"Fail again. Fail better."

I'm back on Blogger. I didn't mean to take a break but life (and death) caught up with me, as they do. I've missed a couple of fencing evenings, once because I had to travel to the funeral of a friend and once because I was away at a Quaker event - Britain Yearly Meeting - where we finally and overwhelmingly reached the decision to treat same-sex marriages in the same way as opposite-sex marriages. It was quite an easy decision and relatively quick, given Friends' labyrinthine processes - it only took us twenty-two years.

In the meantime, my fencing has been erratic. I was greatly encouraged by a postcard from Beth at Screw Bronze which arrived just as I needed it. Losing a friend can make it hard to focus on anything and this friend worked hard at remembering to enquire after my fencing progress. There was even a phone-call once announcing that there had been fencing on the television. I was thrilled. "What weapon?" I asked. There was a pause, then a question in reply, "What's the difference?" But those regular enquiries helped immensely. It's ever so good when a friend takes an interest.

Back from the funeral, I found myself fencing a young woman of less than half my age who usually defeats me easily, even though foil is her main weapon. We agreed to fence to ten. I didn't feel like doing anything but decided I'd fence as if my friend was watching and supporting me. It felt good. I took the first two points, then we realised that there was a problem with the wiring. When it was corrected, we started again from zero and, yet again, I found I was two points up. I didn't seem likely to win, even with that advantage, but I determined to do my best.

Somehow, every time she caught up, I pulled ahead, never by more than one or two points. She drew level at 8 all and then I managed the hit that took me to 9-8. I wanted to get the next point and win the bout. As I darted forward with my blade, I felt her point attach on my arm. I was sure it was 9 all. But when I looked at the electric box I saw both red and green lights. It was a double - I'd done it and won 10-9.

After that my fencing slipped but it was good to know what winning felt like. I tried to remember that as my skill slipped in the rest of the evening - and in the club's one-hit epee contest where, to my surprise, I didn't come last. I gave advice to a couple of young sabreurs who were trying epee for fun - one hit me while my brief bout against the other ended in a "double defeat" (doubles lose in one-hit contests). I managed a solitary victory against a fencer who said he'd done what I warned him against last year - somehow he walked onto my sword. I knew that what I needed was the will to win - and, ideally, greater strength, speed and accuracy. The club president, who is in his 60s, had one of his frequent victories though he refused to take the sparkling wine which he had donated as the prize.

August is for free fencing and we have the hall for only two hours. I made it this week. Attendance had slipped to no more than thirty, mostly foilists and sabreurs. I spent some time fencing the only epeeist there - he's taking a break from coaching foil. Again I fenced as though I were showing a friend what fun it was - and I was faster, more varied and quicker to see openings. I may have achieved a hand hit by luck but it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been doing my best. I remembered to parry more and to follow each parry with the best attack I could manage, even though my wrists weren't quite strong enough to take my opponent's blade easily.

Towards the end, I began to tire and when my opponent suggested we fence to five my will to win had evaporated. He attacked more strongly and my defences were too slow and weak. He won 5-0. But he remarked that I had improved and was harder to hit, adding that in our preliminary fencing I'd managed five hits in a row, so I didn't feel so bad.

There were no other epeeists. Seeing a 12-year-old sitting at the edge of the hall, I asked her if she'd like to fence me at foil. It's sometimes hard for fencers of that age to challenge fencers who seem much older and more experienced. It was good for me to try the discipline of foil and good for my legs to take up the challenge of fencing someone much smaller than me. After only a year, my young opponent has a good stance and technique. Perhaps she'll move on to epee when she's bigger and stronger. (I won, by the way, though she'll probably beat me when she's a bit bigger. Still, it's important to remember that fencing is not just for the young.)

arrivals and parries

"An epeeist, obviously," I declared, looking at the new arrival.

"Sabre, sabre, sabre," chorussed the sabreurs.

"She'd better start with foil," a more thoughtful fencer suggested.

The new arrival didn't state her opinion. She didn't even open her eyes. At ten days, weighing just over six pounds, the future fencer slept in her father's arms. In her small pink dress and long white socks she wasn't really dressed for combad. As blades clashed in the packed hall, the new arrival was passed from fencer to fencer. Foilists and sabreurs discarded their lames so that the rough metallic surface wouldn't scratch her. Her mother, more familiar with fencers than motherhood, enjoyed the chance for conversation, I think.

