Just the Local Kendo Instructor

December 1963 saw me leaving school and coming into the real and exciting world. Gone now was the security and comradeship to be found at a minor English public school and new and unknown situations faced me. It was not altogether daunting as I was thrust headlong into the “swinging sixties” of London, where anything was possible.

School had given me an appreciation of oriental art, mainly through my closest friend, a certain Lee Chuen Pee, more conveniently known as Charlie Lee. Charlie was an interesting individual whose father in Kowloon was a director of the powerful Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation. He had sent Charlie to an English boarding school with the sole intention of him learning to read, write and speak the English language. This was completely beyond Charlie who would have gained a master’s degree in pigeon English but was barely understandable to anyone else. As his mission was to pass at least one exam in English, he learned huge tracts of literature off by heart and adapted them to any exam question that came up. For instance, if he had learnt “Casius’s lament” from Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar”, and the question was about the weather, he would liken Casius to a stormy day and to then go into a pre-learned diatribe about Casius!

Notwithstanding, Charley had things to teach me. He was a superb traditional pen and ink graphic artist. His subjects were usually epic Chinese battle scenes with hundreds of figures each individually drawn in microscopic detail and over them all, huge dragons in the sky with every single scale drawn. He had reference books that I also started copying and these were invariably warriors with great halberds and swords, their robes flowing and with grim and frightening expressions on their faces. These pictures, together with late night kung-fu lessons in the dormitory, now set me on a life long appreciation of the alien warrior culture of the Far East.

Being of slight build but being pretty fit there were a number of sporting activities that suited me. At school I had been rather good at cross-country running, 6 miles being my best distance, but as this was mainly a device to get me out of the school grounds and past the local cigarette shop, it now lacked the urgency and appeal it once had. My position as 1^st fifteen rugby captain at school, had helped secure me an advertising job in the multi-national company, Unilever (the manager that interviewed me was also a local rugby coach and was short of a scrum half. He said “if you can turn out to play on Saturday you can start work on Monday”!). The pay was only £410 per annum but it was the only job on offer and I was about to become homeless so I accepted and played scrum half on Saturday. I began playing club rugby regularly and started to learn how to manipulate and negotiate media schedules. However, with the kung-fu background the appeal to join the Unilever Judo Club was irresistible. I turned out to be quite good at judo, at one time training 5 nights per week.

The years past in a hazy cloud of judo, rugby, dances, parties, an altogether hectic social life. I tried not to let the job at the office interfere too much with the more important aspects of life, but one inevitably infringed on the other. However, things were about to take slightly different direction when, in 1968, I finally achieved shodan at judo (black belt). As I was still a lightweight I will never forget the delight at being able to cleanly throw a similar grade to me who was twice my weight. To do this at the grading exam was a masterpiece of timing and good fortune. So now having the coveted black belt, together with a certificate that I had framed, I was very happy. I decided that to compliment the certificate, a Japanese sword would make a fine display and I determined to purchase one. This turned out to be one of those life-defining moments but I did not realise this at the time. A local arms and militaria dealer, a lovable rogue who eventually undertook the arduous task of being the best man at my wedding, supplied me with a modestly priced “samurai sword”. To me this was a wonderful thing. The scabbard and handle were all made of bone and carved with intricate designs, the blade was metal and it cost the grand some of £9. I was very pleased with the purchase and decided to also buy a book that the dealer had on sale. This was the inspirational book by John Yumoto entitled The Samurai Sword. Happy as a sand boy, I tucked both book and sword under my arm and trotted off home.

That evening, I began reading The Samurai Sword and after only a few pages, I realised that the sword I had bought was not quite the National Treasure that I thought it was. Indeed, it was hardly a samurai sword at all, but a low quality tourist piece that had fulfilled its mission by being bought by a gullible foreigner. Final proof that it was almost worthless was when I took it back to the same dealer, he would only give me half of what I paid for it. It was my first lesson and first step in becoming a collector of Japanese swords. I had done one thing right, however, in that I had bought a book on the subject, one of only a couple in the English language at that time.

