sabreur versus snowman

Festive fencing is an odd concept but, in our club, it's become an annual Christmas tradition. The week after the one-hit epee, we conclude the year by decorating masks, jackets, breeches and swords - and then fencing, more or less seriously, in costume.

It's not easy to find a way of decorating fencing kit that will survive a bout - only a skilled engineer dare risk a sword decorated with (sturdy) fairy lights. One fencer chose lights inside a mask as a safer option. I'd have worried about hitting the small epeeist while she wore lights on her jacket.

My own solution involved a hasty visit to Poundstretcher on the way to work. I'd decided a headband was probably the best solution, coupled with tinsel. Antler headbands are particularly popular but Poundstretcher didn't have any. Instead I settled on a lilac headband with two all-purpose festive figures bouncing happily on springs six inches above the band. I'm still not entirely sure what the figures are supposed to be. They had jolly faces and fluffy Father Christmas beards which turned into white snowy bodies and they wore the kind of hats that are usually associated with Albus Dumbledore. The tinsel was a slightly sad selection - there was nothing as glamorous as the black and gold (club colours) that I'd adopted last year. But there was something called "marabou" in lilac and I thought I could wear that like a feather boa.

I still had the decorations in a bag when I arrived, slightly late, for fencing. But a fellow fencer, wearing a miniature Christmas tree on his mask, helped me by securing the headband with garden twine while an old Quaker badge saying "ONLY JUSTICE BRINGS PEACE" secured the marabou boa to my jacket. I didn't dare look in the mirror but I felt that I had made a proper attempt at looking festive. And the figures on my headband were, by general agreement, identified as snowmen.

I briefly noted the bemused looks from people passing along the gallery corridor - I suppose there was something slightly odd in a fencer disguised as Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer fencing Father Christmas, but I was soon involved in watching bouts and then started fencing epee against an opponent wearing a brown woolly hat with gold tinsel and peacock feathers. The tiredness and gloom of winter seemed to have entered my fencing and at first I couldn't land any hits. Meanwhile my opponent was filled with seasonal joys which gave him extra speed and agility. I took a few bruises before I began to fence with any conviction and, even then, was too aware of my lack of speed to do well. But evidently my opponent enjoyed it because, a little while after we had finished, he suggested we fence sabre (his preferred weapon). After explaining my lack of expertise with sabre - I began by asking "am I holding this right?" - we fenced a few points and I tried to respond to my opponent's encouragement. But that was when the disaster occurred. Sabre is, as I have frequently remarked, a nasty, slashy weapon - the weapon of the Peterloo Massacre. And the sabre did its nasty, slashy work, ripping one of the snowmen (or santas or Albus Dumbledores) off the headband and sending it spinning across the hall. Concealing my grief, I put the dead snowman safely to rest on my kit-bag and continued fencing.

There was a sad shortage of epeeists at the festive fun-night but the fencer who'd helped me fix my costume has some skill in epee (and had done much better than me in the one-hit competition). I therefore suggested he lay down his foil and pick up his epee for a final bout. Perhaps he was looking rather tired but so was I. However, I thought I had a chance.

I tried to fix the dead snowman back onto my mask while my opponent adjusted the 18-inch Christmas tree he was wearing on his head. It was a particularly attractive tree, garnished with red bows and small packages - nothing exceptional or distracting in the general array of festive costumes. We decided to use the piste with new fencing scoring kit which registered hits in big numbers. Being uncertain about how it worked, we asked abother fencer to ref. He was a bit snooty about the ease of reffing epee bouts (no complex descriptions of the fencing phrase, no determination of right of way) and sat on the floor to watch.

My opponent's tiredness seemed an illusion - he raced ahead. Soon he was 7-1 up - and my only point came from a double. Then I landed a neat hit to his forearm which landed just ahead of his point. 7-2.

That filled me with enthusiasm, if not skill. There's one piece of training that usually kicks in when I'm fencing: the advice that if you miss the first hit you continue the attack. My went for my opponent's arm, he took evasive action, and I landed my hit square on his mask. It wasn't just 7-3 to me - the force of my hit toppled my opponent's Christmas tree and he was doubled over with laughter as the tree drooped in front of his eyes.

