Growing up close to Hadrian’s Wall – erected during Rome’s reign of the British Isles – Paul Budden found his interest in history. His interest of Japanese sword – born out of his love of history – led him into a kendo dojo and has not looked back since. Throughout his time in kendo, he found that its history, both in Japan and in the United Kingdom, was rich and needed to be shared with other kenshi. Since 1992, Budden has published ten books, with his most recent one, The Secret Sword: A Study of Itto-ryu Mizoguchi-ha. Today, Budden took some time to talk about his recent publication, the varied history of kendo in the UK, and kendo’s future on the international stage. All images provided by Paul Budden. This is the first part of a two-part interview. Read the second part here.
Martial Arts of Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow: Welcome Paul! Thank you for joining us today!
Paul Budden: It is a pleasure to be here to speak with you.
MAYTT: How and when did you start your kendo training?
PB: Okay, so this ties directly into the kind of research I do as well. I grew up in England on the border of Scotland, and my formative years were spent in a city called Carlisle. Carlisle has a very steeped history – four hundred years of Roman occupation, Hadrian’s Wall running across the country from that point, and then, in the 14th century, the era of the Border Reavers. These were families who survived by robbing, pillaging, cattle rustling; if it could be stolen, they stole it. A couple of English words even come from that period. One is blackmail: “mail” was considered a tax, and “white mail” meant a payment in silver. “Blackmail,” on the other hand, referred to ransom – kidnapping someone and demanding payment for their return. The other is “red-handed,” which literally meant being caught with blood on your hands. These terms, and the stories behind them, come straight out of that turbulent time. The Reavers remained a law unto themselves until James I, who became King of both England and Scotland, finally stamped them out. With all this history surrounding me, I developed an early fascination with the past.
When I went to college at sixteen, I began practicing European fencing, and this year marks sixty years since I first picked up a foil. At the time, there really weren’t many martial arts available. You could choose between European fencing or judo, and I wasn’t particularly drawn to judo, so fencing it was. I stayed with it for a couple of years, and after college I drifted away from training for a year or two. Then Bruce Lee exploded onto the scene. Suddenly everybody wanted to do kung fu. By then I had moved down to London, but unless you lived in central London, it was nearly impossible to find a reputable sifu. So, like many others – perhaps the same was true in America or elsewhere in Europe – I turned to karate. It had a similar look and feel, so it became the next best thing. I trained for a couple of years under a South African sensei, who sadly passed away this year. He had some ideas about incorporating other aspects of budo into karate, and began blending in aikido, iaido, and some meditation practices. I trained in this hybrid style for about nine or ten years. Eventually, my interest in Japanese swords pushed me to explore further. I made an exploratory trip to a kendo dojo and immediately got hooked. From there, I never looked back. I’ve been practicing kendo now for more than forty-four years, and it’s been a long, rewarding road.
MAYTT: What was it about kendo that really struck your interest more so than European fencing, karate, and then aikido?
PB: I think, for me, it was always about the sword. I’ve always been interested in swords. Even when I was doing European fencing, there was a fascination there, not just with the practice itself, but with the history behind it. There was no HEMA back then, or at least not what people call HEMA today, but many practitioners were curious about the historical side of things, the evolution of swords, and how they were used. That interest carried me forward.
When I became interested in Japanese swords, I was doing a little bit of iaido at the time. But I felt that kendo offered something iaido couldn’t: the experience of facing a real person rather than an imaginary opponent. It was the same appeal European fencing had for me: two people testing timing, distancing, and intention in real time. Culturally and historically, of course, European fencing and kendo are different, but at the core they are both forms of fencing. I’ve found that the fencing I learned earlier gave me perspectives that aren’t always the norm in kendo, but they’ve enriched my training. It’s a slightly different point of view, but it works for me.
MAYTT: Since you brought up historical fencing, how has kendo interacted with the relatively new sword movement, Historical European Martial Arts (HEMA)?
PB: To my understanding there has been no interaction or contact other than possibly by some individuals.
