I’m happy to play football – or change a nappy

One of the first men to graduate from Norland College, Liam Willett, tells Luke Mintz about life as an elite ‘manny’

Liam Willett has spent most of the day jumping in and out of puddles. The male nanny – or “manny”, as they are dubbed by some – was on a forest school expedition with the two-year-old boy in his care, exploring the wilds of the woods of north London.

Brimming with enthusiasm, Willett arrives at a nearby coffee shop after putting his charge to bed: the boy can now speak 16 words, including his manny’s name, apparently, compared to virtually none a few weeks ago.

Last month, Willett became one of the first two men in its 126-year history to graduate from Norland College, the elite nannying academy in Bath which each year pumps out dozens of the most sought-after childminders in the country.

Armed with their classic brown felt hats emblazoned with a letter ‘N’, Norland Nannies go on to care for the children of the rich and famous. Maria Borrallo, Prince George’s nanny, is a Norland graduate, and both the Duchess of Sussex and Pippa Matthews are expected to choose from its hallowed ranks. A Norlander working for a family in London can expect to make anything between £34,000 and £60,000 a year.

Twenty-one-year-old Willett, who describes himself as a “stereotypically very boyish boy”, hadn’t quite computed that he would make history by being the first man to walk through Norland’s doors until he arrived: “I just vividly remember standing at the common room door holding it open for all the girls, because I pride myself on being a gentleman. I didn’t realise I would be letting something like 70 girls through before I could leave.”

As one of six siblings, Willett always loved looking after children, going on to study childcare at Bromley College, south London – where he got used to being the only man in the classroom in a profession dominated by women.

“I like to play football, but I’m also happy to change a nappy,” he says. “I like sports, I like anything that boys stereotypically like, but I can also roll around with a two-year-old on the floor pretending to be a crocodile. When people see that, they’re a bit like, ‘why aren’t more [men] doing this, because it’s absolutely fine?’”

Indeed, after standing out slightly on the first day, Willett and his friend Harry Pratt, Norland’s only other male student, soon blended in. Admittedly, the uniform was slightly different – they forwent the brown felt hat and pristine white gloves, for a tweed blazer and tie branded with the letter ‘N’ – but in every other respect, they were treated the same.

Famous for preparing its nannies for every possible childcare disaster, Norland’s three-year degree programme proved intense. Willett and his peers learnt the academic theories behind childcare, and received practical lessons in sewing and food and nutrition, learning how to cater for every possible allergy, dietary and religious guideline.

They were also given less conventional lectures in cybersecurity (how to keep your child safe online) and skid pan driving (some Norland clients need nannies who can control a car in icy conditions, he says, somewhat mysteriously). Self-defence was his most colourful lesson: a taekwondo instructor taught them how to repel a street attacker with one hand while keeping hold of a crying baby with the other.

“You want to make sure the child’s safe, respond to the danger, and then get away as quickly as possible,” Willett explains. “It’s all very light-hearted and fun, but it’s also got a serious undertone to it, because these things do happen.”

As a Newly Qualified Nanny (NQN), he is three months into his tough first-year placement, with the two-year-old spending 11 hours a day in his care. Norland’s ultra-secretive rules prevent him from revealing anything about his employers, who also house and feed him; he’s unable to even share many details with his family. But he’s delighted with how quickly he’s developed a bond with the boy: “A lot of their family friends say we have an almost brotherly relationship, which is really nice to hear.”

It was this ability to make his

We were taught to fight an attacker with one hand while holding a baby in the other

It’s tough being a parent, but perhaps it’s even tougher being a nanny – because by far the easiest way to ensure your little darling is eating well and not glued to their screen is to get your employee to impose the rules for you.

I’m as guilty of this as the next working mum, cowering upstairs at my computer while my lovely nanny tries to feed my three sons homecooked salmon risotto. She has to give them Weetabix in the morning, while kind Mummy allows Weetos.

There are mums living around me, however, taking their draconian rules to extremes. According to many nanny agencies, it’s now common for parents to insist on contracts banning screens and social media during working hours altogether – for the nanny as well as the kids.

“This is one of the most frequently requested conditions,” says Paola Diana, founder of Nanny & Butler. “Children pick up on everything, they don’t need to see someone distracted.”

After a previous nanny of ours spent her days arranging Tinder dates, I can sympathise. But micromanaging gets even more rife in Nappy Valley. I’ve heard of mums jealously banning their nanny from communicating with other mothers (nanny poaching is a big thing around these parts), and others who spot-check that bedrooms are tidy.

“I just can’t cope with the festering piles of Deliveroo pizza boxes,” one told me recently. I can’t either, but I happily pay for a cleaner to tidy our nanny’s room – on the grounds that she’s too exhausted from caring for my three brats to look after herself.

Of all the rules imposed by other mothers, the one which live-in nannies hate the most is a 10.3011pm curfew on school nights, to ensure they are on sparkling form for their charges the next morning.

“These rules don’t put good nannies off – they put bad nannies out of the market,” says Diana. “You never saw Mary Poppins going to the pub and getting drunk!”

Knowing how hellish it is to look after children on a hangover, however, I feel a curfew clause is one our contract needn’t stipulate.