He pushed the tree to one side and we continued but I think my hit, and his laughter, had affected his momentum. And I'd begun to gain confidence. At the end of the first time period he was still ahead but only by 13-11. Silly costumes or not, I was determined to do my best and filled with the will to win.

My first hit after the break landed squarely on my opponent's chest - and didn't register on the box. The ref had been unaware of a button that should have been touched on the remote control. "Can I have the point anyway?" I pleaded ... but the ref said no. The scoring box sprang back into life, my opponent yet again pushed the tree to the side of his mask, and we started fencing again. I scored. 13-12. And again: 13-13.

By this time I was determined to end the fencing year with a victory. The will to win took over, probably disconcerting my opponent who was still contending with a felled tree. I hit again - 14-13 up - and was in the lead for the first time. For a moment I could foresee the most likely conclusion: my opponent would draw level and then win the final point. I brushed the thought aside, noticed my opponent was tiring, and took my time, letting him move forward and backward on the piste. Then I launched my attack. 15-13. I don't know how I scored that final point but I do know I ended the year on a win. I know my opponent was tired and hampered by a falling Christmas tree but my victories are rare enough for me to treasure them all.

And now fencing is over for the year but the chef is back on a visit and we're planning to drink gluehwein together soon in a festive celebration.

Finding the floor

"Come round on Wednesday," a friend said, expansively, at the end of Meeting. "We're burning Catholics."

"Sorry, I can't make it," I responded. "I'm stabbing people."

Perhaps it's as well there weren't any newcomers. People don't expect Quakers to talk like that. But the Friends who were present understood that they were being invited to a fireworks party with bonfire and that I couldn't go because I was going fencing. Some Quakers are a bit doubtful about my enthusiasm for fencing but fortunately they're a tolerant, accepting lot.

I forgot about the fireworks until I got home, when anxiety about Joe the cat hit me. Being a cat-owner keeps landing me with unanticipated responsibilities. Perhaps I couldn't go fencing at all, I thought. My son was heading to the display at his former primary school and I couldn't leave a fearful cat alone in the hosue.

Fortunately Joe deosn't scare easily. He curled up in the sink, which would be his favourite place if it weren't for the water. He likes the water and wants to play with it ... if only it weren't so wet.

I cycled through the damp, dark mist to the accompaniment of occasional pops and thuds. Tethering my bike, I headed to the hall - the big hall. It's been closed since July for work on the floor, leaving us to fence in the small hall, squash courts and corridors. But now the floor is fresh and shiny. The walls have been painted too. They are in rather unfortunate shades of bright green, which clash with the new mustard-green paintwork elsewhere. It's a shame the leisure centre didn't consult the fencers on suitable colours for a salle. We'd probably have gone with cream, black and gold. I expect the leisure centre found a helpful discount on green paint.

But the sound was the real surprise. I'd forgotten how delightful it is to hear the clash of blades and the cries and grunts of sabreurs. (I don't know why sabreurs make such a noise when fencing but they always do.) The beginners were still working at one end of the hall and there were three pistes next to the curtain that divides fencers from badminton-players. There must have been nearly fifty fencers there, some fencing steam and some waiting for a piste or space.

There were only three other epeeists and I fenced them all. My single victory over the dancer had given me new confidence and, when we fenced again, I managed far more hits than usual. We weren't scoring but I reckoned I managed three quarters as many hits as he did. More importantly, it felt like a proper bout and I reckoned that perhaps I'd have a chance of beating the dancer on another occasion, with a bit of luck.

I had a much harder time against the doc. His speed and light hits to my arm remained disconcerting. I managed a few hits but wondered, at times, if he was letting me hit him. However he often appears to open his arm to attack only to deceive my blade, so it was hard to tell. I also fenced the brunette again. She may be new to epee but she's an accurate left-hander with a long reach. At first I was as nonplussed as when I first fenced her. I would reach and try to angle but she would always get in first. It dawned on me that the only way I could hit her was by taking her blade. It didn't always work but, as I tried, I began to even up the contest.

