It was mid May when I got into trouble for the first and luckily the last time at St Vincent's school when just after morning service Mr. DeBell, our year master called for all final year boys to attend the hall for a briefing on the forthcoming open day. St. Vincent's is an old time boarding school in Windsor, just behind the castle and over the years has seen old boys go on to become politicians, city high fliers and also includes 2 Prime Ministers, so discipline and correctness at all times are the norm there. After the briefing Mr. DeBell took me to one side and for the only time in the 6 years that I had been there I saw an angry look in his eyes and expected the worst "Look at the state of you boy, you're a disgrace, your hair is untidy and that beard looks disgusting" he snapped at me "Get cleaned up at once".

I must admit I was taken aback by the outburst, but when I went to my dormitory I realized he wasn't that wrong. My hair had grown quite long since I last had it cut before the Easter holidays, when my mother had taken me to our local barbers at home, and I noticed for the first time that I was growing what I thought then to be quite a heavy beard, (now I would call it fluff), but as I had only tried shaving at home on a couple of occasions and always ended up cutting myself I was at a loss as to what to do. I then remembered that I had seen shaving listed at the barbers in the High Street in Eaton run by old Mr. Webb and at morning break I telephoned the shop and made an appointment to have my hair cut and then asked in what I hoped sounded a firm voice if I could also be shaved, thinking all the time that he would laugh and say they only shaved men not school boys. "Of course you can" replied Mr. Webb "I’ll book you in with our new barber Terry at 1.00". I must admit those 2 hours between break and lunch seemed the longest and emptiest hours of my life, with me not answering a single algebra question right, only worrying about what I had let myself in for.

At 12.30 I hurried down to the High Street and just walked up and down for 20 minutes feeling very silly and wondering if I had any way out. At 1.00 the church bell struck dread in my heart and I knew I had no further time to dawdle. With a deep breath and trying to look adult I walked through the door and up the stairs leading to the shop. As I entered Mr. Webb was cutting an old chaps hair and when I told him I had an appointment he asked me to take a seat as my barber was not yet back from lunch. I sat there taking in the mahogany panelled walls, cut glass mirrors and the black leather and chrome chairs and almost relaxed now that I was there. I then heard footsteps on the wooden stairs and I sat frozen as a lady in her late twenties, sporting very fashionable blonde bobbed hair and wearing a short crisp white cotton overall entered, "Hello, I'm Teresa, and you must be my next client".
As my contact with girls to date had been very limited, and as my visits to the barbers had only been when my mother took me and oversaw my haircuts, I didn't know quite what to say and just sat there in what is best described as terror, until not knowing what else to do I followed her to her chair. "Are you going to have your hair washed as well as cut today," she inquired and when I said yes she loosened my tie and my top shirt button before wrapping a towel around my neck and asking me to lean over the basin in front of the chair. The hot water was soon splashing over my head and then I felt her strong fingers massaging the fragrant shampoo into my hair. Once the shampooing was over I sat up for her to briskly dry my hair with a rough towel. "How do you wish me to cut your hair" Teresa inquired and as I had never been asked that sort of question before, all I could manage to say was my mothers old phrase "quite short please". She draped a cloth across my shoulders and tucked it deep into my shirt collar and then put a white cotton cape around me. Taking a comb and her scissors from a shelf in front of me she then proceeded to work on the back of my neck and around the ears layering my hair into what I thought to be a most grown up style, with her chatting away and me answering in short mumbled replies whilst always watching her in the mirror and listening to the steady snip of the scissors. She then took out a pair of electric clippers and asked if I minded her using them to take up the back and the sides, and, as I didn't really know what she meant I agreed. The cold vibrating feel of the clippers by the side of my ear made me flinch slightly and Teresa placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "try not to move if you can" came her instructions and I sat there frozen as again I felt the clipper bite into my sideburn and be drawn down my cheek. She then moved to my other side and again the clipper buzzed close to my ear. Moving around to the back of me she requested, "Put your head right down and try not to move for a few moments". I then felt the clipper bite what I thought was very high up on my neck and then from side to side cutting the hairline. The clippers were then reversed and as she pushed down my collar, I felt them gliding up my neck as the hairs below the hairline were removed. The clippers continued up by the rear of my ears and by this time they had become quite warm and comforting. Soon the clippers were turned off and I was instructed "You can sit up now". Teresa then undid the cape and using a brush and an occasional puff of her breath she cleaned out the cuttings from my neck and back. She then put the cape back around me loosely and switched the cloth to over the top of the cape. I sat there not quite understanding as she then returned to the basin, and turned on the tap, and I thought to myself "But she gave me a shampoo at the start". Teresa then opened a cupboard and removed a china shaving mug, which she put under the steaming spray and began to mix lather with a shaving brush. She must have notice the bewilderment in my eyes because she explained with a smile, "I'm just going to clean up the stubble on the back of your neck now". Turning towards me with the brush in her hand she then spread the hot lather onto the back of my neck and onto my sideburns. Where it came from I was never certain, but the next moment Teresa was standing by my side with a shining cut throat razor in her hand and without another word gently drew the blade down by the side of my ear removing the stubble the clippers had left, moving to the other side she again drew the razor down. Moving to rear she eased my head forward and I felt the razor slice through the remains of my neck hairs and the hairs towards my ears. As she put the razor down and started to blow dry my hair I thought with some relief that she must have understood my request for a shave to mean the back of my neck and I decided not to say anything but try and get out as soon as possible.  

