Barber Bob
Before we received our uniforms, before we settled into our messdecks and before we learned the routines of naval life, there was one immediate indication that civilian life was not going to continue for long.
The barbers were waiting.
Three of them had set up on one side of the New Entry Divisional Parade Ground, directly in front of the messes. There was no need to wonder what was about to happen. Their position made sure that every new entry could see what awaited them.
Back home in Manchester, while waiting to join the Navy, I had been expected to make myself useful rather than spend my time hanging around. I had spent six weeks working at Direct Works, filling catalogues and doing mostly piece work. It was not exactly glamorous employment, but it gave me the feeling that I was becoming a little more independent.
Looking back, those Navy barbers must have had some experience of similar work because their efficiency was remarkable. They could process recruits at a speed that would have impressed any production line.
It was not a personal service.
Three boys were having their hair cut while another three waited. Behind them, more recruits were already moving through the system. At the same time, others were receiving instructions or waiting for the next stage of their introduction to naval life.
The process continued without interruption. One group finished, another moved forward, and the next set of recruits took their places.
Each individual received much the same treatment. There was no time for conversation and no opportunity to negotiate. The haircut was not about personal preference. It was simply another stage in becoming a sailor.
The speed was almost the most memorable part. The barbers were not there to create a style. They were there to remove one.
Within minutes, the hair that had belonged to schoolboys from different parts of the country had gone. The boys who had arrived at Shotley Gate with their own clothes and their own appearance were beginning to look like a group of naval recruits.
At fifteen, it was probably easier to notice the practical inconvenience than the symbolism. Nobody stood there contemplating the deeper meaning of a haircut. We were simply experiencing the next thing that happened.
That was a recurring feature of the first day at HMS Ganges. Events happened quickly. Instructions were given. You moved when told to move. Before you had fully understood one stage, the next one had already begun.
The haircut was a small thing, but it was an important first step. The Navy did not need to explain that individuality was changing. The process itself demonstrated it.
A short time after arriving, we had been civilians standing on a parade ground in our own clothes. After the barbers had finished, we were something different.
We were new entries.
Signing For Pusser Part 4 - Issuing a Sailor
Annexe 106 - Primary source: RN-009
RN-E-144-03
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