- Originally published on the Bartitsu.org site on Saturday, 6th May 2017
Walking-stick sparring in the Bartitsu/Vigny style, as practiced in Santiago, Chile. Note the tactical shifts between the double-handed, rear and front guards:

Walking-stick sparring in the Bartitsu/Vigny style, as practiced in Santiago, Chile. Note the tactical shifts between the double-handed, rear and front guards:

Burglaries in Paris and the provinces, wherein the revolver and the knife, as a rule, play an important role, are becoming more and more frequent. The police seem powerless, and the attacked citizens, paralysed by fear, do not make use of the weapons at their disposal, with the result that the ghastly list of murdered persons has been swelling of late to an alarming extent.
But help has come from an unexpected quarter. The Apache has encountered a formidable foe, on whom he never reckoned, and that foe is woman. Under normal conditions, a woman shudders at the thought of shedding blood, but when she once decides to kill, her hand does not tremble.
We have had many instances of that of late. A young woman was married to a scoundrel who wanted to force her to get her living in the streets, whereupon she left him and went back to her mother. A month ago the fellow burst into the room where the two women were dining, and with horrible threats called upon his wife to return to him. Before he had time to strike her, he fell to the ground with the carving knife buried in his throat. She informed the jury that if she deserved punishment it was for not having performed the deed sooner and the twelve gentlemen evidently agreed with her, for she was at once acquitted.
Last week a girl distinguished herself in a similar manner. She was nursing her sick sister and waiting her father’s return, when two men attempted to break the shutters of the lonely cottage. In an instant she had seized her father’s rifle, and lodged a bullet in one of the burglars’ heads. There was no necessity to fire a second shot. Number one was “out of business” as the Americans say and the other had fled. She then resumed her sewing, as if nothing had occurred. Her name is Mlle. Brazy, and if she were placed at the head of a company of Amazons, I feel certain the Paris streets would be safer at night than they are at present.
Our policemen appear to be always in doubt as to when they may or may not use their revolvers, and whilst they are weighing the matter, the psychological moment has passed. Women do not trouble about the subtleties ot the law. If they are threatened they strike, if they are struck they kill. They are doing good work as long as they continue to aim their shots at the enemies of Society.
This detailed interview with Taro Miyake was published in the Sunday Times of September 3, 1905. Miyake, who rose to fame by defeating former Bartitsu Club instructor Yukio Tani in a London challenge match during September, 1904, subsequently joined forces with Tani in opening the Japanese School of Jujutsu in Oxford Street and in producing the “Game of Jujutsu” textbook in 1906.
Though largely a catalogue of Miyake’s various successes and accolades as a martial artist, the article is also notable for naming three of Miyake’s own instructors – Tanabe, Uyemura and Handa. Miyake’s association with Mataemon Tanabe and with Yataro Handa is significant to Bartitsu studies because both Yukio Tani and Sadakazu Uyenishi are likewise associated with these sensei, whose unusual newaza (mat-grappling) techniques helped define the eclectic “British jiujitsu” of the very early 20th century.

