hope

I know that most posts at this time focus on the "year in review" theme. And I suppose it is a relevant topic.

2016 for me began with a ridiculous post by an ignorant old woman called Penny Sparrow. She sparked a long-overdue national debate (and I do use the words loosely, since some responses were hate speech rather than objective counter arguments) on race, and how black people are treated and perceived in South Africa. This also led to other suppressed issues coming to the surface of our society, and although I believe that it is necessary and healthy to take them out and deal with them, the meanness and opportunism that tries to walk hand in hand with retribution often brought me down. In my heart, I am a Zulu, and I don't like to be tarred with the same brush as those people who believe a white skin makes a person superior.

In one of the headlines in the paper today, there was a tally of all of the celebrities that had died during 2016. Apparently George Michael died on Xmas day. Last Christmas, he gave you his heart... So if it's all the same to you, I'd rather forego the recounting of what happened in the world this year.

There were a few bright rays that shone down on me. The Rogue Squadron (admittedly only two plus mascot) attended our first international tournament, independent of any national initiative, and we solidified our status as a team at the national tournament. It made me feel proud and grateful for the people with whom I have surrounded myself.
And I received a beautiful amaryllis lily and chocolates from one of my managers in Head Office for simply doing my job and helping out (with an admittedly monumental marking task), which I thought was really sweet. It's awesome to be recognised for one's efforts at work.
Tala achieved really well in school and sports, and reinforces every day the reason why I chose to have a child.
Josh started making the most beautiful knives and swords and revamped his business, Metal Horse Armoury.
And Josh and I also put a stop to our summer flea infestation, which was a relief, to say the least.

What I really want to speak about, though, is hope.
I know, I know.. There are so many cliches and adadges like the perennial, "Hope springs eternal."
But there was a time when hope didn't really exist for me, in my world. I think that when a person turns the corner and realises that there is hope, after having none, it is the sweetest gift to find, sitting there, untouched, unopened, fresh and promising, and all the more worth holding onto.

In "A Knight's Tale", William and his buddies put together a letter to the Princess, and the last paragraph begins with the words, "Hope guides me..." I love this line because it resonates with who I have become. Hope has really been what keeps me together; hope that tomorrow will be better than today; hope that tomorrow or the next day, reason and truth will prevail; hope that, for all of my effort and inspiration and motivation, there will be some kind of reward.

I recently watched the "Rogue One" movie, which was much, much closer in tone and style to "Episode IV: A New Hope". It was deeply satisfying to see that the writers had actually created an original story, without relying on and recreating the nostalgic shots that made the original Star Wars movies so popular, as they did with Episode VII. There are more than a few parallels that I drew between the story of Rogue One and the formation of my own Rogue Squadron.

As a citizen of South Africa, as a lecturer, and as a leader of the Rogues, I intend to keep on recruiting, motivating, inspiring and training, until all of my chances are spent, and my time is done.

I look forward to the year ahead because I believe that it will be better. What I want to pass on in this post to all of you, my readers, is a what they gave to Leia, as Captain Antilles fled Vader's star destroyer at the end of "Rogue One": hope. 

apocalypse? now

 

I remember the first time I heard about the concept of "the end of the world", it was in boarding school in 1992. It was October, I think, and I sat waiting for some momentous event that would forever silence life. In my condition at the time, I was thoroughly and deeply disappointed when it didn't happen, and I carved those sentiments on the desk in the back corner of the classroom. I guess it was a form of buyer's remorse. I had bought into the idea so quickly, grasped at it like the proverbial drowning man clutching at a rope because it seemed like a brilliant way to solve everything. Just end it all.

With the passing of each failed "end of the world" notification, the buyer's remorse has lessened, and I have come to realise something, and it is this:
We are living in the apocalypse.
For good or for ill, our world is changing irrevocably. And perhaps the "end times" isn't what the Christians promise, where the Christian God will come down and smite all of the evil(according to them)doers and gather the rest of them up and take them away in a glorious rapture. And perhaps it isn't any one of the hundreds of other promises of scenarios where "we" (the good guys) will be saved and "they" (whoever isn't considered part of the good guys) will be destroyed. Perhaps the "end times" is actually just that: the end of the world AS WE KNOW IT.

Here are some of the articles in the news today (not mentioning Trump - we've all had enough of that for a long time):
Standing Rock Protests
South Africa's Zuma State Capture
Japan's Earthquake
Selfie Deaths Rising (really?)
Google Boosts AI Research
Study Links Fracking and Earthquakes
Australian Thunderstorm Asthma
Putin and His Missiles


It is happening right now. We see our planet being changed all around us, at an increasing rate. More and more species of flora and fauna are becoming extinct, our cultures are changing more rapidly, becoming increasingly coca-colonised by homogenising Western influences. We as a species are breeding at an exponential rate, and using up more and more of our planet's natural resources. And the key word here is exponential. Things are changing faster and faster, and we appear to be moving towards a singularity. Not the kind that ends with the earth being crushed by the terrifying gravitational forces of a black hole. Rather, a cultural and existential singularity, in which some kind of paradigm shift will occur once our changes have reached a point where they can go no further.

I can't predict what will happen. I'm not a scientist, and after all of the times the world has already ended, I don't put much stock in prophecies.

For me, the apocalypse was an event which promised an end to all of the horrid, wasteful, malicious and damaging activities of people that I saw more and more around me. Specifically to my own personal circumstances, it represented an end to the constant bullying and victimisation that I was experiencing at school and hostel. If it meant an end to my life as well, then I was also perfectly happy with that. As long as it was just over and done.

I've come to recognise with time that waiting for the apocalypse to end the world as we know it is just waiting for the easy way out. It means we no longer have to go through the daily grind of waking up, going to work, working, going home, cooking, eating, sleeping. There will be a change to the routine, something different. Something that breaks the cycle. I don't think that the apocalypse is the answer, though. In the words of Annie Lennox, "Dying is easy, it's living that scares me today."

Whatever the future may bring, I think we need to have the courage to face it, and not to wish it away in fire and ashes, because I reckon there will be a lot of disappointed people out there who realise in their deathbeds that they have spent their lives waiting for something to happen that was unfolding slowly, every day before their very eyes.

So this is me. Don't think for a moment that I'm not prepping. I am. But I'm not prepping for the end. I'm prepping for the beginning of something new. And I'm no longer hoping for the death of my world. I mean to live.

Here's a song for all of you:

https://youtu.be/Z0GFRcFm-aY

"after the tournament" and other short stories from the Rogues

I'm not sure if it happens with everyone out there, but I have noticed that in my small circle, the closer you get to a tournament, the more you start prefacing each statement with the words, "After the tournament...". By about a week or so before the tournament, almost every sentence begins with, "After the tournament..." and you can see the people to whom you are talking actually rolling their eyes at you because they are so sick of hearing you make all of the promises to them which just basically confirm that "the tournament" is more of a priority in your life than any other thing that you have to do for anyone else.  And you don't really care because you know it's true and you expect everyone else to understand. Also, you genuinely believe the promises that you make when you start them with, "After the tournament, I promise I will..."

We put everything off for about three weeks before the tournament. We didn't do anything but armour, work, eat and sleep. We did manage to bathe a bit, which was good. And of course, the Beastie got me as often as she could get away with.

Here are some short stories from our travels to the Joburg tournament.