Mr. Webb, who by then had finished his customer and was sitting at the counter looked up and said "you're the lad that booked a shave aren't you?". At this I assumed that he was offering to give the shave and after a moments hesitation replied, "If I could be given one, sir". At this Teresa immediately responded with a grin "Of course you can have a shave I've never killed a client yet". All too soon she had finished my hair and with a last stroke of her comb she stood back to admire her work. Putting the cape back around me she inquired, "Have you ever been shaved by a barber before?" and though she could see that I was lying I replied "Oh yes, several times", She pumped a foot pedal and I felt the chair rising and then as she released a lever she had me lay back in the chair until I felt the head rest in the nape of my neck. Turning towards the wall I saw for the first time a chrome cabinet and from it Teresa removed a steaming white towel, which she gently laid on my face until only my nose remained visible. As I lay there I heard the water starting to run again and heard the tinking of the brush against the china shaving mug. The towel was removed and Teresa proceeded to brush the lather over my face. Once the brush was returned to the mug she then spent several minutes massaging the lather into my face with her fingers and explaining that this gave a cleaner and more comfortable shave, though at this time I felt anything but comfortable. After cleaning her hands she turned back to me and said with a broad smile "I usually use a safety razor if it's the first barbers shop shave a clients having, but as you are experienced at these you'll want me to use the cut throat I expect", and without waiting for my reply she picked up her razor and walked to the corner of the basin were there was hanging a leather belt and she proceeded to run the already very sharp looking blade backwards and forwards, whilst I lay there frozen listening to the hissing sound the razor made. Coming back to my side she eased my head towards her and requested, "Quite still now please" and all I could do was to stare at her breasts clad in tight white cotton only inches away from my eyes and breath in her delicate perfume. Before I knew what was happening the razor was gliding down my face from sideburn to chin leaving a path of clean white skin in its wake. Gently the razor traveled over my face and with total concentration in her eyes Teresa cleanly and skillfully removed the hairs from my face. Even when she attacked the hairs on my upper lip and around my chin this was done with such care that I forgot about the lethal implement in her hand and just closed my eyes and relaxed. All too soon the razor was returned to the shelf and my face was being cleaned up with a cold towel prior to a stinging application of after shave and a face massage.

During those final 3 months at school I visited Teresa at least once a week for a shave, and would have gone more often had my beard grown any quicker, though as it was most of the time she had little to remove, but she never said anything and always went through the same procedure for me. Its now 20 years on but I still look back at my "coming of age" with Teresa with fond memories and wonder over the years just how many other school boys felt the cold sharp razor for the first time at her hands