MAYTT: I see. When you really started getting into kendo, what was that training like that you experienced?
PB: This was in the early 1980s. Kendo had restarted around 1957, and for a while there was a strong influx of Japanese teachers, which helped things develop. But then, as so often happens, the dreaded politics set in. Everything splintered – people left, new groups formed, and the overall level of instruction dropped. When I started, I was training near Heathrow Airport in London at a dojo called Mumeishi Kendo Club. The teacher there was Terry Holt, who was a fourth dan at the time. That was considered quite high then, but overall the level across the country wasn’t particularly advanced. Fourth or fifth dan was about the maximum you would encounter. After a while, we began to get visitors from Japan – people who were working in the UK and staying for a few years. With them, the level improved. Around 1986, I got involved with the national team selection, which gave us further exposure to Japanese instructors. I first visited Japan in 1981 and again in 1982, and since then I’ve continued visiting almost every year for the past thirty-five to forty years.
But at that time, back in the early ’80s, the standard was still quite low. We used to joke that it was basically “hack and bash” – two guys slugging it out with very little technical refinement. Among ourselves – our peer group – we talked a lot about how to progress and what we should be doing differently. Then, fortunately, a Japanese teacher named Shoji Enomoto Sensei arrived. He was a sixth dan, and I trained with him for two years, twice a week, sometimes three times. That period marked the real turning point for me. My kendo began shifting from the old hack-and-bash approach into something more technical, more structured, and ultimately much more meaningful.
MAYTT: With the introduction of Enomoto and you starting to train with him more regularly, did you take what you were learning and bring it back to your original school, or were you specifically just training with Enomoto?
PB: At the time, I was training with Enomoto Sensei at the Mumeishi Dojo, going two or three times a week. But I was also running my own club. Terry Holt Sensei had encouraged me to do so. Even though I was only a first dan, it was considered quite normal then to open a dojo; you needed people to train with, after all. You can’t practice kendo on your own. So I started teaching, and of course I tried to apply the logical, structured instruction I’d received from Enomoto Sensei. He was a very high-level teacher with an excellent understanding of kendo’s history, so you could learn all kinds of things from him. That was one of the aspects of kendo I really liked: it’s multifaceted. It’s a cultural activity as much as it is a physical discipline, and it even incorporates spiritual ideas if you want to explore that side. It’s such a wide field that there are countless things you can take from it. That breadth appealed to me from the very beginning.
MAYTT: What ways or methods did Enomoto and his peers that lead you and others away from the “hack and bash” to the more refined kendo that you start to experience today?
PB: He began teaching in a very structured manner, partly because he was a professional teacher. Around that time, we also had other Japanese instructors coming into the UK. My main teacher, whom I met a little later, is Masatake Sumi, eighth dan Hanshi and one of the top kendo practitioners in Japan. He has been my teacher for thirty-five years now. So I had exposure to him, to Enomoto Sensei, and to several other high-level instructors as well. His method is not so different from Enomoto Sensei’s: a structured, disciplined practice. Kendo is very well established in Japan, as you know, and there are many fundamentals we must always return to. In fact, no matter how far you progress, everything circles back to those fundamental exercises.
In the UK, and perhaps it was the same in other parts of Europe, you often found yourself as a “big fish in a small pond.” If you progressed to a reasonable level, you naturally got access to the top teachers who visited for events, seminars, and competitions. After I first met Sumi Sensei in Paris, we invited him to come teach a seminar. He accepted, and he continued coming every year for the next thirty-five years, teaching his approach to kendo.
MAYTT: To clarify, it was a better understanding of the fundamental practice that these Japanese sensei brought to the UK and Europe to help refine everything?
PB: The idea is that the All Japan Kendo Federation and the International Kendo Federation essentially control how kendo looks. Through major competitions, seminars, and, of course, the grading system – linked through both the European Kendo Federation and the International Kendo Federation – they set the framework. Because of this, everything needs to follow a standard, so to speak. The techniques, the presentation, the expectations at each level – all of it is shaped and maintained through these governing bodies.
