‘Come on Burghley! That’s it Porter, you can do it!’ It was sports day 2008, and we were winning. Of course we were winning — weeks of tactical diagrams had gone into making sure of it. The runners crossed over the line and a cheer went up from the blue side. ‘YESSSSSSSSSS!’ screamed a gaggle of teenagers, their faces painted blue. An hour later, the house cup was ours, paraded back to school by triumphant sixth formers.
They say your school days are the best of your life, but I’d go one further: the days you spent competing for house points — those are the best of your life. I’ve yet to encounter anything more deliciously bonding than those 11 years spent cheering for my house at school, and plotting, like the good house captain I was, precisely how to win. And win at everything: chess, sailing, swimming, tennis, netball, poetry, debating. A friend from prep school remembers his ‘powerful’ performances in house poetry competitions. ‘I owned it year after year. No one could ever forget my historic rendition of “There was an old lady who swallowed a fly”.’
School houses are a peculiar quirk of the British education system. Some schools have houses in which you both board and compete, while others have separate boarding and competition houses. At day schools, theirs do what they say on the tin: create families within the wider school community. Their members have badges, colours and, at some schools, ties (Spectator Schools editor Camilla Swift proudly explains that hers was ‘poo brown’). Then it’s down to the important business of competing.
Invariably each house has its own identity. A friend explains that one of the houses at her school was ‘named after the first pupil to die’.

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