Belfast Boys Model School

Over a quiet drink in a Belfast club last Friday afternoon I introduced the elderly gentlemen sitting beside me to another friend of mine who’d just joined our company.

The older man was about to further elucidate as to who he was when the newcomer, Dougie, held up his hand. ‘No need to tell me who you are,’ he said. ‘I know already. You’re a legend.’ The legend in question was the magnificent Ernie Davis, former Headmaster of the Boys’ Model School, rugby hero and all-round gentleman.

He died just the following day. And in common with the thousands of people (I do not exaggerate) who knew and loved him, my heart truly aches at his passing.

Ernie died doing what he loved most – watching CIYMS play rugby. He was among friends. He himself would have regarded that as a fitting way to go. For Ernie lived and breathed the game he first played as a boy at Portora, Co. Fermanagh. It inspired him and through it, he inspired so many others.

In 1971, the year before he became Headmaster, he coached the Boys’ Model team that became the first, and only, non-grammar school to win the Rugby School’s Cup. It was an outstanding, historic achievement for the team, the school and the self-effacing, dynamo of a man who steered them to victory.

It says something about the times we live in that teachers today rarely get the credit they so often deserve for the work they do. The era of Mr. Chips is long gone. The devotion great teachers can inspire in their students seems oddly dated in a world where the "achievements of celebrities" eclipse the more meaningful work of those who really do shape young lives. Yet, if asked, most people could still recall a favourite teacher who will always hold a special place in their hearts.

Maybe because that teacher just listened to you or helped you.

Maybe because they encouraged you onto things you never imagined you could achieve. Or maybe because they changed your life.

Ernie epitomised the very best of his profession. He led the school during the hard, dark years of the Troubles. An obituary in this paper this week by his friend Eric Luney describes his “no-nonsense brand of leadership” That was Ernie. He was not a man for standing on ceremony. He was the most wonderful company. He was witty and sharp, a wonderful story teller who would break into recitation at the drop of a hat. To be honest, often even without the drop of a hat…

In his day he was no mean rugby payer himself (he turned out with the likes of that other legend, the great Jack Kyle) and his love of the game in many ways defined him. He was essentially a team player. But a player who led from the front.

In recent years his friends had campaigned for his contribution to teaching and to charity to be officially recognised. But Ernie never got a gong. Maybe he wasn’t considered trendy enough by those who judge such things. But the fact is that it didn’t matter. In various ways those whose lives he’d touched had over the years paid their own tribute.

When he turned 80, for example, hundreds turned out for a special dinner in his honour where his trademark white raincoat was auctioned for charity. And CDs of the great man’s recitals were snapped up.

Ernie Davis knew that he was loved and respected. The only question is that, modest man that he was, would he have know just how much?

The Belfast Telegraph, Wednesday, 17/12/08