Ginger, You're Barmy by David Lodge

Author:David Lodge
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781446496718
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2017-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

FOUR

AFTER LUNCH I sat on my bed polishing brasses for the guard-duty. It was a hot day, and the other occupants of the hut lay prone on their beds, held back on the brink of sleep by the dance music from somebody’s portable radio. At 1.45 the programme changed to ‘Listen With Mother’. We listened solemnly to the nursery rhymes and tales of anthropomorphous railway engines.

In the afternoon I went round the camp with Roy Ludlow, checking the P.R.I. inventory. Panes of glass in the carpenters’ shop; mowing machines in the gardeners’ shed; vacuum cleaners in the technical museum; armchairs in the unit Quiet Room; heaps of broken electrical equipment in a deserted Nissen hut…. It was the busiest day I had had at Badmore for a long time.

When we got back to the ‘A’ Squadron Offices, Henry the barber was in action. He toured the camp every week, visiting a different section each day.

He was a sleek, dapper little man, with a neat, black moustache, and thin, black, oiled hair combed straight back from his widow’s peak. The usual Army barber is a kind of half-tamed sheep-shearer, but Henry was a true representative of his ancient trade: I felt sure that somewhere in the case where he kept his scissors and combs, there was a razor and cupping-bowl. He really belonged to some marbled emporium, applying the mysterious arts of hot towels and vibro-massage, discreetly urging the beneficial effects of brightly-coloured and exotically-named hair lotions. His various working-places at Badmore could scarcely have been more different. He cut ‘A’ Squadron’s hair, for instance, in the Unit Sports Store, which adjoined the Squadron Offices, surrounded by piles of mud-encrusted football jerseys, taking his equipment as he needed it from his battered case. His customers did not pay him personally: each man had sixpence per week stopped from his pay for one haircut per week, whether he wanted it or not. There was thus no incentive to Henry to give individual attention, and yet he did. Poised on the balls of his feet, he snipped deftly at our hair, delicately adjusting personal tastes to the exigencies of Army regulations; while from the corner of his mouth dribbled a constant stream of banter, gossip, innuendo and—to anyone above a lance-corporal—servile flattery. Since Henry was paid by the P.R.I. he was particularly deferential to me.

I deliberately left it late before going to get a haircut: I wanted to be Henry’s last client. When I entered the Sports Store there were only two customers: Roy Ludlow was in the chair, and his pal Connolly was waiting. Henry was in the middle of one of his salacious anecdotes.

‘… he was up and down, up and down, faster than a barmaid’s knickers——’

Connolly, who hadn’t heard the expression before, guffawed.

‘Good afternoon, Corporal!’ Henry greeted me. ‘I didn’t expect to see you again.’

‘Neither did I, Henry. The bastards have put me on guard tonight.’

Henry clucked sympathetically. ‘That’s hard, that is; and you being released on Wednesday.’

‘Go on, Henry,’ said Ludlow, anxious to hear the rest of the story.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.