My hair-razing memories of my time in Irish Police Academy

ON December 5, 1979, I entered the Garda College in Templemore, Co. Tipperary, or the Training Centre as it was called then.

That was more than 40 years ago, and I still shiver at the thought of how cold it was in that part of the world.

I reckon there are fewer places on this planet colder than the large open square, also known as the parade ground, in that complex in wintertime.

I should know, I spent enough time marching on it.

Those responsible for training the guards obviously felt that building a resistance to hypothermia was an important aspect in the development of garda recruits. It would certainly explain why the centre was located in Ireland’s answer to the Arctic Circle.

They were very fond of marching too, and maybe they thought the wind chill would encourage us to keep the pace up. Anyway, we did a lot of it in the cold, and we did it without the benefit of hair to keep us warm.

When I walked in the gate on that first day, I had a head of curly hair. Most of the guys - there were no women in our group - had hairstyles representing the trend of the time, but it wasn’t long before we were all sent to the resident barber. I say barber, but I use the term loosely.

He visited the Centre once a week and had a small room near the main gate where he set up his stall. I reckon his electric razor had only one setting, but that was OK because one was all he needed.

He was a pleasant man, and you could certainly tell him how you wanted your hair cut, but he never gave any indication that he heard the instructions. He did it his way and everybody got the same treatment.

I remember how horrified I was after my first shearing. I even frightened myself when I looked in the mirror. The only consolation was everyone else looked the same.

There were lots of pale scalps and shocked expressions wandering around the Centre, in a state of disbelief. It wasn’t good for heat retention either, but we got used to it.

For the next 35 years, I kept my hair short, and I often thought that, once I retired, I might allow it to grow again, but by then most of it had already fallen out.

The powers-that-be liked to have us out on the square as often as possible. There was so much marching, saluting and standing to attention that I sometimes wondered if we had mistakenly signed on with the Defence Forces and we were actually being prepared to go to the front somewhere.

I didn’t fancy my chances against the enemy armed only with a piece of timber and a peaked cap, so I had some concerns.

They must have worried we would tunnel our way out in the dead of night too, because they lined us up on the square every morning to check that we were still there. It was like roll call in a prison.

While they had us out there, they checked the length of our hair and the state of our uniforms. If we were guilty of any infringement, we had to call to the office of the Top Man for a dressing down.

I remember on one occasion, long after I had left Templemore, I returned to the Centre for a course. I had been in the Force for about eight years by then, but we were still expected to parade once a week with the rest of the recruits.

Saluting and standing to attention took a bit of getting used to again, because it didn’t exist in the real world.

It was during this time that the Oberfuhrer responsible for the morning inspection decided my hair was too long. There was no point in arguing because these things were never up for discussion.

I was ordered to get a haircut and report to the Top Man the next day for absolution.

At 9am the next morning, I found myself standing in the hallway outside his office door, which was open. There was a line of young recruits behind me waiting for their sentence to be pronounced for their various misdemeanours.

I was first up, so when my name was called, I walked in casually and greeted the man behind the desk. I didn’t stand to attention or salute for the simple reason I had been out of the system for so long, I wasn’t familiar with the protocol. There was no disrespect intended.

He obviously appreciated that and realised I wasn’t a recruit, so he just smiled and said: Haircut, is it?” I told him it was, and he just thanked me, and I left again.

As I came out, a young lad passed me on his way in. He must have been watching me and decided to take the same approach. Something I’m sure he later regretted. I was walking down the hall when I heard a loud voice shouting: “What’s the first thing you do when you come in here?” He meant entering the office, but the young lad thought he meant entering the Training Centre, so he meekly replied: “ Get a haircut sir?”

The Top Man shouted in a louder voice. “No, you don’t, you salute!” I found it hard to keep a straight face.

It was a strange place, Templemore, full of weird and wonderful people. We often thought some of our instructors had become institutionalised and lost touch with reality, but they did their best as they prepared us for life on the outside.

Many of those characters are no longer with, us but we remember them fondly. Well, most of them anyway.