MAYTT: To switch from that international view to a national view within the UK, what was the kendo community like when you joined in 1981?
PB: It was quite small: around 800 people in total, spread across the whole country. You had clubs as far north as Glasgow in Scotland, as far southwest as Cornwall, and of course in Wales as well. There were maybe about thirty dojos at the time, with those 800 members scattered among them. It was a fairly close-knit community, but also somewhat isolated. I was practicing in the London area, and we really didn’t know many people from other clubs. There wasn’t much interaction or exchange of visits between dojos back then.
MAYTT: Since then, how have you seen UK Kendo grow in and around the country?
PB: That’s an interesting one. Pre-Covid, the numbers were increasing, but not as dramatically as you might expect. They hadn’t actually doubled since the 1980s. I think it was around 1,100 or 1,200 members before covid, and then, of course, the numbers dropped again during the pandemic. Now we’re beginning to see them rise once more. But there also seems to be, at least from my perspective, a different attitude since covid. People don’t seem to approach kendo in quite the same way. Maybe it’s just my impression, but sometimes it feels like people think it’s more like badminton – you just turn up and play. And that’s not really the way kendo should be. Perhaps things will shift again over time.
One of the other issues I see is that there’s too much competition now, and I think it’s competition for the wrong reasons. The focus seems to have moved away from the original ideas behind testing yourself through competition, and instead it’s become more about winning medals. I worked with the European Championships for about twenty years, and it was always fairly well-behaved – no shouting, none of the atmosphere you’d expect at a football match. But now you hear shouting and cheering that really goes against the grain. It doesn’t feel like it should be that way. I watch judo occasionally, and I’m actually pleased to see that, even in Olympic Judo, you don’t see the Japanese players punching the air after scoring a valid throw. You do see that from other countries, but not from them. It feels like kendo is shifting toward that kind of behavior. My feeling is that there’s too much emphasis on competition. Competition is necessary for juniors, for their improvement and for promoting the art. It certainly has its place. But once something becomes Olympic, everything changes, and in my view, it risks losing its sense of where it came from as a budo.
MAYTT: There are actually two topics I want to split off from that. The first part, you mentioned that there was a doubling of kendo practitioners since the 1980s. Why do you think that kendo has a small number of practitioners compared to other Japanese martial arts?
PB: I’m not entirely sure. Making comparisons is difficult because, for example, having practiced aikido, I know that apart from Tomiki, there’s no competition in aikido at all. In judo, of course, there is competition, and in some forms of jiu-jitsu as well. But with kendo, the situation feels a bit different. As I mentioned earlier, the numbers dropped after covid. We had quite a successful junior club before the pandemic, but it hasn’t restarted since. We haven’t had any influx of juniors for quite some time – two or three years at least – and we haven’t even had inquiries.
We’re closely involved with the Japanese community here, and even the children of Japanese families working or residing in the country don’t seem particularly interested. And I think this may reflect what’s happening in Japan itself, where numbers have also declined. Perhaps it’s due to the introduction of other activities and sports. Traditional disciplines like kendo and judo have slipped from the mainstream, and now, at high school and university level, there are far more options: rugby, soccer, and all kinds of things that weren’t competing with the martial arts in the same way before. So yes, there’s definitely been a drop, and it’s a concern. I suspect the same factors are at play here in the UK.
Another point is that kendo simply isn’t a mainstream discipline. We don’t get much coverage. Years ago, when The Last Samurai came out with Tom Cruise, we suddenly had sixty people show up wanting to be “the last samurai.” That continued for quite a while. There were a few other similar moments. I remember when I first started, all of us were waiting for the Kurosawa films to be shown on television, because that was the only way to see them at the time. And whenever one was broadcast, we’d get an influx of people wanting to be samurai. But now? I don’t know. Maybe it’s a bit of a chicken-and-egg situation, like Olympic funding: unless you have success, you won’t receive funding, but to succeed, you need the funding in the first place. Kendo might be in a similar position. We don’t have anything pushing us into the public eye, and that may be one of the reasons participation has dropped.
