It is with great sadness that we inform the JAGS community of the passing of alumna Alex Palmer (née Newman) (Class of 1966). Alex was born on 12 February 1948 and passed away on 14 January 2024.

We invite you to read memories of Alex shared by her friends and fellow alumnae Eleanor Price (née Harvey), Mary Francis (née George), Jacqui Brooke (née Harrington), Jenny Tyte (née Whiddett), Alison Balaam (née Haile), all from the Class of 1966.

Words by Eleanor Price (née Harvey):

It is now 65 years since Alex and I first met. We were with our mothers at JAGS to be interviewed by the then headmistress, Miss Leiper, before our possible entry into the senior school. I have no memory whatsoever of meeting Miss Leiper or what she asked me, but I can still see Alex and her mother in the train going home from Herne Hill. This shows how important friends were compared with our teachers at JAGS. Of course, we needed good teachers but friends had a much greater impact on our lives. 

Fortunately, both Alex and I were awarded Kent scholarships so we started at JAGS the following September. We have remained friends ever since. 

Alex’s father had come from Czechoslovakia during WW2, where he had been a violinist in the Czech Army orchestra, and she inherited her great musicality from both him and her mother. Alex sang in choirs all her life and played the flute in orchestras, chamber groups and as a soloist. Unfortunately, a day or two before she was going to audition with the National Youth Orchestra in her teens, she went go-karting with her brother and his friends, had an accident and was unable to play at the audition. So that was the end of that ambition. 

Every time I hear Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, I remember Alex playing that part as the rest of the form trailed behind her. We were in LIV (Year 7) and she is quoted in “A History of James Allen’s Girls’ School” as saying that she remembered being awake all night before an audition for this. ‘I have never wanted anything more badly’, she said.  

Alex met her husband, John, sitting together in the flute section of the university orchestra in Southampton where she read English. He became a chemistry teacher and was a house master at a boarding school before becoming head master at St Catherine’s, Bramley, near Guildford, a girls’ boarding school. So Alex became a headmaster’s wife as well as looking after their three children. Subsequently she taught RS and the flute there but being a professional musician would have been her greatest desire. 

In recent years, Alex ran a philosophy study group and was a member of a creative writing class as well as a painting group. Her life was always as full as it could be. 

Recently, I found the following in an email from her: 

‘... keep well and forget about shoulds and oughts 

do what gives you pleasure ...’ 

Good advice, I think. 

Words by Mary Francis (née George):

I had a lovely phone call with Alex a few weeks before she died.  We’d not been close as adults but the moment I heard her voice I was taken straight back to our school days. Despite her pain she was enthusiastic, eager to tell me stories about her family, still interested in me. 

Yet my specific memories of Alex are patchy.  I think that’s because school friends chatter away and know each other so well that only somewhat unusual incidents stand out.  Alex, Eleanor, Jenny (Gordon-Smith) and I travelled every day on the train from south-east London to Herne Hill, and then walked together to East Dulwich Grove. So we shared almost everything: homework, exam fears, likes and dislikes of teachers and older girls, holiday plans, family doings and so on. Alex was always the one to bring some drama and excitement into these everyday topics – I can hear her clear voice now recounting her latest adventures. 

A few of the things that stand out: 

Alex playing the flute so beautifully, her lips pursed and total concentration on her face; 

Alex auditioning for a school play.  The moment she walked on the stage you knew she had real talent.  I particularly remember her playing one of the male leads in ‘A Month in the Country’; 

Alex being carried out of Chapel when her knee seized up during a service.  She ended up in hospital and gave us something to talk about for weeks; 

Drama of a different kind when, as prefects, we agonised about Alex’s younger sister’s refusal to wear her boater at Herne Hill station. We lost the compliance battle and I cringe now at my self righteousness.  Alex knew we’d never win!     

Countless teas at our various homes, meeting up for country walks and other expeditions in the holidays. Alex’s mother – who lived to a great age – was always generous with invitations; 

And Alex returning to JAGS for Founder’s Day when she was at Southampton University, with her fiancé John.  She was happy and excited – a good memory. 

Words by Jacqui Brooke (née Harrington):

I did not know Alex as well as some, but when I did see her over the years she proved a great raconteur and always related an amusing anecdote about people she knew or an incident at a lunch party. This left me and other listeners, in fits of laughter.  

Words by Jenny Tyte (née Whiddett):

My abiding memory of Alex is her constant cheerfulness and optimism, with laughter aplenty.  

She and I share the same birthday and enjoyed sharing birthday experiences together.  

It was Alex who introduced me to her next-door-but-one neighbour, Roger, to whom I have been married for nearly 54 years.  

Alex was always a good friend, full of kindness and generosity.  

Words by Alison Balaam (née Haile):

Alex had an incredibly positive attitude to her illness. She was very honest about it - the fact that she was dying and in pain and that nothing could be done about it – yet this never prevented her from talking about lots of other things or from being fully engaged with other people. She continued to play her flute until just a few weeks before she died and was still negotiating with publishers about “Triangles of Love”, the book she’d written, right to the end. It was a real joy and privilege to visit her in Selsey, to have fascinating conversations and then for her to say “Sorry, Alison, I’m getting tired, so you’d better go.” She will, indeed, be greatly missed by many.