There are things in life that stay with you; stories and experiences that end up defining who you are...
I gained my black belt in 2003, aged 18; it seems a lifetime ago. I’m not sure I’d recognise myself between now and then. I had just left school and was training every day during the week. I had no other life commitments but was already teaching classes. That was the extent to which I understood life; simple and straightforward. I lived for the mats, not just the exhilaration and energy of the class but for the people with whom I shared such a sacred space. My enthusiasm was probably annoying and my skill were unrefined, but my instructors; Master’s Bob and Nikki Banham, gave me a home and a purpose. They set my path alight and shared their greatest selves with me.
Bob was dealing with his Multiple Sclerosis from as early as I remember. It never stopped him, never dulled his desire or intent. He was a ferociously strong man. Escorting him to Holland for my first overseas seminar and black belt grading was an honour. Time spent with him was as rewarding as it was intimidating.
There were four of us who made the trip that year; Bob Banham, Paul Edwards, Robert Aldridge and myself. Rob was my closest friend and willing fall-guy for my grading. Paul; an instructor at the school who’s skill I still admire to this day. They say strength comes from adversity. We came back from the trip exhausted, sleep-deprived and dirty. The cavalcade of mishaps adding a day to our travels. I wouldn’t have changed it at all!
We nearly failed at the first hurdle and narrowly avoided missing the ferry over to the Netherlands, having completely miscalculated the journey time for the train. Needless to say; I leant a life-lesson right there, and now plan trips to an obsessive degree. The four of us were travelling light, all men, and perhaps all a little bit rough looking. It’s no wonder we got searched before being let on the boat, even as they waited to pull up the ramp behind us.
I’m not sure an ‘all you can eat’ meal is the right combination for a sea crossing, or for a pre-grading meal either for that matter, but who can say ‘no’ to a second helping. Maybe that’s where I leant my second life lesson, because now I only train on an empty stomach! We then got a series of trains; from Hoek, Rotterdam, Breda and on to Oss. There was no time to stop for the scenery. It’s not as if I’d have been able to see beyond the pages of my training manual, occupied as I was with some last minute cramming.
I’ve never been nervous before a grading. I think it’s valuable to approach the panel with a mindset born of your time on the mats. As important as it is; a grading is nowhere near as important as actually turning up to training in the first place. That’s where you really earn your rank in my opinion. We arrived at Master Frans Von Boxtel’s dojang only 15 minutes before the grading. It left us just enough time to change into uniforms and stretch, but not enough time to worry anyway. I recall very little from my actual grading, but I know it went well.
When planning the trip, Bob had told us that he’d taken care of the arrangements. For Rob and I, that turned out to be a night spent sleeping under a skylight on the Dojang floor. Thank god I was only 18 at the time, because I think such a night would leave me a broken man now! Still, we got a couple of hours sleep and that became part of my test, for weekend training started in the morning. At least we didn’t have to travel far!
The infinity block was only just being circulated into the Han Mu Do system properly at that point. I remember falling in love with the redirection of power, practicing combining-Son Mok Sul techniques with a kick-punch attack, whilst using the infinity block. To this day, it’s still one of my favourite warm up exercises for students and myself.
Seminar training days are long and physical, but if you ask most people what the most physically demanding part of the day is: they’ll say it’s sitting still during a lecture segment. As it happens, I love the lectures. I’m a theoretical learner. Listening to Dr He-Young Kimm speak at a seminar has become one of life’s highlights for me. He connects theory with reality so well, is able to inspire with the simplest of statements, and instills such a credible and commanding state amongst his students. Still...what I wouldn’t do for a cushion!
Rob and I somehow managed to blag a bed between us at Master Von Boxtel’s house that night. He is a gracious and generous host, and his kindness that night saved us from another sleepless night. Not that I think spiky thorns in my pants would have kept me from sleep that night. I vaguely recall falling asleep on the table of a pub sometime after training that day. Another life lesson that held me in good stead for my years of shift work; get sleep when and wherever you can!
Another inspiring day of training followed and the awarding of my first Dan certificate and belt. One of the things I like most about our style is the preservation of the tradition of keeping our belt with us through the Dan grades. The belt I earned that day still adorns my dobok every time I train. That still feels special, it imbibes a sense of soul into it, of journey and self. It is my single most treasured item, the thing that contains the most of me (and perhaps I of it?).
