Demonstrations

Sometimes we were asked to take part in demonstrations for fetes and other summer functions. It was at one of these demonstrations that we were introduced to the art of tamashiwara (breaking techniques). The nervous tension created at the very first public demonstration is great indeed, and I have always appreciated the courage that it takes to do these things initially. However, once familiar with the procedures and methods, the fear disappears and one derives a certain amount of enjoyment out of the event.

Jon cuts me with his katana

One day Jon Alexander asked me to accompany him to Lewisham Hospital where he had been asked to do a demonstration. I remember this clearly because being invited to assist was a great honour. I had a frightening time while there. After the demonstration, which went well, a newspaperman asked if he might take photographs. Jon complied and asked me to hold his sai (small hand held steel trident truncheon). This was the very first time that I had ever held sai. To hold the master's sai filled me with trepidation. He then asked me to hold them up and immediately drew his alleged six hundred-year-old katana. The level of my trepidation rose considerably. I had never forgotten the demonstration with the banana back in 1974. Jon did explain to me how to hold the sai but I inadvertently wrapped a finger around the primary middle tang. Jon raised his sword and struck down into the tang of the sai. I immediately realised my mistake and withdrew my finger, but it was too late, Jon's sword dropped in complete control and lightly touched the tip of my right index finger. "Hold it just there said the photographer." Jon did and I watched with some concern as a flow of blood ran down the back of my hand and down my sleeve. Fortunately, I thought, my fingernail had actually stopped the blade from going right down to the bone. I still have the scar today. When I told Jon that he had nearly removed a finger, he said almost disinterestedly, "Well, that's OK you've got some more!" From that day to this, whenever a student complains of a leg or hand injury or whatever, I perpetuate that memory saying, "Well, that's OK you've got another one!"

Jon cuts the weed

One of Jon's regular demonstrations was to ask a member of the audience to stand in the demonstration area and hold a carrot while Jon cut successive slices off the end. The procedure continued until either Jon or the would be victim lost their nerve! I remember a big demonstration at a summer fete in which Jon called for a volunteer. A volunteer was eventually identified and encouraged to enter the arena. It was at this moment that Jon realised that he had forgotten to bring a carrot. Suddenly flustered he commanded a student to hurry up and find something to cut. The student rushed off across the field. Shortly afterwards he returned clutching a rather silly looking, limp weed. Jon clearly felt demeaned and that the weed was hardly the thing to be used for such an important demonstration, but realised that was all he was going to get. With an air of desperation and frustration, he asked the volunteer to hold the weed up so that it could be cut with the katana. The sight of this very nervous volunteer clutching the extreme end of a limp and sickly weed while Jon chopped off pieces sticks in my mind to this day. Jon had reduced the weed from some twelve or fourteen inches to six when the volunteer dropped the remains on the grass and fled.

Jon smashes plate glass at demo

Jon Alexander always enjoyed playing to the crowd. He was a loveable actor and showman who always sought to impress. Jon always wanted to do something particularly spectacular for his audience. On this occasion, he decided to smash a large sheet of plate glass. Much thought and discussion went into how it could be done with the least risk to all involved - those holding the sheet, the audience nearby and of course Jon himself. Jon decided to do Zen Shin Kata Hachi that he specially developed for demonstration purposes. At the end of each line, there is the opportunity to execute a breaking technique. The time for the demonstration arrived. We felt fearful that something bad was going to happen and held our breath as Jon worked through the kata, first breaking a board with a back kick, then a handful of tiles with a shuto (sword hand) and finally the glass with a great punch and kiai. The glass exploded in a great shower of fragments, everyone gasped. Jon stepped back and bowed. He walked away without a single mark on his hands.

Jon plans to commit suppuku

On another occasion, Jon devised a plan in which he would demonstrate the ancient art of seppuku (despatching oneself to the hereafter by slitting the belly in good old Japanese fashion). There was a problem - how to do this in the most gory and realistic way possible. Eventually it was decided. The plan was for Jon to kneel down very solemnly and ceremoniously pull his gi top from his shoulders to his waist. Lying in front of him was to be the short dagger called tanto. He was to pick up the knife and after a long tense pause place the tip of the knife against the left side of his abdomen. Then in a deft cutting motion he was to thrust the blade in and pull it across the front of his body. He was then to drop the knife and clutch at his abdomen showing signs of distress. At that moment, his entrails were going to fall in a pile onto his lap. This whole scenario had as its focal point a plastic bag of mince meat and offal which was to be taped firmly to Jon's abdomen and concealed behind his fallen gi top. The thrust of the knife was to be into this bag. The clutching of the abdomen was the opportunity to empty the bag for all the audience to witness. Unfortunately, I have to confess that I never witnessed the actual event, if indeed it did take place. It is merely an example of the sort of things we would talk about frequently concerning demonstration procedures. Always the accent was on the greatest spectacle with the least risk.

