The following obituary for L.S. May by Lawrence Sail (The Green 1956-61) was published in Old Shirburnian Society Record, November 1997:
By the time I went to The Green in 1956, Laurence May had already been on the staff for 21 years, and a housemaster for five of them. A linguist at school, I cannot speak of his reputation as a chemist, though I know that to have been formidable. As a member of his house, I find the memories of him so plentiful and vivid that the real problem is one of editing.
Prominent among such memories are his appearance and bearing. As his middle name aptly suggests, he had a challenging eye, heightened in its effects by the context of features which in shyness, amusement or anger, could quickly darken to plum. His gulping laugh was a formidable self-prolonging system. If the laughter occurred while he was standing, it involved turns and near-pirouettes: if he was sitting down, there was an amount of rocking to and fro, while sitting on the hands. In either case, it seemed nothing less than a seismic phenomenon.
If the challenging eye, modulating to fierce as required, was in housemastering terms a considerable asset, another was Laurence’s ability to move swiftly and silently. This skill was amply demonstrated, with arms working energetically or clasped behind the back, in covering the distance between The Green and the Courts, often with a member of the house trying desperately to keep up; in whizzing the length of a house corridor; or in covering the length of the chapel aisle.
Equally striking was LSM’s command of language, sometimes a global enclosure which made its own logic or illogic. In this world, it was better to be safe than sure, and not to face your foxes before you came to them, just as it was always good to weigh the crows and prongs of a matter. Holidays were often taken at the bottom of Lake Geneva: the forwards of a house rugby team were once allegedly urged to get the ball out to the wicket-keeper.
Five years in the house provided insights into crucial aspects of his character. He was cosmopolitan and stylish, a smart dresser with a love of the arts and travel. His love of music found diverse expression, from the summoning of the entire day room to his study every so often to listen to a programme of LPs which always included La Boutique Fantasque; to taking members of the house to events at the Bath Festival, via a delicious summer picnic. Such outings are emblematic of his generosity and his panache, as well as of his driving which was fast and at times daringly indecisive.
He was a devout Christian, in an unforce way that was evident without ever seeming merely pious. In this aspect of life as in others, a desire to retain his privacy, or not to impose, could bring out an awkwardness of manner that you felt might be painful for him. There were times when he seemed to share very schoolboy’s occasional wish to be invisible.
He also had a real ability to commandeer terrain not naturally his own. Many will recall the figure half blurred by autumn drizzle, patrolling a touch-line in a raincoat slightly too voluminous, in Wellingtons slightly too tall for him, and further cumbered about with a large black umbrella. The point is that he was there.
It is impossible to detach any picture of him entirely from the unique household over which he presided. During my time, LSM was fortunate in having at his disposal the combined talents of Bill Cooper and Hubert Moore (as House Tutors), Hester Jesson, Barbara Vergette, Jessie Jaques and Henry Batten. To which already formidable list must be added Hester’s lithe whippets, Twist and Blue.
Valete for L.S. May by Headmaster R.W. Powell, published in The Shirburnian, December 1979:
It has often been the good fortune of Sherborne that men of quality, having been appointed as masters soon after the end of their university careers, have come to the School, have stayed, have made their lives in and enriched the traditions of the community. H.H. Brown was one; others were J.H. Randolph, Sam Hey, and Abe Gourlay. Laurence May, too, must be added to the list.
When I came to school in 1950, Laurence was already firmly established as a very competent scientist and a popular member of the staff: men of exacting discrimination like H.H. Brown and Vivian Green sought his friendship and took continental holidays with him. At that time the Common Room was no more than one room in Bow House, little used by masters except to put notes and reports in one another’s pigeon holes. The rest of it was Laurence’s private dwelling, where, looked after by a housekeeper, he housed his fine antique furniture, and dispensed, amid the gleam of mahogany and sliver, choice hospitality. Indeed, throughout his career he was a superb host. At the Green he entertained both his colleagues and senior boys of all houses, and later, at Ryme Intrinseca, the excellence of the fare at his dinner parties was not lowered, and the warmth of the hospitality seemed accentuated by the fact that he was, on such occasions, his own cook.
At the end of 1950, when Sam Hey retired from the Green, Laurence seemed his obvious successor, (though one retired housemaster held that scientists could not make good housemasters). It was soon clear that Laurence was both a scientist and a born housemaster. His organisation, which included the appointment of a first class housekeeper and a first class cook, was never intrusive, but ensured that the wheels ran smoothly. Similarly his interest and sympathy helped boys find their own way through school life, never dictated the direction. Under his efficient, wise control, the Green was a happy, purposeful house in which many boys enjoyed a rewarding school career.
It was revealing of Laurence’s commitment that whereas previously, not being himself a games player, he had shown little interest in the muscular activities of the school, once he became housemaster no team in the Green played any kind of contest without his presence and support, perhaps the more welcome in that it was not vociferously critical or hortatory.
Housemastering, as Laurence practised it, would have absorbed all his attention and time, had not his pronounced talent for organisation found him time to do other things: to be, for instance, head of the science department for a spell when it was expanding rapidly: above all time to enjoy pastime and good company with that wholehearted merriment which sometimes verged on incoherence, but which nevertheless endeared him and cheered others.
Sadness at the loss to the community of the active participation of so effective and so convivial a man, is tempered by the thought that he remains within touch, close enough to be visited by grateful O.S.’s, close enough for his company to be sought by the host of his old friends.
Laurence Seymour May (1914-1997)
Born on 4 July 1914 at Camberwell, London.
Educated at Haileybury College.
Queens’ College, Cambridge, MA.
Assistant master, Sherborne School, 1937-1979.
Housemaster of The Green 1951-1966.
Fellow of the Chemical Society.
Died on 23 July 1997 and buried at Ryme Intrinseca, Dorset.