Gerald by SteDJ

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It was a beautiful spring day in April 1980, and I was walking home from school with Thomas, one of my schoolmates. We were both just turned 16 years old, in the same class and had been friends since primary school. We were chatting as we walked along, discussing the usual stuff such as the fortunes of our favourite football team, girls, music and all the other normal teenage topics. Eventually, we approached the local shopping parade; a row of unremarkable shops including a convenience store, laundrette, post office, greengrocer’s, chemist â€" and Gerald Taylor’s barber’s shop. The barber’s had been there since time immemorial and was a place no self-respecting teenager would be seen dead in. Old Gerald had a fearsome reputation for being a staunch traditionalist who specialised in what was known among his young victims as the "short back and scrape", and we did all we could to give the place a wide berth. Being the early 80s, like most lads of our age, Thomas and I were therefore careful to get our hair cut in a more modern unisex place more in keeping with the times. Even then, we still did our best to go for as long as possible between haircuts and we both sported centre-parted feather cuts with our locks well over our ears and over the collar at the back.

As we approached Gerald’s, we soon became aware of old Gerald himself outside his shop in his white overall apparently struggling with a heavy package that he was trying to drag up and over the threshold into the shop. As we got closer, he caught sight of us and shouted across,

"Give us a hand will you, lads. The delivery man left this and b*ggered off leaving me to shift it on my own. I’m not as strong as I used to be. Young people nowadays…"

"Yes of course, Mr Taylor," and we both grabbed the large heavy carboard package and manhandled it into the shop.

"What’s in here?" asked Thomas.

"It’s a new wash basin for the shop," said Gerald. "All I need now is for someone to fit it for me. I don’t suppose you boys know any plumbers?"

"My uncle’s a plumber," replied Thomas. "I could get him to call round if you like."

We were now inside the tired musty old shop, and that unique old barbershop after-shave smell hit our nostrils.

"That’s great, lads. Thanks a lot. Pop it down there. And if you can give your uncle a shout, that would be great. You can see the state of the old one, I’ve been meaning to get it swapped for years."

It wasn’t just the cracked and stained wash basin; the whole shop was in a state â€" the floor was covered with faded peeling lino, the pale blue walls were discoloured and flaking, the ceiling was nicotine stained and the mirrors tarnished. Dominating the small shop were two old metal framed hydraulic barber chairs, their upholstery repaired with gaffa-tape and the chromework badly pitted. The place appeared unchanged since the 1940s, and I could only assume that the customers turned up in the numbers they did only because of the 1940s prices that Gerald still charged for his services.

Our good deed for the day done, Thomas and I were just making for the door and were about to bid Gerald our goodbyes when the old man quickly blocked our exit and reached for a folded blue and white striped barber sheet that was draped over the arm of one of the chairs. My heart sank as I predicted what was coming.

"Listen, lads. I really appreciate your help, and I always say that one good turn deserves another. I needed some muscles â€" and a plumber, and you two both look like you could do with a trim. So, you, young man, hop up into the chair and I’ll tidy you up â€" on the house," said Gerald, pointing at me, "and you take a seat by the window and I’ll do you after I’ve finished with your friend," added the barber, directing Thomas to a battered old wooden chair in the waiting area.

My heart skipped a beat and my blood ran cold on hearing Gerald’s shocking suggestion, and we both struggled for words at first.

"Err… err… That’s err… really kind of you, Mr Taylor," I stammered. "But, I… err… we need to get home…"

"Yes, we’ve got to do our homework…" added Thomas. "We’d love you to cut our hair, but we haven’t time right now…"

I shot Thomas a filthy look thinking I would sooner have sawn my own leg off than have old Gerald Taylor near my hair. Gerald was quite insistent though.

"It will take me no more than ten minutes to do each of you â€" that’s only twenty minutes. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. It’s the least I can do. I insist."

Gerald unfolded the cape and shook it out with a loud snap, and stood staring at me. This was turning into a battle of wits.

"OK then, but just a very light trim. Thomas, you go first."

"No, Mr Taylor asked you to go first," retorted Thomas, as he trudged over to the waiting chairs, sat down and folded his arms ready to take in the unfolding spectacle.

Gerald’s tone suddenly changed.

"Boys! I haven’t got all day! You â€" in the chair, NOW!!!"

Knowing this was probably a very bad idea indeed, I did as I was told and climbed onto the footrest and eased myself up onto the worn-out black leather cushion of the old barber’s chair.

"That’s more like it. Now, sit up straight and look straight ahead," barked Gerald and he threw a grubby grey towel over my shoulders, shoving it roughly into the collar of my white school shirt before flinging the enormous creased nylon cape over me, drawing it tightly round my neck and firmly tucking it in at the back. The cape too had seen better days; not only was it all creased up, but it was also fraying round the neck and had some unpleasant looking stains on it. As I sat staring at my reflection in the mirror, I began to wonder how on earth I had ended up here, and I began to feel very fearful for what was soon about to happen.

I didn’t have very long to wait, as Gerald appeared behind me and set about pumping the chair up in a series of noisy jolts until I was high in the air and beyond the point of any reasonable escape. I was quite surprised that the chair adjustment still worked â€" nothing much else seemed to work in the decrepit dump in which I had found myself.

