Two Small Armies and a Prize for Being Nice

Here is the club, in numbers, set against ours.

Two. Armies one boy had already built by the end of primary school, according to a piece he wrote for the school magazine in July 2016, before he had even started at Carre’s. He wrote that the club had given him some of his best friends, and that the club met on a Friday lunchtime, so nobody’s parents had to make a special trip to collect them. An eleven-year-old, thinking about the parents. Ours has never once thought about the parents.

Over 40. Pupils turning up each Tuesday break 2 in Room 26 in the autumn of 2025, a large group of them new Year 7s. Each got two free models and set about painting their Orks, Space Marines, Necrons and Stormcast warriors “in whatever style they wanted”. Free. I have the receipts for ours. “Whatever style they wanted” would also have spared us the row about whether a Space Marine is allowed to be teal.

Twelve. Pupils who went to the Warhammer Alliance tournament at Warhammer World in Nottingham in early July 2026, for three games each, with prizes for winning the most games, Best Painted and Best Sportsperson. A Year 9 came third in the Recruits class at his first tournament. A Year 11 came very close in Best Painted with a Mad Max-themed Ork army, which is now all I want for Christmas.

Two years in a row. How long a Year 12 has now held Best Sportsperson, which the newsletter puts down to “his ability to play competitively with an excellent attitude toward his opponents.” A trophy, in other words, for being lovely to people while wiping out their Necrons.

Zero. Sportsmanship prizes awarded in our house since Easter. Last Sunday I was drafted in as the opposing general, lost everything to a single roll of the dice, accused my own son of measuring with his thumb and stood up too fast. Most of both armies are now under the dresser.

The tablecloth, which caught the paint pots, would do very well in Best Painted.