It was a while before I dragged myself away to the epee class. I was enjoying the sight of so small and contented a human being. But epee called.

The usual coach was away so one of the most experienced coaches took over. He led us through a return to basics: hitting to wrist, forearm and body - first from standing, then with movement and then including a parry. My accuracy and recall wavered as I tried to include a parry to quarte before hitting the chest. How could I miss so large a target? I wondered. My blade began to glide over the forearm instead of attaching. The coach took me through it again and again until, finally, I managed to land all my hits in sequence.

There's something reassuring about getting something right, even if it's simple and even when I've had a great deal of practice. I moved on to a couple of bouts - and for once I wasn't feeling tired.

I wasn't sure I'd learnt anything in the last weeks of coaching. The problem didn't lie with the coach but with my own exhaustion - how could I have taken anything in? But I was cheered by a lucky wrist-hit, in which, without premeditation or much control, I angled my blade that it slid down to graze my opponent's guard. And I found myself moving better than for a while and - in combat - putting the new parries into practice.

My attempt at a parry in seconde wasn't graceful but it took my opponent by surprise. This gave me a chance to move my blade back up and land a chest hit. Further encouraged by my success, I began to vary my tactics. My opponent was a better and more experienced fencer than me - he'd taught me in my early days of epee when no coaches were available - but although he landed more hits than me, I was doing far better than usual. I accelerated forward with a circular parry and landed a hit. Then I started retreating to see if I could catch him as he attacked. I couldn't - at least, not the first time, but the second time I tried it the box showed a double. I tried the parry in seconde again - and again scored a hit. It was feeling good.

I was tired at the end of the evening - properly tired, with the kind of physical exhaustion that leads to a good night's sleep. As for the new arrival, she left when I did, having slept through everything.

"run forward as fast as you can and keep attacking"

My evening of fencing began and ended with a crime.

I'm usually a law-abiding individual though lately so many laws have been passed in Britain that it's probably impossible to avoid committing a couple of cimes a day. However I prefer to break laws by accident or for ethical reasons rather than for my own benefit. But I have to admit that, when I last went fencing, I did break the law.

I was looking forward to the epee class. For the first time in weeks I wasn't entirely exhausted. I was worried about work, however, and thought that a bit of stabbing was just what I needed. It was a bit of a rush but I got my kit together, slung my swords over my should and prepared to mount my bike.

I turned on the back light - no problem. I went to turn on the front light. It wasn't there. There was no time to walk, even if I'd had the energy. There wasn't even time to wait for a cab. I thought about the route. There's a short stretch of road - a few yards - before the cycle path begins. The cycle path is well-lit and I'm not sure whether cyclists are compelled to have lights as it's not, strictly speaking, a public highway. And then there's the driveway to the leisure centre. I don't know if it's a public highway or not. I know I can walk on it legally - but I never feel safe doing that as there's no pavement. I looked at my legs. They were bright in white breeches and socks. I decided I was probably sufficiently vsisible. I got on my bike and cycled all the way.

As I arrived in the leisure centre car park, a woman kindly pointed out that my front light wasn't on. I explained my dilemma and apologised. She said my back light wasn't very bright either. I suppose it isn't. I apologised about that too. Then I went to the epee class.

We began with parries. I felt more confident than usual, probably because they were relatively easy: direct parry, circular parry, semi-circular parry. It was like doing foil again except that, as epeeists, we were expected to complete each parry by landing a hit.

The coach was encouraging. I watched the other epeeists take turns. We're not really the beginners' group that was planned. We'd been joined by an epeeist who gave mesome of my first lessons in the weapon. Every epeeist in the club joins the beginners' epee class from time to time - and the coach is a sabreur. All the same, we're learning.

Sometimes we're puzzled about what is required. I was uncertain about a long list of instructions which included the sinister words "reprise" and "redouble." After he'd returned from what looked like a longish bout, I asked my former epee teacher what the coach required. "Just run forward as fast as you can and keep attacking," he replied. I had a few goes and eventually I managed to respond to everything the coach did with an attack of my own. It wasn't great.

