Colin Holman, ebullient prep school master who spent half a century at Woodcote House – obituary

Colin Holman, who has died aged 87, was the larger-than-life maths teacher, rugby coach and genius loci of Woodcote House, a small old-fashioned boys’ preparatory school at Windlesham in Surrey.

Apart from one brief spell on exchange at Diocesan College in Cape Town, “Holy” Holman never taught anywhere else. For half a century, he lived and breathed Woodcote, becoming inseparable from the institution itself.

Huge and with a deep, plummy voice to match, Holman demanded effort in the classroom, manners in the corridors and courage on the sports pitches – turning out the sort of pupils the fictional schoolboy Nigel Molesworth called “noble brave fearless etc” in Down with Skool. Molesworth’s creator, Geoffrey Willans, taught at Woodcote and it was the model for his chaotic prep school St Custard’s.

Holman’s pedagogy was traditional: boys learnt things and passed Common Entrance. The boys found him a gentle giant, full of mischief and childlike glee. So did his colleagues: when the head of science wore his white lab coat, Holman would shout: “Ice Cream!”

In trigonometry, one of his mnemonics for SOHCAHTOA was: “Six Old Holmans Came And Heavily Trod On Anscombe”. Teaching javelin, he told the boys to imagine “a horrible maths master standing at the end of the field” and as each one took his run-up he bellowed “Maths Marstahhhhhhh!” for encouragement.

On another occasion, a certain boy from Ludgrove suffered a mild concussion on the rugby pitch; the headmaster, who was refereeing, instigated the relevant protocols with scrupulous concern. From the touchline, Holman boomed: “Ask His Royal Highness what seven eights are!”

Some of his heartiest chivvying went to his “puffers and wheezers”, those less athletic pupils who brought up the rear of the cross-country races, but sundry Woodcote boys credited Holman’s dogged support for their later sporting successes.

Holman’s monikers were legendary: “vile boy!” was one of the most sought-after, treasured by its recipients. Some of the nicknames he bestowed were carried proudly into adult life.

It took the headmaster some time, however, to persuade one school inspector that Holman’s cry of “I’m going to eat you!” was one of his endearing stock phrases and that the boys definitely knew it was a joke.

Holman’s turns in the staff revues were much anticipated: a grass skirt worn in a scene from The Jungle Book passed into lore. He was also much in demand for school trips. One year the boys shared a hotel in France with a girls’ school on a similar expedition. Holman spent the night on the staircase between them, just in case.

Every summer he would go fishing on Benbecula in the Outer Hebrides, but his abiding passion was rugby and his sitting room was festooned with match programmes. He coached Esher, was a scout for Richmond and Surrey, and ran the Middlesex Schools Sevens tournament for more than 30 years – with Woodcote boys drafted in as runners.

Rosslyn Park Sevens benefited from his wisdom, as did Camberley Gymnastics Club; Holman spent his afternoons off driving a minibus for Riding for the Disabled. He was a notoriously slow driver: departure times for away matches were brought forward if he was to be at the wheel.

A frequent patron of The Bee in Windlesham, Holman persuaded a fellow drinker, a BA pilot, to give the boys tours of Concorde. Once, on his way home after closing time, he spotted two boys in dressing gowns and slippers. Having lost a dare, their forfeit had been to purloin a flag from the local golf club. They were marched back to bed and dealt with in the morning.

He handed out Mars Bars as prizes for the quizzes which he set for his mathematicians (20 questions, no calculators) and for the sweepstakes he ran on England internationals. He ate pâté at breakfast “for the sake of my health”. On duty nights he sat at the foot of the dormitory stairs after lights-out, repelling pantry-bound miscreants with no more than a look.

Above all, Holman was kind; he particularly looked after the overseas boys who may have struggled boarding far from home. In post-Harry Potter years, the mother of a Spanish boy asked who lived in the little cottage at the end of the school drive. “O, Mama”, the lad replied. “Es la casa de Hagrid!”

Jack Colin Frank Holman was born on June 8 1936, the middle child, and only son, of Harold (known as Jack) and Stella. His father was headmaster of Lime House School near Carlisle, before taking over the Exmouth Forest Hotel in 1948.

Holman attended Sherborne school then did his National Service in the Army, before being commissioned into the Military Police. After four years in Germany, during which he took part in the gruelling Nijmegen March, Holman trained as a teacher at St Luke’s College, Exeter, and then at Newcastle College; he arrived in 1963 at Woodcote House. Owned by the Paterson family since 1931, the present headmaster, Holman’s godson, is the great-grandson of the first.

Appointed as a sports assistant, Holman took on academic responsibilities a year later, but refused to have a job description. By the time he retired in 2011 he had taught maths and classics, and been a sports coach, assistant headmaster, head groundsman, and mahout of the school’s ancient, sputtering tractor.

Smiles broke out whenever Holy, Holy, Holy was sung in the school’s tin-tabernacle chapel, though Holman rarely attended; he preferred parish worship on Sundays. His faith was private, but strong: he read the Bible daily and quietly supported several charities at home and abroad. Grace was always “Benedictus benedicat…” (“It’s the only one I know.”)

Despite his vast presence, Holman disliked the limelight and could be diffident about big social gatherings. In 2009 he won the Telegraph’s prize for contribution to school sport, but he shunned the ceremony after he learnt that a former British Lion had come second. He accepted a lifetime achievement award from Tatler, however: a big silver trophy.

Holman retired to Zeals, in Wiltshire, where he helped out with English and maths at the primary school, did volunteer work locally, and kept an eye on the Woodcote boys now at Sherborne. At nearby Stourhead, he steered the golf buggies for the less mobile visitors. “Driving the grannies around,” he called it, with a twinkle – he was older than most of his passengers. In the end, he was asked to leave – predictably, for going too slowly.

Holman had thought briefly about marrying a Woodcote matron, but he remained a bachelor – although he might impishly refer to some of the mothers as “easy on the eye”. During a staff first-aid training session, he administered the kiss of life so vigorously to a dummy that her release-valve blew flatulently off the other end.

Many of his pupils kept in touch and became lifelong friends. He is survived by a sister, and his nephews and nieces, to whom he was known as “Cog”.

Colin Holman, born June 8 1936, died March 4 2024