Craige Thompson

There are a million and one reasons why people start in martial arts. There are probably more reasons why people quit, and more reasons still for people to stay.

My personal story is, I believe, unremarkable compared to some of the amazing folks I’ve met in my lifetime.

My name is Craige Thompson, martial artist of around 22 years. I currently train in karate with a definite lean to the Ryukyuan approach to training and fighting. This is a brief look at my journey (as far as I can remember that is).

I started martial arts, like many, after getting the shit beaten out of me. I was attacked by a kid not long into my first year of high school who was twice my size. I was on my way home and took a shortcut through a secluded path where I was set upon by this lad. Now bear in mind I was not the man mountain I am now, I was an incredibly small, fairly timid kid. I had no chance. Adding into the fact I had a good chunk of childhood trauma to carry around meant I was very ‘victim minded.’

Anyway, I got my arse well and truly battered. The following week I started training at an after-school Judo club. I enjoyed the training, it opened me up to a whole new world. I was training under Sensei Keith Jones who was running Wolverhampton Youth Judo Club. I did not stick with the Judo for long, I’d gotten the bug. I wanted more.

Fast forward a few months and the after-school had stopped and being incapable and too piss poor to get to the main dojo to train I had to look elsewhere for something. I found a Japanese Jujitsu Dojo a literal stones throw from my house (that Dojo is now the Slasher’s Den Boxing Gym in Princes End). Sadly, the only name I can remember from my time there was Sensei Wayne Rice.

Again a few months on, and during the time I was prepping for my first grading with this club my life took that drastic turn. Do you know when you have those stories of that pivotal moment that changed everything? This was it. A friend of mine had just moved house, I had gone to his new house for the first time. An advertising postcard dropped through his letter box. It is still etched into my memory “Bushi Karate Jitsu.” A powerfully simple Tomoe emblazoned across the front of the glossy card. The address was to a local spit and sawdust gym.

I remember turning up to my first lesson. We were in the gym dance studio. I had turned up with my mate after persuading him to come along. I was greeted by an absolute giant of a man, Sensei Darren Westwood. A big guy but it was more than that, he had a presence that made him even bigger. My first lesson was a mix of things, some kihon after a sweaty warm up, some nage waza, then sparring.

That was an experience in itself. Do you know when you hear that phrase ‘a cat playing with a mouse’? That’s what my first foray into sparring was. I was punched around by a bunch of folks, but two things stick out in my memory from that day. Firstly, I got tackled by my mate into a mirror which could have been one hell of a disaster. Secondly it was the first time I sparred with Sensei Westwood. I couldn’t land a hit on the bloke, at all. I remember repeatedly being moved around and hit in every place I couldn’t cover. “Don’t turn your back!” was regularly shouted at me in that few minutes. I got Sensei’s signature ashi barai (every first timer gets swept onto their arse/back/front). At one point I got hit square in the body with an ushiro geri which I’m sure propelled me through the air like I was a rag doll. I was a small kid, so his foot covered most of my chest.

I loved it. I was assaulted with knowledge and coaching on a level I hadn’t received before. I was hooked, this was it. At that moment without even realising it, I’d decided to become a karateka, even more than that, a martial artist for life.

I stayed with the jujitsu club for a further few weeks and graded to my ninth kyu, after which I fully moved over to training with my new club. Twice a week at first, then eventually three. Doing odd jobs for folks, and my nan paying for lessons I was able to get by. I was lucky to get a lift from a friend at the time to classes as well.

Things were good, by this point I was 14, I think. I remember just soaking up knowledge. I could learn these things so quickly. I started training at the gym as well when time allowed with my mates, it’s surprising how cheap things were then. I got stronger, more skilled, learned more quickly. Martial arts became my escape from reality, I think.

I was picked on a lot at school. I never really fit in with folks, my friend group were an eclectic mix of outcasts and we looked out for each other. I was a high achiever, and from a rough and scummy council estate which effectively made me an ideal target for dickheads. My teenage years cemented a very ‘people are shit’ attitude in me. But karate, that didn’t let me down.

I’d jog to school early every morning. Straight to the top of the tower block near the head of year’s office. Then I’d practice kata, usually for around an hour before school started. Survive a day of our gloriously flawed education system and then get home. I’d finish homework then either go to the gym before class or if it were a non-class day practice for an hour or two before going out with mates/playing Playstation/reading books. On average both in and out the dojo I was putting in 1-3 hours a day at least 6 days a week training.

I had two instructors, but I was sort of adopted by Sensei Daz. He is my Mr. Miyagi. He invited me into his home, taught me to cook, became my councillor. He was the father I didn’t have at the time. Under his tutelage I was able to curb the teenage anger, and the rage that I had inside me. I was a pretty aggressive kid thanks to the bullying, the shit home life, the consistent reminders that I was unwanted, unworthy. I had karate though, I had the dojo. It was my anchor, the one thing that kept those dark thoughts out and gave me focus. More than that, I didn’t want to let my Sensei down, I wanted to pay back his investment in me with my hard work.

My memory starts to get patchy at this point. A lot of my kyu grade memories bleed together. This, I’ve been told, is because of frequent seizures (I have epilepsy).

I remember my first and only kata competition. An event run by the BKJA at the time. I was still ungraded (I think? I may have been seventh kyu). I remember putting a tonne of work in on Pinan Shodan and Pinan Yondan. On the day I performed Yondan, really well I might add. I didn’t place in the competition, which was gutting. I remember my instructors coming away very unhappy with the whole event, which I later learned was because it was apparently fairly politically charged. My first exposure to martial arts politics. It was this event

that led to the formation of the Bushi Martial Arts Federation and our independence as a group.