The mad armouring rush
We managed to make or fix all of the armour and weapons that we took to Joburg in about a month.
I made a cuirass for Bronwen and one for me, a pair of splinted cuisses for Bron and a scale aventail to replace the one that fell to pieces at Red Lion. To be fair, though, I was at work most of the time, and so our trusty workshop minion, Kenneth Mgeje, did all of the gruntwork.
Josh made himself a pair of arms (pauldrons, elbows and vambraces), finished his stuffed gambeson, and also made two swords, an axe and reshaped and rehafted a mace.
We worked on other things in between, but that was mostly stuff that required sewing, and so when it came to crunch time, the armour took priority and the surcoats and my replacement fighting shoes did not get made.
There are always little extra things that take time which you never think about until you realise you can't put on the armour (or possibly keep the armour on) without them. Like arming ties for gambesons, refitting straps that have broken or are too short or too worn, adding on an extra something to augment the new whatever that you made to replace the old one, or simply reworking armour bits until they fit comfortably. Like I said, it all takes time.
For the last week, Matt the Goat and Bron pulled in and worked with us in different ways to make it so. Bron also got a video of our final prep about two hours before we left.

Travels
It was an interesting challenge we set ourselves, since it turned out that if Jimmy-Steve hadn't got a chest infection and had actually been able to come along, we probably would have had to bauper him and his gear onto the roof with bungee cords, since that was the only place left to put anything.
We borrowed The Boat from my Mom and Doug. It's a '95 Ford Fairmont 4l automatic with a boot that can take two dead bodies. OR three armours, a six-man tent, and other small clothes bags, six swords, a polearm, an axe, a mace and four shields. We put the box full of tools, the sleeping bags and a helmet in the back with Bron and Matt, and I had stuff in the front with me. It was full, and (here's a Firefly reference for the geeks) we were using double fuel for full burn.
There was an amazing storm with lightning everywhere around us, and taken together with Josh's three praying mantids he saw that day, I recognised the omens of success in battle.
On the way up, we missed the turnoff, and Joburg being what it is (even the freeways are just big knots) we only realised once we were on the other side of it and heading for Kimberley. It was a rather disappointing discovery for those of us who had sewing and other shit to do in the morning, and who wanted to sleep before 02h00. We got there with a sniff of fuel to spare at just after 02h00, and that was that. Josh sewed the rest of my aventail and then we passed out together. Thanks, Eric, for waiting up for us!

Fighting
We were up early, armouring, sewing and generally doing last minute shit whilst trying to ignore the small pre-fighting twinges of adrenaline.
Every tournament happens the same way: about a month beforehand, once it's way too late to change anything at all, I start to feel like I'm not strong enough, not fit enough or fast enough, not prepared enough, that I'll most likely lose all of my fights and make a laughing stock of myself.
A week beforehand, it gets so bad that I constantly feel like screaming at people if I'm not training.
The morning of the fighting, though, I feel calm and just a little edgy. Like I can smile at someone and hold a decent conversation, but if my control slips a little, I could reach out, grab them and bite whatever reaches my mouth first until there is blood.
So that's pretty much how it went. Except for the biting. There was no biting. I don't think that the sleep deprivation that we all experienced for the week beforehand helped us at all, but we managed to keep it together, which was good.
We got everything done and ready so that by the time the bouts began, we just had to watch and wait. We have a saying in our circle that the first fight is always a fuck-up, and we wanted to have a couple of short rounds with each other first, as an extra warm-up before the fighting began. We barely were able to warm up, as it was, and didn't get any fighting in.
Josh fought well. His first fight wasn't a fuck-up. Neither was mine. Bron felt like she could have done better. Some of the fights they had were very close, and I felt it could have gone either way.
In the end, though, Bron placed third in the women's sword and shield and Josh got bronze for the men's. I got gold, so all of the Rogues got a bit of loot.

We didn't have time for another singles category because it was going to rain, and, offered a choice between longsword and buhurt, the overall vote was for buhurt.
The Rogues had been training for the buhurt for ages, and I was excited at being able to field a team of Rogues in buhurt. At go-time, though, Josh wasn't able to compete because he had a gap over his lumbar area, and then the marshal noted a gap I thought I had taken care of on my arms. I had to make the smart choice and not push to be let in because financially we cannot afford for me to get a broken arm.
I felt very disappointed and very grown up and responsible and there was the Fuck You part of me jumping up and down shouting, "Get in there! Get in there you chickenshit! Stop making excuses! They're only excuses. Nothing will actually hurt you! Just get in there!" and I was sorely tempted to give in and go with it.
I think since I started this blog, I've had some kind of shift in my perspective, and I can draw distinctions between acceptable and unacceptable risk. Acceptable is when you know that you're going to get fucked up, but you also know that you have sufficient armour covering you to reduce the chances of serious injury. Unacceptable is when you know you're going to get fucked up, and you also know that the armour you're wearing is not capable of mitigating that fact.
I didn't go in and I'm not sorry. There will be another chance for that and I will be ready to take it.

Bronwen took the opportunity and went in with Aiden, who was once my bestest squire and minion, (remember I mentioned him in the post about the squires?). It was Aiden's first tournament, and he fought like a lion. Bron is about five feet tall, and she got into the lists and faced off against these guys who are tall and strong and who were wielding falchions and axes. She stood up to them, took the shield punches, and gave it her best without fear, and that is a credit to the Rogues. I was even more impressed when she stayed in for another round, after getting chucked face first into the sand.
That tiny tank now has more buhurt experience than I do. Am I jealous? Of course. Am I threatened? Nope. I always knew she would be a better buhurt fighter than me, and that was the whole point of recruiting her. Am I proud? Hell yeah. So proud.

As far as the fighting is concerned, I think the tournament itself was well-organised with enough support staff for counting, timing, recording and squiring. There was shade and water and places to sit down. The vibe was friendly and easygoing and I was pleased with the number of new fighters who took part. Our hosts, Eric and Vanessa, are such lovely people. They gave us food and drink and good conversation, and their kids and animals are all adorable. It was very easy to feel at home there with them, for which I am grateful. They made an effort to make the event good, and they succeeded par excellence.

I was disappointed that a South African tournament had, for the first time, separated men and women into different categories. What I really loved about this sport in South Africa was that no-one ever felt the need to split up people by gender or age or any other distinction. We all fought against each other at every national tournament. What I found most disappointing was that I believe the other female fighters had a part in enabling that decision. I think they actually didn't want to fight the guys.
I know that I didn't benefit from the fighting. I mean, I got a gold medal. Yes, my first gold medal. And I'm pretty stoked with it. In fact, I brought it to work today for Show and Tell with my colleagues. But honestly, it felt more like I had been sent to eat at the kiddies' table. And I don't believe that the standard of women's fighting in South Africa is going to improve very quickly if we allow our women to take the easy route and just fight each other, especially if they are all noobs. I'd have foregone the medal in favour of some proper tournament experience, and so should have the rest of the women.

What is that funny flowery smell I detect in the air? Oh yes. It's the lingering aroma of soap, from the box I'm standing on. Let me get off it now.

