One of Ken Foley's favourite CSK stories:Kipping came to the heart of the Black Country from a well-spoken middle-class background. During the war years staff were thin on the ground due to war service. WBHS was short of a German master, presumably off fighting for us. In an effort to fulfil the school's obligation to provide German tuition, Kipping decided to teach himself the German language.
Being a "chemist", he bought an appropriate German magazine and obviously was able to recognise the proper nouns common to both languages, and worked out the bits in between with the use of a dictionary. He then let himself loose on his pupils teaching them "on the hoof".
Some time later he was stopped in the middle of Wednesbury by the mother of one of his German pupils.
"Mr Kipping, you are teaching my son German. My husband and I lived in Germany for a few years before the war, and I have to say, they do not speak German in Germany like you do."
"Madam", came Kipping's reply, "they do not speak English in Wednesbury like I do either!"
John Foster pays tribute to CSK in The Problemist chess magazine in September 1991:
Cyril Stanley Kipping 10th October 1891 - 13th February 1964
A personal appreciation by Dr John Foster
C S Kipping was born into a distinguished family; his father was Professor of Chemistry at Nottingham, two of his uncles by marriage were also professors of Chemistry at Oxford and Manchester. His brother became lecturer in Chemistry at St John's, Cambridge. At the age of 6, his father moved to the post at Nottingham and this led to Kipping entering Nottingham High School at 11 and subsequently Trinity College, Cambridge to study Chemistry.
He was a great enthusiast for tennis and his chess interest also seemed to flourish around this time too. His paternal grandfather had apparently defeated Paul Morphy during a demonstration in which Morphy played blindfold against 8 contestants, winning the other 7 games. Around 1909, Kipping was introduced to Emanuel Lasker by Mr Derbyshire, the well-known Nottingham chess enthusiast. He took a double first at Cambridge and by 1910 his problems were being printed. They were immediately acknowledged to be of the very best quality. He seemed at the time to be destined to become a research chemist, but apparently tired of it and became a schoolmaster. He taught at Weymouth College till 1918 and was a lieutenant in the OTC.
His later years wore dogged by numerous difficulties with the governors of the school and he was bitter that his successor had set about reorganising the school after he had left, the only headmaster for 32 years. One presumes that chess in school suffered this fate - he did at one time make it part of the syllabus and taught it with a large board which fitted on the easel with moveable pieces. Generally described as rather gruff and dry, he was nevertheless thought to have been a kind human being with a sense of humour, frequently most marked when the joke was on himself.
Kipping died in 1964 at 72, described in one chess journal as the greatest problem editor of all time. He was Problem Editor of Chess Amateur till it went into extinction in 1930; from 1935 till 1958 Problem Editor of Chess, and General Editor of The Problemist from 1932 till his death. In 1957 he was made International Judge of Chess Compositions by FIDE and in 1959 he was one of the 2 Englishmen to receive the newly created title of International Master of Chess Composition. For many years he ran the International Problem Board, which attempted to fulfil some of the present functions of the PCCC. He is credited with 7000 problems, though by 1930, out of some 2000 then composed he only selected 147 as worthy of printing in his book "The chessmen speak". He used a number of pseudonyms; readers of The Problemist in the 1950s will remember C Stanley, S Henry and S Mere.
I only met CSK once and that was 45 years ago when I walked into his study as a boy of 10 for the oral of what was then the infamous 11-plus examination. Apart from being terrified out of my wits, the only other thing I remember was a bizarre series of questions which seemed to be arranged around knowing which English counties were being pointed to on a large map with their names covered up. The interview ended with my being asked if I would give him a pound for the change on his desk. I said no because I hadn't got a pound; he then proceeded to count it, there was less than a pound and he pronounced my decision justified. Years later still thinking on this odd question, I realised he had probably counted the money incorrectly. I suppose I should have noticed this; altogether it was the strangest interview I can remember.
There is a personal end to this story and it is both curious and ironic. The outcome of our first and fateful interview with CSK was that he failed me; in those days to fail the 11-plus was a major disaster and so he caused more trouble than any other human being in my attempt to begin my education. However, the story has a happy and unexpected ending. In the last few years, with children growing up, I had a little more time to pursue my childhood interest in chess and despairing of ever having enough time and energy (not to mention ability) to play it, I looked at chess problems, and remembering my old adversary's renown - it was even known by people not at his school - I turned to look at Kipping's problems partly in anger, partly out of curiosity. What a delightful treasure trove I found and so interested did I become in his style and ability that I felt he had introduced me to a new interest and an intense pleasure unknown before. Now not many people can do this to one in middle age, and I felt delighted to have him introduce me to the new world of chess problems. So dismissing explanations about "late development' and such fanciful excuses, I hereby accept the gift of his passion for chess problems in lieu of education at his school as a true posthumous benefaction. Well, life is not all unjust - here is a case of all being well that ends well.
He mentions in "300 problems" how he expected to be called up for active service at this time. There has never been any explanation why he was not called to active service as most of his contemporaries were; he did not have pacifist tendencies. He next moved to Pocklington School in East Yorkshire until 1924, when he was appointed to Headmaster of the newly-created Wednesbury High School. Interestingly he became well-known at Pocklington for training a troupe of jugglers in the school which performed annually.