Andy Rose

It was agreed by everyone without exception, Andy Rose was a complete and utter pratt. Andy like me, trained at the Lee Green honbu (headquarters). He was a cocky, loud mouthed, jack the lad, immature and thoughtless individual, young in years and in mind. He was a black belt and we all said that it had gone to his head. When Andy started up with his verbal abuse of some individual or with a description of how brilliant he was, most of us just wished that someone would lose control and hit him. One day it happened. Andy had managed to say to Roger Large, a senior black belt that he could win any fight with him any time, anyhow. The words had barely left his mouth when it was filled with Roger's rock hard fist. Andy dropped like a stone and blood streamed from his mouth and nose. Tears streamed down his face with pain, humiliation and shame. I regret to say that for us, it was the most entertaining sport of all. We all resolved on the spot to buy a pint for the black belt that stopped Andy's incessant bleating. Even then, Andy could not resist saying softly over his shoulder that he would have his revenge.

A special kick bag

Andy would enter the dojo and immediately go up to the kick bag that hung in the corner and begin to kick it. It was like a regular habitual thing. He enjoyed showing off to everyone just how good his kicks were. His opening kick would always be the same. A smart rising instep kick to the base of the bag which would lift it high in the air before it dropped with a resounding thud on its supporting rope. Thereafter he would perform his roundhouse and back kicks and any other kicks that he deemed would display his skills for everyone to see. On the occasion I now describe, things were a little different. Andy entered the dojo, gave a cursory bow on going onto the mat and immediately went up to the kick bag and kicked it into the air. Andy only kicked once that night. I do not know who was responsible, but somehow a house brick had been secreted into the base of the bag. Andy's wails must have been heard all over Lee Green. This kick resulted in a trip to hospital.

Andy Rose breaks plates

Andy was at a demonstration one day being his usual brash and noisy self. "I am going to do a special break today." he said. On a nearby bench stood a small pile of old dinner plates, perhaps some half a dozen or so. Now an important aspect of breaking is teamwork. To gain the best advantage it is no good having a person hold the break you are going to perform, ride on the end of a breaking punch or kick. Rather, you must push onto the fist or foot for maximum effect. Another important job for the holders of the breaking material is to understand perfect control, timing, and the principles involved. Andy may well have been confident about his breaking ability but unfortunately, he did not reckon on the total inability of his partner. When the time came for his demonstration, his partner held up the stack of plates in front of him, gripped firmly in both hands. Andy offered up his fist and psyched himself up for the big break. When it came, Andy drove his fist firmly into the dinner plates. They shattered and Andy drove on through in good Karate style. His partner, attempting to retain a grip on the fragments that remained in his hands rather than just let them all fall to the ground, jammed the fragments hard into Andy's wrist and forearm as Andy pushed through. As he instinctively withdrew his arm in good Karate hikite fashion, a clear deep and long gash could be seen in his forearm. Blood suddenly spurted and covered his arms, hands and gi. Oh, poor Andy, another hospital trip was called for, and (again, regrettably) in unison we all chortled with mirth and merriment for a long time afterwards.

The Sevenoaks demonstration team

There was a time when we did so many demonstrations that we developed our own special core demonstration team, almost in contravention of the rule that I had made that beginners too were to be included. They were Peter Jolly, Andy Croft, Mark Brown and I. On some summer days we had to do a demonstration in one village and then rush to the next event some distance away to do a second demonstration on the same day. We always did the demonstration regardless of the weather or adverse circumstances. We became known for our insistence to do a demonstration even if the event had been called off because of bad weather. One day, blinding rain lashed the arena in which the afternoon's displays were to have been staged. The crowds had long rushed for the cover of the beer tent. Nevertheless, the Sevenoaks Karate Club carried on as if it were perfectly normal to train in a torrential downpour and playing like pigs in the proverbial mud patch.

