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It was during his maiden sea-trip with a round dozen new acquaintances, from Sydney to the East on a
cargo-passenger trader, that he had crossed the Equator. King Neptune 'visited' the ship and conducted
the traditional Crossing-the-Line Ceremony.
Following sloppy applications of soapy foam with a paintbrush,
each Equatorial tyro has been 'shaved' by the Sea King with his giant mock razor. Dunkings in the ship's
portable swimming pool followed, of course.
But then the young crowd had become more than a little
boisterous. Real scissors and real razors were produced. Burke lost half of his infant pencil-moustaches
amid much glee, even from Burke himself, who realised it had not yet reached maturity. Then, as he was
permitted to inspect his dismembered moustache in a mirror, the King grabbed a handful of Burke's hair
and sliced into it.
Though the young Gill Burke had had his hair cut, only moderately short, before
he left Sydney as a concession to his tropical destination, even then, he still wore it much longer than
most of his contemporaries. Now, he, and others, were hacked in the orgy of initiation.
While it
was fun at the time, Gill soon realised he had a serious grooming problem as he spied himself in the
cabin mirror. Allowing for the rolling of the ship and the queasiness in his stomach from the celebratory
grogs which followed the ceremony, he looked remarkably like an apparition from Bedlam. There were long
tufts of hair, and short tufts of hair. One sideburn was shaved off completely, and his fringe was little
more than a suggestion. In desperation he had tried to smooth down his mangled hair with nail scissors,
only to make it little better, ending up with the look of a chewed mop.
"At least have it cut as
sensibly as you did when first you came here mein fruend. Or have you grown too mentally ossified to
remember that fun and adventure?" von Zimner interrupted Burke's deliberations.
"About the time you
yourself looked half way human you mean? Yes I remember quite well thank you," retorted Burke still examining
the pictures, but paused to cast his mind back to the ship ten years ago.
Following the Neptune
ceremony, his group at dinner that evening was a rare sight, with not a decent head of hair among them.
There was much discussion as to what could be done, since there was no barber on the ship, even among
the crew.
The general concensus was to leave well enough alone, and wait until they could be administered
to by professional hairdressers when they at last reached their destinations, only a few days hence.
Even so, everyone agreed that a good time was had by everyone, and after all, they had been initiated
into ocean travel by King Neptune his Marine Royal Self. Two fellows though, sharing the same cabin arrived
at breakfast next morning wearing head scarves like Gypsies. When asked to remove them in the cause of
good table manners, they revealed completely bald heads, shaven clean. They, like Burke had tried to
smooth out each others hacked hair, and had failed miserably. The razor was the only solution. Again
there was much mirth from the Burke crowd, but their embarrassment was shared, as well as the fun.
Naturally
the shaven headed friends tried their level best to persuade the rest of the contingent to part with
their hair also, in other words to shave off what was left of their mutilated mops, and not wait for
the embarrassment of having a foreign barber crop it into some kind of shape.
While all agreed that
this was a sterling idea, and that the only solution for some of the dozen victims of King Neptune's
initiation would probably be to have their remaining hair cut off, none were adventurous enough at the
time to make the ultimate decision, to be shaved bald. After some reflection, however, Burke was seduced
to the notion, always willing to brave a new frontier, which indeed, was exactly the case in his venture
to the East. The group would gather on the aft deck following breakfast where Burke would submit himself,
more than a little reluctantly to remove the last of his unsightly hair.
And so it was. Seated in
a canvas chair in the tropical sun, with a towel draped around his shoulders, Gill's shipboard pals lathered
up his remaining hair into cap of shaving cream, while the shaven headed companion nominated to do the
operation stropped the razor with relish.
The crowd gathered around. The sun beat down. The hair
was doused with soap. The razor was sharp. Burke was now ready. The blade approached his scalp, ready
to remove the last of his hair; to be shaved.
The ship's siren blasted! Siamese pirates had been sighted.
While they had never attacked a cargo-passenger ship the size of that on which Burke and his companions
were travelling, none-the-less, all precautions were taken. Burke's shaving was immediately deferred
as everyone congregated at the railing to view the enemy.
Gill wiped the foam from his head with
the draped towel, and that was that! Bald, he was not to be.
Soon as he reached his destination at
The Empire Hotel, Gill Burke did deposited himself in the barber's chair of the newly installed Enclosure.
