 1950s…

The Mock Election: Somebody on the staff had the bright idea round about 1957-58 of holding a mock election in the school…Prominent among the candidates was one Norman Fowler…who later became Chairman of the Conservative Party and The Rt Hon The Lord Fowler…I don't recall what the outcome of this enterprise was, but it gave rise to quite a lot of civil disobedience on the school site and I think nearly came to grief because of this. As a prefect, Fowler tried during this period to clap me into 2 hours detention, but I reminded him that prefects could only give one hour's detention at a time, so he followed me around for days waiting for me to do something I shouldn't. Eventually I was perceived walking down the wrong side of the corridor…and he pounced from the shadows of the cloister. "Caught you, you creep!" he exclaimed, reaching for his little book. I used to remember that when I saw him on TV.

Above: The Cricket First XI with Lord Norman Fowler front row, second left, 1956.

Westfields: In this crumbling building (now demolished), the roof space went right through to the other side of the building which was the caretaker's house. You could get through by negotiating a trapdoor in the built-in cupboard…and crawling along the rafters. A member of Lower Sixth Arts at the same time as me made this perilous journey one day. The caretaker's name was Harry…and he was alarmed to hear a ghostly voice moaning "Harry…Harry…" somewhere in the roof. The story is that, after this had happened several times, Harry, concluding the place to be haunted, handed in his papers and went…to live in a caravan on Dartmoor.

The Mouse in the Milk: Late in 1959 the Sixth Form conceived the idea that instead of sucking their one third of a pint of milk through a straw they would get it heated up in the canteen and have more civilised coffee at Break instead. One day the ceremonial metal jug in which it was carried was left half full in the Prefects' room in Westfields overnight. Declared fit the following morning, it was reheated and drunk. As the level lowered in the jug, a dead mouse (which had clearly fallen in and drowned) was found floating near the bottom. This brought the Coffee Club to an abrupt closure.

Much has changed since Frank Rogers wrote the first words in the Chelmsfordian of 1895. Yet so much remains the same. Many customs survive, whether noble or eccentric – the Fleur-de-Lys, the Prefect system, service ties, tickets, the House Competition…With new initiatives like ICT developments, building work, and concepts such as ‘learning to learn’, it is with eager expectation that we look towards what is surely a bright future. But at its core, King Edward VI Grammar School will always be recognisable to those who have been part of “that honourable and gentlemanlike house.”

Stefan Fraczek.