"Just a very light trim, please," I repeated. "Leave it over my ears and longer at the back… please…"

Gerald didn’t reply, but instead grabbed his big black comb and began combing out my long blond hair, changing the parting from the centre to the left.

"Can you leave the parting in the middle, please Mr Taylor?"

Still Gerald kept quiet, and returned to the counter in front of the chair, rummaging through a selection of scary looking cutting implements that were scattered on the shelf.

I tried again, "Can I have the parting on…." I was interrupted as Gerald returned behind the chair armed with a shiny silver implement in his right hand, grabbed my head with a hand at each side, roughly shoved it forward and immediately applied the implement to the nape of my neck. I had absolutely no idea what was going on apart from the sensation of cold metal on the back of my neck, snagging at my hair with a crunching rasping sensation working its way up the back of my head with a noisy mechanical clicking sound.

"Please, Mr Taylor, what are you doing?" I asked as panic rose within me. I asked you for a light trim and I think you’re cutting my hair a bit too short."

There was still no reply from the barber.

I tried to move my head upwards to look in the mirror, but my attempt to move was met with a firm shove from the barber’s hand gripping my head and forcing it to stay where it was. It seemed that Gerald could be strong when he wanted to be after all. The crunching sensation continued through the hair up the back of my neck â€" and then I saw it. As I stared down at the blue and white stripes covering my knees, a hank of hair â€" my hair â€" that must have been at least four or five inches long suddenly slid down the cape and settled in my lap.

"Oh my god, what’s happening?" I struggled to get my arms out from under the cape to survey the damage, but they ended up tangled in the voluminous folds of the huge nylon sheet, and I immediately earned a sharp rebuke from Gerald who told me in no uncertain terms to shut up and keep still. I was no longer just scared, but angry as well. This sadistic old b*stard should have been arrested and locked up. There must have been laws against this sort of thing.

Seemingly satisfied with whatever he had done to the back of my head, Gerald then grabbed the sides of my head and positioned it facing forwards looking straight ahead into the mirror. As he then set about the sides, I saw what he had been using round the back â€" some kind of hand operated clipping device that as good as shaved the skin bald. He wasted no time in ploughing the device into the hair above my ears, and I watched in horror and dismay as vast curtains of my blond locks suddenly parted company with my head and plunged down onto the cape, leaving nothing but a short fuzz in their path.

It was then that I caught sight of Thomas in the mirror, watching in open-mouthed horror.

"Listen mate, no offence, but I’m out of here. I’ll see you at school tomorrow."

He grabbed his school bag, stood up and made for the door, only to be intercepted by Gerald, who stood in front of him menacingly waving the hair clippers in the air. I sat there momentarily considering whether this would be a good time to make a run for it along with Thomas, but with my haircut in this half-finished state, I guessed the only sensible thing to do would be to stay and let Gerald finish the job, however awful the outcome was going to be.

"I won’t be long with your friend, so go back and sit down please and I’ll be with you soon."

"Sorry Mr Taylor, but I want to keep my hair, so I’m off. Thank you for your offer."

With that, Thomas shoved part Gerald and managed to get to the door and out into the street before the old man could stop him.

Shaking his head, sighing and cursing under his breath, Gerald returned to his mission of destruction around my head, seemingly more determined than ever to maximise the carnage. The hair on top was the next to be attacked, as Gerald lowered the chair slightly and set about lopping off four inches at a time with a huge pair of steel scissors, leaving behind a couple of inches at best. The scissors worked away at high speed, snipping noisily as they crunched effortlessly through my blond locks, sending clumps flying to the cape adding to the fast-growing mound building up in my lap. Standing in front of me, the barber then grabbed me by the chin, forced my head up and sliced through my fringe, reducing it to a slanted line high on my forehead.

Finally, he put the scissors down, untucked the back of my cape and applied some sweet-smelling liquid of some kind around my hairline above my ears and across my neck. That was followed by a spine-tingling scrape with his cut throat razor, finally removing any stray hairs that the clippers had missed, creating arches high into the stubble round my ears and totally removing my sideboards.

Gerald then returned to the counter and started rummaging around again before producing a jar of white cream, from which he took a sizeable dollop, rubbing it into the palms of his hands. Just in time, I realised what he was about to do.

"No, thank you, I don’t want any of that gunge in my hair. No…"

But it was too late; before I had barely got the words out of my mouth, he was vigorously rubbing the perfumed goo into the remains of my hair, making sure not a single hair was missed. Finally, out came the comb to create a razor-sharp side parting with perfect rows of shiny hair flat across the top of my head. As Gerald triumphantly waved his hand mirror behind me, I gasped at the acres of bare skin on my neck gradually fading up into a slightly longer glistening side parted top. I had been the latest unwitting recipient of a Gerald Taylor "short back and scrape"…

I then received a thorough brushing down, the chair was lowered and the striped cape whipped off me, dumping a whole heap of my hair onto the floor.

I really wanted to say something to Gerald about the unwarranted brutality of what he had just done, but being only 16, I couldn’t get the words together in time. As Gerald smiled broadly and thanked me again for my help, I figured that what was done was done, and I would have to take special care to walk home from school on the opposite side of the road next time. Meanwhile, I DID need to have a word with that coward Thomas…

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