Josh and I awoke very early the next morning to witness a cicada climbing out of its exoskeleton. It took an hour or more and I kept dozing off and then waking up to keep track of its progress. I think that it was a significant medicine for us as a team, and I was grateful for that recognition from the Gods. I think it's important sometimes to be reminded of the steps you have taken and how much further each step has brought you down the path. In my estimation, last weekend was a milestone for the Rogues. It heralded our team's emergence into the national scene. We were there as a team and we made our mark as such.

We decided to have longsword fighting the next day. Of course, no-one else pitched up for it, and there was no support staff, so we simply had some friendly sparring. I fought with Eric's wife, Vanessa, who is a very new girl in armour, and who is showing some promise with a longsword. She is quick and fun to fight. Bronwen also fought her, and also found it a good experience.

Vanessa on the left, me in the middle, Bron on the right.

Josh fought against Eric, who promptly broke his sword on Josh in their second round.That was quite sad. Here's proof.

Don't worry, he's not really crying.  Not on the outside.

We got to test out the amazing longsword that Josh made. It is a thing of beauty and balance, and we were all impressed with how it moved.

I shall claim it for my own and call it "The Sword of a Thousand Truths" and it shall be mine.

I don't have a photo of it to add, though, so you can't see it.


The journey home

We left rather late, having fought till midday, and then had lunch afterwards. We realised the time and hurried to pack up and go, but we left at about 14h00.

Fortunately, we didn't get lost getting out. Joburg freeways have this cool thing where they funnel all of the tourists in the direction of the beach, so wherever you are on the freeway, at any given offramp or interchange, there will always be "Durban" on one of the options. Usually, it will read something like (and Joburgers, please forgive the inaccuracy) Germiston (which is 10km away) / Witwatersrand (which is 20km away) / Durban (which is 633km away and in another province). Here's a clip of the trip.

We only really had to watch out for the bad drivers because they are like flying ants - they come out with the rain. And it did rain a bit. Our path was largely unimpeded until we got to Nottingham Road, which is on the home stretch inside our province. A truck had jack-knifed and tipped its load, stopped traffic for two hours while cleanup operations took place.
We listened to Hammerfall, stood in the middle of the freeway and smoked cigarettes, Matt the Goat walked down the road and had chats with other people, and I opened up the bottle of Black Grouse. Good times.
Josh was unimpressed, being the driver and thus not able to partake. Matt the Goat got that bit into his Rogumentary, which will feature on this blog once he has cleaned it up and handbraked it down to a civilised size. Yes, it is a real thing. We made it a real thing.

We finally got home around 22h30. Bronwen muttered something by way of greeting and stumbled off to her car, and got home about 15 minutes later. It was good to be home.

Lessons
Although it has become a tradition for us to be armouring until the very last second before fighting, we decided once again that is really is unnecessarily stressful, and that we need to make every effort in the future to have our gear ready way in advance to avoid that shit happening again. I'm hoping this dream will become a reality because I really, really hate it. We hardly got any sleep for a week beforehand, didn't train nearly as much as we should have, we didn't get to warm up properly, we wasted a lot of energy and focus on hurrying to get things done hours and minutes before the fighting began, and our fighting suffered because of it.

We approached the tournament with not a small amount of trepidation because there have been (and still are) politics that have divided the veterans of our community and caused all kinds of hurt. I think that we underestimated everyone else's capacity for being able to act decently and keep it tidy whilst enjoying the hospitality of a neutral host. I think, also, that the presence of so many new people in the scene, who are just really keen and happy to be there, "living the dream" (and let's face it, that's what we all do when we get into the lists and fight), diluted the contentious issues and made it better for everyone. So maybe I should have relaxed a bit more about that.

Our team's overall fitness and skill peaked about a month before the tournament, and then dipped way down because we sacrificed so much of our training time making armour. If we had gone up and fought at the beginning of October, we would all have kicked ass hard. As it was, we didn't do too badly, but both Josh and Bron were frustrated because they knew they had been fighting much better before the tourney. So once again, it comes down to having gear ready to go far in advance, and then focussing on training and fighting prep.

There are actually other armoured fighters in Durban, outside of our team. For whatever reason, they have seldom or never competed in any Combat Pit tournaments, and I'm guessing that the reason is because they do not want to seem disloyal to their club, or some other such misguided belief. I think that we will need to reach out once again and extend once again the invitation to come and fight and train, because the more people we have to fight against, and the more often we fight, the better the level of fighting will become. Insulating ourselves from each other for the sake of (oh I have no clue what - insert relevant reason here) is silly and self-defeating.
Of course, if it is too difficult to commit to attending a local tournament for a few hours on a Sunday afternoon, one day in the month, then perhaps you should rather take up something easier, like golf.


The next tournament our team will attend is the national qualifier. Fortunately, this year it will be held in our province, so even if Serenity the Subaru is not going by that time, it will be less of a mission to get there. Our team will compete for the right to represent South Africa at IMCF and/or Battle of the Nations in 2017.

So, now we know what After the Tournament really means: we rest for a week and then start preparing for the next one. Then, After the Tournament, we can look at doing things like fixing the windows, digging the trees out of the roof, cleaning the house, washing the car, sorting out all of the clothes we don't need, fixing that plug point...

one of two

It was a toss-up between writing about the next birthday party or doing an update piece on our training and armouring progress. But then Josh and I had our anniversary yesterday (two years married), and it occurred to me (during our training session, which was not cancelled) that I am a very lucky girl in armour. So I thought I'd write about that, as well.

You see, in our sport, those people who manage to find another fighter for a mate are incredibly fortunate. Some might say it's "a match made in Heaven", which I think is a bit morbid, since there are only dead people there. And angels, which are supposedly sexless, so what would they really know about hooking two people up.

I prefer to think of it as perfect symmetry, orchestrated by the natural order of things. But whatever. I'm a bit of a romantic that way.

The thing is, there are actually a number of reasons why Josh and I have an amazing partnership, and why we make an excellent team. Here they are:

1. We spend our time together doing things we enjoy together, like training, armouring, planning events and chatting about ways to improve our training and armour and events. 
2. Fighting comes first for both of us (after the small Beastie, that is), and so we don't find any excuse to cancel or put off our training (like birthdays or anniversaries, which was what got me thinking). Instead, we make it part of what we are doing. Like last night, we had training and then Bronwen joined us for a small celebration with awesome pies and dessert and bubbly. Por que no los dos?
3. I don't have to justify spending R2000 on steel for new armour because Josh understands how it is.
4. Also, he helps to make it for me.
5. We have something to work towards as a couple, and so our priorities (and thus resources) aren't split.
6. Swordfighting is something we can do as a family. Tala often joins us when we train with the boffer weapons. She also has her own little sword for test cutting, although she prefers the sharp longsword, which is just adorable to watch.
7. I'm never short a sparring partner.
8. I always get awesome birthday and Litha gifts. Josh understands that I don't do jewellery, makeup or fashion. He has made me a spear, a mace, a beautiful single-handed sword (my last birthday), a polearm, and several bits of armour and garb (which is important).
9. We can joke about how Josh only beats me when we're in the lists. That's because we don't fight or argue. People like to make jokes about how we can take out our frustrations on each other with swords, but it really isn't like that. I respect him as a fighter, and he respects me as a fighter. There's no domestics happening when we fight against each other in the lists; just sports.
10. When someone in our circle of friends says, "nice legs" Josh doesn't get uptight because he knows they are referring to my armour.
11. I must be one of the very few women in the world whose husband can say "period" with a straight face. The other few also have husbands who fight.
12. When we watch movies with fighting, if I think it's really bad, I don't have to convince Josh to turn it off because he most likely feels the same way. We agree on just about everything because we see the world from the same perspective: that of a fighter.
13. Training. It should go without saying, but since this is lucky point number thirteen, I'll say it. Training = fitness = great sex.

