Thursday 2 July 2009

OOOHHH MATRON

Did you know that I used to be Matron in a boys boarding school? Funny isn't it. Can you believe me doing that. I was twenty eight years old and it was a way to get half fees for my son at preparatory school. What a laugh. At the interview I was asked what I thought of children. Without thinking I told her I couldn't stand the blighter's. Would you believe that got me the job.

Children are fine if they are kept quiet, well mannered and away from me. Can't stand all that noise they make. Don't get me wrong, I would never hurt one and if I had to look after it I would, but I'm not one of these women that looks in prams and gets silly about it. I'd quite frankly rather have a litter of puppies.

Anyway, I got the job and was chief Matron and had to live in. What a laugh. I'll never forget my first drama. There was me sitting in my sitting room after lunch enjoying a coffee when a pounding sounded on the door. "Matron, matron, Johnson's broken his leg". Yes of course he has says me thinking it's a wind up. In those days I was slim with an enviable figure (didn't know it then though did I) and used to never wear trousers. Well, a lady doesn't does she? I soon learnt.

I traipsed out in my pink silk dress and high heels only to find myself facing a real drama on the furthest rugby pitch. Oh God it was for real. I haven't got a clue about first aid and here was I in charge with hundreds of boys' looking to me to do something. Head held high I did my best impression of Margot from the Good Life as I tiptoed knee deep in filthy wet mud across the rugby pitches high heels being sucked off at every step. I eventually got there and knelt down in this filth and on seeing his leg almost passed out myself. I was very controlled and did all the right things and escorted him in the ambulance to the hospital. I looked a real site in my ruined pink silk dress which was by now the colour of mud.

Then there was the time that a sick bug swept through the school. Every chap went down with it. One night in particular was pretty bad. Quite a few had me up all night having puked over their beds and clothes which meant mattresses had to be scrubbed and dragged down three flights and propped against the Aga to dry overnight. Even worse, the floors in the dormitories were floorboards and it all went in the cracks. Don't even go there on that one. At about 6am yet another knock on my bedroom door. Little Boeckmann C. (all boys called by surnames) aged 7 was sick. He was the only one that night who used a bowl. I nearly cried with relief. You good boy I cried as I clung to his full bowl and trumped down the stairs towards the bathroom. Halfway down I slipped. Yes, you guessed it, all over me. I fell in a heap at the bottom of the stairs with sick all over my head and dressing gown. I sat legs akimbo on the floor outside purple dorm laughing hysterically. The boys dashed out most concerned to see me laughing when I was in such a state. They had heard me fall down the stairs and were staring with bulging eyes not quite sure whether I had gone barking mad or not.

I was expected to support them in sport as it was a very sporty school. I adore rugby and thought nothing of charging up and down the touchline like a fishwife. When it came to cricket, however, I'm afraid it was another matter. I know, not very British of me, but it is so slow. I like it hard and fast - so to speak. I was expected to sit and watch the whole bally match whilst sewing and darning their blasted clothes. I DO NOT SEW. I will wallpaper, paint, cook, clean, anything but I do not sew.

The headmasters wife was never very sure what to make of me. To her I was staff-which I was, but I also had a life she didn't quite like me having. One day she came into my room-without knocking-and asked whose clothes were in the cellar drying. When I told her they were mine she was most put out. She was actually rather rude and informed me she had checked the labels!!!! How incredibly rude and strange. She asked how I could afford the clothes I had as there were some very expensive labels there. Well, quite frankly, I had never come across rude people like that in my life and was at a loss as to how to answer. So I didn't which annoyed her even more.

She was further confused another time when a friend of mine was coming to take me out and she saw what he arrived in. I couldn't understand why he hadn't arrived yet. He's always late anyway, but this was getting silly. Suddenly a knock on my door (that was a first) and in she walks. Big false grin on her face telling me my friend had arrived and was in their drawing room having a drink would I like to join them! Turned out she had seen a Rolls Royce parked outside the playground door and decided she needed to know who it belonged to and had dragged him into their room for a drink while she 'fetched me'. She had asked where we were going and what we would be doing. He told her he was taking me to France for a meal. He also told her that he was flying and it was his aeroplane. I could have killed him.

Another time, I had borrowed a different car belonging to the same friend. It was a sports car and rather a flash one. It never occurred to me to think about it as I often used his cars. I drove it into the school and parked in Matron's space. Immediately the car was surrounded by all the young lads. I went up in their eyes immediately, especially after I gave some of my boarders a ride in it. I was only insured for all the cars because he was too lazy to drive me home sometimes and it was easier for him to tell me to take a car.

The boys were from age 7 to 13. Like most young boys a few had reached that 'difficult age'. I was 28 slim and obviously causing a stir with some of them as it turned out. I wasn't allowed a lock on my sitting room or bedroom doors for some reason so never felt really secure. One morning lying in bed, I was awoken with the duvet being yanked off me at force. I awoke with a start to see three boys standing at the foot of my bed. they had obviously planned to try and catch Matron naked. Didn't work. It was winter and like all good British boarding schools there was no heating.

I was wearing pyjamas, bed jacket and bedsocks so they never even caught a glimpse of ankle. Would you believe when I told the headmaster about it I was the one to be told off. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't lock my door. What was I meant to do when I was asleep. That was the last straw. I had been there a year, was working an average of 90 hours a week and was fed up with the headmasters wife with her digs at my social life and acquaintances as though I wasn't entitled to know the people I did. I had enjoyed it for the year but enough was enough. I decided to leave at the end of that term. It was great fun in some ways, but by golly do they work you hard.

So there you are. Another little episode from my very varied life. Hope you enjoyed it. It may not have the intrigue of my Jeffrey Archer/John Major tales but it was still a good time for me in some ways. Speak to you all again soon. Bye for now,
Lorraine. x