I briefly remember my first grading at the club. I had a bad habit of holding my breath under stress. I was doing whole lines of kihon without breathing until I turned mawate. After getting through that, the rest of the grading was fairly smooth. I remember doing all the stuff on my syllabus, then being made to stay up and do the things from the higher syllabi. I walked away from my first grading with seventh kyu. I skipped two grades. I didn’t know what that meant or how much of a feat it was at the time.

The grade skipping became a trend for me over my next two gradings. I went seventh kyu to fourth kyu, which I have almost no memory of at all. I do remember that the gi I had at the time was a hand me down Blitz gold which was three sizes too big. Fourth Kyu to first kyu pretty much the same. My key memory there was that I read Go Rin No Sho and Sun Tzu’s Art of War during that time period. I think this was around the first time I attended Seni as well. Bought my first fighting knife and pistol crossbow from that one.

At this time I was doing a lot of karate as my primary distraction. Things were breaking down at home. Almost two years into my training, and in my last year of high school and that’s when I had my first seizures. A lot happened in that year. My mom’s marriage broke down, I ended up on the wrong side of that one. GCSE results were ok considering, but I had no direction. My concerns moved away from what I wanted to do after high school, into looking for places to live (or a sofa to crash on). My mom disappeared at one point for a few months, everything effectively went to shit. But I still had the dojo.

Sensei Westwood helped me loads through this period. I was fed when I was desperate, allowed to train without cost for helping out with the dojo. Karate was that one thing keeping me going. Stopping me from turning to some really criminal shit to survive. I won’t go into the gory details but it was a dark time.

Moving on a bit and my mother had returned and was living somewhere new. I had a home and things were beginning to stabilise. This all happened within a very short space of time. The training continued. I continued developing in skill, in size, in fitness.

I don’t have much in the way of memory of my Shodan grading. I distinctly remember taking my grading alongside a friend’s daughter who was incredibly young at the time. I don’t know who supported who more. I remember sweating buckets, I definitely remember the bruises and swelling I ended up with. It was a gruelling day that resulted in me gaining my grade in around 2 years. I remember more the aftermath than anything though. I got home on a high from everything that had happened. I remember telling my mother I’d passed and very stone faced and unimpressed gave me a ’well done’ then went outside for a smoke. That hurt. I lay in bed for a couple hours after thinking, ‘this is definitely it; this is what I want to do, want to be’.

My nidan I have almost zero memory of. A lot of that particular period of my life is sadly lost to me. I couldn’t give you examples of lessons or principles I learned and worked on other than being able to actively demonstrate and explain them. It’s frustrating sometimes having this raw information but no reference to where I got it from. I know I did it and I passed, but that’s about it. I know that I’d finished high school and was in my first year of college. My standout memory I remember was having a falling out with the guy who ran the gym, for whom I was doing work experience through college. I was accused of being lazy and useless to him. A grown bloke giving a teen a stripping down for not being given any direction or order. I remember him asking me what I wanted to do when I was older, and I told him I wanted to be a martial arts coach with my own dojo. He told me it was a pipe dream; told me I would amount to nothing and that I was nothing. Threatened to hit me for getting upset and speaking back. Looking back now it was more fuel to get what I have now, my own place. Pipe dream indeed. I wonder what happened to that scumbag.

Years on and after college I wanted to explore the army while I was looking for work, purpose, and anything to help me get by (while my home life remained unstable). I took part in the TA’s Midlands Challenge. I took on this in the run up to my Sandan grading. I took to soldiering really easily, it was a wonderful experience. I suppose I was ideal material for it, poor kid, needing a family and structure, willing to push hard for any cause as long as he felt like he belonged. The day I was passing out was the same day I was grading. Now this day is burned into my memory.

I remember the morning was an unusually hot September day the parade was an early morning affair. I was awarded best recruit on course for Asiago Platoon. Sensei Daz and his wife were there for that. I promptly got packed and sorted and I was on my way home straight after. Picked up my gi and went straight to the dojo. Quick warm up and on with the grading.

Hardest grading I’ve ever done. It was hot, I was already tired. Ran through all the kihon, performing kata (initial exhaustion). While under that exhaustion it was straight into demonstrating tuite principles, nage waza, ne waza, atemi. Then on to the goshin jutsu, the self defence partner work and scenarios. These included a variety of armed and unarmed aggressors, even multi man scenarios. Then the fighting culminating in an increasing pressure drill that involves four attackers at the corners of the mats and one person in the middle. One by one the people are given signals to join in the fight. I remember taking off my obi to throw at the first chap and doing the same with my gi top on the second. After lasting for a few minutes I ended up on the ground with a man wrapped around each arm, somebody wrapped around my legs and somebody else sprawled over me hitting my head. I didn’t stop trying to fight, wouldn’t stop trying to fight. To finish I was called up alongside Sensei Nath to perform the kata Suparinpei. Now I’m not one for performance as most folks know; I believe we were called up to perform this quite technical kata to see if we had anything left. I firmly believe I’ve never performed that kata as well as I did on that day, and with a partner no less. You can here a pin drop in the pauses during that kata. We were perfectly coordinated and performed spectacularly. At the end we stood in yoi. As soon as we were told your grading’s over we both collapsed to the ground heaving for breath.

At some point during that grading I remember being slumped up against a wall on the verge of passing out. Sensei Daz threw a Twix at me and told me to eat so I could crack on. The grading went on for a massive chunk of the day. Out of my gradings this was my proudest.

Things took a real dive not too long after.

Part 2 continues in next issue — Lift Hands Volume 24 December 2022