Captain Reluctance Meets The Corporal by Herr Cutt

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Arnold's Comics and Cuts never strayed far from my thoughts. Just a few weeks later, with another day off from the carpet shop, the pull of that charming town and Arnold's unique establishment was irresistible. I eagerly boarded the bus once again, ready for another adventure.

As I approached Arnold's Comics & Cuts, I noticed a few new posters in the window, showcasing the latest superhero comics. The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside, and the familiar scent of old paper and hair products greeted me warmly. The ambiance immediately felt both comforting and exciting, like returning to a secret hideout.

Arnold wasn't behind the counter this time but busy cutting a gentleman's hair in the solitary barber's chair. The elderly gentleman's serene expression indicated he was thoroughly enjoying the experience. Arnold's scissors moved with a precision that only years of experience could bring. He glanced up, and a knowing smile spread across his face.

"Back for more, are you?" he asked, his voice carrying that same commanding yet welcoming tone that made you feel both at ease and slightly scrutinized.

"I couldn't stay away, sir," I replied with a grin. "Those comics from last time were fantastic."

"Glad to hear it," he said, nodding in approval. "Take your time and have a look around. Just let me know if you need any help."

Just as I started to browse through the stacks, he glanced over with a twinkle in his eye and asked, "Getting a haircut as well? Or are you just here for the comics?"

His question caught me off guard, but I chuckled. "Actually, I'm here for a haircut too, sir. And thanks for offering to help with the comics!"


As I spent a few minutes browsing the shelves, marvelling at the array of vintage comics, I was aware of the young, strict looking army corporal already waiting his turn for a haircut. His demeanour was stern and commanding, making it clear he was not one to be trifled with. He had broad shoulders and a chiselled jawline, his military uniform impeccably neat. The corporal’s presence was imposing, and he sat with his legs apart and arms crossed, exuding a manly confidence that demanded respect.

Having already selected two vintage comics for my collection, I sat down on the wooden bench to await my turn to have my haircut. Arnold briefly excused himself to attend to a customer who had telephoned earlier and come to collect two rare 1940’s Beano editions. As Arnold finalized the transaction, the elderly gentleman in the barber's chair turned to me and struck up a conversation.

"So, who's your favourite comic character?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye suggesting he already knew mine.

"The Masher," I replied with a grin.

The elderly gentleman chuckled. "Are you like The Masher? He was always getting into scrapes and inevitably getting caught and spanked by his grandad. Classic stuff."

"Sometimes," I admitted with a laugh. "Last time, I was here I was a bit like Captain Reluctance. I was really hesitant about getting my much-needed haircut."

The elderly gentleman's expression turned stern. "Well, if you don't do as you're told or misbehave, you just might end up like The Masher and getting a spanking."

I chuckled nervously at the elderly gentleman's stern expression. "I’ll try to stay on my best behaviour," I replied, a hint of playful defiance in my voice. "But I can't make any promises."

The elderly gentleman's eyes bore into mine, his tone unyielding. "Young man, in this place, you behave, or you'll face the consequences."

I gulped and nodded, the gravity of his words sinking in. "Yes, sir," I said, realizing he meant business.

His stern expression softened slightly into a nod of approval. "Good lad. Just remember, it's all part of growing up."

Arnold returned and finally finished the elderly gentleman’s haircut, patting him on the shoulder and exchanging a few words. As the elderly gentleman having paid for his haircut prepared to leave , he turned to me one last time. "Remember what I said," he warned, his voice firm. "Behave yourself, or you'll be sorry."

I nodded earnestly. "Yes, sir."

With that, the elderly gentleman gave a final nod and walked out of the shop, leaving me with a mix of respect and apprehension.

Arnold then turned his attention to the corporal. "Your turn now, young sir," he said, gesturing to the barber's chair with a flourish.

The corporal stood up and walked over to the chair. His movements were precise and disciplined, a reflection of his military training. He settled into the chair, straightened his posture, and placed his hands on his knees, his expression unchanging. Arnold draped a burgundy nylon cape around the corporal's shoulders, fastening it securely with a crisp, efficient motion. The cape enveloped the corporal, adding to the sense of formality in the room.