The repair job reduced his hair to a short brush, which he had let grow ever since in defiance of King
Neptune. At least that's what he told himself, even if that shorn haircut was ideal for the tropics.
One of the items he had in his luggage was a case of Spruso which he intended to include in his planned
trading emporium. With liberal applications of the pomade, much patience and constant brushing, he was
able to flatten back his spikey hair, had done so ever since and had developed the gleaming brushback
style from that time, equally to please himself and to be a walking advertisement for his Spruso range
of products. On both counts he had been successful.
"I cannot imagine how you have kept up the
pretence all this time that you like that greasy long hair and do not affect the style just to sell your
Spruso. Now be honest Gill," prompted the freshly shaven von Zimner as he walked over to Lucky's bench
and took up a cut-throat razor. Even though he was more often than not shaved by Lucky, Carl was also
a dab hand, a master even, with the murderous blade. He had been known to shave his own head to perfection,
whilst sitting in the barber's chair, in under three minutes, a feat which would have won an Olympic
gold medal any day if such an event were to be staged in the Games. This shaving tool he waved dangerously
close to Burke's flooping locks.
"You well know it has been an honest part of my sales promotion,"
admitted Gill a little petulantly. "Do be careful with your toys Carl. Keep it for your own head shaving,
though why you would wish to I simply cannot fathom."
But Burke well knew the reason, better than
most, since, despite the constant badinage, they shared many secrets as boon companions.
There
were some in The Empire Hotel Long Bar which housed The Barber's Enclosure who could remember Carl, for
that was von Zimner's given name, when he was a young man of eighteen, soon after arriving from the Fatherland,
with abundant deep red curly hair. One evening he had sat in that very barber's chair to have his weekly
trim. From his pocket he took an unopened letter to read, reclining comfortably into the ample seat.
Quietly and carefully the barber worked with the hand clippers at the base of Carl von Zimner's neck
while the young apprentice planter read his letter from home.
Suddenly he jerked erect, ripping the
letter furiously into tatters. As he did, the cutting machine slipped in Lakshman's hand and clipped
a hunk of curls from the base of his customer's neck.
Agitated, the barber tried to explain that
a slightly shorter haircut than normal could solve the problem. Reacting violently, von Zimner snatched
the clippers from Lucky and attacked his own hair, savagely shearing his head all over, free from his
red curls, to leave himself cropped to the skin, while the Lascar barber stood by, knowing not what to
do. Panting and sweating young Carl then ordered the barber to shave away all the little remaining stubble.
Minutes later he had no hair at all, shaven completely smooth, and from that day he had remained so.
Gill Burke arrived in the Colony some weeks later. Since they were the same age, with much the same interests,
the two expatriates became firm friends, though would remain overtly feuding commercial rivals, von Zimner
moving into trading and Burke into hunting. Even so, their businesses overlapped more often than not.
"Now what will you do without your Spruso. You cannot walk around like that," stated von Zimner
in a dogmatic manner.
"Why do you think I asked Lucky about a Tropical Trim? Do you think you could
cut it so I could still keep the brushback in place until the Spruso shipment arrives Lucky?"
"No
oil, you need short cut Mr Burke. Brushback very long, just flop all over. Now you got have part too,"
advised Lakshman.
"Your brushback days are numbered Gill. Take my advise. Get that fool long hair
off," again prompted von Zimner. "To think your lack of hair grease is your own fault. You, the importer
of the dreadful stuff. You're not a trader's boot-lace." von Zimner took the last jar of Spruso from
Lucky and smeared a little on his bald head.
"Now take that back von Zimner. You've gone too far,
even for a friend."
"Oh! I think not. I am certainly the best trader on the Peninsula."
"I deny
that emphatically! You know very well I was in the highlands trapping when the renewal order to the Sydney
Spruso factory was due."
"No excuse. I also have other ventures to attend. The Enclosure for instance
so that you may have your superior haircuts each week. Do you agree to a challenge? Let me think now.
Which of us will have the greatest trade in a six month period. Do You agree?"
"Of course I will!
Give me that jar of Spruso. You've made up my mind. Just trim my hair as usual Lucky. And for goodness
sake use plenty of this to smooth it back where it should be."
To keep it slicked in place, Burke
imported the Spruso from Australia. This was a petroleum jelly based pomade, almost solid in consistency,
which did not drip or run in the hot climates, as did the English Yardleys or Potter & Moore.