It was around this time that I went to my first auction. This took place at Christies in central London. I missed the sale itself and turned up just as most were leaving, but I had been alerted to the fact that a similar bone monstrosity to that mentioned above had been in the sale (yes at Christies!). I was anxious to know the full extent of my naivety and to find out for what it had sold. I approached two collectors with a polite “I wonder if you can help me?” In no uncertain terms, I was told to go away and not to be a bother. I admit that I was quite shocked and taken aback by my politeness being met with such rudeness but shrugged it off and went away. Now, 35 years later, one of these gentlemen is still around and active, but the other died a few years ago. Shortly before he died, he said to me that he recalled that first meeting and that he wished to apologise for his behaviour then. As it was some 30 years after the event, I feigned ignorance of what he was talking about, but I remembered it well.

If I were to begin seriously to collect Japanese swords, a few things needed to be done. I had to read as much as was possible on the subject, see as many examples as possible and take every opportunity to learn from others. To facilitate the latter I joined the To-ken Society of Great Britain which had formed a few years previously and had monthly meetings in central London. I was amazed when attending my first couple of meetings, that ordinary people of no great academic or language qualifications, could read the Japanese kanji on Japanese swords and were thus able to identify the makers name and date of manufacture. It was especially irksome that the gentlemen mentioned in the previous paragraph was able to do this and seemed to know quite a lot on the subject. I felt it best to take a low profile and sat at the back of the room trying to look as though I understood what was taking place during the meeting. I also joined the Nihon Bijutsu Hozon Kyokai in Japan and took full advantage of their English language edition of Token Bijutsu magazine, regularly entering their postal kantei competition.

It was around this time that a friend from Judo was practically given a sword, it cost him so little. It was a most beautiful Omori mounted wakizashi, although the blade was a not particularly inspiring late Hizen-to. The koshirae was also rather late but of stunning quality. Tsuba, kurikata and fuchi-kashira were in shibuichi with the classic undercut wave design with gold spray. The unbound hilt was in a dark wood and had a silver dogane of waves with a dragon on each side forming the menuki. These dragons were chasing the “sacred jewels” or tama, which formed the heads on the screw-type silver mekugi. The saya was a beautiful dark green aogai lacquer and it was finished by a large silver kojiri, also of breaking waves covering a third of the saya’s length. It was too good not to be in the hands of a collector or even a museum. To give him his due credit, my friend realised he had something a little special and was not prepared to part with it. I tried all the usual ploys to separate him from it, including vast quantities of alcohol and equally vast quantities of money, all to no avail.

His personal circumstances were a little unusual. He had bought an almost derelict house in the country that he was refurbishing and was just about to enter into his second marriage. The house was like a building site for years and I finally persuaded him that this was not the best place to keep the sword. He agreed and allowed me to keep it and look after it, but still obstinately refused to sell it to me. His only concession was that he would leave it to me in his will, which as he was only in his early thirties, looked as though it might be a long wait! Having me look after it proved a fateful decision as I only had it about three years when his house burned down and the sword would certainly have been destroyed. He acknowledged this fact, but still would not sell it to me. By now, this saga had been running for almost ten years. Every now and then, when passing my house he would pop in to see the sword, or more probably, to check that I had not sold it.

The story gets stranger. In 1981 I displayed this sword at the To-ken Society’s first ever To-ken Taikai in London. There it was spotted by a consultant cataloguer from Sotheby’s who whispered in my ear that he thought that the accompanying daito for this shoto was in the next sale! At the first opportunity, I checked it out, and sure enough, it was the other half of the daisho. The daito had a rather tired blade by Bizen Tadamitsu but the fuchi was signed “Omori Tokunobu”, this being the only signature on any of the kodogu. This situation gave me quite a dilemma. Did I buy it; could I afford it, what were the repercussions, vis a vis the shoto if I was successful in buying it? Of course, it is a collector’s dream to re-unite a separated daisho and so I resolved to buy the sword if it were at all possible.

I believe that these two swords had been separated as part of a probate action, the shoto being given to one relative and the daito to another. Unfortunately, the daito was not in the pristine condition of the shoto having been over-cleaned somewhat, but still a most desirable object. Come the day of the sale I persuaded a number of collectors present to leave this sword alone as the circumstances were so special and in those somewhat gentler days, they did. The gods were certainly smiling on me that day as dear Sotheby’s had made a mistake in the catalogue. My sword was illustrated with the wrong lot number under it and my lot number was under a rather fine tachi. This confusion meant that the bidding on my lot, actually purchased the illustrated tachi and I was able to buy my lot at 1/3^rd of the price it would have realised had the illustrations not been confused. In fact, one year later the tachi was returned to the saleroom and again offered for sale.