Arnold then carefully placed a tissue around the corporal's neck to catch any stray hairs. He pumped up the chair to a comfortable height, ensuring he had the best angle to work with. The corporal's eyes remained fixed straight ahead, his jaw set, exuding an air of authority and control. His presence commanded respect, and it was clear that he was used to being in charge.

"Your regulation short back and sides, as per usual?" Arnold asked.

The corporal nodded, a slight movement that seemed to carry the weight of an unspoken command. "Yes, sir. Same as always."

Arnold fired up his clippers, the sound buzzing through the room as he approached the corporal's ginger hair. The corporal remained perfectly still, his expression unchanging as Arnold worked with swift, confident motions. The clippers moved through his hair with precision, creating clean, sharp lines that accentuated his strong jawline and chiselled features.

As Arnold worked, he spoke with a familiarity that suggested this was a regular interaction. "How's the regiment these days, Corporal?"

The corporal's eyes stayed focused ahead, but his voice carried a sense of pride. "The regiment's doing well. Just completed a tough training cycle. The lads are in top shape."

Arnold nodded, switching to a finer pair of clippers for the detailing. "Good to hear. Always takes a strong leader to get through those cycles."

"Discipline is key," the corporal responded. "It's what keeps us sharp and ready."

Arnold's movements were steady and practiced, his hands moving with a precision born of years of experience. "And you're one of the best at instilling that discipline. I've heard nothing but good things."

The corporal's expression softened slightly, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Just doing my duty, sir."

As Arnold continued to trim the corporal's hair, the two men shared a quiet camaraderie, built on mutual respect and understanding. The conversation flowed with ease, punctuated by the rhythmic buzz of the clippers.

"Any big plans coming up?" Arnold asked as he switched to thinning shears for the final touches.

The corporal's gaze shifted slightly, his thoughts momentarily drifting. "There's talk of a deployment. Nothing confirmed yet, but we're prepared."

Arnold nodded, his hands never faltering. "You'll do us proud, I'm sure."

The corporal's eyes returned to the mirror, his expression resolute. "That's the goal. Always ready to serve."

Once the haircut was complete, Arnold brushed off any loose hairs with the same soft nylon brush he had used before. Then, holding up a hand mirror, he allowed the corporal to appraise his haircut. The corporal's expression remained unchanged, but there was a subtle nod of approval as Arnold finished the job.

Arnold removed the cape as the corporal stood up, adjusting his uniform with military precision. Instead of leaving, he decided to stay and oversee my haircut, his presence commanding the room. Arnold turned to me with a serious expression. "Your turn now," he said, gesturing to the chair. The corporal stood with his legs apart, arms crossed, exuding an air of authority. "I'm staying to oversee your haircut. No Captain Reluctance nonsense this time," he announced firmly.

I nodded and said, "Yes, sir."

As I made my way to the barber's chair, the corporal announced, "He also needs a regulation short back and sides," to which Arnold readily agreed.

Arnold's smile tightened. "And make sure you're more cooperative this time."
I settled into the chair, feeling the weight of the situation. Arnold draped the burgundy-coloured nylon cape around my shoulders and carefully placed a tissue in my collar to catch any stray hairs. He then pumped up the barber's chair, lifting me higher.

The corporal's gaze was intense, his eyes following Arnold's every move. His presence was both intimidating and reassuring, a constant reminder to stay still and cooperate.
Before Arnold began, the corporal spoke up, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Arnold, which clippers do you think would be best for him?"

Arnold paused, considering the array of clippers on his counter. Each pair told a story, from modern electric trimmers to classic manual models. The corporal's eyes narrowed as he pointed to a pair of clippers. "What about these?"

Arnold grabbed the clippers the corporal had pointed out and beamed. "Wow, these are vintage Forfex clippers! Made in the mid-20th century, they're known for their solid build and precise cuts. The metal alloy body feels sturdy and heavy, while the hand-sharpened blades ensure a clean cut every time. Barbers back then swore by these for their reliability and smooth finish. You just don't see craftsmanship like this anymore!"

The corporal examined the clippers closely, his eyes tracing the fine engravings on the handle and the solid construction. He nodded in approval, his voice gruff but satisfied. "Yes, these will do nicely. Make sure you give him a very short cut."

