My dad's old shaving box

My parents moved form former Dutch India (now Indonesia) in 1946 to former Dutch New Guinea (now Irian Yaya and part of Indonesia). There I was born, and there I spent my childhood. As a young child I was very interested in my dad's shaving box, likely because that was one of the things that was absolutely forbidden. It was a simple wooden shaving box with a fold-out mirror in which my dad kept his shaving gear, scissors, combs and the like.


I used to stand by my dad's side whenever he took the box out for a shave or to cut our hair. I must have been 6 or 7 years old when my dad told me the story of that box for the first time. Over the years I heard that story several times but never in great detail.


During WW2, my dad was a POW, interned in one of the many Japanese prison camps all over Indonesia and the rest of Asia. Somehow he was lucky in a sense that he was never shipped off to a labour camp in Japan or one of the death camps on the Birma railway. He told us that he befriended a barber in the camp, the previous owner of the shaving box. Apparently it was a good thing to be a barber and to have shaving gear in a POW camp, for there was a great demand for a haircut and a shave. My dad learned the trade and when his friend passed away, he took over the job as camp barber and inherited the shaving box. This box and his bible, the only book that was allowed in the camp, were his most precious possessions.


He never liked to talk about his worst experiences during the war and kept most of it to himself. Spite the fact that he was a good story teller and always had a good tale to share. My mum, who also was interned during the war like everyone of European decent, also disliked talking about it. Later I realized that most who suffered Japanese internment were very reluctant to speak of it. Growing older I learned a lot of the way the Japanese military treated their prisoners, both the military as well as the civilian. Gradually I came understand that kind of reluctance.


In 1961 our whole family returned to The Netherlands. My parents never really liked the climate in The Netherlands, my mum's health could not take it, and as soon as the kids left the home they moved to Spain. I was maybe 21 or 22 when visiting my parents in Spain, I asked my dad about the shaving box. He had kept the razors clean and well maintained, although he never used them anymore. I asked my dad that if ever he would part with it, could I please have it. He said he would think about it.


A few years later my parents decided to move to California. I have 2 sisters there and my dad liked the idea of having the girls close by to see to my mum in case anything happened to him. Just before they went to California, my dad gave me one of the razors out of his box, it was a Nirosta #600. He said it would be a good one to learn to shave with a straight razor. That was 41 years ago. At the time it took me a few months to learn how to use it comfortably, but that is another story.


My mum passed away within a year and my dad some years later in 1991. They both rest in California. I never found out what happened to the shaving box. I only hope that the person who has it treats it and its content with respect.


I still have the razor. The scales need to be replaced, but that too is another story.

Thank you for sharing your story johnpeter.

You never know, some one reading or hearing about this story may have or know where it is and see that you are reunited with it. Stranger things have happened.

Thank you for sharing that wonderful story. I hope that your Fathers shaving box is one day returned to you.

Thank you so much for sharing your story.

Thank you for sharing - an amazing story.

Wow what a story.