Mostly, though, Josh just gets me. And for that, I am grateful. I don't think it's entirely because of swordfighting, but I do think that both of us being fighters makes it so much better.

Having come to the sport as an individual and then meeting Josh also plays a part, I think. So often, a girl will take up a hobby or a sport because her boyfriend does it and she wants to be with him and be part of his life. But she never asks herself what he's taken up that is part of her life. There is often no reciprocation, and the relationship ends up being unbalanced. I came to roleplaying, MTG, Warhammer and computer games that way; doing it because my boyfriend at the time did it. Not that I didn't enjoy it, but I think I always saw myself as a hanger-on, and so other people saw me in the same light. So fifteen, twenty years down the line, I still feel like a noob Diablo II player, but after fighting for nearly six years, I feel comfortable being a part of the scene.

I came to swordfighting not because I wanted to be with Josh. That came later. It was because I wanted to fight. And I learned not as a girlfriend, but as a new recruit, a squire, the girl in armour. So now, in our relationship, I'm not about to give up fighting because I've got the guy and now we're married and I see him every day and every night (which is always a new miracle for me anyway). And Josh also doesn't feel like he has this hanger-on who is only there under duress. We are individuals together, fighters who walk the same path. We understand each other, where we want to be, and how we're going to get there. That makes me, I think, the most fortunate girl in armour.

Josh and I at last year's BHSA Heritage Day tournament in Durban. Please excuse the crappy photo edits. The photo came from my Mom, but I did the editing.

so hard to find good help

Let me take a moment to talk about squires and their function. Bronwen and I were talking about this subject last night, and I feel it's something that is worth visiting here.

(Source: Knight Hospitaller (2), Osprey Publishing 2001) copied from https://whitepavilion.com/articles/petticoats

I'm not sure how it goes with other clubs, but when I started out at DSSC some many years ago, I was a squire. I helped to fetch and carry gear and weapons and things from the car to the training hall, helped to pass out stuff, pack it all away afterwards and take it back to the car and pack it into whichever car it belonged in.
I also learned how everyone's armour was unpacked, I learned the little quirks involved in strapping it all on, and how not to get my fingers pinched while doing it.
I learned about how to fix strap fails with duct tape and/or cable ties, and which part to tap with a sword to make it move nicely, and how to do quick, easy panelbeating missions on the fly.
Being a squire was how I learned about the different pieces of armour, and their different forms through the medieval period. So, when I got my own armour, or had opportunity to upgrade, I knew what to look out for, and what might give problems, and what would best suit my fighting style.
This is the purest form of "learning by doing", and I think that was how fighters were taught in the old days.

squire

ˈskwī(ə)r/

noun

noun: squire; plural noun: squires

1. historical

   a young nobleman acting as an attendant to a knight before becoming a knight himself.

   synonyms:

   attendant, courtier, equerry, aide, steward, page boy "his squire carried a banner"

Of course, I saw many people arrive for practice who didn't like the idea of doing the gruntwork for the armoured guys, and who never came back again. There were even some who came back but either didn't realise or ignored the way things went. They arrived and departed without lifting a finger for anything except to borrow gear from those of us who had brought stuff to lend.
And we had the armoured fighters who would help out as well. It was never a case of lording it over the unarmoured fighters, or pulling rank. More, it was just a case of asking for help if necessary, and an unarmoured fighter being expected to hop to it. Some did. Some didn't.

I noticed that those who did ended up with a better grasp of armour (wearing it, keeping it, making it) and fighting, as well as the protocols and values associated with armoured fighting, such as sportsmanship.

And that is what I have to say about being a squire from the learning perspective.

View over Josh's shoulder. He's doing my arms up.

Squires, as support staff go, are an undervalued and underrated part of tournaments and training in general. Thinking back, I have strong memories or times when I thought to myself, "Jeez, I just wish so-and-so were here because this noob really has no clue how my armour works!" Likewise, there were times when things could have been infinitely worse for me if I hadn't had a really good squire, who was quick on his or her feet, ready with the water between bouts, or a cable tie when a strap broke.

Now, most armoured fighters will be able to perform this task flawlessly because they know what is expected. At IMCF 2015, I was fortunate to have my husband squire for me during my bouts. He is a seasoned fighter (15 years of combat), an armourer, he knows my armour and he is also totally devoted to me. However, if we had been fighting the same category, I would have had to settle for someone who perhaps didn't have a clue what to do, and more importantly, have my best interests at heart.

IMCF 2015 longsword bout - Josh squiring.

Knowing when and how to give water is crucial.

I've been lucky enough to have had a couple of truly amazing squires, at various times and places, to help me while I was fighting. 
The first was Aiden, who joined DSSC at the tender age of 11. He squired for me (and everyone else who was fighting), for a number of years, at almost all of our local tournaments, and I still sometimes find myself looking around, calling for a squire but looking to see where Aiden is. I think nowdays, he has his own squire, since he is old enough to compete at local level, and probably has his own kit.
The most recent squire who helped us at Red Lion was Niall or Moon Moon Black, who helped first Bronwen and then I kit up, with alacrity. He (along with the rest of the Scots - such gentlemen!) took it upon himself to make sure that Bronwen was seen to for the day, and that really meant all the difference to me, since if he hadn't done it, I would have had to, and I was also fighting.

Moon Moon on the right.

So, here is an official thanks to all of those squires out there, who may or may not be fighters in their own right, but who put aside their own egos and interests to help the fighters do their best in the lists.

the deep breath before the plunge

Yes, it's the very last day of August. I haven't posted anything because right now I have more irons and fires than I have hands, so I'm learning to juggle, which is a pretty steep learning curve when you're managing a succession of potentially hazardous and very hot items.

In South Africa, we don't really have a "buhurt season" as such. We just hang around waiting for someone to announce a tournament. Then we train towards that event. Then afterwards, we have a bit of a break, and then go back into it for the next one.

Except, there's only been one tournament organised in South Africa this year that we haven't hosted.
I'm not going to bore you with tales of how hardly anyone attended the tournament series that we held (once a month over the last six months). We all know that happens. People have many other things to do with their time, after all.
Combat Pit will be finished in October anyway, the final flourish being profight matchups. I thought it would be a nice way to end the series.

Then we head off to Joburg for what has been called the "national championship". Far be it from me to question the validity of a title.

It'll be fun, though. As they say, "it's the only game in town." And of course, if anyone has read the comments in this blog, you will be familiar with my constant reader Traygon, (Jeremy is his name in real life), who is apparently fighting.

Anyway, what with training and work (it is currently marking season for us lecturers), momming and dealing with the myriad tiny details that go into making life work well, there really hasn't been time for much writing at all.

Next month, though, we'll be having our birthday party again. I'll try to find some photos of the Rogues'  training to add to this in the mean time.