Arnold nodded, no doubt appreciating the corporal's discerning eye. With a sense of pride, he prepared the clippers for use, saying, "This haircut is going to be one for the books." His voice was steady, but there was a glint of excitement in his eyes, as if he was about to create something truly remarkable.

I watched the scene unfold, feeling a sense of awe at Arnold’s deep knowledge and passion. The corporal gave Arnold a nod of respect. "You really know your tools, Arnold. I'm impressed."

Arnold smiled, feeling a sense of validation. "Thank you, sir. It's not just about the cut, but the story behind the tools as well."

The atmosphere in the room was charged with a sense of gravity and purpose as Arnold set to work, the corporal's presence adding an air of intensity to the task at hand. I felt a sense of submission, knowing I was witnessing a master at work, and I couldn't help but be captivated by the moment.
The corporal turned to me, his expression stern. "What are you looking at, boy?" he asked sharply.

I quickly looked away and replied, "Nothing, sir."

His tone softened slightly but remained firm. "The choice of clippers is not your concern. Just sit still and cooperate."

I felt a mix of nerves and anticipation as I nodded. "Yes, sir."

Arnold's demeanour became even stricter as he began my haircut. "Just sit still and no fidgeting," he commanded firmly.

The corporal added, his voice like steel, "You heard him. No moving around."

Arnold began with the scissors, the crisp sound of snipping filling the air. "Sit still and no fidgeting," he repeated, his touch precise and confident. I heard the sound of my hair falling onto the cape as he trimmed, each snip deliberate and controlled.

After cutting my hair with scissors, Arnold picked up a thinning shear and began thinning my hair meticulously. He combed through my hair, the shears making a soft snipping sound as they removed the excess thickness. The corporal watched intently, his eyes scrutinizing every move.

"A good thinning is essential," Arnold explained as he continued his work. "It makes the hair more manageable and gives a cleaner look."

The corporal nodded in approval. "So no need for any leniency."

Once the thinning was complete, Arnold brushed me down with a soft nylon brush, removing any loose hairs. The brush was gentle against my skin, and I felt a sense of calm as he prepared me for the next step.

"Head down," Arnold instructed, positioning my head to ensure it was perfectly aligned. "We need to get you lined up and ready for the clippers."

I complied, keeping my head down and still. Arnold adjusted the angle, ensuring everything was just right before proceeding.

Arnold's touch was firm and precise, his movements swift and confident. "Hold still," he commanded, "or this will take longer than it needs to."

Arnold plugged in the Forfex clippers and switched them on, the buzzing sound filling the air. Unlike the higher-pitched whirring of modern clippers, the Forfex clippers emitted a deep, steady hum. The sound was robust and mechanical, resonating through the metal casing with a comforting and rhythmic cadence. The faint, rhythmic clicking of the blades moving in unison added to the symphony of engineering.
The corporal's eyes remained fixed on me as Arnold began to cut. He methodically trimmed my hair, starting at the nape of my neck and working his way up. The clippers moved with precision, removing the bulk of my hair in smooth, even strokes. The deep hum of the Forfex clippers was both soothing and authoritative, evoking a sense of tradition and reliability.

Arnold worked his way up the back of my head, expertly maneuvering the clippers to create an even cut. As he reached the sides, the clippers buzzed closer to my ears, their steady hum providing a sense of reassurance. He skillfully guided the clippers around the contours of my head, the clippers' metal teeth deftly clipping away the excess hair. The short, rhythmic motions of his wrist demonstrated his expertise and commitment to perfection.

Once Arnold had finished with the clippers, he took a step back and assessed his work. With a firm brush, he swept down my neck and shoulders, removing the loose hairs that had accumulated. The bristles of the brush were slightly stiff, providing a comforting sensation as they cleared away the remnants of the haircut. He then moved to the sides of my head, carefully brushing away the clippings, ensuring every loose hair was removed.

The corporal nodded in approval, his gaze unwavering. "How about completely shaving maybe one and a quarter inches above the ears and the same to match on the back of his head?" he suggested, his tone firm and unyielding.

Arnold paused for a moment, a slight hesitation in his eyes as he glanced at me. I felt a rush of apprehension but quickly nodded in agreement, understanding that this was part of the process. Arnold's hesitation quickly gave way to his usual professionalism as he set to work.

