Mr Brown The teenage years by clippered kid

---

This is the continuation of my true recollection of visits to a traditional barber back in the 70's. The first part of my saga hopefully provides a bit of background to how things were back then. It offers some sort of explanation as to how, aged 13 , in the long haired 70's, I still found myself the frequent recipient of a short back and sides from the elderly barber at the top of our street. It sets the scene for what was to come when suddenly, almost overnight it seemed, everything changed. At some point around 13/14 every visit to Mr Brown for a haircut became a nightmare. A regular ordeal I had to go through every few weeks which I dreaded but knew I could'nt get out of.

I don't know if I was kidding myself ( in denial ), just a bit slow to the way things were going. Gradually, overtime I began to notice that the general taunting and mickey taking all lads got after a fresh haircut seemed to be getting much worse in my case. Then one day eventually the penny finally dropped. I looked around and realised I was indeed the odd one out. That kid from the stories. The only one in class who still came to school every few weeks sporting a full, unmistakeable, no nonsense short back and sides

It might be hard for some out there to appreciate the full impact of a proper short back and sides back in the day, but I can assure you it could be pretty devastating. Especially one delivered by an elderly barber like Mr Brown. A passionate advocate of that particular " style " and an expert in it's execution. He had no interest at all in giving you a haircut you approved of. His aim was to provide a bit of discipline, preserve the old ways, and to please the parents.

Check out the 70's on line, and unlike today you'll find very few people with short hair, and certainly not with clippered hair. For some reason barbers like Mr Brown seemed to reserve the severely clippered look for 2 types of customer, pensioners and kids. Middle aged men might have short hair but not clipped and shorn like mine. I often felt my haircuts were so much worse than my Dad's.

There I was 14 years old, trying to be cool, desperate to fit in. I had the right trainers, the right jeans. the right shirt, but it all counted for nothing if you still got your haircut by Mr Brown. Every time I emerged into the modern world from Mr Brown's shop, having spent the previous 15 minutes being attended too in the chair, I was instantly transformed into a throwback to the 1950's. A nerd, a dork, a laughing stock. I knew the next week was going to be hell, until everyone I knew had seen, commented on, and had a good laugh at my most recent scalping.


In one sense I think I got off quite lightly. I was a big lad, good at football, and by no means a wimp. I'm ashamed to say that to save face there were even times when I would resort to defending Mr Brown. I'd say things like
"I like my hair short"
"I go to a proper barbers, not some woman's place" or
"At least I don't look like a girl"

Of course my defence of Mr Brown was far from genuine. In reality I really wanted to fit in with everybody else. I wanted to go to some trendy place, grow my hair and have it, styled, layered, or feathered. Instead I was still stuck going to the local old man's barbershop. If this was ever going to change, I faced a big problem, my Mum. Sorry to those who don't like any female involvement on the site but there it is. In my case it was Mum not Dad who was in charge when it came to haircuts, and from early on she made her views crystal clear.
"There's no way you're going to turn into some long haired hippy"

Initially I'm sure I would of approached Mum. Pointed out that none of my friends had haircuts like mine. Asked in a calm reasonable way if I could ditch the short back and sides, grow my hair just a little, and get it cut somewhere else

Another reason why the older barbers appealed so much to some parents, which does'nt get mentioned too often in the stories, is they were cheap. Back then a lad's short back and sides at Mr Browns would of cost well under £1. Modern places would of charged considerably more. I only point this out now as it puts Mum's outburst at my request into context. She was furious at the very suggestion and having none of it

"If you think I'm paying a fortune for you to go to some fancy place in town, you've got another think coming. There's absolutely nothing wrong with the way Mr Brown cuts it"
"But mum he always cut's it so short"
"Good. That's what he's there for. At least when Mr Brown gives you a haircut everyone can tell you've been to the barbers, not like some of them."
"But Mum"
"Never mind but Mum , you've alway's gone to Mr Brown, same as your father, and since I'm perfectly happy with the situation that's the way it's going to stay. Clear"
"Yes Mum
"Are you sure about that David"
"Yes Mum"
"Good because when I tell you to get a haircut, I expect you to go straight to Mr Brown and come back with it nice and short. I'm not having you turn into a long haired hippy understood"
"Yes Mum"
And that was that.
You might think I gave up too easily. I should of put up more of a fight. Well I've talked before about how much more respect we had for older people back then. In addition to that I think the relationship we had with our parents was different. It was'nt strictly formal, but for want of a better word it was'nt as matey. We did'nt always expect to get what we wanted, even over something quite reasonable like a haircut.
When I heard
"You need to learn no means no" or
"Once you've been told you've been told". Especially in a certain tone of voice, that meant enough's enough. The decision's final. Don't ask again.
Sadly this was the stage discussions over my haircuts quickly reached. There was no point complaining every time I was told to go to the barbers or every time I came home scalped. It had been made clear to me I had to go to Mr Brown for my haircuts and Mr Brown would remain my barber till Mum said otherwise. I was just going to accept the fact and get on with it.

The really frustrating thing about this whole situation is that in every other way, my Mum was quite reasonable. I got away with quite a lot. My Mum and Dad were no stricter than any of my friends parents. It was just on the hair thing that she absolutely refused to budge. She felt so strongly about it. Like many older people she associated long hair with ,dirtyness,laziness,hoolaganism lack of manners and respect. If she let me have long hair I was somehow bound to go off the rails and besides what would the neighbours think. So for me it was short back and sides and no argument.

Dad in the meantime never seemed that bothered about my haircuts. He would sometimes come home, having obviously stopped off at Mr Browns for a haircut and say something like
"Albert ( Mr Browns first name was Albert, but it was always Mr Brown or sir to me. Locally his shop was referred too as Bert's. When I was being laughed at after a haircut I would get "You still go to Bert's and get your haircut with the pensioners ) was asking me about you son say's it's been a while since you were last in the shop. Is'nt it about time you went to see him"
To which I might reply "Yes I suppose I will soon"
There was no need to panic. It was not a direct order to go to the barbers and I knew Dad would leave it at that. Of course if this conversation took place within earshot of mum then things could well be different. She might well look up and say
"Oh yes you do need your haircutting David. Remind me in the morning I'll give you the money and you can go after school"
Once Mum had decided I needed a haircut there was no escape.
There was no regular pattern to my haircuts. It was'nt once a month or every 3 weeks without fail. It was just whenever Mum felt like. We could be sitting round the TV one night and right out of the blue without any warning she'd look over at me and say
"David your hairs a mess. I think someone needs to pay a little visit to the barbers tomorrow don't you"
I'd be taken completely by surprise. I'd want to say
"Well it was alright yesterday" or
"I thought it would a couple of weeks till I had to go back, can't it wait".
But I never dared. Anyway I knew it was pointless. Once Mum said haircut then another visit to Mr Brown was inevitable.

---