We learned all about selecting the right breaking materials. Tiles had to be picked up just before a demonstration from the Marley Tile works in Dunton Green. Fresh off the production line they were incredibly fragile and broke as easily as a couple of digestive biscuits. In fact, one had to be very careful not to snap them accidentally while setting up the break. Other seasoned tiles of the same type were left lying around lest anyone wished to examine the material to be smashed. Bricks were selected with a care second to none. Bricks in particular are varied and diverse. A blue gort engineering brick is not a brick for breaking by hand. Light and soft red bricks are. As for wood, this was specially selected in large twelve by two-inch pine planks of ten feet or more in length. This was then sawn up into eight inch lengths so that the grain ran across the width of the board and not along its length.

Timber was relatively expensive, even in those days, and we always felt reluctant to throw the broken boards away. Rather, we glued the sections back together with Resin W and clamped them up in a pair of sash cramps. Rather than make the subsequent breaks easier, they became harder and harder. The glued joint was so strong that it would never surrender to a blow. As time passed and the pieces gathered glued seams by the dozen, the wood became impossible to break. For many years, I kept such a memento block that had defied all attempts to break it. All breaking materials were better if very dry. Any moisture in tiles and particularly bricks made the task of breaking very much more difficult.

The manner of breaking materials also played a part

Once having chosen the right materials for breaking (tamashiwari), those that would afford the greatest spectacle with the greatest ease, then the manner of breaking them had to be considered. This was effected by one of two methods. The first involved a holder, a student or students who would hold the break tightly for the breaker. The second was to set the break up on a firm support on the ground, table or bench. Relatively small breaks were held by other students. The principal problem was that the holder, being afraid of the impending smash, invariably rode the strike making it much more difficult to effect a break. Training the student to stand firm, close and avert the eyes at the appropriate moment, became important. Larger breaks were always performed on a firm surface. Tiles were always stacked with the nibs at opposing ends thus creating a reasonable gap between each of the tiles in the stack. Building blocks were stacked with fillets of wood between each on the extreme edges. The gaps created were approximately three-quarters of an inch to an inch. Blocks of wood were similarly set up. My own preference was for solid blocks of about two inches thick. Others preferred several thinner pieces stacked. There were many alternatives depending upon the breaker's skills, ability and preference.

Injuries when breaking

Do not think that it was easy to perform these breaks. They were difficult, even the breaking of very weak tiles is difficult if there are enough of them! One major rule predominated. One was regarded as a fool if he or she did not adhere to it. That was, 'Never attempt to break anything at a demonstration that you had not broken before during practise' We were regarded as a macho bunch, for it was considered unseemly and unmanly to cover a break with a folded handkerchief as I have often seen done. It did not matter of what material the break was made. The most troublesome were older brittle roofing tiles that had a sand covered surface. We used these if they were donated and we could not get fresh ones from Marley. As the hand or fist smashed into the tiles, the abrasive surface would cause rough abrasions to the striking part. Sometimes fragments of tile would explode and cut the hand or forearm. Some of the cuts sustained were nasty deep gashes that needed medical treatment.

Kindly donation of tiles for our demonstrations

One day, a student named Mark who worked as a policeman, said that a friend of his had just re-tiled his roof and therefore had lots of old tiles if we wanted them to do breaking demonstrations. I was always delighted to receive such kindly donations for we had little enough money for the club's use. My student said he would arrange for us to pick them up. True to his word, he rang me and said, "O.K. for tonight to collect the tiles?" I replied in the affirmative. Three students and I drove in my car to the pick up point. It was about ten o'clock one warm and dark September evening. "O.K." said my policeman student, "here we are. Now please be very quiet. We can have these tiles it we can remove them without disturbing the family." We all agreed that we would remove the several large stacks of tiles from the side of the house without disturbing a single soul. Neither did we, despite that fact that the lights were on in the kitchen and lounge and people were obviously at home judging by the noise of crockery being handled in the kitchen. Every tile was stacked into my car boot, on the back seat, on the floor and on the passenger seat. It is still a mystery how we managed to fit the three students back in when we drove off, but we did. The day after we picked them up we had a wonderful time doing another of our many demonstrations systematically working though all the tiles we had collected and practising our breaking techniques. The heaps of fragments that remained after the demonstration went into the construction of a path in my garden.