I knew I had to leave early - I had a very early start at work the following day. But I managed a few hits against the other (young) woman in the ill-named "beginners" group. She really is a beginner at epee, though an excellent foilist and - dangerously - a left-hander. Her experience in foil gave me a slight advantage since she still tends to pause after parries as though establishing right of way. It was only a knockabout but for once I managed to land a few more hits than she did. Then I packed my kit, mounted my bike and headed - illegally - home.

It's possible that my illegal cycling covered no more than 15 yards if, as I hope, the cycle path and drive-way don't count as public highway. It still wasn't a good idea. I've found my front bike-light now - evidently it fell off when I last unloaded my bicycle basket. But the woman at the leisure centre was right - neither light is very strong. Perhaps I should buy another set of lights .... or would that be bad for the planet?

blood ....!

Too much of fencing was a blur of tiredness. I knew I was too tired but I also knew the effect of a week off fencing. Anyway, I'd been tired for weeks - and I was determined to follow the epee course.

There were only three of us. The doc and the Man man seemed filled with energy and concentration. My mind wandered. The coach demonstrated a parry in seconde - "a strong parry", he said. I waved my epee around trying the move in mid-air. It seemed manageable.I tried it against the coach. Definitely a strong parry, and one I hadn't used before.

Things got harder with the next sequence which involved hitting the wrist, moving backwards and then parrying to another hit. I couldn't do it. And things got worse as we lunged and reprised at speed down the piste. At least, the doc and the Man man were speedy - I achieved a moderately paced shuffle with the occasional bend of the knees. After some encouragement, I repeated the procedure while waving my sword about. I wasn't sure quite what I was supposed to do with it but some kind of energetic display seemed to be required. In the one-hit epee at the end I achieved a surprising hit on the Man man, possibly because, given my previous incompetence, he didn't expect me to move faster than a slug.

I meant to go home them but the Man man offered to fence me on the electric piste. I knew it was a bad idea even as I said yes. His second hit was a textbook example of how to glide down an opponent's blade to land a hit. He landed it hard on the inside of my elbow, sliding his blade at an angle that reached just below my plastron. He looked shaken. "Are you OK?" he asked. It seemed that stoicism was required - and no blood was actually leaking through my jacket.

I tried to look brave and continued. Two more points, and he landed another hit in the same place. We continued. He hit me again and again. I tried to fight back and managed a couple of hits including one on his big toe. I tried to repeat the feat and hit the floor a few times. At last I gave up. We shook hands and I began to remove my kit. It was still early but the tiredness was winning.

Slowly I discarded my jacket, coiled my bodywire and put it with the protectors and glove in my mask.. I eased my plastron over my stiffening right arm. As I thought, there was blood - but not much. Just a graze - painful when touched and slightly swollen. I showed off my wound - it was the nearest I had to proof that I was a proper fencer. I'm not sure anything I did that night really counted as fencing. Then I put on my hoodie and jacket, slung my sword and rucksack onto my back and cycled off into the dark.

slow motion parries

"There are nine parries in epee," the coach began, and proceeded to demonstrate them all. After the first three, I was lost. These weren't simple or circular parries but the various position in which an epeeist could hold back the advance of an opponent. "When would I use that?" doc wondered as the coach demonstrated a particularly high parry. "I'd use it against a tall opponent - like you," the coach responded.

We moved on to a complicated parry involving a beat against the blade to draw the attack followed by a rapid corkscrew movement which was supposed to circle the blade while advancing, bind it, hold it out of the way and slide in for a hit. I think it may have been called a progressive covered parry but I was concentrating so hard on the movement that there was no space in my brain for what it was called. I stood with the brunette watching the doc and the Man man try the parry. They didn't seem to find it that easy but I assumed that the coach was making things hard for them. Then it was my turn to fail.

I think the coach was getting a little despondent by then. He tried to encourage us with some simple tests. But we couldn't demonstrate nine parries nor explain the difference between reprise and remise. So we went back to a simple warm-up - moving up and down the piste and hitting to wrist. Then the coach added a leather chap - the kind that cowboys wear - so that we could hit to his leg as well. After the inevitable joke about horses and sabreurs, we managed rather better. This was a simpler and more familiar task. And after that the progressive covered parry - or whatever it was called - seemed to work rather better. At any rate, I managed it in slow motion, though I don't think that will be particularly helpful in a real bout.

