A Karate Story Read online

  My last training session of the trip was a Saturday morning class. Usually the very senior guys (6th and 7th Dans) didn’t train in that class, but many of them came along that morning as it was my last chance to train with them all. Before the class, Sensei Stan handed me a letter. It was addressed to Kanazawa Sensei, and he asked me to give it to him when I saw him next. He had written some nice things about me. I was very flattered and slightly embarrassed.

  I enjoyed the training session very much, determined to make the most of my last class. Ironically, it was only at the very end that I felt my body had finally acclimatised to the altitude. When the class finished, Sensei Stan made a speech, thanking me for visiting and training with them. The students then gave me a round of applause. I knew that I had made many friends there, and that we would be friends for a long time to come.

  16. BACK HOME – AGAIN

  I returned from South Africa on a high. I had never felt so fit, because after getting used to the altitude in Johannesburg, I now had the benefit of it back at sea level. I had learned a lot while I was away, so I spent a lot of time teaching new ideas and skills to the students at Shin-Do-Kan. There was a great atmosphere in the dojo for several months as a result of that trip.

  Sensei Stan knew that Kanazawa Sensei was due to visit Dublin soon after I returned home. In addition to the letter he had written for me to give to Kanazawa Sensei, he also asked me to bring two very nice bottles of South African wine as a gift for him.

  It is always an honour to host Kanazawa Sensei, and I was delighted that we were getting to do so again. Everyone had been training hard since my return, and we had a lot of students ready for examination.

  Kanazawa Sensei arrived after a long-haul flight, and he was obviously very tired. Yet he came straight to the dojo and taught two classes, and then conducted the grading examination. Everyone did well, and he was pleased with the standard. But he was hungry and tired, so we didn’t delay at the dojo, and brought him again to the restaurant attached to the hotel. He had liked it there the previous time, because the restaurant manager had looked after us very well.

  We enjoyed a wonderful meal and I presented Kanazawa Sensei with the bottles of wine and the letter from Sensei Stan. He read the letter and seemed very pleased with it, promising me that he would write back to Sensei Stan, with whom he had not been in contact for many years. He then insisted that we open the bottles of wine and share them with our meal. Unfortunately for Kanazawa Sensei, he was so tired that he was almost falling asleep at the table, and he eventually decided to go to bed after the main course – it was not like him to skip dessert. Those who remained had to drink most of the wine without him! Even I had a little, although I don’t generally drink.

  We stayed in the restaurant until they kicked us out, all talking at once about what a great experience it was to get to train with Kanazawa Sensei, and what a privilege it was to get to spend time with him outside the dojo. These meals with Kanazawa Sensei after training became a traditional part of his visits, even though we often finished up quite late at the dojo. Kanazawa Sensei always enjoys spending time with people and having a little fun.

  On one occasion I had made a mistake in kata training during class, so Garry was giving me a hard time about it at dinner. Kanazawa Sensei joined in on the joking with a twinkle in his eye. Garry suggested that perhaps I should commit seppuku (ritual suicide), and offered to be the kaishakunin – the attendant who uses a katana to decapitate the person committing seppaku after they cut open the belly. Kanazawa Sensei laughed and, with his eyes twinkling, suggested that perhaps there would be a lot of people offering to take on that job! We had many good laughs and jokes like that.

  At least, I think they were joking…

  17. 1998 EUROPEAN CHAMPIONSHIPS

  The 1998 European Championships were held in Sheffield in England. The men’s kata team changed slightly, with my old friend and rival, Adrian, joining Sensei Ray and myself on the team. We worked hard together for several months before the event. We met once a week, which meant that I drove approximately 400 miles each weekend for training, and worked on every little detail, right down to breathing together.

  Ray and Adrian had been part of the men’s kata team that had won a European Championship title some years earlier. They were both a similar size and build. I was quite a bit taller than them, so I had to make a lot of adjustments to my stances in order to keep the overall shape between us throughout the kata, while also trying not to look much taller than them. It is quite a challenge to make stances lower and shorter at the same time. This was definitely the weak part of our team kata. Ideally, I should have gone out in the centre, with the other two either side of me. This would have balanced it out a bit more. But Sensei Ray was our captain, and he had the best kata. Even though it is a team event, the judges often tend to focus on the person in the middle and see the others out of peripheral vision, so it was best that he stayed in the centre. He set the pace and standard for the kata, and we tried to harmonise with him.

  The tournament was quite large, with twenty-seven countries participating. I was disappointed to be defeated in the third round of the individual kata, although at least I still avoided my nightmare of defeat in the first round. The team kata event was a very competitive event. There were a lot of teams, and they all seemed pretty good when we saw them practising. However, not many of them were doing Unsu and, because of its technical difficulty, it tends to score higher than other kata – as long as you get it right. Sensei Ray, Adrian and I spent a lot of time together leading up to the event itself. We practised together, and we ate together. We felt like a team, and it showed.

