The events I describe in this paper were written down in 1979 and subsequently made available to my students in 1981 as a paper entitled "The Story of Jiyu Seishin - Part One".  Jiyu Seishin was the former name of my martial arts school.  My original intention in writing this paper was to set down my recollections before I forgot the details or the minor stories that seemed important at the time.  I was primarily responding to students who asked questions about my background and early training experiences.  Reading these notes again more than twenty years after the events described, I realised one very important thing, that I had forgotten many of the events that I had experienced and written about.  As I had never finished recording my experiences and had never issued the subsequent parts of the story, many small incidents that may have entertained the reader must have already been forgotten and lost.  Indeed, sometimes present students who have talked with some of my early students remind me of a story, and I realise that time can distort the truth.  Because most of the notes in this latest account were recorded soon after the events described, they represent an accurate and truthful description of my formative experiences in Karate, almost to the point of embarrassment, but one cannot change what was.  The first part of the tale describes my 'active' life before I was introduced to Karate.  In this edition, I have included less than a handful of additional experiences that I realised that I had omitted in my original account.

Please do make allowances for the fact that this was written with less than a handful of years training experience and more than 27 years ago.

Every martial arts group has its stories, which, even if only a few years old, have been elaborated upon, and so become legend. Students have related stories of past members who are supposed to have performed remarkable feats, or who experienced larger than life situations.

Shinseido is no exception to the rule, we have our little stories, and although they are not particularly extraordinary or unusual, they are important in that the individuals concerned have played a part in the development of our very own school of thought not that of someone else in a distant land.

I never enjoyed physical activities they seemed pointless and unnecessary. Such ideas developed as a result of my school day experiences when the rigours of running around a cold and very uninviting football pitch, in which the ground was rock hard and frost laden, was so repugnant to me that I would concoct injury or illness to avoid the foul and thoroughly unpleasant activity. Indeed, to this day, as a result of being forced to partake in football playing, I hate and detest it through and through. My trauma was not relieved when the football season ended, for then I was subjected to being confronted with some manic individual with a demonic grin spread all over his face, trying very hard to knock my head oft with an incredibly hard cricket ball. Had the ball been soft and bouncy, I really would have enjoyed cricket, but I was always filled with a great fear of being struck a blow with this potentially lethal weapon. Actually being struck on the head a number of times did nothing to alleviate my increasing fear and may well have led to my present regrettable condition.

On leaving the R.A.F. and returning to civilian life I immediately resolved never to become involved in physical activities again. My hobbies included the restoration and playing of early keyboard instruments, cacti growing, astronomy, reading, modelling, and cooking. Such pastimes involved minimal physical exertion and so were regarded as being eminently suitable. I found myself a position at the Park Lane Hotel in London. It was a miserable time that lasted just two weeks. I hated working in London; I hated the civvy street approach to cooking. No longer could I be creative. Everything came out of packets and I was reduced to being a skivvy.  I opted out.  The head chef sneered at me saying "You are an idealist and have no place here."  I had not really thought much about idealism before, but realised that yes; I was an incorrigible idealist and really did not want to be otherwise.

My father knew the manager of an electrical contracting firm nearby and arranged for me to become an indentured apprentice electrician. For the next fifteen years, electrical work was to be my life. I did not particularly enjoy the trade as it happens, and I was not well suited to it.  It served a purpose and I tolerated it for the wage packet at the end of the week.  I progressed, if that is the right term, from electrician, to shop manager and finally running my own business.  My life was very much wrapped up with work and finding contracts.  My friends and acquaintances became largely those with whom I was associated while at work.  Business lunches and frequent visits to the pub became the norm.  Gradually I fell into a pattern of life that was not wholly conducive to one's well being.  Lunchtime and evening drinking with the boys became the norm.  I smoked and drank heavily.  Eventually, I was spending some eight hours in the pub every day, a couple of hours at lunch time was not unusual and going home in the early hours of the morning a regular event.  When I moved I puffed.  When I tried to tie up my shoelaces, I puffed.  Yet I was blissfully unaware that this was not a good thing.  I did begin to worry a little when I looked down and could no longer see my feet!  One day I tested my physical condition and managed five push ups before collapsing in a heap on the floor.