Have fun. Hit hard.

full disclosure part two

The aftermath (Saturday)
In the morning, a large number of very disgruntled fighters left the hall. I was sorry to see them go because I thought that while the fair may have been washed out, the lists were still there, and we could still use them. Also, I had wanted to fight many of those who left. As the Stones said, you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need.
We ended up with an interesting mix of first-timers (like Bronwen and myself), and more experienced campaigners. We were all there either because we didn't want to give up on the idea just yet.
Then Laurent and Susanne appeared and gave us the news that the tournament was still on, and would be held on the Sunday. We could do some training fights in the lists that day to prepare, and Laurent set about making lists for the categories to be fought, and profights to be made.
There was a team of French profighters who had come along only for the profights, and so Little Melanie (the one German fighter who stayed) and I were given the option of making a profight match with one of the French guys. Sam, who was there for his first profight, like me, agreed to make a matchup, which was brilliant. There was about a 10kg weight difference (me being the heavier), and, as it turned out, a good deal of training and technique difference (him being the better prepared). We both agreed, though, that it was the experience that counted more.
It rained for some of the day, and we armoured up in the hall and slushed our way down to the fairground where the lists still stood. I think between Bronwen, Euan, Melanie and I, we had a bit of a round robin of sword and shield, but by the the time Gaultier and Julie, the Belgian fighters, arrived with their longswords, we'd had enough of sliding around, so we left them to it and went back up to dry off.
It was still warm and humid, so it was just like being back home in the summer. The only difference was the effect on my own internal clock. You see, when we left, I was in winter-mode. Sun rises late and sets early, so when the sun sets, you know it will be a couple of hours until bedtime. In Nommern, the sun rose early and set very late. It was an adjustment I simply was not able to make, so we ended up going to bed well after midnight every night while we were there, and waking quite early. Tiring? Possibly. But I have yet to be so stimulated by the sheer variety of languages and people, and trying to understand and communicate kept me going until my brain just hit the off switch and my eyes closed by themselves.

Thanks to Jacob Pothecary for these photos:

The tournament (Sunday)
I had decided before leaving that profight and buhurt were the priority for this tournament, so when Laurent asked which singles categories I wanted to fight in, I said, "just put me in where it is easiest to make up an even number" and so, for my sins, I ended up in longsword, which is  not my best weapon. Not that I'm complaining. I do believe that a good fighter should be able to use all of the weapons available, and not simply stick to specialisations of one or the other.
Bronwen went for sword and shield, longsword and buhurt, which was a good choice for her.
Tala went straight for the horses, having decided that she was going to find a way to get a Haflinger and bring it back home with us. Failing that, she was going to ride one of them.
We armoured up and again slushed our way to the lists in our home-made leather fighting shoes.
Sword and shield category was first, and Bronwen fell into the one hole in the field on her way to her first fight, which was against Gaulthier, I think. What no-one noticed (because she was wearing a very fine Rogue Squadron surcoat over her gear) was that the fall had displaced Bronwen's right pauldron, and it was sitting too far back, exposing her shoulder. So when she took a hit on the shoulder, there was no nifty spring steel to catch the blow.
At this point, I have to mention the immense amount of grit this woman showed, getting up and continuing through the fights. She was in pain, battling to lift her sword arm, and also feeling the heat (since the sun had decided to come out), but where a lesser person would have given up and withdrawn, she did not. And for that reason, I am incredibly proud to call her my teammate.
Bronwen went on to get a medal for placing in the women's scores. Men and women fought together, but the eventual scores were divided.
In the longsword, we had five, but Bronwen decided to give her shoulder a rest so that she could fight in the buhurt, and so withdrew from that category, leaving us with four. We had a round robin, and I used Laurent's Albion. I think the combination of the superior blade and Josh's armouring tweaks helped to improve my fighting so that I was able to at least give my opponents a bit of a fight. Jacob hits like a sledgehammer, and he got me right on the one place were there was a small gap (ironically he had pointed this gap out to me beforehand), giving me one hell of a mousie on the bicep. He got some good shots in, but I took the fight. He was also battling with his armour, and had fought in the sword and shield, so it wasn't such a terrible loss for him. Julie was quick and sneaky with her hits, and she fought very well. That went to three rounds, and she took the fight, deservedly. Gaulthier was not only fast but also came on very strong, barging in and pommel-striking quite a lot. He took that fight in two rounds. I was able to avoid some of his strikes, but eventually, he got tired of stuffing about and just came in and hammered me.
Like I said, longsword is not my weapon of choice, and I haven't really trained with it much this year, but even if I had, that dude just fought really well, and I counted it a valuable experience.
Also, it's not many tournaments abroad where you get mixed fights, I'm told. Apparently, in some countries, men and women even train separately. So, the opportunity to fight everyone under tournament conditions, for me at least, trumps a win.
Profight was next, and my matchup with Sam was the last fight, so I had some time to recover.
I didn't know what to expect, and finding out was really the point of the exercise. I found out that I can take several shield punches to the face without falling down, which is something I was not able to do last year at IMCF. I also discovered that I can last three rounds' worth of shield punches to the face without falling down. So I levelled up. I found out that at the end of the third round, when I thought I was ready to stop, I just had to open my eyes a bit wider and look for the gap, and I could actually punch back with my own shield, but it took three rounds for me to get an idea of what to do, and by that time the fight was over. I found out that for profight, Sam and the rest of the guys from his team were training at least ten hours a week to my three, and that most of that training was sparring. Sam won that fight, I suspect by quite a comfortable margin, but I also won some very valuable experience, and now I know what I have to do to get better.
There is nothing like trying. If you try, if you test yourself, you will find out what you are lacking, and consequently, you are already better for finding out.
The buhurt was last in the day, and it was a 4v3 (first round) with Laurent, Dan and Gaulthier on one side, and two of the Scots (Euan and Scott), Bronwen and I on the other. I felt sorry for the Scots because Bron and I weren't much help, although Bron stayed up longer than I did. She fought hard, took the pounding and then got taken out by Laurent (using my shield, hahaha). I think Dan took me out the first time. I don't even know how. That dude is so strong!

The second round was 3v3, as Bron decided to call it a day. No shame there. We went in and I tried to face off against Gaulthier, seeing that he was the smallest of the three giants, but I was thwarted by Laurent, who came in and pounded me with an axe until I fell against the lists and had to go down.
That was fun! Both rounds. I wish that we could have done more, but everyone else was over the heat. I was also feeling like it was becoming beer o'clock, and then they said one more round of circle of dishonour. Misch asked if I was keen and I said, "Hmmm, no," and he said, "Just try it," so I said , "Okay," and turned around to find it was me versus Laurent, who was quite happy to let me attempt, oh I don't even know what I was trying to do, but after a bit, it became evident that I wasn't going to present much of a challenge, so he kindly tripped me to the ground, thereby ending the fighting.
It was an excellent event. There was battle and some bloodshed, sunburn and lots of water (thanks to the organisers), and we had a really good marshalling team. Julia was consistent and fair as Knight Marshall, and I don't think there was any discrepancies with our counting marshalls. The fights were well-run, and every fighter was checked for safety before they entered the lists.
You can watch videos of the fighting here, thanks to Guillaume Dessommes.
*This is an update: the Scots gave Little Melanie a brilliant nickname, and so she is now henceforth known as Mad Mel.
Here we are, after swapping surcoats. The photo is Mad Mel's origination. She is the one on the right.

