The Royal Charter of 1600 dictated that the RGS should be known as Queen Elizabeth's Grammar School. Everything is in a name, if its associations encompass hard work, service and duty to others.
When the RGS school community gathered in the hall to reflect on the passing of Queen Elizabeth II, the minute’s silence was not simply emptiness. It was the heft of old wooden pews, a slight adjusting of weight, sleeve brushed against sleeve and the sweet pungency of white lilies. It was, in fact, a minute of togetherness in a place of learning which was made possible – and has flourished – through two Elizabethan eras. Simon Armitage, the Poet Laureate, wrote in his final poem for the Queen:
‘I have conjured a lily to light these hours, a token of thanks… A promise made and kept for life – that was your gift – Because of which, here is a gift in return…
The gift of flowers, books of condolences, poetry and reflections about the impact the Queen has had allowed us to mark this event as an RGS family; the same was true of the summer Platinum Jubilee, celebrated with a little more exuberance but with equal appreciation of a life welllived and a reign more than well-served.
If associations with the name of Elizabeth and our pride in the Royal Charter are to be justified, we have a duty to emulate the ‘steadfast service, loyalty and humility’ which the Lord-Lieutenant for Tyne and Wear, Ms Lucy Winskell, wrote about when signing our book of condolence.
What does this emulation look like in a 21st century school?
If we take Armitage’s idea of a gift in return for a gift, that would be a good starting point. For the Jubilee celebrations, all Lower Sixth Form students joined in with service initiatives run locally; this followed discussions about the vow concerning service that Queen Elizabeth II made in 1947 on her 21st birthday. From learning about dementia care to picking up litter in Jesmond Dene; from friendship conversations with refugees to supporting primary school children; from The People’s Kitchen to Ouseburn Farm, we wanted to give anything that was of use.
A gift for a gift? In return, we learned about economics and circumstance, geography and ecology, language, Literature, memory, imagination. Most importantly we were given a greater understanding of what it is to be human.
At the moment, a most precious gift has returned to us from the British Library. The Lindisfarne Gospels, part of the veneration of St. Cuthbert, sit in the Laing Gallery until December. The Venerable Bede is our most prolific source of information on Cuthbert’s life but there are other records which tell of the young man approaching Old Melrose Abbey to offer himself as an instrument of service to the community. One of the most interesting fragments of story is about Cuthbert’s apparently humble origins as a shepherd. Whilst this may be true, it is also the case that he first approached the monastery leading a horse and armed with a spear. This was a youth of noble birth and his trappings re-iterate the notion that those with the most have a responsibility to serve the needs of those with less.
Privilege is often allied with inequality and even Queen Elizabeth II’s service has occasionally been viewed through the prism of immense fortune. A way to offset this is through a life described by Bede as ‘gentleness, simplicity…virtue and… humility’. Cuthbert gave through teaching, talking and listening to those in every part of his community – ‘situated afar off amid steep and wild mountains.’ The Queen’s devotion to the Commonwealth is well-documented. Two prosperous individuals – centuries apart – bear an uncanny resemblance. Independent schools have a duty to mirror them: whatever you have, you must be prepared to give. As we were granted our original school buildings and set up with charitable objectives, so we pay that rich gift forwards and share what we have.
It seems, as we watched those extraordinary images of the Queen on her last journey through London, that we have re-elevated the act of serving, which has often seemed to languish too far behind personal achievement and material success. Justin Welby’s sermon at the Queen’s funeral reminded us that ‘in all cases those who serve will be loved and remembered when those who cling to power and privileges are long forgotten’.
Armitage, in his final stanza writes:
‘A blurred new day
Breaks uncrowned on remote peaks and public parks, and
Everything turns on these luminous petals and deep roots…’
In times of uncertainty, we need to depend on each other’s help. Our own deep roots were put down in Newcastle soil 500 years ago. Here’s to the next 500, striving to live up to the name bestowed upon us.