 So the daisho was at least re-united but there was still some complications about ownership as my chum had still not sold me the shoto and I had resigned myself to simply remaining as “the keeper”. Several months, maybe a year later, my friend made one of his visits and I explained the situation to him and showed him both swords. Fortunately, he appreciated that they should be together but still refused to sell the shoto to me. If anything, this further complicated the situation for me.

The final chapter of this somewhat involved story is a sad one. My friend, whilst still in his early forties and now with a young family, had a massive heart attack at work from which he failed to recover. After a suitable period, I approached the widow to explain and hopefully resolve the situation. She had some knowledge of it but fortunately the young son of maybe seven or eight years said that his father had always said the sword was to come to me should anything untoward happen to him, and so I was given it. As the young wife was not left overly well provided for, I was happy to make a donation towards her current expenses. Although the circumstances were not the happiest, the sword, which is beside me as I write this, was now mine.

Of course, this was mostly happening in the 1970’s and times were changing. There had been a degree of hostility towards all things Japanese after the events of 1941-1945 but this was becoming less apparent by this time. The Japanese economy was already warming up and dealers were beginning to come from Japan to “buy back their heritage”. Whilst it was difficult to see how western art such as Van Gogh paintings, which they also bought, could be claimed to be their heritage, those who we encountered, certainly wanted to buy Japanese swords by the plane load. It was the start of the “gold rush”.

By this time I was established in the media business, had a reasonable reputation as a hard negotiator of television airtime, and held down a reasonably well-paid job. The skills learned at work were put to good use in the buying and selling of Japanese swords. The judo was still there and I had something of a stop start relationship with kendo. Still there were many swords around and vast profits could be made overnight. I shared a retail outlet with a few others at Antiquarius in London’s Kings Road as well as having a Saturday morning stall at the famous Portobello Road market in west London. This was also the time of the London Arms Fair held at the Cumberland Hotel twice a year. This latter was amazing for me. I could start the day with no money or swords to sell and by the end of the day have the equivalent of a month’s salary in my pocket. Some that established themselves at this time and did it far better than I did are still trading today, I suspect have far better personal collections, and bank balances than I do. However, from a personal point of view, this was not all good. There was certainly a buzz at the time, but now I can see that I learned little as I chased the fast buck. Sure, I could more or less read a signature but had little appreciation of the sword itself.

At the end of this decade, I took stock and did not much like what I saw. By now, I was married and had two children. I was on the verge of starting up my own advertising agency. I considered myself still a Japanese sword collector but I had no swords as I had sold everything almost as soon as I bought it. Profit was a great devourer of my collection. Worse still, I had no money to show for it as this had all mysteriously and unaccountable been spirited away. A Japanese sword collector with no Japanese swords and no money to be able to buy any. What a sad case! The only good thing I suppose that I can say of this time was that (as far as I know) no swords of great quality passed through my hands (except for an Oei Bizen Yasumitsu possibly).

The business started and was very successful. Kendo was becoming more important than Judo and my family was growing quickly. Already I had written a few articles for To-ken Society of Great Britain’s newsletter and I was becoming more involved with them. Writing for me was a pleasure and not a chore and I became, mostly by default, editor of the To-ken Society. I even allowed them to use my offices for their monthly meetings and became the secretary as well as editor of the Society. I vowed that any further Japanese swords that I bought would be for me personally and I would not sell any again. Literally when I had a dealer at the front door of my house after he heard I had bought something, I would not let him enter in case the profit potential would tempt me to sell something to him and I might be too weak to resist! My kendo teacher who hailed from Saga in Kyushu sparked my initial interest in Hizen swords from this area.

