An Introduction by Benedict Brookley-Stone

Once again it is time for me to present to you the weekly blog we at Pall Mall Barbers so much enjoy publishing. However my function this week is to introduce you to one of our most long running and loyal customers who has requested that he might add a couple of anecdotes regarding his experiences of Pall Mall Barbers and all things grooming related. It is with proud satisfaction that I can state that PMB caters for all men from all backgrounds, whether you be of royal decent or a young impoverished student in 17th Century poetry – in this way PMB mirrors the neighbourhood in which it is based – The West End. So I would like to introduce you to Benedict Brookley-Stone one of our oldest and dearest of clients. My I however make a disclaimer that any opinion made by Benedict is his own and does not necessarily represent that of the shop’s. Can I also openly invite any other client who would like to contribute to our blog to contact us at PMB. Happy Reading! Guy



Dear readers, may I introduce myself to one and all? My name is Benedict Brookley-Stone but my friends all call me Benny and I hope that you too will find it in your hearts to address me in this most informal and affable way. I have avidly read young Guy’s blog each week and have enjoyed his insights into the world in which he works, but I feel, nay sense, the shackles which constrain him from openly stating his true feelings, for fear there could be a backlash upon his honest employment at Pall Mall Barbers. I am sure you have read his latest of pieces regarding the state of the Christmas decorations in the West End and no doubt you too felt that pulsating throb of anguish underscoring his description of what we all agree to be horrendous publicity on Regent Street. But could Master Guy stand up and say what we all thought? I fear not and so I have contacted Guy and Pall Mall Barber’s in the hope that I too may post my thoughts and observations on behalf of the finest Barbers found in the South East of this country. Please note that I do not claim they are the best in the country as I have very little cause to leave the South East and if we are to study my travels closely I very rarely leave the vicinity of SW1 / WC1. Nonetheless what I will give you is an honest appraisal of what I see around me, from a dying breed of man known simply as a ‘Gentleman’ in 21st century London.
So you are sitting there thinking, hang on – this is all very fine and dandy; you may be honest, you may be a gentleman about town but what gives you the clout and know-how to take on the mantle that good old honest Guy has so valiantly carried these last few months - and I’m pleased you asked. I am a London man born and bred. Now I won’t lie to you (I promised you that from the very beginning). I am a man born into a privileged life and was packed off to boarding school in the small county of Rutland. It was there that I moulded and refined my good nature and honest character. But during the recesses from these arduous studies, I returned to London and on these urban jaunts I would have my hair washed, trimmed and tidied at the glorious institution that we call Pall Mall Barbers, which, since its establishment in 1896, has seen a number of different owners, the last and I believe most able of them all, being young Richard of Bedford.
My trip to the barber was something I always yearned for, as it was a time for a son to be taken under the wing of his papa and have a rare moment when he might learn the ways of manhood. My father was a high ranking civil servant in an interesting area of government and believed that language should be direct and succinct, a school of thought that I in all honesty believe to be true and do my utmost in all my affairs to uphold. So our trips to the barbers were a time for my father to impart his knowledge, hopes and dreams to me and I lapped them up like any young pup in short trousers would. The reason I am divulging this most nostalgic and tender of moments with you, my new yet faceless companions, is that I want you to understand that Pall Mall Barbers is not just a convenient shop at which to get oneself trimmed and spruced up. Nor is it simply my local gossiping hole. Pall Mall Barbers runs deep within my blood. It is the constant within the Y chromosome of my family tree; it is the rock from which I call out to all London “Hear Me Hear Me, for I will tell you what’s what!”
And I have a lot to tell – but for now let me leave you with this greeting and hope you all enjoy the following week in our bid to prepare for this festive yuletide. But I promise to be back next week with the story of how Christmas time, though magical, has in the past left me in a prickly situation…

Benedict Brookley-Stone


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