MAYTT: With that in mind, what need do you think kendo fulfills in the larger martial arts community?
PB: As I mentioned earlier, I think kendo is a multifaceted activity. A friend of mine once said that it doesn’t matter why people come into the dojo; maybe they want to be samurai, maybe they’re inspired by Star Wars, or something else entirely. What matters is what you do with them once they walk through the door. Do you teach them correctly? Do you give them the basics, the fundamentals, the philosophy behind what they’re doing? Do you help them learn something about themselves? It really is a whole package.
In terms of exercise, kendo is certainly cardiovascular. The body mechanics are specific to kendo, and as you progress, a high level of fitness is required. You don’t need that level at the start – you can ease into it – but over time, the nature of the training demands more. Practice can be done individually or in pairs, and there are set formats that also tie into breathing. And then there’s the deeper element: you need to overcome yourself. It’s the old budo idea: you’re not striking your opponent so much as confronting yourself in order to understand yourself better. In kendo, the ideal is to make ippon – the perfect point, the perfect strike. But you also have to be able to recognize receiving an ippon in order to deliver one yourself. That’s an interesting concept in its own right.
Kendo can fill many needs for different people. Some come for fitness. Some come because they’re interested in the history and culture of traditional Japanese swordsmanship. We have kata, which are set forms, as well as free fighting, if you want to call it that; so there are different aspects that appeal to different people. Above all, we say there should be enjoyment. People need to enjoy what they’re doing. But it shouldn’t be easy. In my experience over the years, I’ve had many students who seemed like naturals – people I thought would be fantastic – only to see them disappear the next week. And often, it’s the people who struggle at first who end up staying. They seem to recognize more clearly the benefits of having to overcome this quite serious discipline.
MAYTT: Is it that people have a hard time grasping onto the aspect of making yourself better than you were the day before?
PB: I think it really comes down to the level of tuition that people receive. For example, in my club, I am a seventh dan, and my partner, Kazuyo Matsuda, is also a seventh dan. We have two seventh dans in the club, which is very different from when I started. At that time, Terry Holt Sensei was only a fourth dan, though he eventually became a seventh dan as well, the ratio of high-ranking teachers was much lower. As a result, the fundamentals we instill in our students today are at a much higher level from the outset.
The movements in kendo are quite specific and different from other martial arts like aikido or karate. These need to be learned correctly to move properly, because there’s a lot that goes into how you strike. It’s not just about hitting your opponent; it’s about hitting with ki-ken-tai-ichi, the coordinated integration of spirit, sword, and body. In kendo, we shout the name of the target as we strike. This demonstrates intent, not accident, and coordinates with the exhalation of your movement. About seventy percent of the power comes from the lower body, and thirty percent from the weapon, the shinai. All of these elements must be integrated and clearly demonstrated, not just in practice, but in examinations and competition as well.
I was fortunate to start at a time when practice was more of a hack-and-bash style. Being part of that peer group allowed us to progress to a point where later exposure to high-level instruction made it easier to adopt correct kendo techniques. Today, we teach proper kendo from day one, but it naturally takes longer for students to develop proficiency. Free practice, or jigeiko, can be particularly challenging. A beginner cannot fence effectively against a seventh dan; the approach has to be adapted. The seventh dan must scale down to the beginner’s level, focusing on encouragement, teaching how to strike, respond, and move correctly. This process takes time, and that can sometimes discourage people.
Despite that, the practice itself is extremely beneficial. The cardiovascular aspects, the joint movement, the overall fitness, it all contributes to long-term health. I’m seventy-six now, and I can still practice regularly, which is perhaps unusual in other martial arts. While I do see older practitioners in karate and aikido, kendo has a particularly high proportion of older teachers, especially in Japan. That longevity is one of the aspects that initially attracted me to kendo and continues to hold my interest. Being able to engage in this type of disciplined, physical, and intellectual activity for decades is rare and immensely rewarding.