Liberally,
very liberally, massaged in, the hair became almost solidly encased in the thick brilliantine. This mass
was then slowly and carefully worked down flat, combed back severely so that the top of the head was
covered with a sheet of hair beginning at the very front and extending to the very back, then punctiliously
groomed and groomed with a pair of soft bristle antique, silver-back brushes until his hair was absolutely
smooth. Lastly, Burke took the second formula lighter Spruso, the Sheen, and smeared it over the surface
of his hair with the palms of his hands until it took on a glazed mirrored finish. As he moved, light
bounced off his high-gloss hair like a polished reflector, the effect he strived for, and the reason
he spent so much time grooming away any errant parting in the shiny surface. Burke's hair stayed in place
even in the most trying conditions. None-the-less Gill Burke did brush-work on his enamel like surfaced
hair a number of times a day just to be sure, and to appease his hair vanity.
"Sorry Sahib Burke.
Sahib CvZ is boss. Must do what he wants. You get shaved like boss?" Lucky joined in the teasing as he
held Burke into the chair.
"Would you do that? Would you make your lackey shave off my hair just
because you hold his job over his head?" Burke playfully struggled from Lucky Lakshman's grip and protected
his drooping hair with his spread out hand. "Your sportsmanship leaves as much to be desired as your
head needs hair my erstwhile fruend," Gill jibed in retaliation pointing at his German friend's bald
dome.
von Zimner in reply patted his own bare head fondly with his ever present square of silk. However,
Burke had to agree that fate may have forced his hand, and made up his mind for him no matter what untoward
influence von Zimner brought to bare.
Non-arrival of the Spruso, and the goading of Lady Ireene
Sanders, may very well have positioned him to have a much more radically short haircut for the first
time in years, perhaps even to have one of those new Tropical Trim styles they had been talking about,
and that Burke had been examining in the pictures.
Radical, though sensible for the Colony, the
fashion had just been brought in by the German contingent from the Prussian army; No.3 Rig = moderate
short-back-and-sides, shorn close with the electric clippers, parted on the side; No.2 Rig = shorter-back
and sides and top, often parted in the middle; No.1 Rig = very short everywhere, shorn extremely close
and ultra high up the back and sides, almost onto the pate, cropped very short on top into a brush, no
more than an inch long, if that, graduating down to a bristle, usually allowed to stand straight up
em bosse, or with a side parting which could be merely a suggestion in such short hair, and oiled or
not as preferred.
As Lucky was about to apply a dollop of Spruso to Burke's yet uncut hair, the customer
stayed his hand. One small jar was not sufficient. Cut shorter, his hair would have to be. No! Not the
brushback glued to his skull this time. There seemed to be no real alternative but to have at least a
practical haircut considering the drought of hairoil, and he might as well go for something up-to-date,
so why not a Tropical Trim perhaps, a No.3, of course, not too short!
"Lucky, would you please order
me a gin sling from the Long Bar. That's a good bloke," requested Burke. "Give me a chance to have another
look at these photos."
"Seriously Gill. Why now take this opportunity to remove your hair?" councelled
von Zimner. "You'll go mad with it flapping everywhere. Or are you planning to put it up in ribbons?"
"Tell me honestly von, do you really enjoy having your hair shaved off, or do you do it for affect,
as you accuse me of?"
"You know why I shaved it off."
"Yes of course. I shouldn't have brought
it up."
It was exactly ten years to the day since the young Carl had taken up the bald appearance.
He had never spoken of his reasons to anyone but Burke. But the Colony knew, or suspected.
Later,
after the spectacular self dehairment, among the russet curl clippings, Lucky Lakshman had discovered
a segment of the torn letter which had so distressed von Zimner, the letter he had been reading before
he had gone beserk and clippered himself bald in a frenzy. In a lady's hand, the scrap of paper said
that the writer and von Zimner had no future together, she would remain in Germany if he was to persue
his career in the East. However she would keep his lock of hair he had sent her, close to her heart.
In high dudgeon he had removed all his locks of hair completely - probably, it was assumed by the
old hands in The Empire Long Bar, so that his own bronze tressed would not remind him of her.
It
was supposed that he never really forgot his love, as he did not let his crowning glory grow again. From
that day he was completely bald. Eventually he even purchased the concession on The Barber's Enclosure.
It seemed cheaper than paying for two separate head shavings every single day.
"But now you're
engaged to Margarette. Do you feel you still have to be bald?" Burke eventually braved the question.
