Chapter 1, Karate, an alternative story.
The full serialised account of a karate experience stretched over nearly fifty years.
We all have a story to tell, and everybody needs a hook to hang it on; Wado karate in the UK is my hook. This is my story.
Suzuki Tatsuo Sensei walked steadily and methodically between the lines of kneeling students, all meditating purposefully, all determined to remain perfectly still, with eyes half closed they were aware of his presence and, between the counting of their breaths, could hear the shuffling of his feet on the floorboards. He carried a shinai, a bamboo sword used in kendo and he occasionally tapped it on the floor, as if to draw attention to its presence and purpose.
My concentration was distracted by the need to know where he was, as I did not want to fall under his critical gaze; was my back straight enough, was I maintaining total stillness? We all knew what the penalty was, he had explained it beforehand.
It was simple; if you moved, if you shuffled around, if you didn’t hold posture, there was a price to pay. He said that he would tap you on the shoulder with the shinai and you were to bend forward, chin to knees and he would deliver three blows with the shinai to your back. Now, it was never explained what the purpose of these blows were; but we assumed they were meant as punishment.
We were now twenty minutes in and my feet had totally gone to sleep. I had gone through the pain stage and now was resigned to the numbness and the sensory deprivation – just how long had we been down here? How long was left?
This wasn’t some monastery in Japan, a holy space nestled between fragrant pines; no, this was the town hall in the English seaside resort of Torquay and the year was 1984.