We finished with a round of one-hit epee and then the brunette and I, too tired to wait for an electric piste, persuaded another coach to ref while we fenced steam to five. The brunette has the advantage of height and being a left-hander (and being younger than me) but I've been fencing longer. I'm never quite sure how reliable a ref can be when epeeists fence steam so I'm not entirely convinced I won 5-4. Still, the evenness of the bout was a pleasure. But I wish I weren't so tired in the evenings. It seems a shame to leave before the fencing has finished - but it would be a bigger shame to fall off my bike on the way home.

neat hands

Like most fencers, I admire good qualities and skills that I lack. There are plenty of those. For instance, almost all fencers are faster and more accurate than me. I can usually beat beginners. Occasionally a better fencer will have an off day and I'm learning to take advantage. But that's about it. And my age is against me.

Still, there are fencers it is a pleasure to watch and fight. I like fencers who evidently enjoy the bout. Every so often I'll fence someone who is skilled at fencing but doesn't seem to enjoy it - or whose only interest is how many points he (it's usually a he) can score. I understand fencing to win. Even I want to win. But I can't understand people for whom their own progess on a score board is their only pleasure.

I fence because I love it and I enjoy people who share my delight in swordplay and the fun of it all. They often fell in love with fencing through watching the old, swashbuckling movies and enjoying the swordplay. Some even read forgotten authors like Stanley J. Weyman.

Happy fencers come alive with sword in hand. Their eyes glow and they laugh with pleasure at good hits or amusing errors. While TV audiences thrill to Strictly Come Dancing, I just know that Strictly Come Fencing would be ten times as much fun - so long as the fencers enjoyed it. (But there isn't going to be much fencing on TV. It sounds as thought British fencing has just lost all its support in the run up to the 2012 Olympics.)

Some fencers win through strength as well as speed. The Historian (who the chef calls, approvingly, the Curmudgeon) is like that. Lately he's been suffering from epeeist's elbow (as tennis elbow has been renamed) so he can't take control of my blade so convincingly. The Doc is neat and subtle. He's a great admirer of neat hands and deft parries.

One of the newer fencers is skilled in both. At the club championship I found myself in the same poule as her and another young fencer. She was the nervous one, worried that she would make a fool of herself, so I reassured her, telling her she could look for hits one at a time and not worry about the outcome of the bout. She didn't tell me she was a left-hander and I didn't realise, until I saw her fence, that she was a quick learner with a good eye and neat hands. She won her first bout, against another intermnediate, 5-0 and began to relax. I managed three hits to her five. Then she beat her coach 5-1 and her poule fight against the club's best sabreuse ended with a 4-3 to the sabreuse, thanks to a hit just before the call of "time." She was beaten easily by the best fencer in the poule but went into the D.E. ranked eighth out of eighteen - quite a feat for a 16-year-old who started fencing only last year. As for me, I was knocked out easily by one of the club's best fencers (I think the score was 15-1) and finished fourteenth overall - the highest I've ever finished. (Thank you, newish fencers, for joining in - you'll all be beating me this time next year.)

I think I am improving a little but I didn't do well in the epee poules. Fortunately the D.E. saw me fencing a veteran epeeist (who prefers sabre and rarely fences epee on her visit). She's a few years older than me but not easy competition - she fences internationally as a veteran and sometimes brings home medals. I was pleased that the final score - in her favour - was 15-10. I enjoyed the bout.

Last night was devoted to sabre (I know that fleches aren't allowed in sabre any more, but couldn't resist the picture.) A visiting team took on some of our sabreurs in a team competition. Our club was victorious - we have a number of excellent sabreurs - but it looked like a good match. There weren't many epeeists but we took turns on a spare piste, pausing from time to time to watch the excitement.

When the match was over, members of the visiting team joined in casual fencing. It was good to see one stripping off his lame and taking an epee in hand. He approached us and asked if he could join in.

He was a young Frenchman, spending a few months in England between school and university. Without thinking, I replied to him in French and found myself scraping around for words - it's too long since I've had to speak French. He fenced us all, although only the Doc was a good match for him. Learning my age and relatively recent involvement in fencing, he set out to encourage me, letting me win subtly, encouraging me to attack and enjoy the bout, I don't always like it when I'm allowed to win but he was so encouraging and so polite that I was charmed. However, I didn't accept his invitation to fleche him.

