Blasts from the Past: Ian Crook

November is a month where we remember those who have passed away. It sounds sad, and it often is, but there is also great comfort in knowing that people live on in our memories of them. I was reminded of this over the summer when preparing an article about Ian Crook for the King’s Association Magazine (which will be published later this month). Two of Ian’s former pupils kindly shared their memories of him. These tributes are so moving that I have included them in full at the end of this article.  

I never met Ian, but he is one of those members of King’s staff about whom so much has been said to me that I feel like I know him. Ian wearing his bow tie, riding his bicycle. Ian crafting bowls, and jugs, and cups for friends and colleagues. Ian impressing students with his talent and wry sense of humour. I imagine a quiet, quirky, unconventional, kind, inspiring, and dedicated man. I also know that he was talented, very, very talented. That much is evident from reproductions of his work. Ian’s cousin recently donated to the school archive his ‘recipe’ book of glazes. Even for someone as ignorant of ceramics as I am, it is fascinating to look through. Spanning the years 1962 to 2012, the chronology jumps around; a recipe from 1975 might not be tested until 2012, newer notes are added to older entries. These notes, written in his beautiful handwriting, reveal much about the care Ian took to get things just right.

“Cream matt is prone to pinhole and is rather ‘oily’. Suggest add 5-10% UC983 or increase Lead Bisilicate.”

From Ian’s ‘recipe’ book.

Ian did not submit a formal application for the role of ceramics teacher, instead he arrived at the school with a car boot filled with examples of his work and enough talent and charm to convince Vernon Barnes, then head of the art department, that he was the right person for the job. He started long before the Reeve School of Art and Design Technology opened in 2000. Ian’s domain was the pottery room which backed onto the junior school playground (or tarmac as it was more commonly known). Like Bill Yelland before him, Ian created an environment that was creatively stimulating but also something of a sanctuary, a space to which pupils could retreat and “feel like themselves.” Yet he was also a sociable person who clearly cared for his fellow members of staff. There were many gifts of handmade ceramics. When Tony Hein and Richard Halsey both retired from the junior school in 2002, Ian made them each a drawing which included references to their respective careers at the school (this, despite having left King’s himself the year before). Ian also cared about the welfare of others, nagging Vernon Barnes to take what turned out to be a life-saving PSA test for prostate cancer.

Drawing given to Tony Hein on his retirement in 2002

“This most gentle of men will by much missed.”

John Evans (former Senior Master and former Headmaster of the Junior School) in his end of year speech, 2001.

Ian passed away in 2021. It was 20 years after he had left King’s but former colleagues Vernon Barnes and Lynda Gillard still wrote personal tributes. They praised his work, his talent and his commitment as a teacher. More than this, they highlighted his kindness. What nobody knew then was that Ian had left an incredibly generous gift to the school in his will, so significant that it formed a major part of the seed funding for the King’s College School Bursaries Foundation. Thanks to Ian, pupils who would not otherwise be able to come to King’s will now find their place here. Through the Ian Crook Award, we will remember a remarkable teacher for years to come.

Tribute by Robin Chalk (OK 2000)

I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have been taught by Mr Crook for much of my decade at King's from 1990 to 2000. 

There is no denying that the opportunity to work, and create, in the medium of ceramics was appreciated as a, perhaps, unconventional subject and that was not lost on any of us, even at a very young age. His lessons were always popular. Mr Crook imbued his classes with a sense of fun and intrigue, especially with the younger years. That's not to say that the work or lessons lacked seriousness but we were grateful for the change in atmosphere, environment and conviviality of creation. When we put our creations into a kiln, having sculpted and glazed them, perhaps sneaking a peak into the cauldron through the viewer during the firing, who knew how they would turn out. The product of hours of effort and imagination rendered solid in earth's materials and by extreme heat. 

Such was the passion that he gave his students, several of us, myself included, carried on into A-Level, where our art and approach took on a different, more ambitious level. His openness and passion for new ideas, coupled with his technical guidance, gave us a sense of freedom that we could push the boundaries of the medium and material, and the size of the kiln, to its limits. He was unfailingly supportive and happy to give his own time in support of our work and also in a pastoral role - his dedication to his craft was self evident. That being said, he was not prone to overstatement, so when he paid you, or your work, a compliment it truly meant a lot and would stick in your memory. Whilst he was more exuberant and jolly in our younger years, in sixth form you realised that he had a wonderfully dry sense of humour that lent itself brilliantly to the quieter A-Level work sessions. Our respect for him as an A-Level set was clear, there was a great camaraderie together with a determination to do well, but also, not disappoint him and I am confident that each of us would agree and remember our time with him with great fondness. 

Whilst saddened to have lost touch with him and to hear that he did not have family to inherit his estate, the above, together with his leaving the school as his sole beneficiary to help further generations learn and develop within the arts, is a fitting legacy to a wonderful person and passionate, selfless teacher. 

Tribute by Philip Dabrowski (OK 2000)

I studied ceramics under Ian Crook for both GCSE and, as part of a very small cohort of students, at A-level in the late 1990s. 

I'm grateful for this in terms of my career and where I am today. If I hadn't studied A-level ceramics, I wouldn't have gone on to study product design at university, which wouldn't have led me to entering the creative world of advertising where I've been for the past twenty-odd years. 

As the sole driver of this department, Ian Crook might not have come across as conventionally inspirational, yet many of my personal principles can be tracked back to his teaching today.

For those on the outside, Mr. Crook might have seemed slightly stand-offish, quiet, mysterious, entrenched in his lair of damp worktops, pungent clays, and all manner of tools that only a surgeon or dentist could contend with. But to us, as his students, we encountered a master of the ceramic dark arts with a huge heart. 

He was a passionate craftsman, eager to impart his detailed knowledge, challenge you to learn through failure, and fiercely protective of those students willing to learn from him. Personally for me, he was the first teacher I can recall that spoke to me like I was an emerging adult. He understood those who might not have fully fitted into an academic mould and who could call upon a safe space, such as the one he created, to feel like themselves. In this way he was very much ahead of the curve compared with some of the teaching establishment. 

And so it comes as no surprise that we find him yet again giving back, to help support younger generations in the arts, through this bursary. Twenty-six years later and I still have the mug he made for his A-level students at graduation, reminding us that, if treated properly, what we craft can last forever.

What are your memories of King’s? Is there an aspect of the school’s history about which you would like to know more? As ever, if you have stories to share, or questions to ask, please contact me at archive@kcs.org.uk.

Dr Lucy Inglis
School Archivist