This change in me was quite dramatic. I saw the need for greater study and became a sucker for buying books. Even when I was not in the market to buy a sword, I would hang around the dealers in central London, looking at their stock, picking their brains and occasionally buying something for myself. At this time, there were about six dealers within a couple of miles radius of central London, so no lunch hour was wasted. Still this was not enough and it became obvious that a trip to Japan was necessary. On the promise that if it all went horribly wrong we could all check into the Tokyo Hilton or eat at MacDonald’s all the time, the family ended up at a ryokan in Shinjuku, Tokyo. Fortunately, it was great and we toured all over Japan looking for swords, ending up in Saga, doing kendo there and meeting with collectors and polishers in this hospitable town. Everywhere we went we sought out the local castle, shrine or museum where they had swords and everyone thought that this was the greatest experience of our lives, as it undoubtedly was. Now, as well as looking at the swords I especially, as well as the rest of my family, were beginning to absorb the Japanese culture.  Whilst it was all great fun and quite educational, it was not enough. The majority of swords that I had seen were tucked away in glass cabinets and it is not possible to fully appreciate them in this manner. I needed a teacher, a guide, and a mentor.

Shortly after my first trip to Saga, whilst still a great Hizen-to enthusiast, I was offered a fine blade by Han Bing Siong. This sword had originally been in the possession of a well known American collector and was by the first generation Tadakuni, with the full mei “Hizen (no) Kuni Harima Daijo Fujiwara Tadakuni” and came in shira-saya. It was not until some twenty years later that, on planning a trip to Holland for a sword seminar, Siong asked me if I would be interested in having the mounting that belonged to the sword. I was amazed, as I had no idea that it had a mounting of any type and so I immediately replied in the affirmative. It turned out that Siong was impressed that I had kept the sword, and appreciated it for so long, and was now happy to give me the mounting. This turned out to be an impressive Kyu-gunto that dated from the Meiji period and is now reunited with its blade. This was the last time I saw Siong who died about two years later.

The answer to my prayers came soon after returning from our first trip to Japan. Mr Tony Chapman, a one-time editor of the To-ken Society’s newsletter had apprenticed himself to the Nakayama Kenshujo, a leading polishing school. Here he had befriended Mishina Kenji, the head pupil who spoke reasonable English. They had decided to return to the UK and set up a polishing business to fulfil the European demand for the polishing of swords. It was necessary for me, in my capacity as secretary of the To-ken Society of GB to contact the UK immigration officials and explain why Mishina’s work was essential to our aims of properly preserving Japanese swords. In the end, it was all successful and Mishina sensei became an important part of the To-ken Society, delivering monthly lectures and overseeing kantei at our meetings. Here at last was somebody who really knew what he was talking about rather than the somewhat vague and often misleading opinions we had in the past.

Another great thing was that Mishina sensei opened doors for us all and me in particular. Our next trip to Japan, only a few months after he arrived in the UK, Mishina introduced my family to Sasaki Takushi from Saitama-ken. Sasaki san was a fellow student at the Nakayama Kenshujo with Mishina and we all stayed at his house. During a later stay on my own with Sasaki san, I was fortunate to have oshigata instruction from his skilled pupil, Kikuchi Masato It was Sasaki san that then introduced me to Ogasawara at Tokyo National Museum where I was able to study the National Treasure rated sword by Rai Kunimitsu amongst others. On another trip, when Mishina sensei was in Japan at the same time, we had an utsuri session at the Japanese Sword Museum in Yoyogi, hosted by Tanobe sensei. Although I had thought there would only be the two or three of us there, in the end it turned out to be about eight of which I was the only gaijin. When I asked Mishina why there were so many and who were they, I was told that this was far too interesting a subject to waste on just three people and so a few others had come. The lesson progressed well and we were shown all kinds of different usturi by Tanobe sensei.

Many readers will know what a kindly soul Tanobe sensei is and how he likes to test us with unexpected requests to kantei swords. I was not going to get away at this meeting kantei free and so a tanto was given me to respond to. Fortunately, this was reasonably easy as it was obviously a Muromachi period piece in Mino-den and a guess at Kanemoto proved to be atari. However, I heard Tanobe sensei on the other side of the room, talking quite heatedly with the tanto in his hand, to a smartly dressed young man . He was berating this poor young guy with words to the effect that if the gaijin could get it then he certainly should have made a better answer! Apparently, the young member of Token Shunju (a sword newspaper) had answered that it was by Bizen Sukesada. I was gratified to see that Tanobe sensei is very liberal with his cutting tongue and that he does not exclusively reserve it for idiot gaijin!

