It was the current headmaster of Malvern College, Keith Metcalfe, I think, who said, “Andy Murtagh has all the best stories.” Well, I don’t know about that, but I do know I had a story to tell. Anybody who has looked after 60 testosterone-fuelled adolescent boys can hardly reflect on his time as a housemaster as a period of peace and tranquillity, for nobody ever lost money betting on the fecklessness of the average male teenager. ‘Expect the unexpected’ were the repeated words of caution I was vouchsafed by former housemasters, but nothing on earth could have led me to believe what happened to me on my first night in No. 7….
During my time in the House, I kept a diary but when I left, I was not at all sure what to do with it. Nobody would be remotely interested, I told myself, so I put it in a box where it gathered dust in the loft. But a swelling chorus – from family, friends, colleagues, parents and old boys – eventually persuaded me to change my mind. When are you going to write your memoirs, I was repeatedly challenged, so I thought I had better knuckle down and bring them to print before Old Father Time raised his finger and sent me on my way.
In point of fact, as I started to put pen to paper (or rather fingers to keyboard, just the two in my retrogressive case), the memories came flooding back, some amusing, some hilarious, some disturbing, some sad, some tragic and some uplifting. As a housemaster, the whole kaleidoscope of human life is laid bare before you, ever-changing, relentless and at bewildering speed. You needed to keep your wits about you, maintain a calm exterior, whatever the churning waters beneath, keep your emotions in check and be prepared to laugh at the essential absurdity of the whole business. A sense of humour was a sine qua non: if you don’t find boys funny, you’re in the wrong job, mate. So, revisiting these stories, I found myself time and again chuckling at their antics. Whatever else was life in No. 7, it was never dull.
On reflection, apart from those who were there - boys, parents and colleagues – it occurred to me that these memoirs might be of interest to a wider audience. Those who did not attend boarding school would be entertained, even if accompanied by a measure of disbelief, at life in a boarding house. Did those sorts of things really happen? And those who have been to boarding school will nod their heads and say, yes, they jolly well did; that is exactly what happened!
This book has not been written out of any sense of grievance; there were no scores to settle, no axes to grind, nothing I wanted to get off my chest. Rattling skeletons in closets is not my style. The only skeleton was to be found in the propscupboard of the Drama Department, raided for House plays. The tone, I hope, is affectionate. I had a blast in No. 7 and I’m pretty sure that most of the boys did too. It was a big responsibility to look after them, but it was one that I foundcompelling and rewarding. “It’s the best job in the world,” my predecessor, James Ferguson, told me, “Because you can make a difference.” As well as providing me with all the best stories, I would add.
Copies of the book (£15) can be obtained from the Malvernian Shop in the OM Office via their website (malsoc@malverncollege.org.uk) or from the author via his website or by email: andrewjosephmurtagh@gmail.com
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