The pack-up (Monday)
The fighters left the hall on Monday, after having celebrated a successful end to an adventure. I was a bit sad to have to say goodbye because those of us who had chosen to stick around after the Great Nommern Flood of 2016 had bonded on some level. We had become friends with the French fighters, who in the beginning had stuck to themselves and appeared standoffish. They weren't really. They were a great bunch of people. So were the Belgians, the Germans (Little Mel and Julia), the Luxembourgers and the Scots. We all helped each other out and offered support, shouted encouragement, gave advice, compared styles or techniques, shared food and drink, and joked about the language barrier. What language barrier? Well, by Monday, there was a very thin veil, but no real barrier to speak of.
I know I'm getting sentimental here, but I noticed that none of the people who attended that tournament and with whom we camped in the hall (including those who lived nearby) had an attitude of superiority. No-one claimed that space, and so we were all able to talk to each other and just be fighters. I was loathe to leave that atmosphere of camaraderie behind, after making such good connections with these people.
But, we packed up all of our stuff, cleaned up as best we could, played another quick game of tetris, and headed out to Germany to visit Susanne's parents for lunch. I don't remember the town we went to, but we took a walk through the forest and saw Rammstein (the American base, not the band). Susanne's parents were perfect hosts, and we spoke about all kinds of things while we ate pasta and salad. It was a good way to come down from the high of fighting, back into the real world, with gentle, intelligent people.
Also, Susanne's Mom made literally the best cake I have ever tasted. Thanks, Mom.
Before going back to Bissen we also stopped off at an old fort on the top of a hill, giving a breathtaking view of the forested German hills in the area. We shared some really good bubbly and played some cards on the grass, and chilled together.
We only got to Hollenfels castle, our last stop before heading home, around midnight, because we spent some time with Susanne and Laurent, chatting about fighting and other things and making the time count before we had to leave.

The journey home (Tues/Wed)
Tala, the newly-inducted castle critic, was disgusted to find that Castle Hollenfels had been modernised inside to accommodate a youth hostel, and did not contain the requisite broken walls, mysterious tapestries and echoes that we had experienced in the others. Also, it was raining, so we didn't get to explore much on the outside, which was very pretty.
We were ready on time to go to the airport with Susanne and we made our way there without incident. She saw us safely into the terminal and said farewell. What a kind and wonderful person! I feel privileged that she chose to spend her time with us, and I hope that she and her husband will allow us to return the favour some day.
Funny thing: we got into Luxembourg with seven swords without trouble. Getting out with three swords, they asked us for a permit for the weapons. It was perplexing, but I explained patiently, and the security officer who only spoke French also patiently listened and called another security officer to figure it all out. He waved us on and it was all fine. It was an odd incongruency, though, for a country that appears to run like clockwork.
I loved Luxembourg. The roads and little towns were so pretty. The open meadows and forests, free of the threat of encroaching development, seemed idyllic, and although I don't speak French, German or Luxembourgish, people seemed happy with just "moien" (hello) and a grin. Tala noted the very clean streets and the flowers in all the window boxes. Bronwen noted the lack of homeless people. I noted the lack of housing developments in the countryside. It is a tiny country, and you can't hope to accomplish this kind of lifestyle with a population or area the size of South Africa, so it's unfair to compare. Logistically, it is easier to run a smaller country. But it also seems that their attitude towards the responsibility of the individual citizen is one that promotes self-reliance in people, and I hope that one day, as hard as it may be for our government to implement (sort of like a tough love alternative) we will see less reliance on the government for income and more self-reliance from our people. I think that this is one feature which promotes pride in one's country, and accountability to each other.
Our journey back was long and the flight home was full, but it was good to get back, finally, and to be here, in the comfy chair with my lover and my friends and animals.
We brought back a lot of loot from trades and gifts, and we'll go through it and see what to do with it in time. Right now, I need to focus on improving my armour, making a new coat of plates, and a new aventail, since I gave most of my scales away on Sunday.
We have Combat Pit in two weeks, and as Bron and I noted on the way home, the adventure may be over, but now the serious work begins.
The most important piece of knowledge that I have taken away from this experience is that those fighters who want to stuff around once a week for an hour or two will not be sufficiently prepared to compete on the international circuit; they will remain hobbyists, and I do not judge those who enjoy the sport at that level. However, for those of us in South Africa who want to compete in medieval combat as a sport, we will need to up the ante and put in a lot more effort into training, specifically in combat, and augment it with further hours in the gym, running, pushing weights and other forms of fitness.

Thank you for following my adventure. I have never claimed to be the best fighter, but I can now claim to be among the most fortunate, having done the Red Lion Survival Challenge and made so many new and awesome friends. There will be more adventures, I know, and I can't wait to have them with you.

full disclosure part one

On Thursday, we returned from the Red Lion Challenge in Luxembourg. It was really good to return home, although Luxembourg has found a little place in the softest bit of my heart, right next to Poland. Our travels, despite being balanced on the knife edge of the Gods' favour, were logistically drama-free, largely due to five people: Josh prepared all of the armour and weapons, Bronwen made a mission to ensure that all of our documents were in order with the Belgian Consulate, and followed up time and again so that we received our passports on time; Dion made sure that all of the letters of permission were done so that we could get out and back into the country with Tala without intercession from the authorities; Laurent did and redid paperwork enough times to satisfy the bureaucrats at the consulate, and then some more; finally, Susanne (Laurent's beautiful and multitalented wife) got us from the airport and made sure that we used every trip we took to see something of their culture and have another new experience. She drove us all over the countryside with a smile and a ready list of perfect ideas, and more importantly, she was our friend from the second we met. I couldn't have asked for a better host for our first experience of Luxembourg. And now that I've finished gushing, here's the trip in a nutshell:

The packing
We had 30kg each for armour, weapons, garb and banners. We also managed to fit a couple of packs of biltong and some ciders into one of the armour bags. As it was, were riding low, and I was glad that Tala only had some clothes and no armour for herself.
We took over seven swords (two of our own and five for sale), two banners, two complete armours and some basic tools and clothes.

The journey (Wed/Thurs)
We travelled for 15 hours going there, and just about 24 hours coming back (we had a long layover in Istanbul). I think Turkish Airlines, which we used for the whole trip, was the most friendly, easy-going airline. They had really good food (vegetarian for me), and their vibe was casual but very efficient. We decided on the way back that we would use Turkish Air as our preferred flight service because not only did they offer a good fare (thanks to Paola and Sarah at KalTravel in Hillcrest for making the arrangements), but everything just worked. Tala got some great loot from them, as well. There were colouring books, a stuffed bear, a Rubik's cube, inflatable bath toys, and a digital watch.
It was admittedly exhausting, and I hate having swollen ankles, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been, and we also had the comfort of the Diners Club card lounge to take the edge off. That came in particularly handy when we had our return trip layover and needed somewhere to wait. Thanks, Mom and the friendly staff at the Diners lounge in Ataturk.
For the record, I did a bit of looking around while we were there, and could find no evident signs of damage from the bombings or attempted coup, in neither the physical state of the airport, nor in the general atmosphere of the place. I expected it to be a bit more tense, perhaps with armed guards and other security obviously present, but it was relaxed and almost festive instead.

