My Return To An Old Fashioned Barbers by Snipped Sam

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Following my first short haircut at Mr Carter’s barbershop, the initial reactions from the people I came into contact with were approving and very complimentary, although they were from my family, neighbours and my parent’s friends. My return to school on the Monday morning after the half term holiday was a different matter altogether. A lot of piss taking and ridicule which lasted for days. A small number of boys had returned with noticeably shorter haircuts but no boy had his hair quite as short as mine, or at least that what it felt like.

My father was very encouraged by the compliments about my hair, and indicated that he planned to keep my hair short from now on. He reassured me that I would soon get used to having shorter hair, and the boys would quickly get used to see me with short hair and the micky taking would stop. Back at school, whilst the boys who had defied the headmaster’s warnings about their hair were seen as heroes’ things were about to get tightened up. Deadlines to get haircuts began to be issued, there was talk of canings, but even after a trip to a gent’s hairdressers, their hair was nowhere near as short as mine.

My father was a very meticulous planner and decided to plan my future haircuts with military precision. It was just over three weeks after my first haircut, when he showed me on the calendar that I was to have my haircut at the end of the week. Then another haircut exactly three weeks later in time for Christmas, and then one before my return to school in January. He was also insistent that my new barber was to carry on cutting my hair.

"But that’s every three weeks…my hair will hardly grow."

"I don’t intend for your hair to really grow Simon; it’s going to be kept short. That’s why I have marked the dates on the calendar, which as you see is SHC, which means Simon’s haircut. The date must be observed otherwise you will have a memorable appointment with my slipper…and I’m afraid that is not an idle threat son."

I made a few grumblings but was quietly and secretly very pleased and excited about dad’s firm line. Dad’s threat of an appointment with the slipper certainly was for real …he firmly believed in discipline and over the years I had learned this the hard way. Of course, dad in his way was a loving and kind father, but he was of a generation that believed in firm and unwavering discipline when raising children and especially for a teenage son. Rebellion of any sort had to be firmly and decisively nipped in the bud. My next haircut was scheduled to be on the Friday after school. At the end of the school day, I hurried straight to Mr Carter’s, who when I arrived was sat reading a newspaper.

He was very pleased to see me again, especially so soon after my first haircut. As I removed my parka coat and hung it up, he had folded his newspaper. As I took my school blazer came off and hung it up, he had placed the booster pad on the barber’s chair ready for me. My heart was racing with excitement as I sat down on the pad, and the white nylon cape was draped around my shoulders, this time the white cotton towel was fitted into my collar at the back. The cape was then snugly fitted, before my hair was combed.

"So, what does dad say needs to be done this time?"

"Short like the last time please."

"Jolly good…I take it your haircut went down well at home."

"It did, he was very pleased, can I just ask? I would rather not have the line going down the back if that’s ok."

"You mean where I tapered with the clippers."

"Yes."

"That’s okay, you don’t have to have the line as you call it."

"Thanks…oh and can you leave the sides?"

"Just the one request lad."

"But I’d like."

"I said only one request, otherwise before we know it, you’ll be trying to tell me how to cut your hair."

"Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir."

I replied as he started snipping away and asked me when it was I had last had my haircut…I said that it was just over three weeks ago. I explained that dad had already decided when I would have my next three haircuts.

"That sounds like a very good system that dad’s put into plan."

"He says that way it will be short for Christmas, and then you will cut it before I start back at school in January."

"Well, I’m very pleased to hear that I’m going to be keeping your hair really short."

He wasn’t the only one, but I was not about to reveal that to the barber, who seemed to be enjoying snipping and thinning my hair. There was much less hair to take this time and soon it was time for him to turn the barber’s chair away from the mirror.

"The usual drill young man, keep your head down and completely still for me. And no worrying about what I’m doing, remember I know what needs to be done, and you are in good hands."

Mr. Carter firmly tilted my head forward, almost pressing my chin to my chest. The posture was a bit uncomfortable, but I would never have mentioned it, it was all part of the big picture. It was pretty clear that Mr Carter was being a lot firmer and stricter than the last time, but he knew that he was now my barber. As the clippers made their first pass along the back of my head, I realised that this time there was no comb involved. The sensation was just like I remembered when I was clipped as a much younger boy. It was both unnerving and very exhilarating. I knew that each pass of the clippers would leave a very short strip of hair in its wake, and I was certain that could feel the stark contrast between the clipped and unclipped sections.
Mr. Carter’s hands were steady and unyielding, guiding the clippers with an almost mechanical precision. I was aware that the back of my head was being quickly transformed, and I was very much aware of the severity of the cut. As he moved to the sides of my head, after tilting my head the clipping continued with relentless efficiency. I soon realised that he was probably stripping away my left sideboard as the clippers buzzed and hummed.