It was shortly after this welcome donation that my policeman student left the police force. I expressed my disappointment and asked why. He explained that he had not really enjoyed working on the force, but that it was the sudden removal of the most senior officer's tiles from his garden that had precipitated my student's retirement. All was revealed. My student had not actually got around to asking his boss for the tiles, but simply knew of their existence. He felt, clearly wrongly, that his boss would be most grateful to have all the old tiles removed from his garden free of charge. The problem was that they had been sold to someone and were awaiting collection. Imagine my horror, thinking back to the night I happily assisted in stealing all those tiles from under the nose of the most senior officer on the Sevenoaks force.

Man does a head job on my tiles

There we were, right in the middle of a demonstration. I had set up a standard tile break of some fifteen tiles. I was raising my hand creating suitable anticipation in the crowd, when suddenly a very drunk man staggered forward saying in a loud and almost incoherent voice, "Cor; stop pishin ab't.. .." before I could respond, he knelt down on the grass in front of the stack of tiles, and without hesitation or preamble he smashed his head down on the pile reducing it to rubble. Studying his good work for a moment, he them attempted to stand on two extremely unstable legs, did a pirouette and fell flat on his back. Moments later he staggered to his feet, fell over the surrounding arena rope, staggered into the crowd and disappeared. There was nothing more to be done than bow to the crowd and clear up the fragments. I pondered upon this event for a while, principally because I would never have attempted to do such a break despite my training. How could a completely drunken sot just walk up to my stack of tiles and head but them out of existence? Later in the afternoon, we found our new demonstrator leaning against a large barrel of Guinness at the back of the beer tent looking extremely happy and very drunk.

Creating the demonstration version of kata five

There was a time when Peter Jolly, Andy Croft, Mark Brown and I decided to create a special demonstration version of one of Jon Alexander's kata. The project was difficult because there were no 'official' or taught applications for the kata we learned. However, a great deal of time was spent developing this with the sole purpose of using it as a display piece for demonstrations. As it happens, for some reason, with one exception, I do not think we ever did use it for a demonstration. The one occasion was when we went to the hombu (headquarters) to take part in a competition of kata and sparring. We took the opportunity to demonstrate our party piece while there and it was received with great enthusiasm, smiles of appreciation and hand clapping. Shortly before this demonstration, we had filmed our performance of this kata. It is the only film that was made of the early days of my training and I still have it in my collection.

Training at the Lee Green honbu

When I got really involved in training, my twice and three times a week visits to the Sevenoaks dojo were insufficient. I then started going to the United Reform Church Hall at Lee Green to train directly with Jon Alexander. The training there was good. I always enjoyed training under Jon for his experience, enthusiasm and skill always encouraged one on to greater things.

Jon Alexander is mugged

It was during the Lee Green training days that I learned that even masters could be caught out. One day I arrived at the dojo to see Jon's face swollen and a mass of bruises. One eye was black and his lip was split. "Don't say a word!" warned one senior who saw me looking in astonishment. I later learned that Jon had fallen into the trap of winding his car window down while parked, in response to a man outside gesticulating enthusiastically. No sooner had Jon wound down his window than two more men appeared as if from nowhere. One man grabbed Jon by his clothing while a colleague enthusiastically punched him and grabbed his arm. Somehow, it was said, his assailants had contrived to pull Jon's arms out through the window and pin them against the side of the car while a third enthusiastically punched him in the face several times. I was slightly surprised that Jon had fallen for this because he had always warned me of such things. When in the pub one night he had said to me, "Hold my glass please Roger." Naturally, I had courteously done so with my left hand while still holding my own glass in my right hand. Jon had then made as if to punch me saying, "Never occupy both your hands in situations like this" Jon had also emphasised that one must always sit with one's back to the wall so that one can see everyone in a room. He said "When you walk into a pub, take note of everyone, ask yourself if there are any potential problems, any potentially aggressive or assaultive people present. Get a feel for the vibes. Even if I am not looking at everyone, I always know where they are and what they are doing." On another occasion he had said that in walking round corners in the street, always take the outside of the turn away from the wall for a maximum view of what is around the corner. Tips like these abounded in the context of our training, yet this time, Jon's face was a reminder that one cannot be too careful and that one should never give others the cause to hold a grudge.

