The following obituary was written by Christine's daughter, Elizabeth Frayling-Cork

Christine was born in 1928 in Hampstead where she spent a happy childhood with her parents and two brothers. At the outbreak of the Second World War the family moved to Headley, near Bordon in Hampshire, a place which she nicknamed ‘Deadly Boredom’. When she was nineteen, her father Sir Arthur fforde was appointed headmaster of Rugby, and it was there that she met our father Michael, who had joined the staff as a junior Classics master. The newly married couple moved to Cambridge when Dad was asked to become Senior Tutor of his old college, Corpus Christi. Four children followed in quick succession: Robert, then myself, then my younger brothers Mark and Stephen.  

When Dad arrived at Tonbridge to become headmaster in 1962 Christine was just 34 years old. School House was undergoing major renovations in preparation for their arrival, so the family lived in New School House while the builders bashed and hacked away next door, during the famously bitter winter of 1962/63.

As we four children marvelled at the five-foot snow drifts and went tobogganing with Dad in Knole Park, Mum threw herself into the School’s life, meeting masters, boys, domestic staff and gardeners. One daughter of a Tonbridge family remembers waiting with her parents for the new Head to arrive for dinner, wondering what ‘McCrum time’ might turn out to be. It was, of course, punctuality on the dot. She and her siblings crowded to the window to see this new glamorous young couple walk up to the front door.

Once installed in School House, Mum had to devise a way of family living which accommodated both school and home. Boys and masters wandered through the green baize door, from their side of School House, into our downstairs rooms at almost any time of day, or occasionally night. Dad worked in his study at one end of the house, with his secretary opposite, just beside the imposing Skinners’ Library, where much social business was conducted. Boys were invited here to join family tea on Sundays, and sometimes a game of Pelmanism or Racing Demon. Woe betide any boy who had the temerity to win against the Head!

Upstairs were the main family quarters, with a lift bringing hot food when needed up from the School House kitchens. The sitting room upstairs was where our parents were able to relax and from where, behind a sofa, my brothers and I watched the Daleks in the first Dr Who programmes and also the first moon landing of Neil Armstrong.

While Dad spent his days teaching Classics, striding about the grounds in his MA gown and mortar board, or cheering on Rugby and cricket matches, Mum was unobtrusively supportive. She worked closely with all the School House domestic staff, greatly helped by the wonderful Mrs Foard, who looked after us when she was busy. And if Matron was short-staffed Mum would be called in to patch up grazed knees and damaged elbows, or to take temperatures.

Meanwhile there were parents and other influential adults to entertain. We would often look down through the upstairs banisters to watch guests arriving for dinner in the hall. When Princess Alexandra visited, to open the new School Library, I was dressed up to present her with a floral posy on the steps of the New Library.

With great dexterity, Mum managed to combine all these crucial duties with a happy family life. She allowed us children to roam free, together with our next door neighbours’ children, in the large garden and school grounds. Occasionally even locking the garden door to ensure we couldn’t come back inside until lunchtime. 

One day when Dad was proudly showing some prospective benefactors the New Library, he was shocked to see the words HO HO HO painted in large red letters across the pristine new white stone walls. It was the work, it turned out, of his naughty younger sons. They were of course rebuked, but with a clear explanation of how damaging this was, rather than any stern inexplicable punishment. At the end of another term, enormous white footprints were discovered painted across the Head and up onto the Pavilion. Again this prank was dealt with firmness but also understanding. "Boys will be boys" our parents agreed.

As Dad himself enjoyed retelling, when he was appointed Headmaster of Eton in 1970 and the family sadly left their friends in Tonbridge, one nervous young master rushed up to him stammering: "We are all so very sorry you are leaving sir. We will so miss … Christine."

It was while they were at Eton, and we were all away at boarding school, that Christine began to work more outside her supportive school duties, first with immigrant families and then as a JP in Slough, just across the M4 motorway. When Dad was appointed Master of Corpus in 1980 she was devastated to learn that because she was the wife of the Master, she would not be permitted to transfer that role to Cambridgeshire. This disappointment, however, led to her becoming involved with the newly founded Arthur Rank Hospice. As Chairperson of the volunteers, she was instrumental in facilitating firm foundations for much of the extra patient care supportive to all the medics; when she stepped down, her voluntary role was advertised as two separate paid jobs.

In her retirement years she always maintained a keen interest in Tonbridge, Eton and Corpus, welcoming old students and staff to their house in Clarendon Street. Devastated though she was by the loss of Dad in 2005, she battled on, always maintaining her keen sense of humour and determination never to give up. She died peacefully after a four week illness, a few days before her 97th birthday on 4 September 2025.

Wife of Michael McCrum (Headmaster 62-70)