Later that day, Bob demonstrated alternative healing therapies to the seminar group in the form of acupressure techniques. An acupuncturist by apprenticeship, he used to take his senior students for special training sessions which included acupuncture, cupping, gua sha, moxibustion, etc. I didn’t know it at the time, but what I merely saw as fascinating lessons became a core part of my psyche in later life. Bob taught me to take responsibility for my own health, to heal as well as to harm, to think for myself and see things from outside of the western influence. I eat better and train smarter because of those lessons.
Rob and I again slept at Master Von Boxtel’s house, giddy with the excitement of my new belt, exposure to Do Ju Nim, new lessons and new experiences. We stayed up late but got a lie-in the next morning before setting off back home to England. We didn’t get very far. Our first train broke down who-knows-where (this was before smartphones of course). We sat there for longer than was probably reasonable, waiting for the train to fix itself, before we went to ask for help. Thank god most Europeans speak English - because everyone knows that as a nation, we’re useless at languages. A throw back to our colonial days I guess!
Heading for a redirected bus, which we were now running late for, we became embroiled in what I have come to call ‘an incident’, through the terminology of my current employment as a cop.
Screams. Running. Confusion...
A flash of steel, a glut of blood...
A man standing over a victim...
In his hands, each a stained machete...
The crowd scattered, confronting us with this scene. Maybe we should have run. I’m not sure Bob could run; his MS leaving him bound to a walking stick. Instead, Bob moved towards the man, his cane coming into a ready position. And we followed; the four of us moving into the fray. To this day, I have no idea what would have happened if the Dutch cop hadn’t sprung up from nowhere. They have more officers in Holland than in England I later learnt. And a lot more knife crime.
The officer drew his firearm and somehow gained forced-compliance of this crazed machete-wielder. It’s an image that stays with me....
Then he threw a jacket on top of him, and kicked the living snot out of him. That tactic wouldn’t fly in the U.K., but it certainly seemed appropriate in the moment!
We used the confusion to gain prime seats on our bus, whilst everyone else in the queue had run off or was recovering from the emotional effects of the attack. Another life lesson perhaps; he who manages his emotions, gains advantage!
That advantage was short lived though, after we got on the wrong train and headed in the wrong direction. Let’s put it down to post-incident trauma messing with our judgement! We wandered the streets of Rotterdam for a while, having missed our ferry back and needing to expend time before the night-ferry. So at least I got some sightseeing in after all.
I’m not sure how long he’d been gone, but at some point we realised that Bob was no longer with us. Feeling more than a little responsible, we panicked and ran off to find him. We shouldn’t have worried. We found him sat next to a homeless man he’d stopped to make friends with. We were in no rush after all and Bob saw the world in a unique way. He was humble and kind, able to talk to anyone without prejudice. I’ve tried to learn a lesson from that too. The ability to talk to people of different backgrounds is a valuable and enriching skill.
The night-ferry was choppy. Actually it was a force 8 gale; 35,000 tonnes of boat roiling in the swells. Poor Paul regretted his ‘all you can eat’ ferry-meal this time for sure. I think I was too tired to notice. Four hours of sleep that night finished our adventures and we eventually came full circle back home, all the richer for the experience.
I often think about the ‘incident’ at the train station. I’ve made a career out of running towards violence, but that was the first time I’d done it. I’d like to say that I knew what I was doing, but the truth is; I was just following Bob. We all were. I’ve since been in similar situations myself, protecting the public from harm, although I’ve never had a firearm like the Dutch cop did. Curiously, it’s felt natural to move towards the violence each time. I don’t think it was a lesson Master Banham intended to teach me, but I learn it anyway. Like so many of his lessons, this came from his example. His teachings and his memory inform so much of my life’s path. And whilst that is of course the role of a Master, it’s still a rare and valuable gift. I, and our art, miss his insight and dedication.
His final lesson is that example can define the next generation. Yours and mine, what we teach the next generation lies beyond words, and like so many things; in the doing.
Master Banham receiving his 6th Dan Han Mu Do certification.
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