"Oh no I exclaimed" but deep down knowing protesting was pointless and quite unnecessary. "No talking allowed, while I’m clipping you " he replied firmly as he continued without leniency . In spite of knowing I was going to have a really short haircut, keeping my sides was a big deal for me as I really liked them.

With each pass of the clippers, I felt a strange mix of emotions. There was a strong sense of vulnerability, being under someone else’s control. But Mr. Carter’s strict approach left no room for my feelings, and his dedication to short hair was evident in every precise movement. The clippers went quiet and he returned them to the hook beside the barber’s chair and I felt the loose hairs being brushed away with the soft nylon brush. He then took a different set of clippers which had a deeper sound and started clipping the back of my head again, but kept them lower, he pressed them hard into my scalp, holding my head firmly with his spare hand.

Then once again my head was tilted and he clipped away at the side, my heart raced as pressed firmly and clipped relentlessly. Having done each side of my head he returned the clippers to their station. After a vigorous brushing down, I sensed that he was making further preparations, and then I felt something cold and wet being applied to my nape and then just above my ears…by the smell I realised that it was shaving soap.

"You must stay very still for me young man."

He advised me sternly, and the next thing I knew he was shaving my nape with a razor, the cold steel razor scraped away at the stubble to create what I imagined would be a smooth and bare finish . Just how short was he making my hair? I wondered…partly dreading the reaction at school on Monday morning and also very excited with just how strict Mr Carter was being with me. Usually when I went to get my haircut after school there would be at least one other lad around my age getting a haircut. It seemed that customers of my age were not in abundance at Mr Carters, because on both my visits to Mr Carter it was older men and just me. He gently tilted my head to the right so he could shave the left side.

"Nice and short around your ears, I think that your father is really going to like this."

He mused as he gently shaved the left side before moving to the right side after tilting my head the other way. I then watched him wipe the razor and put it back in its sheath and return it to the side. He then took a towel and wiped my neck and face.

"I think today you’ll have your hair dressed with my specially blended dressing, equal parts of Brylcreem and Vaseline along with a few drops of Vitalis and a splash of Old Spice. I make it up myself and it’s usually only for the gents but I’ll make an exception for you."

"Thanks Sir."

I had originally been a bit hesitant about calling Mr Carter Sir, but as he was now officially my barber and I secretly liked his strictness and firmness , I felt it would help cement a more formal barber and boy relationship.

I heard him getting the dressing and soon it was being applied to my hair and combed in. The magical and powerful blend of musky, spicy Brylcreem paired with the zesty twist of clean and citrusy Vitalis and then combined with Old Spice which brought mix of warm, spicy undertones complementing the other ingredients was thrilling. I loved the aroma of the dressing as it soaked into my remaining hair and scalp.

"Are you ready to see the transformation young man?"

"I think so Sir."

He turned he chair back and I immediately saw that he had shaved the sides bare about an inch and three quarters above my ears. He held the mirror and I saw that he had blitzed the back of my head, clipping severely and shaving the hair away above my hairline.

"Shorter than the last time, but you didn’t want the line as you called it, so I’ve done it like this instead."

"But I wanted to keep the sides and they’ve gone completely."

"They wouldn’t have worked with the back done like this…but I expect that your father will decide how he wants it done the next time. The way I did it the last time or how I’ve cut it today…but

I think he might go for this style for you from now on."

"I suppose we will have to see what he says, but I would like to get my sideboards back."

"If your hair is being cut as regularly as your father has planned, I wouldn’t hold out too much hope of that young man…and I’m in no rush for you to have them again, so it’s probably best to just accept that they’re gone."

He remarked, as he removed the white cotton towel and began generously dusting my neck with powder with meticulous attention to the area down my collar. It was with some reluctance that I stepped off the barber’s chair somewhat saddened that the haircut was finally over. Although dying to really explore the back of my head with my hand and look in shop doorways at my reflection on the way home.

That evening, I think my father was initially surprised to see my hair so short, but was obviously delighted judging by his enthusiastic appraisal. Later that evening, my mother produced a photograph of my Uncle Richard which was taken in the late 1940s and he was sporting a more or less identical haircut. My mother did not elaborate much more than saying how nice and smart my hair looked, and whilst I suspected that she thought the shaving bare of the back and sides of my head was excessive, she would never have voiced it, believing that a son’s hair was under his father’s jurisdiction. I would await dad’s instructions as to what I had to ask the barber for when I went in three weeks time

This haircut was a rarity for anyone in 1973 but fifty-two years on, it is now up there as one of the most popular haircuts, of course minus the Brylcreem or in Mr Carter’s case, his specially blended dressing. I do suspect that if very short haircuts had been the fashion amongst my peers in the 1970s, I would not have found it in anyway as fascinating or thrilling. Plus, I would have missed the joy of being firmly handled by an old fashioned and strict barber, who mistakenly perceived that I resented having my hair cut short.

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