How would you like to get up at four o’clock on a bitterly cold January morning, and wrestle for two or three hours with no covering but a thin, loose tunic and knee breeches, when the wrestling mats are frozen hard, and the garments you wear are quite stiff with frost? (asked Tarro Myaki of a London journalist).
Yet that is what we ju-jitsu wrestlers do in Japan — at least, those of us who are very keen, and are anxious to harden our bodies and to practise endurance. Very often after such a morning I have been so sore and chafed that the clothes I wore made me smart all over. But I have turned out again next morning, all the same, until my skin got hard enough to withstand the cuts and scrapes of the hard mats.
Although, like all Japanese boys, I was in a way familiar with ju-jitsu — for is it not as much a part of our national schooling as your football, cricket, and other games? — yet it was not till I was eighteen years old that I took it up in so keen and determined a spirit as to lead me eventually to become the champion of my country. This was principally because I had other things to do, and did not have the time to devote to my favorite sport till I reached that age.
When I did begin, however, I made up for lost time. I entered upon my apprenticeship, so to speak, to the art of self defence with the fixed determination to reach the top of the tree, and with this end in view I concentrated all my attention upon learning the tricks of throw and lock which were shown me, and making myself more proficient at them than those who taught me. That I was successful in my endeavors you may guess, when I tell you that at the end of a year and a half I went in for and won my first contest.
This first success set the final spark to my enthusiasm, and two or three subsequent defeats in minor matches, such as every beginner must suffer, fanned it into a flame. My improvement during the nine months which followed was so rapid that about that time I obtained my first position as instructor.
Above: Taro Miyake and Takisaburo Tobari demonstrate a series of formal waza (techniques) for the Pathe film camera in Paris (1912).
Until I was twenty-one, and apart from my duties as instructor, I studied ju-jitsu under one of our most famous teachers, Tanabe, and, although I was still very young, he entrusted me with all the secrets of his school, for in Japan, there are distinctive “schools” of ju-jitsu, just as you have distinctive ‘schools’ of art. Each school has some special little tricks and secrets of its own, which are only fully disclosed to its pupils when they reach a certain proficiency, or years of discretion.
When I was twenty-one, I was appointed instructor to the police at Kioto, and during the time I was there I still went on learning, studying at that time in the great Uyemura School. Here, again, I proved my self so proficient that I learnt their secrets before I moved on to Osaka to teach the police there. At Osaka I worked under another great teacher, Handa, and in this way I mastered the secrets of three distinct schools of ju-jitsu.
During, and subsequent to this time I went in for numerous contests, and I am probably more proud at being able to tell you that I have never been beaten in any important match than your English gentlemen are of winning the Derby.
It was in Osaka, last May, that I went through the most trying contests I have ever taken part in, and achieved the greatest success of my career by beating all who opposed me. For this an unusual honor was paid me in the shape of a gold medal, which was presented to me by the Crown Prince of Japan. I have also received a sword of honor from Prince Komatsu, the President of the Butokukai — our national society for the encouragement of ju-jitsu, fencing, and other sports.
What I am specially proud of, however, is that at the age of twenty-two I was admitted to the fifth degree in ju-jitsu. This is rarely attained before the age of thirty five, and then is conferred more as an honorable recognition of a closing career than as the reward of real proficiency.

Now I suppose you will want to know something about my training. Well, that is soon told. My only training has been hard work. We Japanese athletes pay no attention to diet, but just eat and drink and smoke like everyone else. But those of us who are specially keen go through trials of endurance which the others will not face.
What sort of condition I am in you may judge from the fact that from ten o’clock in the morning, when I commence giving lessons in the Japanese school of Ju-jitsu, which Yukio Tani and I have founded in London at 305 Oxford-street, till eleven o’clock in the evening, when I finish my last bout on the stage, I am practically wrestling all day!
All my efforts now are centred upon trying to make ju-jitsu champions out of other people, but, although you Englishmen are eminently suited to become experts, it is difficult to get you to take it seriously. You take it up as an amusement and an exercise, but you do not persevere and stick to it till you become expert. Englishwomen, I think, are far quicker to learn it than the men. I have more than one lady pupil who is very expert, indeed, and I should be sorry for anyone who attacked them now.
I find hard work agrees with me, and I have an excellent appetite. I conform to your ways now that I am in England — which is a country I like very much indeed — by eating English food at English times. That is to say, I have breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner, all of them at regular times except the last, which is what you call a ‘movable’ feast’ with me. I have it whenever I am hungry.
There is one thing which everyone over here seems very much surprised at. I have never had a cold bath in my life. We don’t go in for cold baths in Japan. If we bathe in the open air it is in the Summer time, when the sea or the river is quite warm. I have several warm baths a day— whenever I have finished practice. If I took a cold bath I should catch cold at once, and
get out of trim.
The following poetic tribute to the skill of jiujitsuka Taro Miyake was first published in Punch Magazine of June 7, 1905. Miyake’s name was frequently rendered as “Tarro Myake” by Edwardian journalists.