My last grading while training at Blighs

My last gradings while training at Blighs caused some measure of ill feeling and now I can understand why. Gareth had set standards that he wanted to maintain at the Sevenoaks Club. Whenever I asked about gradings he would not comment, sometimes he would just say, "No, not yet, you must be joking." Indeed, it was very bad mannered to presume to ask about the possibility of a grading for me, but in those days it was, in a sense, the norm. The accent was on progression through the ranks, there were eight kyu ranks at the time, going from white, through yellow, orange, green, blue, brown and to black. It was stated that one could become 'expert' in two years, i.e. a black belt. In retrospect, this time seems very short, and in a sense, our standards and values have changed for it takes rather longer now to attain such a rank. However, I don't think that any of the instructors on the association really believed that two years would produce an 'expert' - indeed the black belt seemed, at the time, a means of expanding the association. Every black belt and indeed many lesser ranks were encouraged to start up their own clubs. At the time there were some 35 clubs on the Zen Shin Ryu circuit, several operated by green, blue and brown belt students. Few had been established for very long. Anyway, the point is that gradings were a predominant driving force within us, and it seemed no bad thing at the time. Perhaps it was not, perhaps, provided the right attitude existed, that of a healthy competitive and good-natured spirit, there was no harm. In a sense, Gareth was not helping things by trying to maintain high standards, the association gained much re-numeration through the grading examination process. Undaunted by the attitude possessed of our resident instructor, John Baldock and me decided to apply at the hombu for a grading. We did not dare say to our instructor that we intended to go above his head for a grading, and rather thought that the chances were that we might fail anyway. Yet, still the thought was that it might be a little easier under Jon Alexander than under our own instructor. In reality, this was an illusion. Jon was certainly commercially minded, and would always encourage the student it he could by awarding a grade. In a way this demonstrated his confidence in his system, something I well understand twenty years on. It is always natural for junior instructors to try to raise standards in their own training halls. The reality is that what one loses on the swings, one gains on the roundabouts. Not even Jon would have allowed standards to fall to levels that would become embarrassing. The opposite was the case, he took pride in his association and was also humane and generally thoughtful as regards his students. On this occasion the result of our going to Jon's dojo to take our grading examinations was that John Baldock attained the blue belt level and I, by some astonishing chance skipped the blue belt rank altogether and attained brown belt. For the first time since the beginning of training, I was out in front of my contemporaries. The satisfaction at having jumped ahead of John, the person who I had looked to, the leading light of the dojo was great indeed. John was very disappointed and complained that it had been a bad night for him and that I must be getting to be rather familiar with the chief instructor for him to make such a promotion. As it happened I had done my homework very well, had worked hard, and knew that I deserved the rank. I felt that Gareth had been holding me back, not because of my lack of ability, but just to teach me patience. Today, this is something I understand very well. Sometimes a student is good technically, but has not developed the patience or 'right' attitude required for a particular level.

I think both John Baldock and I had both been practising and striving to better each other all along, but despite the competitive nature of the association it would have been very bad manners to acknowledge that there was any thought of competition. On returning to our own dojo I began to realise that we had committed a very bad error of judgement. Gareth never actually said that we had done wrong, but he was obviously disgusted to think that he had no control over matters of rank and promotion in his own dojo. I felt bad at having returned not as a green or blue belt but as a brown belt of all things, having skipped a rank into the bargain. Again, I wished that I could just creep away and that it had never happened, but it had, and I had to bear the shame and live up to the rank. Gareth explained in a physical way, the errors of my ways. I became sensei kumite fodder and was selected thereafter in John's stead as the shining light of the dojo, to act as the dojo dummy for demonstrations, sparring practice for my sensei and all manner of other traumatic and hurtful activities, including slipper fighting. Why, I thought, am I so indescribably stupid? I could have engaged my brain and retained a nice comfortable niche in the scheme of things, but no, I stuck my neck out, and now I had to pay the painful, oh so painful price. I was beaten into the ground during kumite consistently and regularly until Gareth was satisfied that I appreciated in some small way how I had humiliated him. I never did apologise to him, and nothing was ever said, there was no need, we both appreciated how things were. So was the way of things in Zen Shin Ryu Karate.

The decline of the Blighs club

For a year, the Sevenoaks Karate Club operated well. However, as time passed the vast numbers that were initiated at the first demonstration gradually dwindled to a hard core of some twenty dedicated students. It never occurred to me (or anyone else) that these halcyon days could end. We naturally presumed that things would always stay the same, but of course, life is not like that. Certainly, I regarded the Sevenoaks Karate Club as a permanent institution. David Cochrane left during the first year because of a move of home to more distant parts.

