Bonzer Words!: Changing Times
John Ogbourne terlls of living life at a more relaxed pace in the Yorkshire Dales.
I've heard it said that we live 30 years behind the times here in the Yorkshire Dales, and the time lap is increasing—but we don't complain. Life does seem to be lived at a slower more relaxed pace, and this can be frustrating when the electrician, carpenter or plumber doesn't turn up as promised. Craftsmen here are in short supply, so you are expected to be grateful when the person you contact says he'll come at all. And whatever you do don't ask for an estimate—that's my hot tip.
This relaxed view has shown itself particularly with gent's hairdressing services in our local town. When you have just one hairdresser—otherwise the nearest is 15 miles away—it is frustrating to find regular notes in the door when you arrive for a short 'back and sides' saying that (once again) the hairdresser is unavailable. This led me to look elsewhere, and was pleased to discover a closely kept secret that a septuagenarian provided haircutting services each Thursday in a back room of the hardware shop, and not only that, his prices seemed 30 years out of date. Naturally I wondered what the standard of service would be, but I needn't have worried, and he has electric clippers too!
Albert's clientele are definitely of the older generation, many living in remote corners of the Dales, whose main company day to day is their sheep, so a visit to town just for a haircut is quite an event, to be enjoyed as much as possible. As a newcomer to the area I'm being gradually introduced to the other customers. Some have been having their hair cut by Albert for 50 years; another was his family undertaker until he retired. 'When my mother died I was at her house waiting, and Jim arrived saying 'I'm sorry I have come single-handed,' so Arthur had to help lift his Mother into her coffin, which though many years ago, he still remembers clearly.
There are even tales of people I haven't met in the salon but had met elsewhere, just the mention of the village where I live was sufficient to prompt other stories, 'do you know "such and such"?' like the chap in the village who is well known for wearing a toupee—apparently each time he received a new hairpiece he would arrive at Albert's salon with new toupee in place, and ask to have it trimmed—but removing it was not allowed. Others waiting their turn had to suppress their laughter as each side was lifted and trimmed to make a better fit.
Having heard lots of stories from Albert, I thought I should ask him what his worst experience as a barber had been. Well it appears that when he was still in his teens he was shaving a customer with one of the old fashioned 'cut-throat' razors, and the salon was small. Whilst shaving a customer's sideburn someone entered the door to the left, and the customer turned his head sharply to see who it was … Apparently there wasn't a lot of blood, and the proprietor straightened the customer's injury up as best he could, before taking him over to the local doctor whose premises were conveniently close. Apparently the customer had experienced little pain with this injury until the doctor treated the wound with iodine. Those who have experienced iodine will be able to imagine the reaction.
In my early days in the Dales I needed to see the GP and waited my turn in the waiting room. A lady had been sitting there for some time, before she went up to the desk and asked how much longer was she going to have to wait. The receptionist asked the lady's name, and it appears that she hadn't registered her arrival. 'Register? I came in, parked my backside on a seat, and waited to be called, why on earth would I have to register?' said the exasperated lady in a broad Yorkshire accent. 'So that your name would then appear on the doctor's computer.' Was the reply, to which the immediate response was 'Computer, computer, what the heck does a doctor need a computer for?' The receptionist ducked out of trying to convince the patient of the need: after all what can you expect when you're running 30 years behind the times?
© John Ogbourne
**
John writes fror Bonzer magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au