While sitting talking to a friend one day, he happened to pick up the local paper and, glancing through, he spotted a small advertisement for a Karate demonstration.

It appeared that one Jon Alexander, head instructor of the Za-Zen Karate Association was to give a demonstration of Karate at the Queens Hall, Blighs Hotel, in Sevenoaks on the following Friday (21st June, 1974).

I cannot remember what I thought Karate was at that time, but certainly it held no real interest for me, and while the Bruce Lee cult was in full swing I remained blissfully ignorant of all such matters.  I must have been the only person who had not heard of Bruce Lee.  It was with indifference that I agreed to accompany my friend on his visit to the Karate demonstration.  At least, I thought, I could pop into the adjacent bar and get a pint or two.

In the past I spent a great deal of time encouraging my students to remember their first impressions of their art always, for initially one is bursting with interest and enthusiasm, which more often than not dissipates within weeks and the student leaves.  My first impressions were, at the time of writing this account, quite clear in my mind.  As time has passed however, I find it increasingly difficult to remember, and without the notes that I made at the time this account could not now be written.  The Queen's Hall at Bligh's Hotel, where the demonstration was to take place was full with spectators standing three deep, waiting expectantly.  Restlessness set in, when at 8.00 p.m. the starting time arrived and nothing happened.  Eventually first one, and then another individual walked in carrying a sports bag and went into the changing rooms.

These people could not be the Karate men I thought, for they looked ordinary, some even insignificant.  One tousle haired individual wearing spectacles looked the complete antithesis of a Karate man.  No, these were definitely not the Karate men.  Then some more characters arrived, one looked the part exactly, and seemed to be in complete command, while the others were even more insignificant than the first group that had arrived.  It was not long before the new arrivals re-appeared wearing the traditional white karate gi with which we are all familiar, and displaying a range of coloured belts that presumably indicated some sort of rank or ability.

Without question, I was very impressed by the following demonstration, for I had not seen such stamina, flexibility or spirit before in all my life.  The artist in me was inspired most of all by the beauty of movement of the forms which seemed to be called 'carter'.  Jon Alexander, the one who had appeared to be the chief on arrival, explained that some of the demonstrators were relatively inexperienced and that one girl in particular had only been practising Karate for a few weeks, while others were old hands.  This impressed me and I have remembered ever since that a good and true demonstration will include all members of a club, not just the experienced ones.  From that time, whenever I conducted my own demonstrations, I always used advanced students and beginners, in this way a more balanced picture of the art is given.

It transpired that the demonstration was an introduction to a new Karate school that was to start in the adjacent and larger King's Hall the following Friday evening, 28th June, 1974.  My friend Alan, like me was obviously impressed for he said, "Hm - you wouldn't get me doing that".  In a way, I was slightly disappointed in this for I wanted to find out how to go about learning something of this art.  Jon Alexander then said that he would take the names of applicants for the school, and that if they wanted to pay the life membership of £10.00 at the same time, they may.  To this, the response was immediate; a host of prospective members lined up to put their names down.  This was in the days when Karate was still relatively new to the general public even though it had been in the U.K. for some ten years.  Contemporary readers must remember that back in the early 1970's many people still had not seen Karate, much less had the fortune to have a club in their vicinity.  This was the first time that Karate had come anywhere near Sevenoaks.  This was the period when clubs operated at full capacity.  In part, this was due to the impact of the Bruce Lee films that were being shown for the first time.

I supposed my friend's comments were apt enough anyway, for my body was a physical disaster area after drinking large quantities of beer every day for years and smoking some forty cigarettes every day into the bargain.  My body certainly would not enjoy, or be capable in fact, of doing what was obviously a lot of strenuous work.  After 14 years of total inactivity and a great deal of gluttony I had turned twenty nine years of age and was well over the hill for such things.  Anyway, my well-developed beer gut precluded bending or any form of strenuous activity.

