Stephen Jenkins in Combined Cadet Force (CCF) garb, c1975
Andy Dwelly and I were both at Alleyn’s School between 1973 and 1980. We were in the same class for one year only, in 2AK, 1974/75. But both of us, separately, experienced the phenomenon that was the “teaching style” of Mr Jenkins. In Andy’s case, as a nipper in 1C. In my case, in the third, fourth and fifth years. I have written a little about Stephen Jenkins previously and will no doubt write more as my diary trawl 1975-1978 unfolds.
Meanwhile, Andy has written the following charming, informative and thoughtful essay about the man. I am honoured and delighted that Andy has asked me to publish this piece on Ogblog.
Some memories of my life around 1973 recently resurfaced and I found myself curious about our most unusual teacher, Mr. Jenkins, or Mr. Murder as he introduced himself to class 1C in 1973. That research led to Ian’s blog and the fact that Mr Jenkin’s given name was Stephen. That was something that I’d either forgotten – or given the distance between masters and boys, never actually knew. That name turned out to be the key that reveals some things about this uncommon individual that are still available to us.
I’m older now than he was when he taught us, and although I’m sure he would have regarded it as gross impudence, I’m going to refer to him as Stephen from now on. I’m interested in the individual and I’m perfectly willing to speculate where actual facts are unavailable. There are known facts though.
Stephen was born in 1920 so he would have been in his early fifties when we first encountered him.
Given his birth year, he must have been involved in the 2nd World War in some kind of military capacity and presumably stayed in the army for some time after. He was in fact Lieutenant-Colonel Anthony Stephen Jenkins. In practical terms that means he probably would have been the commanding officer of a battalion – perhaps three to four hundred men.
If you needed to find him, to hand in some late homework for example, he could invariably be found in the CCF storage rooms in the basement level of the main school.
I was surprised when Ian pointed out that he was appointed head of the CCF in 1975, and was also in charge of a variety of other extra-curricular activities including fencing, wargames, photography, and he was house master of Brown’s as well. I wasn’t in Brown’s, so I don’t know how much of an active part he played in that area of the school, but I can report that in several years of war gaming including some rather good tank battles – I never saw him.
One notable characteristic of the man was that he could rhapsodise for hours on something that most reasonable people would regard as an insignificant detail. On one occasion he got started on the best way to take notes and he carefully went over his personal highly evolved system of note taking and notebooks. This included the one he carried around with him all the time, and the larger one where details got transferred to at appropriate moments. There might have been even more significant notebooks in a strict hierarchy that were used in special ways.
For some reason I have the impression that he used various coloured pens as well. Unfortunately I did not learn much more about the Fertile Crescent that I think was the actual subject of the lesson. I did learn that he had a great many notebooks and I developed a distinct impression that he would soon be checking up on us to make sure we were all carrying small notebooks as well. That last one must have struck a chord as inevitably I do happen to do that these days.
He was married in 1969 to a wholly remarkable woman, Thelma Hewitt. She died in 2019 and her obituary in The Times reveals perhaps more than Stephen would have liked about his own life. She certainly saw something special in him.
Stephen claimed a working knowledge of three oriental languages. Tibetan, Mongolian, and Manchu. He also had a personal interest in the Maya and said he was familiar enough with their hieroglyphs and dialects to be able to translate them. He once set me a “project” of finding out what I could about the Maya and marked me down when all I could actually locate were facts about the Aztecs. I’m inclined to take both these claims at face value.
He did in fact visit Mongolia and I suspect Tibet, around 1970 for an extended period. This was one of two claimed visits though I can find no record of the other one. Rowswell showed admirable independence of thought when he publicly doubted this story…
Rowswell was however, completely wrong.
Stephen Jenkins went to Mongolia alone – ostensibly sent by the British Council. He returned several months later in very poor health and only able to walk slowly. He was nursed back to health by Thelma and he must have partly recovered by the time we knew him. Unfortunately the Gobi desert, a few hundred kilometres to the south was used throughout the 60s for above ground nuclear tests by China.
