You cannot imagine how grinding our trade
is—
Long hours, and long waits,
BOB, when custom is slack!
When the premises hold one old gent and
two ladies,
’Tis hard for twelve
chaps to be kept on the rack.
To knock off at five on a Saturday eases
Our week’s work a little.
One evening in six
Ain’t more than the Public can spare—if
it pleases—
If only its hours ’twill
conveniently fix.
When a swell wants a shave, a shampoo,
or a clipping,
He likes to drop in at his
pleasure, no doubt;
But surely he’d not keep us scraping
and snipping
To save him from being a trifle
put out!
If he’ll but get fixed before five
on a Saturday,
We poor Hairdressers may get
just a chance
Of an hour or two’s pleasure or
rest on the latter day;
Prospect to make many dreary
eyes dance!
And yet some object to this small “Early
Closing,”
I wish they could know what
it is to chop, chop,
When your feet are one ache and your eyes
drawn to dozing
And you’re sick of the
sight and the smell of the shop!
When a whiff from the meadows appears
to come stealing
Above all our washes, and
powders, and soaps;
And the whirr of the brush which revolves
near the ceiling
Seems pain to our ears and
seems death to our hopes!
True, most of the Masters will yield to
our yearnings,
A lesson I think to the few
who stand out!
I wager the change won’t diminish
their earnings,
W. REED and A. SUTTON know
what they’re about,—
Our President, BOB, and our Hon. Sec.
Address ’em
At “fair Piccadilly,”
6, Swallow Street, W.
Hairdressers’ Assistants unitedly
bless ’em,
If you, BOB, or others can
help us, I’ll trouble you!
’Tis long, my dear BOB, since I
sent you a letter,
And this you’ll admit
is a practical one.
We Hairdressers wish our condition to
better,
And get our fair share of
rest, leisure, and fun.
One Five o’ Clock Close every week
is our plea, BOB,
Not much for the slaves of
scrape-scrape and snip-snip!
The fairness of it I’m convinced
you will see, BOB,
And so should the world, says
CARACTACUS CLIP.
[Mr. Punch, who knows how much his own personal comfort is dependent upon the adroit ministrations of the “Sons of the Shears,” cordially seconds the appeal of his old Correspondent.]
* * * * *
A CASE OF FRENCH LEAVE.—The Gallic Fleet have gone to Cherbourg—as if they had not had enough “cheers” before leaving England!
* * * * *
[Illustration: DIFFERENCE OF OPINION.
Jones (reading aloud). “’A TRUE, GOOD, NOBLE WOMAN IS EVER READY TO MAKE HERSELF A DOOR-MAT FOR THE MAN SHE LOVES!’... AH, DOLLY, THOSE ARE THE WOMEN WHO MAKE THE BEST WIVES!”