Much of my previous Judo had been under Otani sensei who was, along with Koizumi sensei of Budokwai fame, responsible for introducing judo to Europe in the 1930’s. He had two sons, Robin a talented judoka and Tomio who was more interested in kendo. However, by this time, I was running a branch of the Kenseikai dojo in Poplar, east London. Old man Otani had long since passed away and Tomio was resident in south east London. He had become rather strange and was the head of some strange red Indian set there and some of his people were coming to my dojo to do kendo. Actually Tomio had a rather poor reputation and was supposed to have conned several out of antique Japanese armours. Anyhow, as he went the way of all flesh, one of his “tribe” turned up at the dojo with a katana in shira-saya. This looked pretty good and was a signed and dated Bizen Kiyomitsu blade which I was offered. Apparently it was part of Tomio’s estate and had been the Otani family’s own blade and in their possession for many years although there was no documentary evidence to support this. I was happy to have it and make it into one of the Sinclaire family blades.

In London in 1989, To-ken Society held the first ever shinsa to be held in Europe. The chief judges were Mr Iida and Mr Tokuno. This was quite an event and took a great deal of organisation but was also a great success. It was followed in 1991 by the exhibition called The Challenge of Shinsaku-to and was put together by Mr Onishi of Onishi To-ken. Here some 20 modern swords, previously exhibited in Japan were brought to London together with horimono carvers, habaki makers and tsuba makers demonstrating their skills. This was truly a major event and opportunity for westerners to see such things. An organisational nightmare but well worth the effort. Of course, both this and the shinsa organised could not have been accomplished without the good offices of Mishina sensei and were yet another example of his generous support to western collectors and UK collectors in particular.

Personally, I was making slow progress on the kendo front and no longer doing judo because of injury. However, I was now a particularly clumsy Iai-do practitioner, but this did not worry me unduly. I considered that both my Kendo and Iai-do gave me a different perspective to the Japanese sword than I had previously enjoyed. Possibly deluding myself, I considered that these were all part of the same thing and that my understanding of Kendo would improve, as would my understanding of swords. I met many instructors at local kendo dojo in both UK and Japan. They came from all walks of life, some were postmen, bus drivers or office workers but they all had a great air about them which impressed me as they pursued the “way of Kendo” and freely taught others. I am sure that the survival and progress in Kendo is largely in the hands of these people who are “just the local kendo instructors”, rather than those who actively promote themselves and enter the murky world of kendo politics and self-aggrandisement.

Around this time, I had sold my share in the business and had far more time to indulge my obsession. Unfortunately, Tony Chapman had died, and Mishina sensei decided to return to Japan with his young Japanese wife and daughter. This was particularly sad as our families had become quite close friends, not to mention that we would no longer be able to have our swords polished quite so easily. As I was regularly travelling to Japan, I managed to keep in constant touch and as soon as I acquired a PC, it became even easier.

By this time, it was apparent to me that good number of the mature or old time collectors were less knowledgeable than was the first impression and often their sword handling knowledge and etiquette was quite shocking. This was demonstrated to me on an otherwise particularly enjoyable visit to Windsor Castle where swords from the Royal Collection are housed. To gain entry “backstage” and be able to handle the swords, required positive security vetting which I am pleased to say, I passed without any hitches. However, I was to be accompanied by two elderly gentlemen who had applied to visit at the same time. Both of these gentlemen were ex Victoria and Albert Museum curators and one had written one of the first definitive books in English, on the subject of Japanese swords. This latter gentlemen, was also an accomplished Japanese language reader. I therefore felt that I was in distinguished company and we proceeded to a smallish room, that would be used for the viewing.

Three or four swords were brought in and the author took the blade from its shira-saya and removed the tsuka. On reading the mei he pronounced that it was Satsuma work, which it was and he began to examine the blade. To my horror, rather than hold it in the approved manner, he put the point on the table and began to swivel it on the point. I tried to point out that this was bad practice but he just looked at me as though I were completely mad. Of course, although having been around Japanese swords for many years, and having handled thousands in this time, he had never been instructed in the proper way to handle a sword. Such was the way of that generation.