I realise I've been slipping into my old habits of mirroring my opponents' techniques - or just repeating attacks in the hope they work. Fencing twice a weeks is giving me the confidence to work more on different strategies for different opponents.

But I'm also inspired by the return to the big hall. It offers opportunities for conversation too. I fell into conversation with a couple of sabreuses about the freedom fencing offers us. The club gives us an opportunity to be ourselves, we agreed - we don't have to modify our behaviour for other people. And we get to stab people too.

I heard the same from the mother of a young foilist. He's slightly autistic and needs clarity and repetition so that he can advance. His mother was full of praise for the club and the coaches - she's found an environment where her son can feel secure and be accepted as he is. Once again, I was glad to be a member of my fencing club.

All the same, I left early, just in case Joe the cat was worried. He wasn't.

fencer poet?

As part of my job, I was required to attend a poetry workshop run by Peter and Ann Sansom. (I was wearing that hoodie again.) One of the many treats was sitting next to veteran peace protestor and Quaker Alice Beer, who brought an excellent poem about making frogs. We had a morning doing quick exercises and amazing ourselves with the results, and an afternoon looking at poems in process by all participants.

This isn't going to turn into a poetry blog. However, one of the exercises, once we were all warmed up, was to write a poem, in just a few minutes, about any group of people we chose. I chose fencers so feel duty bound to incude the result on this blog, even though it could do with more polishing.

Regular readers of this blog will have no problems in picking up the final references but I'll include a link at the end for anyone who's puzzled.

Preparation for Attack

You’re in an office, see the corridor.
You’re on the train. You see an aisle.
You can’t resist. You say it.
“It’s a piste.”
Terrific

and you see yourself
in white, with an opponent.
You’re moving up and down
(clatter of blades).
You catch the lunge-attack, parry, riposte … and it’s all over.
Point for you.

For Christmas you want blades,
a glove, a bag,
a new French grip.
You search the internet, look for “escrime”
(fed up with garden fences)
and you take the test
that tells you epee is the sword for you.
You go to talks on “how to mend a foil”
and keep spare buttons in your purse.

All night you dream of new attacks.
You’re Cyrano
and interrupt ballades
to strike with each refrain.
Fighting battalions, you whisper love
and when the brick falls and you stagger, late
to Roxane’s convent,
you’ll say farewell, accept her tears
but stand alone for death
and meet him, sword in hand.

If you don't know about Cyrano de Bergerac (in the play by Edmond Rostand), you can find an outline here.

There's an English version here.

And here is the French text.

blogging birthday

A year ago today, I started this blog. I didn't know what direction it would take and very much doubted that anyone would read it. I'd been at a seminar where somebody worried that blogs were ephemeral and open to breach of copyright. That sounded fine to me. Someone else mentioned blogger.com as a way in which anyone could blog - implying, I thought, that sophisticated bloggers understood computers and wrote their own programs. I jotted down "blogger.com" and, that evening, went to my computer to find out what blogging was all about. I didn't even know the subject of my blog but the phrase "quaker fencer" came to mind, and that gave me a subject.

I started looking at other people's blogs, and they started reading mine. Soon we were posting comments. Hello in particular to early blog-friends: Beth on Screw Bronze; Jim, The Gray Epee; Brian, whose Big Book of Epee I still miss; and Dave, The Quaker Agitator. I value your friendship. Please keep blogging.

And hello too, to more recent readers and to anyone whose just dropping by. If you're new to blogging enjoy it.

If you like this blog, you may enjoy the blogs I link to in the sidebar, though I need to update the lists and add more. One is a more personal blog that I started on Boxing Day last year and there's another, which addresses politics, to which I contribute.

For the moment blogging seems the nearest there is to a democratic literary space where people can exchange views freely and form friendship. It's anarchic, which can cause problems, upsets and dangers - but it also offers bloggers the freedom to set their own rules. I don't know how long this will last; companies are moving in and governments are doubtless watching anxiously and, at times, intervening. For the moment it's a form in which I as a Quaker - and a fencer - feel very happy.