The first signs of stress appeared in conversations between Gareth and Tom on the one side, and Jon, our head instructor on the other. This was some fifteen or sixteen months after the opening of the club. It was obvious that there was discontent, but it did not concern my contemporaries or me. We had to be content with reading between the lines. I cannot remember the details clearly enough to say why Gareth left, but before the club was eighteen months old he had gone. I believe there was some friction between Jon and Gareth. Jon wanted funds - his big time days were nearly over. He had made a great deal of money during the boom years and suddenly they were no more, the bubble had burst. The burden put on existing clubs to provide ever increasing funds became intolerable. Whatever Jon's faults, he was a generous and kindly person. He had never been mean with his money, if anyone needed help, he would just hand over a fistful of notes and wish them well. He was, like many artistic types, generous when he could be but unwise in handling money. Jon also put a great weight of responsibility on his instructors. They had to run successful clubs and had to attend frequent additional training sessions that took more time and money than many could manage or wished to manage. Jon could not understand that some of his instructors could not be like him, could not be totally committed to the art to the exclusion of all else.

It seems to me that these were probably the root causes of the tensions at Sevenoaks. Gareth had travelled what we thought of as comparatively long distances (from Blackfen) to teach at the Sevenoaks dojo, and it may have been that the fees received towards the end of his time there could no longer support his travelling expenses as well, for that hard core of 20 continued to dwindle to little more than a dozen. The Sevenoaks Karate Club would never ever be the same again.

Gareth left suddenly. The announcement came the week before he actually left, and no one had the opportunity to contribute to a leaving present or organise a farewell gathering in the bar. We were suddenly alone, and without Gareth acting as the anchor, the whole atmosphere of the dojo changed overnight. The Sevenoaks Karate Club dojo was no longer comfortable, no longer home. It had become uninviting.

This change placed the greatest burden upon our shoulders, it required supreme determination to go along to train and force oneself to do what one just did not feel like doing anymore. Tom Grogan was an admirable instructor, but the decline had set in long before he assumed command. From the days when the dojo echoed to the grunts and shouts of scores of karateka working in united enthusiasm it had dwindled to a small group, the levels of united enthusiasm went down accordingly. For us who remained it was difficult to see that we were working on much more traditional lines than originally, we had been conditioned to believe that large numbers working in unison, with much grunt and bash was the norm. It was in this environment that my formative period was spent, and in this environment that my hardness and inflexibility had been nurtured.

That the style itself was good, there was no doubt in my mind, but of course, this was only basic and initial training. It was not representative of the real art, but I could not know this at the time. What I had seen and trained in for a year and a half with great enthusiasm was just the very first stage in what should have been a multi layered progression of levels. My brief encounter with Karate had led me to a love of an erroneous form of training. This was Japanese schools Karate - and I loved it. I loved the discipline, the sweat, the gruelling agony of training in company with a great many contemporaries who were joined with me in their love of this united and daunting effort. Now it was no more.

When I gave up training in Karate

At this time, I still managed an electrical and hi-fi shop in Sevenoaks, and quite coincidentally, I had stocktaking to do. For the very first time since starting in Karate training, I missed a lesson in order to finish the job. I could argue that I had no choice, but of course, we all do. In essence, the drive and enthusiasm for training had gone completely. Previously I would never have thought of missing a lesson for anything - and I mean anything. If necessary, I would have done my stocktaking after training or early the next morning. A fundamental change in attitude had taken place. Over the next weeks, I was to ask myself whether it was really worth continuing in training and where it was leading. I knew that I would never attain great heights in the art for I had started too late in life at 29 to overcome so many of the physical problems. In any event, I was not an athlete, just a rather ordinary person trying one's best to keep up and grasp at something I could never achieve in reality. How easily I fell into the trap!