  When it came to the event itself our kata felt strong and sharp, but more importantly it felt harmonised. The most important aspect of team kata is for all three people to be exactly synchronised with each other. This demonstrates a high level of awareness and harmony. We were delighted when the scores went up. We were in the lead … but not for long. Another team also did Unsu and scored higher than us, but they were the only ones to beat us. While we were delighted to take second place and receive silver medals for the event, each of us was secretly a little disappointed not to have taken the gold. A silver medal is nice, but the word ‘champion’ goes with the gold medal. I remember later thinking that silver was just the best of the losers, but I have since come to appreciate that even competing at international level is an achievement, and to win a medal at a major international event should never be a cause for disappointment.

  18. JAPAN AT LAST

  In 1998 I finally got to fulfil my dream of going to Japan. Ever since reading Spirit of the Empty Hand and Moving Zen in 1987, I had wanted to train there. The previous year I had discussed it with Sensei Stan, and he had strongly encouraged me to go. So when I got married, it was no surprise to anyone that Japan was the honeymoon destination. It was also no surprise that I had a whole month off for the trip.

  It was August, and anyone who has spent time in Japan knows that Tokyo gets very hot and humid in August. The trains, crowded at the best of times, become clammy and sweaty. People carry small towels to wipe the sweat from their brows, and the air-conditioning in shops and offices is a welcome relief for those stepping inside.

  We stayed at a fancy hotel for the first few days – it was, after all, our honeymoon. When we arrived, I contacted Murakami Sensei at the SKIF Honbu Dojo, and he invited us to go and train the following night. He also recommended a ryokan (a traditional Japanese-style hotel) in Gotanda, which was a lot closer to the dojo. It was more affordable, and much more like the romantic notion we had of Japan, complete with sliding screen doors, tatami mats on the floors and roll-out futons to sleep on.

  We arrived at the dojo at 6:30pm, half an hour before class – there were already quite a few people around – and went into the office to introduce ourselves. Murakami Sensei jumped up to welcome us. Then we were introduced to Suzuki Sensei and Tanaka Sensei and shown around the building.

  The
dojo itself is on the lower ground floor, or basement, and is small by western standards. It already felt hot and clammy, even with only a few people there. As the class time approached, more and more people arrived, making the dojo seem very crowded. We lined up towards the back of the class, sweating even before Murakami Sensei started the class. When he came out of the office to start the class, he went over to the air-conditioning controls. I was relieved, thinking he was going to cool the place down, but my relief was short-lived. Less than five minutes into the warm-up, the sweat was actually running – not dripping – off the tip of my nose, creating a pool on the floor. It seemed to be getting hotter instead of cooler. At first, I thought it was just that I was not used to the humidity, but Murakami Sensei was grinning mischievously, so I soon realised that he had turned on the heating!

  The entire class was a hot and sweaty struggle for everyone, with Murakami Sensei seeming to enjoy it more and more as the students slipped on pools of sweat all over the floor. When the class finished, Murakami Sensei announced that he had put the heating on as a ‘special welcome’ for the visitors from Ireland on their first visit to Japan. Then he said that there would be a welcome party in the bar nearby straight afterwards.

  It was a typical Japanese party. Everyone poured drinks for everyone else, and so we all got to meet and chat with lots of people. Pizza and other food was ordered in, and there was more than enough for everyone. These parties serve an important social function in Japan: they get people mingling and talking to each other, and are a great way to introduce new people to a group. There were some people, Japanese and non-Japanese, who I met that night for the first time and am still friends with to this day, even though some of them are no longer training in karate.

  We managed to get on the annual SKIF summer gasshuku (training camp), which is not difficult – more of a weekend away with lots of karate. That year it took place in Kawaguchiko, close to Mt Fuji. We travelled by coach, and it was a very friendly atmosphere. When introducing us to people, Kanazawa Sensei made a point of telling people that we were on our honeymoon. On more than one occasion he said something like ‘They are training on their honeymoon. They are crazy!’

  The training itself was not as tough as I had expected it to be on a gasshuku. We had an early morning aerobic session (a run, finished off with piggyback races) for the younger people, with T’ai Chi for the older people. I wished I had been allowed do the T’ai Chi with Kanazawa Sensei, but I was expected to go with the younger group. At least Tanaka Sensei and I won the piggyback race each morning! After the early morning session we had breakfast. Then we had a karate session, followed by lunch, and then another karate session in the afternoon. After this, we were free to do what we liked until the group dinner in the evening.

  It was during this weekend that Murakami Sensei started to teach me some Japanese social etiquette. He taught me how to pour drinks correctly, and how to move around the group of people. He explained how to respectfully acknowledge the Sempai-Kohai (senior-junior) relationship with each person. He also helped me to understand that although the Kohai (junior) does the running around to look after the Sempai (senior), the Sempai has the far greater responsibility, because they are responsible for the development of the Kohai. These lessons have proven very valuable to me down through the years.

  We could see Mt Fuji from where we were staying. One day us foreigners were chatting outside. I asked if anyone had climbed Mt Fuji, and a couple said they had. I decided I wanted to do it also. Just then, Kanazawa Sensei walked past, so we asked him if he had ever climbed the mountain. He said that he had climbed it many years ago, when he was young. When asked why he had not climbed it more than that, and he chuckled and said that the Japanese have a saying: ‘A wise man climbs Fuji-San once, but a fool does it twice.’ It seemed somewhat cryptic at the time, but when I climbed the mountain later that trip, I understood that once was enough.