"No. That is all past long ago. Margarette is a new phase in my life. But I enjoy shaving my head.
Really I do Gill. I look forward to every stroke of the razor. And I genuinely like the freedom of a
hairless scalp, otherwise I would not endeavour to convince you mein fruend to emulate my baldness. And
it has become as much my trade-mark as your oiled brushback. Come on, what do you say? Take it all off!
Here feel this. Go on!" CvZ offered his gleaming dome to Burke, who touched it tentatively, and was tempted,
momentarily. "What is your decision?"
Lucky returned with the drinks and waited patiently for Burke
to reply to his harasser. That his preferred hairstyle was more than a little rediculous in such a hot
and steamy climate, he readily admitted to himself; that von Zimner's shaven head was a lot more practical
he could not deny; but until now the sculptured, well-oiled brushback was his own, and only his. Until
now!
Indeed, it would have been several shades fairer, lightbrown, had it not been for the darkening
effect of so much Spruso. Gill yearned for blond hair, and even considered bleaching it while on a jungle
safari and blaming it on some mysterious manifestation from an airborn forest microbe. But, instead,
he kept his affected, very long, well oiled style.
"For the moment I think compromise it the better
part of adventure, to misquote. This is the plan Lucky. Leave it is long as you possibly can, but cut
enough off so that it will sit neatly, a sort of semi-medium-short-back-and-sides-light-trim," instructed
Burke.
"So you are to keep the brushback after all. Your sense of adventure is quite moribund I'm
afraid to say," von Zimner scored the point.
"No. Put a part in Lucky. Yes a part is needed without
the Spruso. I can go back to the brushback when the shipment arrives."
"In middle Gill Sahib. Very
modern style, in the middle," advised Lakshman.
"Oh! I suppose so. If you say so Lucky. If it has
to be. Yes part it in the middle. Why not?" conceded Burke.
"You're not going to use that infernal
sheering machine I hope? See here, I don't want to end up with a Tropical Trim No.1 Rig."
"Tapered
up about one inch from edge Gill Sahib. Should use electric clippers to get nice and smooth. Not cut
too close short-back-and-sides," explained Lakshman Lucky.
"Don't tell me your fortitude is a sham
after all? Could the brave Burke really be scared by our most up-to-date hair clippers from your homeland?"
teased von Zimner again.
"Oh! Alright Lucky. I suppose I have to leave it to you. Whatever you think.
But not as short as No.1 Rig. You hear me?"
"Of course Mr Burke. You can trust me, no more than No.3
Rig", affirmed Lucky, who had not built his reputation as the best barber on the Peninsula without rendering
fine haircuts, always, to his customers.
"You'll keep the Jazz Cut won't you Lucky" enquired Burke,
referring to the sharp shaven edges he always wore.
"Not with Tropical Trim, Sahib. All short tapered
now. Back too high for square cut." Lackshman slid his finger a third of the way up Burke's neck to indicate
just where the clippers would shear. "That bagus for you?" enquired the Lascar barber, in local language,
asking if the suggestion was "good" for Burke, who hesitated then nodded assent.
With alacrity, as
Burke knew he would, Lucky took up his new electric cutters and proceeded to deftly clipper the very
long hair on Burke's temples and neck, skin close at the beginning, just up and over the sideburns removing
them altogether, following a crescent around the ears and across the neck, graduating up the back and
sides, cropping not too high nor too close, with edges graded without a visible line. Burke watched with
a deal of reserve, this being the first time that clippers, especially this new electric machine had
been applied so high into his hair since he left college. He could almost imagine what this strangely
pleasurable sensation would feel like if Lucky kept going with the buzzing machine higher and higher,
up and over, all over in fact; but he dismissed the fantasy with alacrity.
From the top of Burke's
erstwhile brushback Lucky Lackshman combed the fringe over Burkes' face, hair as long as twelve inches
and falling well below his chin, the length which he had carefully nurtured over the years. With his
largest pair of scissors, Lucky, holding the excess hair in the extended fingers of his left hand, sliced
straight across the fringe just below the eyebrows. For the first time in nearly a decade Burke could
actually see through his fringe though it was still a little over his eyes. As his vision cleared he
saw Lucky carry the removed locks to the bench.
Returning with the heavy weight scissors the Lascar
barber held up the remaining over-long strands on top of Burke's head and chopped into them under four
inches from the base. All these long severed tresses he placed carefully on the silver Long Bar tray
which had held the gin slings.
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