My first lesson in Karate was at 7.30p.m. on 28th June, 1974. Jon Alexander presided with Garreth Toogood acting as assistant. Jon Alexander was a 5th dan.

This, we learned quickly, was an awesome rank to be venerated.  Jon had spent 28 years in the practice of the martial arts and had studied most forms through Judo, Kung-fu, Aikido, Karate and various weapons.

Garreth was to be the resident Sevenoaks instructor, but Jon wanted to get the club up and running first.  Our perceptions of Jon were of a  wise and humane teacher.

Jon sat down with us and talked about the history of Karate and the exploits of the samurai warriors of old.  I felt excited and enthusiastic.  He went on to explain about the ways of the dojo, discipline, procedures and the like.  Then he introduced us to some simple warm up exercises including stretching and power forms.  Thereafter we worked on basic stances of which there were just four: yoi dachi; zen kutsu dachi (forward leaning stance and equivalent to our tora dachi); kiba dachi (straddle stance - our ba dachi) and ko kutsu dachi (back leaning stance - a stylised version of our hebi dachi).  The zen kutsu dachi was as wide as it was long, taking the diagonal corners of a square, thus facilitating a quick turn to the side by pivoting on the balls of the feet.  The kiba dachi was a lower stance than taught by me today with the feet directed forwards in a parallel fashion, and the ko kutsu dachi was like the modern neko ashi dachi (cat foot stance) of Shotokan and Wadoryu.  As it happens there is great merit in using stances in this form as a root tachikata (stance forms) system.  We were then introduced to the straight karate punch (choku tsuki).  This was a peculiar short swan neck type punch. Next, we learned kin geri that was a rising top of the foot (instep) kick to the testicles.  We finished by learning gedan barai (low level parry - equivalent to our gedan uke).  This was much in the manner of the contemporary Shotokan format as far as I can remember.  Throughout, we were encouraged to 'kiai' at the top of our voices. We were told this was the famed Karate shout.  To finish the lesson we were told to get down and do push ups.  Jon barked the commands and we responded.  At least that was the theory. I managed my five push ups and added a couple more to try to keep face before collapsing in a pathetic heap on the floor.  At the advanced age of twenty-nine I was one of the oldest members of the class.  The way the push up sequence worked was that the class would assume the kiba dachi (horse riding stance) and then go down onto the two punching knuckles (seiken).  We would do just one push up and then come up into our horse stance again.  Immediately on the command we would go back down again and do two push ups and then come back up again.  This process would go on right up to a count of ten.  At this point we would go from ten all the way back down to one again making a total of one hundred push ups with a very brief pause between each set.  At the end of the lesson, despite the fact that it had been a 'soft introductory' session.  I felt tired but excited to have embarked upon this new aspect of my life.

Training with Gareth Toogood

We had fun and made many friends.  Our 'resident' and first instructor was none other than the bespectacled character that I had seen at the demonstration.  His name is Gareth Toogood and for him I have great and lasting regard.  His assistant was a brown belt, and what we used to call 'sempai', whose name was David Cochrane.  David was another unlikely character.  He would turn up in an immaculate suit carrying an attaché case.  He had a neatly trimmed beard and looked very much the executive.  With great ceremony he would put his attaché case on the table and open it, taking out his gi and laying it out in readiness to put on.  He was extremely polite, well mannered, and very friendly, but as soon as his gi was on, he changed into a very frightening (to us at the time) individual indeed.

On reflection, this was the first time that I had encountered so many consistently polite and friendly people.  Everyone without exception was courteous and thoughtful, and I came to appreciate that good martial arts training instils this wonderful quality.

Another individual who carried a much higher grade than us, was Tom Grogan, he was an orange belt.  Even an orange belt (6th kyu) was admired and respected!

We beginners knew our place, and although Gareth, David and Tom were very friendly outside the training hall, we felt a reverence that precluded any close friendship at that time.