Fencing in French felt special. The young fencer didn't resemble d'Artagnan and was far too youthful and enthusiastic for the cynical Gil de Berault but the language was right. Besides, as the Doc pointed out, the young Frenchman had excellent parries and ever such neat hands.




Note: I've been absent from the blogosphere for a while. I've been busy with work and other matters. I'll try to find time to blog more often.

stop hit

Fencing was crowded (again) and I was tired (again).

On this occasion, the tiredness was assisted by a party on the previous night. The chef was there too and had conrtibuted a splendid pavlova to the proceedings. And, after Pimm's on the lawn, followed by wine with food, she made her speciality cocktail - the Left Bank martini, which has a fabulous drink and the sort of kick you notice at the first sip. I , don't suffer from hangovers, which is just as well, but after a few minutes fencing the chef, I began to flag.

It was crowded yet again and we spent much time in conversation, hoping to get back on the electric piste. Our talk ranged from literature to the chef's planned move to Paris, where she has now found a flat with good kitchen near a large fencing club that is large enough to have four dedicated epee pistes. I am envious. Eventually, as it became apparent that we were likely to wait a long time for another bout - and neither of us was particularly energetic - the chef began to analyse our fencing. She pointed out that we were given to simultaneous attacks, with the result that most of our hits were doubles. "We need to learn how to parry," she declared.

I agreed though I have some hesitation about my ability to parry. For all my efforts, my wrist isn't strong enough to parry fierce attacks, particularly when they catch my blade in an envelopement. Work on feinting and deceiving the blade might be helpful - although my lack of speed is a further handicap. However, practice and coaching are always helpful and encouraging. We headed to one of the coaches who seemed to be detaching himself from the beginners and asked for some help. While waiting we were assigned to a small fencer - a 9-year-old would-be epeeist - and asked to show her some helpful techniques.

I had my usual anxieties - was I holding my sword correctly and could I really show anyone anything? But I looked at the girl's enthusiasm and decided that female epeeists deserved all the encouragement they could get. Soon I was standing with my arm extended, asking her to hit to forearm, upper arm and shoulder - and she was smiling despite the weight of the sword. The chef stood beside the small fencer offering further assistance and advice. That's another epeeist in the making, perhaps, though I think I'd hesitate to hit someone so very small.

At last it was time for the coaching session. The chef is quicker to pick things up than I am but the coach is helpful and encouraging. He decided we should work on the stop hit, which involves taking the blade in various ways (simply, by circling it first) and continuing to control it so that an opponent can't reach your body while your blade, sliding down the other, achieves a hit. (When the stop hit moved into octave, the chef was a little anxious about the danger this might entail for our male coach but I was mainly concerned to fix my blade somewhere in the right region.)

It all seemed manageable as we practised the stop hit in slow motion and then at greater speed. But when it came to fencing a couple of points with the coach, my concentration and blade control went haywire. I noticed that the chef won her points, however. She'll be pretty dangerous in Paris.

practice

The epeeists returned. This week several sabreurs and foilists stayed away. Tall and tiny beginners took up much of the space. They're improving and I'm still out of condition (as usual). I found it hard to focus and keep up in footwork practice. My day had started at 3.00 in the morning. That might have had something to do with it. But as a fellow epeeist said sternly, "There's always an excuse."

There's always helpful advice too. This time I got some coaching too. "Lunge." "Don't step - lunge. It adds a foot to your reach." "Faster." "Parry" "Follow through." "Don't pause - you're missing a hit." "You should sweat - if you don't sweat, you're not trying."

It felt brutal at times. I began to ache. But I knew he was right. I needed to work harder. And as I tried, feeling the ache and exhaustion, I knew I was fencing better. When I landed good hits on my opponent, he cheered. And at the end of the session, he praised my progress enthusiastically and made me feel I could fence better - something I'd begun to doubt.

If this were a story, I'd have gone on to win a bout against the club's star fencer. I didn't. I fenced someone better than me, who wasn't as tall as my previous opponent and a right-hander when I'd been working with a left-hander. I noticed I was falling into my old mistakes. I tried harder. Mostly I missed. But this opponent too was encouraging. I should practise more, he said, and suggested a ping pong ball strung from the ceiling at home to gain accuracy.

It would be good. But I don't have space. I don't have time. I have work, children, obligations. I just have to do the best I can as a once-a-week fencer.