(After Tennyson’s “Ballad of Oriana.”)
You challenged one and all to fight,
TARRO MYAKE ;
I took your challenge up one night,
TARRO MYAKE ;
They advertised it left and right,
Thousands appeared to see the sight,
TARRO MYAKE ;
My prospects were considered bright,
TARRO MYAKE.
A model I of manly grace,
TARRO MYAKE ;
Yours seemed a pretty hopeless case,
TARRO MYAKE.
Awhile we danced around the place,
Then closed and struggled for a space,
TARRO MYAKE,
And you were down upon your face,
TARRO MYAKE.
Oh, I would make you give me best,
TARRO MYAKE.
A thrill of pride inspired my breast,
TARRO MYAKE.
Then you were sitting on my chest,
Your knee into my gullet pressed,
TARRO MYAKE ;
Was this the way to treat a guest,
TARRO MYAKE?
You’ve got me by the neck, and oh,
TARRO MYAKE,
There is no rest for me below,
TARRO MYAKE.
You’re right upon my wind, you know ;
I’m suffocating fast, and so,
TARRO MYAKE,
You’ve beaten me; now let me go,
TARRO MYAKE.
O breaking neck that will not break
TARRO MYAKE,
O yellow face so calm and sleek,
TARRO MYAKE,
Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak;
I seem to have waited here a week,
TARRO MYAKE.
What wantest thou? What sign dost seek,
TARRO MYAKE?
What magic word your victim frees,
TARRO MYAKE?
What puts the captive at his ease,
TARRO MYAKE?
‘Touché,” “Enough,” or “If you please,’
I keep on trying you with these,
TARRO MYAKE ;
Alas! I have no Japanese,
TARRO MYAKE.
I am not feeling very well,
TARRO MYAKE.
(They should have stopped it when you fell,
TARRO MYAKE.)
Oh, how is it you cannot tell
I am not feeling very well,
TARRO MYAKE?
What is the Japanese for “H-l”
TARRO MYAKE?
The blood is rushing to my head,
TARRO MYAKE;
Think kindly of me when I’m dead,
TARRO MYAKE.
What was it that your trainer said –
“Pat twice upon the ground instead!”
TARRO MYAKE,
There . . there . . now help me into bed,
TARRO MYAKE.
Somewhere beside the Southern sea,
TARRO MYAKE,
I walk, I dare not think of thee,
TARRO MYAKE.
All other necks I leave to thee,
My own’s as stiff as stiff can be,
TARRO MYAKE;
My collar’s one by twenty-three,
TARRO MYAKE!
A sad and sobering reminder of the risks inherent in even friendly wrestling, from the Nottingham Evening Post of 22 February, 1909:
The Westminster’s Coroner’s Coart on Saturday, Mr. J. Troutbeck held an inquest concerning the death of Arthur Charles of 21 Margharetta-terrace, Chelsea. The deceased was practising wrestling at the Fulham Baths on Tuesday last with Frederick Knight, who won the 1st. Olympia Championship as “catch-as-catch-can” at the Stadium last year, when he received injuries to the spine, and died later at St. George’s Hospital.
Evidence was given by Harry Mackenzie, who said he was watching a friendly wrestling bout between Knight and the deceased. They had wrestled for some minutes without a fall, when Charles buttocked Knight. He was trying to press his shoulder down, but could not succeed. Knight wriggled clear and both men got up. Knight then secured a crutch-hold and threw Charles, whose head seemed to twist round. There was nothing unusual in the way the men were wrestling, and good temper was shown. There was nothing one-sided about the match.
Frederick Bush, a gymnastic and swimming instructor at the Baths, said that Charles came down on the back of his head and shoulders. Instead of his legs shooting out in the usual way they doubled up, and the witness thought that deceased was not prepared for the throw.
Wrestling was carried out under the rules of the Amateur Wrestling Association, and the contests were allowed by the borough Council. Any persons could enter on the payment of a small fee and wrestle. There was nobody appointed to see that the rules were carried out. Witness (said he) would at once prohibit anything of a rough or unusual nature.
Benjamin Arthur Few, friend of the deceased, who witnessed the bout, said the neck and crutch hold which Knight employed was perfectly legitimate. It was not, however, a common hold and throw, as it was most difficult to make. The body would be lifted to a perpendicular position, and the hold would be retained until the shoulders were pressed on the mat. The head and shoulders usually reached the ground simultaneously, but in this instance the bead seemed to touch the mat first.
Percy W. Longhurst, of Wallington, a wrestling expert, expressed the opinion that the hold and throw as explained was perfectly legitimate. He thought that the deceased had failed to grasp the situation when be was seized. Had he arched his neck and done other necessary things this would not have happened. Witness thought that the better practice would be for a person always to be present at the practice of wrestling bouts. Witness had refereed perhaps 20 bouts in which Knight had taken part, and his opinion was that he was fair, clean, honest, and skilful wrestler who would not make use of undue strength in order to obtain a fall.
After the accident, it was stated that the deceased had remarked to a policeman; “don’t blame him (Knight) for the accident.” At the hospital it was discovered that Charles’s spine had been dislocated. Death took place on Thursday morning, and was due to the injuries.
Frederick William Knight, of New Malden, bantam-weight amateur champion of England, said that Charles showed considerable skill. Witness described how he threw the deceased, and said that he had beaten 16 men in open competition by the same methods. The Coroner said it was notorious that wrestling was not dangerous sport, and as far his experience went, he had never known a fatality resulting.
The jury returned a verdict of “accidental death” and exonerated Knight from blame.