A true Story

This story goes back to when I was 19 and long hair was in, short hair out, and skinheads as rare as hens teeth! At the time I sported almost shoulder length hair which was pretty average for a guy of my age, however, that wasn’t what I really wanted. For as long as I could remember I wanted short hair but since nobody I knew (excluding old folk and lads in the forces) had short hair I kept chickening out when I got in the barbers chair. I did manage to get it cut above the collar and trimmed up the sides a bit but nowhere near short enough for what I wanted.

Then I started work in a different part of London where there was a large coloured population and more than a little animosity towards them. Skinhead gangs were around and I started to hang out in some of the pubs where they tended to meet up. Dont get me wrong, I’m not and never was racist in anyway, it was just the skinhead look which I really appreciated. After talking to some of the skinheads which hang out in such places I realised most of them were not racist either, more amazing still was that they had some brains between their ears. Most of these lads were just like me and enjoying the "hard" skinhead look. They found it actually helped keep them out of trouble in an area where drugs and violence were common, after all who would pick on a skinhead?

The idea was there at the back of my mind and nagged at me for weeks. The only problem was my girlfriend. A great lass, but a Pakistani who might not take too kindly to going out with a skinhead. So I decided to run the idea past her first. She was not too impressed but when I explained that the skinhead cult was not automatically racist, indeed it started with guys involved with West Indian culture and a "traditional skin" most certainly wasn’t racist she started to come round a bit. Being a rebel herself (she had to be going out with a white boy!) The idea actually grew on her and a week after I first mentioned it she said she wouldn’t mind providing I didn’t go too short. So now I had a green light, but then there was the problem of me chickening out again.

I hung around several barbers over the next few days but couldn’t take that final step into the shop. I saw loads of trims and guys going from long hair to shorter hair but never a proper crew cut which I had decided I wanted. In the end I stomped into a pub I often met skins in and sat down to have a drink, and then another, and another. Finally a couple of skinhead mates walked in, well after closing time at the barbers and by this stage I was drunk. We got chatting and I said that I wanted to get a crew cut like theirs. Pete asked why hadn’t I? When I said I kept chickening out he laughed and told me he would take me under his wing and make me a real skinhead. OK I said, what now? "More beer" Pete said and we basically got wrecked. Next morning I found myself on his couch.

My long hair was still in place and I was stone cold sober. First job phone in sick - I was way too late to get into work at a reasonable hour. That sorted I ran through my mind what I could remember of last night. Not a lot as it turned out except for the fact that Pete had said he would cut my hair - at least I thought that was what he said. Anyway about midday Pete came downstairs and we had some food.

"I’m surprised you’re still here" Pete said. "Why?" I asked. "Because I thought you would chicken out again." "No I am dead set on having a short haircut." Pete snorted at that. "Short haircut is one way of describing it. Anyway lets get started." Pete got a stool out and put it in the bathroom. Next he ran an electric extension lead through and brought out some clippers, attachments and a comb.

"Take a seat then" Pete said. I sat down, butterflies in my stomach and pounding in my ears. "OK" Pete said, "since every guy looks different with a crop I going to take you down to a number 4 all over to start with. That way I’ll get a better idea of what will look best on you." The clippers buzzed on. Pete slowly sat them on my forehead and pushed back. My light blond hair started to cascade onto the cape. As the first pass went over my head I can remember thinking "Oh my God, what have I done!" Of course there was no turning back at this point. Pete carefully worked over the rest of my head until he had it even all over. Then I got a look at myself in a mirror he handed me. It was fantastic but scary at the same time. Not a true skinhead cut of course, but short enough to be awesome. Pete said "Sit back down, I haven’t finished yet." I plonked back onto the stool thinking he was just going to tidy up the back and sides with the clipper like the barber always did. This time Pete took the comb attachment off and switched the bare clipper blades back on. Sure all he was doing was tidying things up a little I had no idea what was coming next. Pete stood behind me and ran the clippers right down the middle of my head again. A fine spray of ½ inch long hair cascaded in front of my eyes. I couldn’t believe it! "What the hell are you doing" I asked. "I told you last night I would take you under my wing and make you a real skinhead. This is the first stage." Pete said.

I sort of remembered him saying that last night as I sat there with the bare clippers running over my head time and again. "This is what always pisses me off with most professional barbers" Pete said, "they think just because you want a skinhead cut means you dont give a shit about how you look." "Loads of times I’ve ended up with the odd clump left which is a bit longer than the rest, thats why I got into cutting hair for my mates and taught them how to cut mine. You need to run the clippers over the whole head a few times to make sure you get every hair." By this stage all I could manage in response was an ugh! The experience was so intense.

Once Pete had finished he switched the clippers off and handed me the mirror again. BALD it shouted out at me! I’m BALD. When I said this to Pete he said "Nah mate, just a skinhead. If you want a real baldy I will have to run the razor over your head. It will take about 4 days to grow back out to this sort of stubble." I kept running my hand over it from time to time and Pete laughed at me. "What’s so funny?" I asked. "Oh it’s just that if you watch a bunch of skins you will see them always running their hands over their freshly scalped heads. You were doing the same. Anyway, time to move on to the second pahse of your transformation. You cant be a skin without the gear to go with it." Pete said. We walked down to the local market where Pete knew a shop that sold the sort of clothes I would need to complete the look. Doc Martin boots, Fred Perry shirts and braces of course. The jeans I already had. Back at Pete’s place I got changed into my new gear. "Take a look" Pete said. I stood in front of the full length mirror and was gob smacked. Staring back at me was a tough looking shaven headed skinhead - me! On one hand I loved it and then I remembered my girlfriends comment "as long as its not too short". Well too late to worry about that now.