The flood (Friday)
When we arrived at Luxembourg, Susanne was there. We played a quick game of tetris with our luggage and her car before hitting the road and driving to their place in Bissen, stopping off at Larochette to see the old castle there. We met the kitties, saw Susanne's artworks, which she modestly calls "beads" (I rolled my eyes when I realised the magnitude of that understatement!), and then set off for Nommern.
There, we stayed on the Thursday night with a couple of Scots and (if memory serves) some Belgians. On Friday morning, the bulk of the fighters arrived, and the traders began to set up their tents and stalls with a variety of medieval goods.  We did some shopping and saw the big WW2 military museum in and the massive castle at Vianden.
When we returned, the parade for the medeival festival had already begun, and passed us as we parked at the hall. There was a large group of young men and women, dressed in medieval garb, with a few very pretty Haflinger ponies, and two strawberry roan Ardennaise draughts pulling a cart with more medieval folk.
Susanne, Tala and I made our way down to the field to see the progress the traders had made, and to see the horse show. It was a humidly warm afternoon, and when the first drops fell, no-one really paid any attention. We all carried on. Tala joined a herd of Luxemborgish (I think) children who played at swordfighting with sticks in the rain. The draught horses and the cart made it under the cover next to the main pavilion just as the storm got serious. So everyone crowded under some shelter.
Tala was in the main tent, waiting for the horse show and listening to the choir. I was in the cocktail tent, just because that was where I happened to end up. I found a Luxembourger and a couples of Scots there, too, and we had two innocent bystanders and their dog, looking more and more like they just wanted to go home.
Twenty minutes into the thick of the storm, the wind picked up properly, and started shaking the tent about, so we all got up and grabbed those parts of the structure that were threatening to fly away. Ten minutes after that, we realised that it wasn't a squall, and it was doing some damage to the tent. Water collected in pockets on the roof, which could have split the fabric if we hadn't pushed it off regularly. As it was, we saw a long rip in one place the next day.
The tent walls came loose from their fastenings and flapped rain everywhere, so we stacked haybales along the edge on which the wind was pushing. We carried on doing this until we had built up a decently-sized wall, and could focus on holding the actual hard structure down.
In the mean time, I had run across and brought Tala back with e. She was unimpressed with the rain, having expected rather to see some horses. She was soaking wet and cold, so I sat her in the middle of the tent with blankets and a haybale, and although she wasn't happy with the thunder and lightning and rain, she managed well enough.
We got hail. It was roughly the size of golf balls at some points, and the size of gobstoppers the rest of the time. The tent only leaked slightly, but the ground was soaked as the rain seeped across it in sheets.
I thought we might be there all night. I have experienced protracted storms like that at home, where I live, and the realisation that the big weather has set in for the night is always accompanied by a sinking feeling, for me at least.
But after a while, the rain lessened and slackened off enough to allow for movement.
Some of the traders' tents had collapsed, ruining their stock. Others had managed to some some things, fishing them out of the water as they floated past. The lady whose tent we had occupied was devastated, but grateful for our help. I found out later that the is named Chantal, and she is the aunt of one of the Luxembourg fighters.
When we finally decided that it was good to walk back to the hall, we discovered that a lot of the fields where the horses were kept were under water, and further up the road, a manhole cover hovered open as stormwater gushed out of it, into the street.
We took our shoes off at one point and waded down the road in knee-high water to where the hall was. I was told that the water was waist-high in other places in Nommern, and there was a neighbouring town where the cars were washed down the streets and into the fields below the town. basements and ground floor buildings were flooded.
Bronwen was sitting in the hall with some last minute sewing, when she noticed water streaming in through the doorway, so she and the other fighters who had arrived started rescuing the armour, packing it onto the camp beds which had been put out.
When we arrived back, they had already pushed the worst of it back out of the hall, but the whole floor was wet, and fighters mopped the floors with a mixture of emotions.
The word came in that the tournament was cancelled, and we shook our heads. How could it happen?
We also heard that people who had tried to leave could not get out. Laurent had been inspecting a bridge when it washed away in front of him, and other exiits from the town of Nommern were also under water.
One older resident told me the next day that it was the worst flood in Luxembourg in 300 years, although I didn't have the chance to verify the claim.
The firefighters arrived to make sure that we were all okay before moving on through the town, and it occurred to me that in a country with around 500 000 citizens, it might be easier for a leadership to inspire that kind of willingness to do one's duty, not as a reaction to callouts, but as a proactive exercise. Just to check on everyone in the town to see that no-one needed help.
They gave us blankets, and Bronwen and Jacob unpacked and set up the rest of the camp beds for the traders who were stuck with us for the night.
It became quite festive, and the stallholders who did the most brisk trade, even before the fair was due to begin, were those who sold mead.

The next post will cover the rest of the trip...

when the going gets tough

I'm not sure if many of you will appreciate the kind of preparation it takes to go to Europe to compete in a sporting event like medieval combat. I'm not sure even I appreciate it. We just do it, one step at a time until the day arrives when we climb on the plane.

But we are on the brink of being finalised to go to Luxembourg, to compete in the Red Lion Challenge.
Our fundraising efforts totalled almost nil. In the end, I got a loan from the bank, and Bronwen's Dad and cousin sponsored her. My Mom got me a Diners card to pay for the flights, so that we have free travel insurance, and my Dad paid for the visas. Bronwen's visa will come out of the money we raised through the raffle (R800). We had bugger-all support from our organisation. And that's just the money side of it.

Today, I organised a letter of invitation to the event, for the visa people.
I also enquired about somewhere to stay after the tournament, because the visa people need to know all of this.
Tomorrow, we will pay for our flights.
Tomorrow or next week, I will collect Tala's passport.
On Saturday, we will pay for our visas.
Next week Wednesday, we will fly up to Joburg for our visa appointments.
We will take our passports, flight booking details, letters and booking confirmations, bank statements, employment contracts, and anything else that will prove that we intend to be in Luxembourg for six days for a sporting event and a bit of sightseeing.
We have already found someone to stay at our house for the week, to feed and care for our dogs, cats and horses.
I still need to finalise the account at the feed supplier, so that our guy can call them and get horse, cat and dog feed delivered to our place.
Last year, I also had to organise a roster of parents who would take my daughter to school and watch her in the afternoon until her Dad got back from work. This year, we're taking her with us. And that is thanks to her father, who can pay for her flight.

The planets are slowly yet inexorably moving into an alignment that will enable us to go over for one tournament this year. It has been a team effort, although the effort was mostly from people who don't fight, and who have never seen us fighting very much at all, and have nothing to do with the sport as such. (Tanielle, Cathy and Jamie being the obvious exceptions). This has made me even more grateful for the people with which I have surrounded myself.

It seems like a hell of a lot of missioning for so little action, if you look at what we'll be doing. And yet, in the greater scheme of things, for example the sport in our country, it's more than the rest of our organisation has managed to accomplish, even with all of the fundraising they did.

Next month, the first team of South African fighters will enter and participate in buhurts and profights at an international tournament.

I think if you look at it that way, you'll see that it is worth it. It's worth it to fight anywhere, anyway. It's definitely worth it to me.

And maybe somewhere out there, someone will eventually sit up and take notice, and give us money to go over and fight, at all the tourneys, so I don't have to take loans out every time. We can only keep on, do what we can, and ask along the way.

