fencing foil - and starting sabre

"You're not going to wear those earrings," a fellow epeeist objected, "- not for fencing."

I had to admit they were unsuitable. "They've been admired," I explained. "I'll just wear them for the warm up."

"I like your earrings," said one of the coaches, and chuckled.

"But do they glow in the dark?" I asked my fellow epeeist.

She squinted helpfully, and concentrated on my left ear. "Not really," she said. "Perhaps if you left them under a strong light for hours ..."

But I'd kept them in my bag till evening. Only when night fell did I slip the pieces of wire into my ear-lobes. Two pale, articulated, plastic skeletons danced lightly as my head moved. The trick-or-treaters liked them ... at least, they said they did while I was doling out the loot. But I had to admit that long, dangling earring wouldn't go well with a fencing mask. After footwork, I slipped them back into my back and replaced them with grey, sparkly studs.

There were only three epeeists: two women and a man. We fenced each other in turns. The man's bladework was faster and more accurate than ever. He'd been off ill for a few weeks - I'm sure he spends periods of illness in bed, epee in hand, honing his accuracy. It's hard to score hits on an opponent with such deadly bladework. I managed one or two hits, and a handful of doubles.

Things were more even when I fenced the other woman. We could have gone on fencing one another for ages, but she suggested a break, then foil. We settled on steam foil and a coach agreed to ref - perhaps for a rest from our demands that he take us through the Academy gold medal syllabus. I'd quite like a gold medal, It would go well with my black winter coat. My foil level 4 fabric badge wouldn't work so well.

I was briefly ahead and even thought I was in with a chance. But after my opponent pulled ahead, my successful hits became less frequent. I think the final score was 15-8.

In the conversation afterwards, the coach reminded us about the club championship and repeated how few women would enter. I've got it in my diary but I'm not convinced it's a good idea - all that struggle and early waking at a weekend, just to come last. But I jokingly suggested we could both do sabre and insist on the title "woman master-at-arms." (I bet they'd make it mistress-at-arms").

Nobody had taught me sabre before, though I once picked up a weapon for a dare. We did the movernent quarte, quinte and tierce and then practised the hit to the head, followed by the hit to the cheekbone. I enjoyed it enough to remind myself "Epee is best." "Sabre-kir is expensive," and, most deadly of all, "Sabre - weapon of the Peterloo Massacre."

I'm still an epeeist, if rather short of opponents.


Incidentally, do you know any stories involving a fencer and a baker. There's a baker in Cyrano de Bergerac and a fencer pushed to suicide by contact with a baker in a Schnitzler short atory. How many are there - and is the baker ever the hero?

shoes, blisters and taking the blade

I was late to fencing. My train was late home, there was no lift, so I stuffed my kit into backpack and sword bad and set out to walk.

I haven't yet replaced the old trainers with holes, which finally lost all efficiency. It was wet, so sandals wouldn't do. I thought about walking boots, but for some reason could find only one. So, rather than wear the white trainers I keep for fencing, I put on my blue work shoes. After all, the heels aren't that high.

By the time I'd left the house, returned for the things I'd forgotten and set out again, I realised I was going to be late. With only a few yards covered, my feet began to hurt. I stuck out my thumb in a hopeful attempt to hitch. After all, if any driver proved dangerous I did have three swords with me.

The drivers didn't stop. They must have thought a middle-aged woman with large rucksack and three swords was most likely mad. I could see their point. I staggered on.

It's school half-term so there was plenty of space in the hall. Unfortunately some of the space was caused by the absence of epeeists. There were only two other epeeists: male, experienced fighters, taller than me and with a longer reach. I managed a few hits, possibly because they were being kind. They managed quite a few - but this week most of the hits I took were painless, which was an improvement.

I struggled quite badly in the second bout. "You have to take my blade," my opponent said helpfully. I tried in the approved manner - forte to foible. Every time I tried he still managed to control my blade, force it into a circle, take it out of the way and land a hit.

"So what do I do?" I asked. "Exercise to strengthen my wrist?" It didn't seem likely I could make my wrist that much stronger.

"Aim here," he said, helpfully, indicating his wrist just behind the guard.

"But you take my blade first," I complained. "And anyway, I'm already trying to be accurate."

"You could win on speed," he encouraged.

"But I don't do fast. I think this is as fast as I get."

My opponent smiled.

OK readers - any ideas?