Described by one biographer as a curious blend of incompatible features such as a love of power and authority and an impish almost childish sense of humour, he wore the traditional mortar board with an ancient academic gown rolled into a bustle behind. Tall and heavily moustached with a dignified bearing along with a suit of Edwardian style which apparently was hardly ever replaced, he created the image of dignity in a rather Dickensian way. He also had a marked taste for conundrums and jokes in lessons, and although he was trained in science he took it into his head to teach Latin. He taught it as one student put it, as though it were a chess problem and provided one knew the rules then it was possible to extract sense out of a passage, though he showed no interest in the poetry and civilisation of Rome.
P S Clift remembers two of the many bus incidents: As WBHS served quite a large geographical area, most of us travelled to school by bus, ultimately arriving at, and departing from St Paul's Road from either Walsall or Wednesbury. To our misfortune, the workers at Elwells, the engineering works at the far end of St Paul's Road also used these buses and one of their shifts finished at around 4.00 pm. Thus we were in competition with 'the werkuz' for a place on the bus home.
No doubt my contemporaries will remember the spirit of the time, in which 'the werkuz' were seen as the next best thing to war heroes. The war heroes from Elwells abandoned any semblance of orderly queing as soon as buses arrived at the stop and we were pushed out of the way and often left standing on the pavement waiting for the next bus which could be anything up to half an hour later (the service was very scanty, it being the height of WW2).
Someone must have mentioned this to CSK, because one famous day he appeared behind the queue for Walsall just before the bus came and as it stopped, stepped forward, thrust his stick (evidently recently hacked from a tree) in front of the werkuz and said "Come on you boys, get on this bus."
There was not one word of protest. It was, I suppose typical of the times, and of the man and the social class to which he belonged.
On another occasion, it was Ken Hopkins who intervened on our behalf, this time with a bus conductoress. On this occasion as the bus drew up, said conductoress leaned out and shouted "I ain't havin' any of you school kids on this bus, there's only room for the werkers". Hopkins, an irrascible man, thrust his face into hers and said acidly, "This is a public service vehicle and you have no right to keep these boys off." Awstruck but grateful we got on.
Anyone else remember these incidents?
Mr Kipping's house was to the left of St Paul's Vicarage, almost over the entrance to Wood Green High School, and had a huge garden behind it.
The house was in a poor state of repair, and the wallpaper was in shreds, hanging from the wall in his study. Visiting the house was an ordeal for a pupil, but it did allow confirmation of the rumour that he used to light his cigarettes by tearing off a strip of wallpaper, and poking the twist into the coal fire!
Heading for school down the passage between Woden Road East and St Paul's Road, two pupils were surprised to find CSK standing at the end (presumably to catch boys cycling down the passage!) wearing a beret, Frank-Spencer-style. They had no escape; they were already committed to the passage when they saw him. As they reached him, he asked if they liked his hat, and when they were lost for words (or stifling giggles) he added that he had to wear it as his roof was leaking!
Like his successor, CSK was adamant that boys would wear their schoolcaps at all times. Both have been known to shout across Wednesbury town centre, "you boy!" and punish an unfortunate victim for not being properly dressed. ECW managed in Wolverhampton, too, in the 60s. CSK takes the prize though, for putting a boy in detention for not wearing the cap when on holiday in Criccieth, Wales, in August!
As we know, his speciality was Chemistry, taught in a most unorthodox manner at times. He would tell classes what they should not do in the lab, and then proceed to do the forbidden acts, to show them the consequences. Most chemistry teachers have dropped a little Sodium or Potassium in a beaker of water, but CSK was more generous than H&S would allow today - and the ceiling of the lab bore the scars to prove it. As he did himself - caused by dipping his already gnarled thumb in nitric acid, to show them what might happen.
When Ken Hopkins took over much chemistry teaching, if he were absent, and CSK had to take his classes, he would always take the precaution of locking up the chemicals with which CSK might inflict spectacular damage on himself or the lab!
It is said that he had a heart of gold that few ever saw. His St Paul's Road neighbours might dread meeting him for a chat, but no more so than when he shared the bus into town with any of them. If he recognised one the ladies from the Road on the bus, he would usually shout down to the conductor, "I'll pay for that lady", much to her great embarrassment!
Old boys of my era will remember ECW often berating us in assembly for not singing with gusto, or for not paying attention or saying the Lord's Prayer properly. CSK had another unwelcome and regular post-assembly habit - he would send a prefect round each class, mid-morning, interrupting any lesson, and asking that all boys wrote down whatever they remembered from the Bible reading that morning. The Responsible Boy then had to deliver the slips of paper to CSK in his study, I believe they were usually allowed to be anonymous - he seemed to be interested in how many were not concentrating, not who in particular!
At times CSK would take Divinity lessons, and usually brought in a pile of old "bun" pennies (so called because Victoria was shown with her hair in a bun) and sling them at pupils who gave correct answers to his searching questions.