Incidentally, at this viewing session, I was impressed by two swords in particular. One of these was a richly decorated blade in Goto aikuchi tanto koshirae. I was unable to remove the screw type metal mekugi but I thought that the blade was definitely a Yamashiro blade from the Kamakura period and I later discovered it was by Rai Kunimitsu. I am very pleased that Her Majesty owns such a sword. Also of interest was a so called gensui-to. Such swords are very rare as it is said that only seventeen were ever made and it was thought that there were none outside of Japan. A gensui-to is a particularly rich presentation tachi made from the Meiji to Showa period that was only given to Field Marshals or Admirals of the Fleet. It was in pristine condition and contained a blade by Gassan Sadakatsu. I was curious to know how such a sword had come into the Royal Collection. I was informed that it had been presented to King George V in 1918 at the cessation of the first World War. Japan was an ally in that war, our king was made an honorary Field Marshal of the Imperial Japanese Army, and thus the Emperor Taisho presented him with the sword in acknowledgement of that fact.

In 1997, I visited several swordsmiths, travelling to Niigata to see Amada Akitsugu and Fukushima to see Tsuguyasu Masahira. This was a coach trip organised by Onishi To-ken the well known dealer and patron of modern swordsmiths mentioned above. On this coach trip, we had organised a party of To-ken members to go to visit the major exhibition at Tokyo National museum. As some had never been to Japan before, I was the kind of chief gaijin / tour guide / translator. This was quite an experience and something of an ordeal. The coach first took us to Niigata in a more northern part of Japan than I had previously been and we stopped the night at a grand five-star Onsen Hotel. After hot baths in the natural springs, we enjoyed a massive feast attended by some thirty to forty of us, including our party of six or seven. As the food came round, served by “geisha girls” old enough to be your mother, I warned our people to be careful of the sake. As the more worldly may know, if you are unused to saké it can have a nasty habit of catching one unaware. Of course, nobody took any notice of me and the predictable results ensued.  The following day we visited the swordsmith Tsuguyasu Masahira where I was lucky enough to act as sakité (hammerman) assistant in the making of a sword. I will always remember this trip for both its sword content and the fact that it has given me material with which to blackmail certain people that I can use for years!

I now found myself running the Kendo dojo as all the previous teachers had left and I was next in line. I was not particularly pleased with this situation and had no desire or enough knowledge to teach kendo well. Being naturally of a selfish disposition, I wanted to do kendo where and when I wanted, not tied to a particular place and time. I certainly did not want the obligation of teaching. The dojo was a 30-minute drive from where I lived and prompted by a “scandal”; I decided to move it closer to my home. This successfully got rid of about 50% of the members who were either unwilling or unable to travel the same distance that I had had to. I then had others join and a number of keen beginners who made it even more difficult to leave and so I eventually decided to make the best of it and run the dojo properly. I had become only the local kendo instructor that I mentioned earlier. I do not have the time really to do both Kendo and Iai-do properly so I am afraid the Iai-do has gone by the board although, I must admit that the Judo is making a bit of a comeback recently.

I am sure that if one is waiting for a great sword to be found in a junk shop or a flea-market, you will wait a very long time indeed. That time has largely passed although I guess that it may still happen and now many seem obsessed by chasing dreams or a quick profit on E-bay. The point is that I wanted swords and was unprepared to wait a lifetime for such long odds to pay off and it seemed to me that to acquire good swords, one had to pay the price. Mostly, therefore, I bought at auction although a few dealers occasionally had pieces that I wanted. I always attended the twice-yearly London Arms Fair, where in spite of the competition from several established dealers, it was sometimes possible to buy well. Often swords were in very poor condition, few if any were sold in full polish and with authentication so it was always a risk. However, certainly in my Hizen-to days I was able to buy swords that eventually polished well and indeed made Tokubetsu Hozon on more than one occasion.

On one such occasion, I remember buying a wakizashi in amateur shira-saya with no details of the blade visible but with a strong early shinto sugata and an interesting mei of Kiku Kunikiyo (Kiku - Yamashiro (no) Kami Kunikiyo). I was sure that the mei was genuine as it was so well cut and I was pleased when my offer was accepted. I could not believe that those present who made their respective livings buying and selling Japanese swords had passed on this. The only reply when I asked was that they believed, against all the evidence to the contrary, that the blade was gimei. I doubted the veracity of such a glib reply and as it eventually passed Tokubetsu Hozon shinsa, further doubt was cast upon the knowledge of these particular dealers or maybe that had just failed to spot it.