In the first few weeks of operating, the Sevenoaks Karate Club had made many members.  There were so many that we could no longer all work on the tatami (training mat) that Jon Alexander had loaned the club until we could afford our own.  The order then was that members only could train on the mat while everyone else used the wood block floor at one end.  The segregation worked wonders, for others and I were compelled to purchase membership and a training suit or suffer the shame of being segregated from the 'serious' students.

A strict sequence was arranged for initiating the lesson.  As soon as one arrived at the dojo, the underlay had to be taken from the cupboard and laid down while another student swept the floor clean.  The underlay was rolled out and then the big and heavy tatami (mat) was brought out and unfolded from the middle of the training area.  Once flat, it was secured with rope through eyelets and onto rings that were screwed into the edges of the dojo floor.  The mat was then swept immaculately clean.  It was unforgivable to mark the mat or bring dirt from the floor onto it.

We were amused at first by certain Karate procedures, and I remember that Jon Alexander allowed us a couple of weeks or so to get used to the training before he gradually increased the pressures and the demands for a high standard of etiquette.  We were told how to say "Oos" whenever we spoke to another karateka (Karate practitioner), and with great ceremony, Jon Alexander demonstrated how the Karate bow should be executed.  The class was silent; there was no movement.  Then, from the back of the dojo in a clear and distinct voice came the comment "Oos is for you", and turning we saw Ray holding up his left arm pretending to use a spray deodorant to his armpit. 'Us' was a deodorant currently advertised on television.  We expected Jon Alexander to blow up, but he was so amused that even he could not keep a straight face.  Surprise, surprise, he was human after all.

The warm up period included many stretching exercises that were designed to increase suppleness, stamina and strength.  Some exercises were good, some were bad.  Students were encouraged in very positive terms to do the splits. The way this was achieved was to do them across two chairs.  The chairs would be pulled apart until only the heel of one foot remained on one chair and the instep of the other foot on the second chair.  The student would be suspended in space, legs stretched wide for two or three minutes or until he or she cried in pain or a tendon was torn.  'Expert' opinion of the day was that it was best to tear the hamstrings early in training so as to "get it over with" and develop good high kick ability.  My own feelings (born of intuition rather than knowledge) was that this was a stupid piece of advice and I never attempted to damage any part of my body intentionally in order to progress.

Bunny jumps were a favourite and necessary exercise.  The class would do bunny jumps around the perimeter of the dojo including hops onto the seats of chairs and then hops over the backs of the chairs and to the floor. Interspersed between the four or five chairs, would be the occasional student who would roll up into a ball, and the class would bunny jump over each.  The circuit would always demand a minimum of some one hundred bunny jumps.

Sit-ups would be done on one's own or with a partner.  The sit-ups would be with hands behind the head and full head dips to the knees and back.  The students would lie flat on the back for this exercise.  Another version was to have a student kneel down on the floor and place the hands down.  A second student would sit astride the first facing his legs.  The second student would then intertwine his feet on the inside aspect of the first student's thighs and do sit ups from leaning right back over the first student's head with the spine arched.

The most normal form that prearranged sparring took, was on a one step basis.  Interestingly, there were no three or five step forms such as those that feature in modern Japanese basic training.  In much the normal manner, one student would step forward and punch oi tsuki to one of three specified levels of jodan, chudan or gedan.  The defender would step back and execute one of the four basic blocks and counter with a reversed punch.  The steps would always be interlocking in unison and the blocks would always be in order to close down on the outside of the arm not open up.  I remember that there was a set two step pattern called Nihon kumite.  All the basic blocks were practised in this mode.  Gareth and Tom had said that it was through intensive practise of this method that had taught them good and strong blocking methods.  Both regarded the pattern as important.  It was unlike any subsequent kumite that I practised in a formal training session.

Jiyu Kumite (free sparring) was a regular feature of our training sessions.  Every training session ended with Jiyu kumite and it was very rare for this format to be changed.  I can remember my great trepidation when first introduced to this pastime.  The first few times I engaged in the practise I was convinced it was going to hurt like hell.  As time passed however, I realised that pain really was not a feature of sparring, not even when most enthusiastic and unrestrained.  The pain always came afterwards!