Every week I would find another excuse, and in no time at all had accepted that I had given up. Probably, most students go through a similar stage, for at this time my other contemporary John Baldock left, leaving only Steve without his long term competition. So for all the dozens and dozens of students only one had not given up. It is not easy to give a student encouragement if he is not there. The drive, the determination must come from within. How easy it is, to be lazy and convince oneself that next week will do. My encouragement came in an unexpected way. In those days, our local pub was the Bullfinch, (when the late Pepe took over). l had always been in the habit of going to the Bullfinch after a training session ever since Ray, the previous landlord had been training with us. Even after I left the Karate club, I continued going there mainly to talk to my friends when they came in from a training session. One night Tom Grogan came in, this should not have been a surprise, yet I really was dumb struck and very embarrassed by his presence. One of the other students had clearly told him where I could be found after training, for he approached me directly, and for the second time gave me a monumental verbal dressing down that made me feel lower than the mat on the floor and under which I dearly wished I could have disappeared. Neither was this the last time that I had a public dressing down from Tom. Consequently I started training again and owe Tom and my contemporaries who were obviously concerned at my disappearance, a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid. Even in the space of three months, I felt that I had missed so much and that it would take a long time to get back into the routine. In fact, after the first night I felt as if I had never been away. So, remember these words please, for Karate training is difficult, yet for what it is worth, I have been down this path and know precisely what it is like. I also know that it is a myth that it will take ages to get back into practice. Once you have been there, you can always go back. Remember too, that there is no such thing as a person who will not be able to achieve the pinnacle of one's ambitions. Yes, of course there do seem to be built in setbacks and great difficulties, but all these can be overcome with simple consistency, tenacity and determination. By continuing, you will be conditioning your body and mind to respond to life in a particular way. For me now, twenty years later, there is no other way, my mind and body have been trained to work in a particular way. I have gained happiness, contentment, resilience, discipline, confidence, inter-personal skills and an understanding of life and living that would not have been possible without long training. I am most certainly not the same person who embarked upon this course back in 1979.

The end of the Blighs club

Three weeks after re-starting in training, when I arrived at the dojo one evening, there were only six of us. Tom said, "We will wait a while, but if no one else comes I will close the club permanently." No one came, and he did!

The shock and disappointment of not having a club in Sevenoaks to train at left me in a complete void. I realised that I had been happy to leave and probably would have remained happy all the while I knew the club was there and that I could go back if I wanted. True I had been visiting other clubs on the Zen Shin Ryu circuit and the honbu at Lee Green, but the point was that I had become a life member of a dojo that didn't exist anymore. I had expected it to remain there at my convenience forever. I had attained brown belt levels by doing additional training at other clubs with Steve and John before he left and now I had restarted training after my break I felt the need to progress without interruption. How strange, that within the space of three weeks my old enthusiasm and determination had been re-kindled by my contemporaries and now I had no local club at which to continue my practise!

I have no club at which to train

Here I was then, without a club to go to in Sevenoaks. During this time Steve had developed work problems or something of the sort and had changed from training at Sevenoaks to the hombu that was at the United Reform Church Hall, Lee Green. Therefore, in effect it left just me in Sevenoaks. Certainly, the closure of the Sevenoaks dojo was going to affect my training even if it was just one lesson every week. For much of the time however the Sevenoaks club had operated on a Wednesday in addition to the Friday.

I must have been very busy at work at this time for I was unable to travel to another dojo. It may have been at the time I was banned from driving for a year, for (guess what) a drinking offence, I cannot remember exactly, however, the fact of the matter was that I had nowhere to train and needed somewhere quickly if I was to remain in training.

It became clear that there was only one way Sevenoaks Karate was going to survive. It was not a perfect idea and in many ways, I was jumping the gun. I decided to ring Jon Alexander and ask him if I could have permission to re-open the Sevenoaks Karate Club. I was almost reluctant to presume so, for as a brown belt of no more than one and a halt years experience I was definitely not instructor material (by our standards today). It is impossible of course to know in retrospect after all this time, just how good I was at my art after a mere year and a half training. Certainly I had trained intensively several times a week plus additional practice time with Steve on a private basis and at home for long hours. I knew my kata well and could perform them with precision well enough to win first place at a kata competition held at the honbu. I had also managed to pull ahead of all the students who had trained at Sevenoaks. I felt that I had worked harder than the majority of students in the group, but of course, that must have been impossible to tell. Today, when I look at my own 18 month students I feel that perhaps I was on a par to them, but of course the training methods and approach are different today in many respects, so even that is no real guide. In those times, there was much more pressure, much more 'bust a gut' type training. Much more importance was placed on being able to withstand enormously punishing physical regimens and on the 'never say die' spirit. In a sense, it did not matter how good the techniques were, if you could hang in there in the face of great adversity then you would succeed, this was the way of Zen Shin Ryu and most other systems of the time. In any event, I felt confident that I could teach basic Karate while at the same time learning from Jon at Lee Green on a periodic basis. I can remember how nervous I was when I rang Jon from my office at work to ask him if I could reopen the Sevenoaks dojo. I was delighted when Jon agreed that I could run my own dojo, with the condition that I train on a regular basis at the hombu.