His condition was poorly understood at the time but I speculate that at some point he may have been exposed to a significant amount of radioactive fallout. His death from bone cancer in the ’90s might have been caused by this. I don’t have an exact date although it was probably in or near Wisbech in Cambridgeshire.
I think some of these factors might explain both the slightly fierce personality that he displayed and his disinclination to actually teach. If he had been invalided out of some senior military position he would have effectively gone from a job with a great deal of responsibility and respect to trying to teach a class of thirty or so unruly south London boys in a subject that he had training in, but no very special interest. On top of this he was not entirely well. I have to acknowledge that in terms of actually teaching he was far from the most able. I suspect some very senior strings may have been pulled to get him the position. Of course that’s pure speculation on my part.
What he was interested in was a very esoteric form of Buddhism, UFOs, ley-lines, and ghosts.
Given the Christian-centric nature of Alleyn’s he certainly downplayed his own spiritual beliefs but as he claimed to have been instructed in both the theory and practice of Tantric rituals in Mongolia, I have no doubt that he was effectively a practising Buddhist. The other obsessions (they really were obsessions) seem to have gained their power from this.
These are bold claims. Where’s the evidence?
The first is from the relatively brief obit about Thelma, published here – just click.
Mostly about Thelma naturally but Stephen gets a look in.
The rest are from his book – The Undiscovered Country – which was recently reissued by somebody or other at around £17 on Amazon.
It’s very densely written but reading through it certainly gives you a flavour of the man and his era. It’s a reprographic copy of the 1982 edition I think. The pictures are very poor quality but it’s an interesting read. This reveals his age, his language abilities, his interests, and something of what he was doing while he was in Mongolia. He doesn’t give a lot of personal details but they are there. If you want to get it, don’t confuse him with the Cornish poet of the same name. Amazon certainly has.
If you cast your mind back to the actual cultural situation in 1973, ideas similar to his were having a rather public moment. Lyall Watson’s Supernature had just been published. Dr. Who in the form of the third Doctor had spent his final six episodes partly in a Buddhist monastery in Somerset. [Stephen was certainly aware of Dr. Who]. Uri Geller had bent spoons on Blue Peter. The Sunday Times had published a full colour story on Kirlian photography and auras in their Sunday Supplement. These were just the tip of the Age of Aquarius iceberg.
I can certainly forgive Stephen for his enthusiasms and he was working in a situation that surely wouldn’t have welcomed some of his more obscure views. Given the things he was prepared to talk about, it seems strange to claim that he was actually relatively reticent, but he was and we can hardly blame him.
Certainly one or two of the other staff must have been aware at some level of what an odd duck he actually was. I recall that we were occasionally asked by various incredulous staff members what outlandish tale he had come up with in the previous lesson. The one that actually sticks in my mind was his claim that he owned a cat that could talk. I was never able to tell if he was serious with that one or simply playing with our heads. I’m also very fond of his description of the instantly deep frozen mammoths around the size of Alsatian dogs that had been discovered in Siberia – were they actually mammoths?
Thanks Stephen. Godspeed.
Just a final editor’s note…or footnote. Stephen Jenkins clearly had a long association with Alleyn’s School, having been a pupil there and having taught there for many years before his Central Asian adventures/misadventures and his years teaching us.
This is a link to the above archive photograph from 1967, on Mirrorpix, where this image and others are licensable. It depicts Stephen Jenkins with singer/actor Gary Miller and his sons, ahead of a production of Hamlet at the school. Clearly Stephen Jenkins was properly active with the Drama Society at that time. And in the great Stephen Jenkins tradition of going off at a tangent – Gary Miller’s biggest hit was the theme music to the Adventures of Robin Hood. Try listening to the following YouTube and then getting that tune out of your head.
Once again, many thanks to Andy Dwelly for this corker of a guest piece.