  Back in Tokyo I wanted to visit a martial arts shop to buy a few things. I was told at the Honbu Dojo which station to go to, but once I was there I didn’t know which direction to take. I stopped someone walking past, and asked them if they knew where it was, expecting them to point me vaguely in the right direction. Instead of this, the gentleman indicated that I should follow him, and he would bring me to the place. We walked back in the direction he had come from for nearly ten minutes, until he brought me right to the door of the shop. I thanked him and I turned to walk into the shop. I happened to glance over my shoulder and saw him sprinting back down the street – obviously now late for wherever he was going. This is very typical of the Japanese people: they are extremely helpful if you ask them politely for assistance. They feel a sense of obligation to help, and not just in the point-vaguely-in-the-right-direction kind of way. They will help as much as they can. I have had other instances where people have missed their train because they were helping me find the correct platform. This is probably not as big a deal in Tokyo as it might be in some other cities, because in Tokyo there will almost always be another train they can take in a few minutes, but I am still always grateful for their assistance.

  The owner greeted me warmly when I walked into the martial arts shop. I bought a few things while he asked me where I was from and with whom I studied. When he realised that I was a black-belt student of Kanazawa Sensei he wanted to know my name, and wrote it out in katakana (phonetic alphabet). Then he signalled that I should wait a few minutes and disappeared to an office at the back of the shop. Within five minutes he returned and presented me with a black belt that he had embroidered with my name. I tried to pay him for it, but he insisted that it was a gift. As I left the shop that day, laden down with my various purchases – and my gifted belt – I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any other country in the world where the people were so helpful and considerate.

  I wanted to travel around and see some of Japan during the trip. Suzuki Sensei made arrangements for me to go and train with his father at his dojo in Utsonomia. His father, also Suzuki Sensei, did not speak any English, but he met us at the train station and took us to his house, which is above the dojo. We communicated with some difficulty through some basic Japanese phrases, basic English and hand signs, while he made us tea and food. As a typical Japanese gentleman, he was an excellent host. When we went down to the dojo for class, things became a little easier. Some of his students spoke English, so they acted as translators when he wanted to have something explained to us. It was fascinating training, and there were several things that he taught in that one evening that have influenced my thinking and training over the years.

  After the training we explained that we wanted to stay in a hotel in the area for one night, as we were continuing our travels in the morning. Suzuki Sensei wouldn’t hear of it. He spoke to one of his students, and before we knew it our accommodation had been arranged at the home of the student and her husband, and we were all going out to dinner together. In another example of hospitality, Suzuki Sensei refused to allow me to pay for the meal, although I tried to explain that I felt obliged to repay them all for their kindness. In fact, when I tried to pay he put me in a playful, yet painful, thumb-lock, which had me on my knees until I yielded, much to the amusement of the other customers in the restaurant!

  I also travelled to Hiroshima, as I had always wanted to visit that city. It was just a one-day visit, but I will never forget it. For a city that suffered incredible devastation and hardship it is a beautiful place, with an overwhelming atmosphere of sadness mixed with determination to overcome, and a simple desire for peace. There are still some types of cancer that are more prevalent in Hiroshima and Nagasaki than anywhere else in the world, due to the after-effects of the radiation. It will take a long time for the radiation to disappear completely, but the important healing – that of a people coming to terms with it and working together for something positive – seems to be well under way. Hiroshima is one of my top ten places in the world.

  I had commented to Murakami Sensei earl
y in my trip that I was disappointed to have missed seeing the SKIF All-Japan Championships. When I arrived back in Tokyo after touring around, Murakami Sensei told me that he had arranged for me to watch the JKA Championships instead. He handed me an envelope and told me to bring it with me on the day.

  We arrived at the stadium on a very hot day amongst enormous crowds: even the queue waiting to get into the stadium to watch the championships stretched for more than a hundred metres in the blistering heat. Yet no-one complained, pushed or cut in. Everyone was polite and orderly. Uniformed ushers ran up and down the lines, making sure that everyone was looked after and that the process was as efficient and painless as possible.

  We took our place at the back of the line and shuffled slowly towards the entrance with everyone else; within minutes many people had arranged themselves behind us, patiently waiting in the snakelike line. One of the ushers spotted the envelope in my hand as he walked past, and asked me to show it to him. He opened it up and read the ticket inside. Immediately he signalled that we should come out of the line and follow him. He led us past everyone and straight into the stadium. I was impressed, but he was not finished with us yet. Instead of directing us to the stairs that gave the spectators a mini workout as they wound their way up to the tiered seating above, he brought us straight out onto the arena floor. He went and fetched chairs for us to sit on, and asked if we wanted some food or drink. Before he left, he made sure that the staff working on the floor knew we were there and were to be looked after, and then he disappeared, presumably back out to the orderly snake working its way in to the upper tiers.