Before the shave began, Arnold retrieved a leather strop, hanging it from a nearby hook. With deliberate and measured strokes, he drew the straight razor back and forth along the strop, the repetitive sound of leather against steel echoing through the room. Each pass of the razor was a testament to Arnold's experience and dedication to his craft. Meanwhile, the corporal chuckled softly, reminiscing about the strop's past use. "I remember being tanned at the barbers by my father with a similar strop," he said, his voice carrying the weight of personal experience. "My father believed in swift and memorable discipline. No room for mischief. It made me the man that I am today."

Arnold glanced up at me and asked, "Did you hear what the corporal was saying about his tanning?" His voice carried an edge of authority that demanded my focus. I swallowed hard, nodding quickly. "Yes, sir," I replied, my voice steady despite the knot of tension in my stomach. The corporal's stern presence and the intensity of the situation had me on high alert.
They exchanged a knowing look, and the corporal's expression turned even more serious. "Remember, lad," he warned, "discipline is the foundation of respect and order. Don't ever forget that."
"Yes, sir," I responded submissively, my voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and I felt a deep sense of duty and respect.

Arnold nodded in agreement and continued his work. He carefully measured where he would shave me, his hands steady and sure. He applied a small amount of shaving cream with a badger hair shaving brush, the bristles soft yet firm against my skin. The cool cream was soothing, creating a smooth surface for the razor. He then reached for a shaving mug, swirling the brush inside to create a rich lather before applying it to my skin.

Arnold used a straight razor to shave the designated area, his movements precise and controlled. The sound of the razor gliding over my skin was both relaxing and exhilarating. He finished by cleaning up any stray hairs and applying a warm, damp towel to my head, removing any remaining cream and soothing my skin.

Once the shave was complete, Arnold reached for an aftershave lotion. He splashed a bit into his hands, rubbing them together before applying it to my freshly shaved skin. The sensation was both refreshing and invigorating, the crisp scent filling the air. He then took a tub of Brylcreem, scooping a small amount and working it into my remaining hair, ensuring every strand was neatly in place.

With the job nearly complete, Arnold stepped back and presented me to the corporal for inspection. The corporal scrutinized every detail with a critical eye before instructing, "Bend your head right down for a closer inspection." He gave a sharp tug at my right ear to ensure compliance. The gesture was both commanding and corrective, reinforcing the authority he held over the situation.

After a thorough inspection, the corporal nodded in approval, his stern expression softening slightly. "Well done, Arnold. You're signed off," he said with finality.

Only then did Arnold hold up a hand mirror, allowing me to see the meticulous work on the sides and back of my head. I couldn't help but admire the sharp, clean lines and the smoothness of the shave. The corporal's stern presence remained, a reminder of the discipline and tradition that had been instilled in me. The air was thick with a sense of respect and order.
Throughout this process, I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of humbleness and subservience. The corporal's strict demeanour and Arnold's meticulous care left me feeling more disciplined and grounded.

When the job was complete, Arnold removed the cape and brushed off any stray hairs. The corporal nodded in approval, his stern expression softening slightly.

"Well done," the corporal said, his voice filled with satisfaction. "You look sharp and ready for anything."
I stood up, feeling a sense of pride and confidence. "Thank you, sir," I replied, grateful for the meticulous attention to detail.

Before I could leave, the corporal placed a firm hand on my shoulder, his grip unyielding. "Listen up," he began, his voice a thunderous command. "This isn't just about looking sharp. This is about discipline and respect. Every time you step out, you're not just representing yourself—you're a reflection of everything that is good."

He leaned in closer, his eyes boring into mine. "Don't let your standards slip. Keep yourself in check, and stay disciplined. Anything less is a disgrace. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I responded, my voice steady, feeling the gravity of his words sink into my core.

The corporal's grip tightened momentarily. "Good. If you truly want to understand discipline, you need more than just words. You need to experience it firsthand. Sign up. You’re in need of Army discipline. It’s the only way to truly grasp what it means to be one of us."

Arnold and the corporal exchanged a knowing glance, their mission accomplished. As I left Comics and Cuts, having paid for my haircut and the comics, I felt a renewed sense of self, seriously considering the path laid out before me.

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