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Remembering Geoff Burke: A Beloved Rydal School Art Teacher
February 11, 2025

Rydal Penrhos is deeply saddened by the passing of Geoff Burke, former Rydal School Art teacher. In tribute to his lasting impact, we are sharing some heartfelt words from those who remember him warmly:

Geoff Burke died on 25th January 2025 after a period of illness.

Geoff Burke must have started at Rydal around 1983 and retired in the late ’90s. He took over from Ken Cooper, who had been the Art teacher at Rydal since the 1950s. Ken had been a potter, and Geoff was a painter and draughtsman. I remember talking to Geoff relatively recently about those early years for him at Rydal—trying to adapt to the school, filling Ken’s shoes, and organising the space—having come from a school in Wigan. Geoff was a modest and self-deprecating Art teacher and spoke of how, in the early days, his exam results seemed so awful to him that he was surprised the Headmaster had kept him on! But the Headmaster, Peter Watkinson, was a good judge of character, and fortunately for us, he kept faith with Geoff.

Geoff was teaching at a time when there were set papers like “still life” and “landscape” in Art education, and, of course, we had to sit an Art History paper as part of Art A-level. The art room was a tranquil oasis, with large rubber plants that would often appear in still-life set-ups. I remember sitting my last exam in the Memorial Hall, writing about Van Eyck’s portrait Man in a Red Turban. It felt easy because, of course, Geoff had spent hours with us, showing us slides in that tiny back room downstairs in Art while he went through the history of Western Art chronologically. He could get quite emotional and was often moved when talking about the work of Mantegna or Piero della Francesca or similar. In fact, in many ways, Geoff seemed happiest when he delivered that part of the course, going off-piste often to flesh things out properly or put into context the work we were looking at. He set up what became an annual pilgrimage to the London galleries, an experience many Rydalians still remember and are grateful for. There were Art trips to Paris and Amsterdam too.

Like all good teachers, Geoff was aware that two ways of saying something are always better than one, and he would tell you his best years at Rydal were when Ceri Leeder joined him in the department in 1985. They were like chalk and cheese or yin and yang, and Ceri’s hands-on, materials-based approach complemented Geoff’s more academic style superbly. Together, they began to send promising Rydalians off to Art foundation courses around the country and locally. Ceri says:

“He was a good teacher, a memorable teacher. One of the main things he taught me, and this by example, not dogma, was to place a high value on the work of every single student. Of course, we raved about the high-fliers—‘Look at the work that’s gone into this!’ was one of his favourite expressions. ‘Delicious’ was another adjective. He loved it when students went above and beyond the usual, and we both went into periodic rhapsodies of delight when someone broke a new boundary or tried something new. He was never jealous of his students. He never bore grudges. And he also taught me how to value the work of the ‘ungifted’—the seemingly lazy student, the student for whom everything went wrong, and the student whose work nobody liked. So, thanks to Geoff, I began to see that every single story was worth telling, in whatever way it could be told. Every attempt was worth praising.”

In many ways, Geoff’s overriding strength as Head of Art was that he was teaching you Art in its richness and complex power rather than just how to pass an exam in it. I remember turning up for my Art school interview wearing a suit, quickly finding out I was incredibly naïve and behind—but surprisingly ahead of my peers, like many Rydalians, in terms of my Art context purely down to Geoff’s work. That was because Geoff had bothered to do it properly. The rest one could learn or was skill-based, and Geoff had concentrated as much on the “content” as the skill of what we were doing at school. Even recently, he still seemed to need reassurance that he had made a difference or had an impact during his tenure at Rydal Art. It was this humble and gracious quality about him that is one of the things I most admired.

Always encouraging, he would lean over your work in the small sixth-form room he had set up downstairs and, from a great height, perhaps suggest one should try a different technique or work on an area in a certain way. He put up some of his own work at one point as an example, and I remember being in awe of a large expressive painting of a hippo with its mouth open. He was showing us rather than telling us that we could be ambitious—that it was okay to throw the paint about a bit to express feeling or emotion. Ceri says:

“Geoff was a big man. He had a large physical presence; his voice was colossal, and I often heard it booming from on high. He taught upstairs; I was down. He filled the Art room and was an open and accessible presence. I, for one, look back with enormous fondness on those dreamy days… and am profoundly grateful to have worked alongside such a great-hearted man.”

He loved and valued being part of the community as a whole. He ran the tennis team, helped with rugby and cricket, and loved nothing more than sharing the stage with other Rydal musicians with his guitar for the annual NSPCC charity jazz and blues night. Geoff was also the Housemaster at New House for a number of years. After leaving Rydal, Geoff continued his love of music, forming a booking agency, management company, and record label. He worked in Sweden for Sony Music for a while, as well as helping to set up the Llandudno Jazz Festival. More recently, he had become a co-author of a historical novel under the pen name N.G. Neville and was involved in running the Swinley Art Group. A true Renaissance man.

Perhaps the greatest compliment I can give Geoff is that when I finally left Rydal—a scruffy, sports-mad reprobate who bore a strong resemblance to Shaggy from Scooby-Doo—I bought an Interrail ticket and headed off immediately that summer to the Kunstmuseum in Vienna to see the room of Bruegel landscapes. Geoff had fired me up so much and made Bruegel’s work come so alive for me in those slide shows at Rydal that I wanted to go and see them immediately in the flesh. Now that’s proper teaching! Thank you, Geoff Burke.

But I will leave the final words to Ceri, who worked so closely and effectively with Geoff for so many years:

“Art teachers have the immense privilege, not given to many other professionals, of seeing souls spread out in materiality. It’s quite a risk on the student’s part to expose so much. Geoff Burke was a big man with a big heart, and in his hands, those intimate, secret, and private expressions were treasured and kept safe.”

– 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗦𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗼𝗻, 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗔𝗿𝘁. 𝗝𝗮𝗻𝘂𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟱

rydal penrhos

Art teachers have the immense privilege, not given to many other professionals, of seeing souls spread out in materiality. It’s quite a risk on the student’s part to expose so much. Geoff Burke was a big man with a big heart, and in his hands, those intimate, secret, and private expressions were treasured and kept safe.

I came to work for Geoff in the Rydal Art Centre in about 1985. We worked together until his retirement in the late ’90s.

He was a good teacher, a memorable teacher, and I personally learnt so much from working with him.

One of the main things he taught me, and this by example, not dogma, was to place a high value on the work of every single student.

Of course, we raved about the high-fliers:
“Look at the work that’s gone into this!” was one of his favourite expressions.
“Delicious” was another adjective.

He loved it when students went above and beyond the usual, and we both went into periodic rhapsodies of delight when someone broke a new boundary or tried something new.

He was never jealous of his students. He never bore grudges.

And he also taught me how to value the work of the “ungifted”—the seemingly lazy student, the student for whom everything went wrong, and the student whose work nobody liked.

So, thanks to Geoff, I began to see that every single story was worth telling, in whatever way it could be told. Every attempt was worth praising.

Geoff was a big man. He had a large physical presence; his voice was colossal, and I often heard it booming from on high. He taught upstairs; I was down. He filled the Art room and was an open and accessible presence.

I, for one, look back with enormous fondness on those dreamy days… and am profoundly grateful to have worked alongside such a great-hearted man.

– 𝗖𝗲𝗿𝗶 𝗟𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗲𝗿

Geoff Burke’s funeral will take place on 14th February at 2:45 PM at the Colwyn Bay Crematorium.