Of course, the London auction rooms are a great place to see and buy swords, not always at extortionate prices. It was from one of these that I acquired my hachidai Tadayoshi with full koshirae at a relatively “quiet” sale. Although needing a polish, the tachi sugata was superb and the blade was flawless. I was convinced that the blade was by the hachidai as the sword had his distinctive go-ji mei. The subsequent polish was magnificent and it still rates as one of my favourite blades.

I guess it is possible to rig the odds a bit at the auction. I underbid another Hizen-to, this time a wakizashi by Musashi Daijo Tadahiro (later mei of Shodai Tadayoshi) and was disappointed to lose it, as I knew the owner. This sword had old Tokubetsu Kicho papers from the NBTHK for both blade and koshirae, but on this occasion it was not to be. I subsequently discovered that it had been bought by a new collector from Greece, so I figured I had seen the last of it, but this was not the case.  Some two years later, browsing through the latest catalogue I thought I spotted the same blade being re-offered , but there was no mention of the papers being present. As soon as possible I viewed the lot and pinned to the rack was a hand written note from the auction house to say that it did indeed have the necessary paperwork. As readers will be aware, the presence of authenticating papers enhances the value of the sword significantly. As I brushed past the stand my sleeve caught the note which fell to the floor. I saw little reason to replace it and screwed it up and put it in my pocket being of a tidy disposition and not wishing to litter the auction room. Or something like that as my faulty memory recalls!

The following day, a good friend of mine went to view the sale and another hand written note was pinned to the rack. Incredibly, he also brushed against the note with the same effect and being of an equally tidy disposition, he disposed of it. Or once again, something like that! What a great shame it was that such a thing could happen on two consecutive viewing days. Come the day of the sale, I was able to buy this “un-papered” sword at approximately 75% of my underbid of two years earlier. Whilst such practices may have dubious moral foundations, I prefer to think of it in terms of “impoverished collector outwits multi-national conglomerate”.

At one London Arms Fair, a semi-professional dealer who was also the arms and armour “expert” for a London auction house, asked me to translate a nakago inscription. This sword had a strong Keicho type of sugata and a deeply carved Fudo Kaen horimono. Both sides of the nakago were covered in writing, fifty-three characters in total. Those on the omote were quite easy to read being the maker’s name, date, horimono details and place where it was made. The ura, however, was much more difficult, although I thought it was a special order piece. Four of the characters were in the phonetic katakana script, so I knew how they were pronounced but not what they meant. I  took a nakago oshigata and returned the sword to the owner, informing him that it was made in Showa 14^th Year by Ikkansai Kasama Shigetsugu, etc etc. I also told him how the katakana script sounded but said that I did not know the meaning.

Apparently I was not the first to be shown this magnificent sword but others had made offers for it which were not accepted by the owner who did not wish to sell it. The following week I faxed my oshigata to Japan and the translation came back quite promptly. The katakana, were the four characters HI, TSU, TO, RA but I had not realised that the TSU character was silent and emphasised the previous HI, so in fact it should read HITORA or, when anglicised, Hitler. So this sword was indeed a special order made for the leader of the Third Reich, Adolph Hitler! Suddenly, what was a very interesting gendaito, assumed huge historical importance, but it was still owned by another.

Once again, I found myself in a Japanese sword dilemma. It seemed obvious that were I to tell the owner the full translation, it would become impossible to acquire. As he had not asked me for the translation and, in his job was in a good position to research it himself, I had few qualms about keeping such sensitive information to myself. It was also obvious to me that nobody else who had seen it, realised the full significance, simply dismissing it as a superior gendaito. Whilst still the owner did not wish to part with it, I was convinced that not being a Japanese sword enthusiast, he would sell it eventually.

What now had to be done was to make sure that when he did decide to sell the sword, it would be to me. The only way I could think he would come to me first was if I made an offer that far exceeded any other that he was likely to receive. I made such an offer, which I guessed was probably ten times any other that he may have received from anyone else. I now sat back to await developments and kept my fingers well crossed that he would not discover the sword’s secret. It took three years but eventually the circumstances I had hoped for materialised and he phoned me. As soon as he did that, I knew the sword was mine. I actually paid 2/3rds of the huge price I had previously offered and bought what must be one of the rarest gendaito in the world. A week or so later the vendor learned the full significance of the inscription and was less than pleased but happily took it all in good grace and still speaks to me!

Clive Sinclaire 2008

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