Next month, before we leave, I'll feature a post called full disclosure, which will document our packing (30kg each), armour and weapons choices, and all other travel prep.
 

what doesn't kill us

Here is something I forgot about until recently. I can walk on hot coals.
That's a fairly random way to start a blog post, don't you think? But we'll get round to that.

Well, I'm worn out this month after the excitement of Battle of the Nations in Prague, followed closely by IMCF in Montemor-o-Velho.

I was really impressed with the quality of the women's fighting at both BotN and IMCF, and I must admit to having a small twinge of regret at not just giving into the selfish part of me and going over to fight. (You will recall my decision to stay behind this year and build up a women's buhurt team to compete with at Red Lion, thus creating a seasoned team for World Champs 2017). But it was only a small twinge.

I can appreciate how much it must have taken for Team Quebec to best the Polish 2015 Champs.  Well done, ladies!

The highlight for me was actually (as lame as it may seem) the men's polearm final at IMCF. It seems that Pawel Kurzak and Jose Martinez Amoedo came back for a rematch. Just without the shiner. Last year, that was the most inspiring and breathtaking fight, for me, and this year was the same.

And of course, I was incredibly pleased when my friend Laurent Bemtgen took bronze. I happen to know that polearm is his favourite weapon, and I also happen to know how hard that dude can shield punch.

I love watching such a high level of skill and sportsmanship. Well done to you all. You inspire and fascinate me, and I have been motivated by you to improve my polearm skills for next year.





Another aspect of combat which I really enjoyed was the female duels and profights. I hope I don't fangirl too hard here, but Galina Kokhvakko really is amazing. The BotN final was incredible. I think the Gods tipped more than the usual amount of "good things dust" onto her head when she was made. I hope to fight her one day and see just how much "good things dust" the Gods gave me.

Training for me has been sporadic of late. This weekend, I found myself cleaning stables twice a day and keeping my horse company half the time. She injured her leg and the vet said to keep her inside for a couple of weeks. She's going crazy, and I'm not really mad about all the horse shit and the wet shavings. My horses usually live out, and this is the first time I've actually used the stables since we moved in four years ago.

Some good and bad news: it looks like flights have come down a little, so it won't cost an arm and a leg AND two teeth to get to Luxembourg and the Red Lion Challenge. I hope someone there will have a shield or surcoat for swaps. Yes, we are still heading in that direction, preparing for profight and buhurt, although I'm sad to say that because of a tremendous lack of support from pretty much everyone, we won't all be able to afford to go. We couldn't raise the funds by ourselves, so it looks like only two or three of us will make it.

But you know what we always say: fuck 'em all. We're fighters. We'll make it happen. The Rogues may be overlooked and underfunded, but we are still going strong, and we'll only get better and stronger with time.

What doesn't kill us... should run.

pagan freedom day

Today in South Africa, we celebrate Freedom Day, which commemorates the first democratic elections for our nation. As Pagans, we celebrate Pagan Freedom Day because the day also commemorates the official start of religious freedom in South Africa.

I'm sure that those of you who are Pagan across the world will appreciate the significance of this step in a country's liberties. Pagans have traditionally, at least in Western societies, been shunned, oppressed and vilified by the predominantly Christian ideologies which insinuate their way into governments.

I self-identify as a South African witch. Since South Africa is a virtual melting pot of religious and philosophical influences, with an underlying foundation of traditional southern African occult practices, we are able to draw on a number of aspects from our heritages. Far from being able to define my personal spiritual system, I am still exploring my relationship with the various Gods and Goddesses that I discover and call upon for assistance in my everyday life.

Josh's personal coat of arms, with a silver Valknott on a sanguine background

My personal coat of arms, with the God/Goddess symbol on a purple background, silver and gold representing both male and female aspects

As a fighter, I identify strongly with the warrior Gods and Goddesses from various traditions. Although it is commonly frowned upon to mix pantheons, I feel that in my path, it has come quite naturally to call on Sekhmet and Odin and Thor in one breath, before a tournament fight.

These practices, as well as some of the native African practices, feature everywhere in my life, and have come about as a natural evloution of my exploration of my own heritages. Without the religious freedom to do this, it would have been very difficult. Since 1994, there have been a multitude of Pagan belief systems emerging from the proverbial broom closet in South Africa, each one influencing seekers of enlightenment, and offering access in their own way to knowledge that would otherwise have been hidden. We have had a number of prominent Pagan leaders come into the public arena to advocate for the rights of Pagans, and to offer their own wisdoms to those who wish to find an alternative to their (mostly) Christian upbringing. We even have second and third generation Pagans, who have not converted, but been brought up in Pagan homes. There is also a growing support system for Pagan families, and we hold gatherings across the country where Pagans of all ages, races and traditions can come together to be with like-minded people, which would never have been a good idea before 1994.

It has also become (somewhat) more socially acceptable to self-identify as a Pagan (if not as a witch) in our country, and I find more and more that there are people openly wearing their pentacles and ankhs and other Pagan symbols, not as a shock-value adornment (as teenagers often do to piss off their parents), but as a genuine representation of their belief system, which is good.

People are still a little taken aback, however, when they visit our place, and find that we have no security at all. Our house lacks the usual South African trademarks of vigilance and fear: burglar bars on every window, security gates on every door, electric fencing, remote-operated gates, alarm system, CCTV, motion sensors, etc. Instead, we use hotfoot powder, chicken feet and runes for warding and protection. And while the rest of our community is getting robbed (this month alone we've had a number of "home invasions" in our area, with vehicles and tech being stolen from various houses), despite all of their security measures, we have been left alone. At this point, I touch wood and thank my Gods for their blessing. I believe that it is, in a very real sense, all about the relationship that we develop with our respective deities.

My medicine bag

A bag of home-made hotfoot powder

Bindrune on the wall next to an open window

Chicken feet from my Australorp rooster, Mick Jagger.
That's a whole other story!

It may, of course, have something to do with our training sessions, which have been witnessed and recorded by curious passers-by, but I prefer to believe that our protective measures have also played a part, and while we are always prepared to defend ourselves from incursion, I am also grateful that my Gods have not yet seen fit to test us in that respect.

Back to the fighting, though, we use spells for just victory and protection on all of our weapons and armour, as well as our property. That doesn't mean that we expect the Gods will grant us victory for every fight. We still accept that the result is largely determined the the amount of dedication and training we put into our sport. However, I have not yet been seriously injured in my five years of fighting, and have won my fair share of bouts over the years. Before fighting and during my bouts, I have a strong sense of the presence of my Gods and Goddesses, lending me strength and courage, and I take confidence from that awareness.

You may be able to make out the Hagall rune on the blade.
The polearm is called "Hail".

This is the base of the first staff I made.
I called it "Rethor" (the actual letters used in this name are different),
which in old Icelandic means phallus. 

I think that it comes back round to having the freedom to worship as we see fit, the freedom to live what we believe, and to be able to celebrate according to our own belief systems. As a South African witch, this right is as sacred to me as the right to vote, or the right to publish this post on a public forum, without fear of reprisal. So today, I celebrate Pagan Freedom Day (being sick as I am) with a sacrifice of wine and food to my Gods and Goddesses, and a prayer of thanks to the Ancestors who watch over this land and keep us safe.

Whatever you are doing today, I hope that your Gods and Goddesses also watch over you, and that you are also able, as I am, to worship them in the manner that your belief system suggests.

Merry Pagan Freedom Day and good fighting to all!