Harry Percival Kingston was born in Willenhall and died in Wales in 1956 aged 66 years.  He retired as headmaster of Bilston Grammer School in 1955.  His interests were poetry, watercolour painting and historical research.  

He spent 38 years as a teacher and he was headmaster of Bilston Grammer School since 1949.  He described the 6 years as headmaster  of Bilston as his best years as a teacher.  He joined the school n 1925 as a teacher for 10 years during which he married.  He was also a lecturer at Bilston Technical School.    

From 1936 to 1943 he was headmaster at Lichfield Road School in Wednesfield.  He lived at 193 Lichfield Road in Wednesfield a few yards from the school.  He later taught at Walsall Grammar School until 1949.    Harry was at Birmingham University in the early 1920s where he gained his BA degree and excelled at English Literature earning the Bunce Prize.  For 2 years running he was awarded the student association prize for poetry and prose.  He became an MA in 1932.  

During his stay at Bilston Grammar School he saw the 6th Form grow from 2 pupils in 1949  to 30 in 1955.  Upon his retirement a new cup was presented to the school called "the Kingston Award" for leadership and example.  A garden party was planned for staff and governors to mark Harry's retirement.    

Today Harry is largely forgotten.  Here is the poem he composed for his school to celebrate Remembrance Sunday.  It's called, appropriately, "November 11th":  

The men we love, what praise is theirs,

Who, dying, gave to us our lives;

Hose name each rising sun revives,

Whose memory every evening bears? 

Shall tongue and empty breach proclaim

Their worth, in whose stead here we stand,

To hold, with all untried hand,

The heritage of their great name?  

Who turned and left the happy fields,

To garner that strange harvest store

From whence the reaper comes no more

And only Death the furrow yields.  

By life alone can life be paid,

By service only, sacrifice.

The debt is ours and heavy lies

The burden on our hearts they laid.  

Their lives to us are handed on;

Our praise - their severed lives to live;

To men, for men, ourselves to give,

Nor rest us till the day is won.  

That these we honour now desired

And longed with dying eyes to see,

When here Jerusalem shall be,

By love of man for man inspired.