Pete then surprised me by saying we had one more job to do to make me a "real skin". I couldn’t think what he could mean. "Tatts" he said. "All skins have tatts and its a tradition that the guy that "skins" you gets to choose what and where your first tattoo wwould go. Now this was a whole new ball game. I already had the sort of haircut that my parents were going to have 50 fits over but now I was going to be dragged along to a tattoo studio. "This was my first" Pete said, revealling an Eagle on his upper arm. "You want me to get that on my arm?" I asked "Nah mate, I have something much better in mind for you. Come-on were wasting good drinking time."

So off we trot to the local tattooist. I had no idea what to expect. I come from a good middle class family without a tattoo between all 8 of my living male relatives. Still I was on a roller coaster ride and couldn’t seem to find the will to jump off. As we walked into the shop a geezer at the back called "Hi Pete, back for some more already?" "Nah mate, brought a new recriut for his first." "Hello young man, my name’s John, what’s yours?" Steve I replied, once again with that pounding of my heart I had experienced as Pete had run the clippers over my head just a couple of hours ago.

Pete looked around at the flash (to be honest so did I and picked out a couple of designs I quite liked) and said "That one mate". He had chosen a beautiful dragon, but it was huge. No way was that going to fit on my arm. "I can’t have that done!" I was shocked but mesmerised by it as well. Pete said "Course you can, it will make a fantastic back piece". I had never even thought of people having their back tattooed, all I had ever seen was guys with them all over their arms. This was something different. Real art I have to say, but did I want to be permanently walking around with a picture on my back? I thought about it, neither Pete nor John said a word. They knew there was a battle going on in my mind, then I caught sight of myself in one of the mirrors and was shocked into realising I wasn’t that silly boy too frightened to get the haircut he wanted any more, now I was a skinhead and this tattoo would fit perfectly with that image.

"OK" I said. Both Pete and John smiled, then I had a thought, I didn’t have the money to pay for it. It was labelled at £80 which was a fortune in those days. Pete said "No problem, that’s part of the tradition, I get to pay for the tattoo".

"Take your shirt off and lets get started. Sit backwards on this chair and relax." John said. Easy for him I thought but he wasn’t about to get his first tattoo. First he cleaned the whole area and then carefully positioned the tracing. Pete peered over his shoulder. Once the outline was in place I got to have a look before John actually started tattooing. It looked good so I said so. The next hour was painful. If anyone tells you getting a tattoo is not painful dont believe them. Finally John said "That’s the outline done. I’ll see you in a week or so when it has healed up to start the colour." To say I was shocked was an understatement. I thought an hour and it would be all over. "Nah" Pete said, "It’ll take at least 3 more sessions to finish." I did get a good look at the outline and was well pleased.

Pete was right about another 3 sessions but the completed tattoo is incredible. I have had to change some of my wardrobe since though. It shows through lightweight white shirts and since my family still doesn’t know it is best covered up. The shock of their son turning up on the doorstep with a skinhead crop was bad enough, but as my Dad said, "He is old enough to make his own decisions". Mum didn’t take it quiet so well but has come to terms with it now.

Next day I arranged to meet my girlfriend. I had no idea how she was going to react to this dramatic change in my appearence. We arranged to meet in one of the ‘nice’ pubs in the area where there was very rarely any trouble. I got there first and bought myself a beer, Hamida arrived a few minutes later and just stared at me. She sat down and I placed the rum and coke she always drank in front of her and said "Well, what do you think?" A few minutes later she rubbed me on my head but still said nothing. I finished my beer and ambled back to the bar for another. This silence was getting to be really un-nerving.

Just then, in walked a bunch of local trouble makers. I had seen them in action bothering people in other pubs but this was the first time I had seen them in here. While I was being served they had sat themselves down at our table. I could see they were upsetting Hamida but couldn’t hear what they were saying. I got back to the table as fast as I could and planned on saying "Excuse me but what do you think you are doing" instead I just said "Fuck off boys!" In the same sort of drawl I had heard Pete use time and again. They looked panic striken, apologised profusely and virtually ran out of the place.

Hamida looked on in sheer amazement. As I sat back down she started to laugh. "Do you have any idea how frightened those guys were of you?" "No" "Well I think we had better move tables as the chair the ringleader was on is wet with more than beer!"

Once we were settled elsewhere and the landlord was busy cleaning up, Hamida turned to me and said "I love the new look, it was just such a dramatic change. I was expecting just a ½" crop not a full blown skinhead haircut. Now I have felt it and seen the affect it has on idiots like those, I am really going to enjoy having a skinhead boyfriend." Then I had to mention the tattoo which was still only the outline. She demanded to see it there and then, so I had to lift my tee-shirt up above my shoulders right in the middle of the pub. She loved that too, so everything was cool.