MAYTT: Do you think that aspect of kendo makes it unique or are there other aspects that you feel makes kendo unique compared to different martial arts?
PB: I have to be careful here, because one perception of kendo practitioners is that we can come across as a little arrogant. There’s a sense that kendo is the “original” martial art; after kyudo came the sword, and from that, everything else followed. Karate, aikido, and judo, they all, in a sense, come from the sword. But I think it’s important to build bridges. There are many common ideals between kendo, karate, and aikido. Our methods and movements may differ, but the underlying philosophy is very similar: the idea of destroying the ego, of perfecting oneself, and through practice, becoming a better human being. These are common aspects of budo. I wouldn’t say kendo is better than karate or aikido; it’s simply different.
My own transition into kendo was somewhat unusual. I was still practicing a hybrid aikido-karate form when I started kendo. My first Japanese teacher was about seventy years old when I met him in Japan. He had no formal post-war qualifications, but he had been taught before the Second World War by a very famous teacher, Nakayama Hakudo. He had certifications in iaido and kendo from that era. His kendo was extremely different from anything I had seen in modern practice. He was brutally realistic; fencing with him felt like he was “cutting bits off you” as you practiced. It was a very unusual and eye-opening experience, and we developed a strong teacher-student relationship.
One day, he said to me, “You’re still practicing aikido?” I said yes. He asked, “Do you want to go to the Hombu?” I said yes, and he literally picked up the telephone and called the Hombu. “Okay, we’re coming for tea at 3 o’clock,” he said. We went to the Aikikai Hombu in Tokyo and had tea with Kisshomaru Ueshiba, Morihei Ueshiba’s son. Apparently, my kendo teacher had been a personal friend of Morihei Ueshiba when they were young, which is why he could make that call. Afterward, he asked what I thought, and I joked that it felt like we got the “guided tour” – look here, but don’t look there. He laughed and said, “I felt like a burglar.” He was very outspoken about practice. He told me, “Grappling is for peasants. You’re a gentleman. You need to fence. You need to use a sword. Do kendo. Don’t roll about on the floor.” I took his words to heart and made the transition fully into kendo. Part of the reason was enjoyment, but also practicality; my knees were starting to give out from all the shikko practice in aikido, so kendo was easier on my body. I committed to kendo a hundred percent, and I never regretted it.
I started kendo in 1981, and over time I learned more about my teacher’s history. He had first visited the UK around 1966, and I later found records of his visits. I also spent time with him in Japan and toured France with him for about three weeks. We would stop anywhere, meet people, talk, and he shared stories from his life. He had first visited France in the 1930s, a six-week journey by boat from Japan to Marseille. At the time, Lyon had a silk trade that was declining, and he was involved in commodities and trade. He passed away in his eighties, and he spoke French and German fluently. He was an incredible person, and I consider myself extremely fortunate to have met such a remarkable teacher.
MAYTT: Can you give a truncated version of UK Kendo history? What were some of the important events that occurred?
PB: When the Meiji period began and Japan opened up to the world, many Japanese students traveled to the UK, the United States, and other countries to study engineering, shipbuilding, and other technical fields. At the same time, Japanese performers, including jugglers, toured Europe and America, as everything “Oriental” was considered fascinating in the West at that time. In 1885, a Japanese village opened in Knightsbridge, London, housing about 102 Japanese workers. The village was like a miniature Disneyland, attracting thousands of visitors. People could have tea, watch artisans at work, see sumo, and watch kendo demonstrations. This is the first recorded viewing of kendo outside Japan, in 1885. Similar performances were happening in America. Many of the performers were from displaced samurai families who, after the Battle of Sekigahara, had little to do and turned to occupations such as medicine sales or performance. To drum up business, they performed iainuki, flashy sword-drawing techniques, before trying to sell goods like medicine or dentures. Over time, many of these performers evolved into juggling acts, spreading Japanese sword arts and performance across the UK, Europe, and America.
During the same period, other Japanese emigrants fled famine, settling in Brazil, Hawaii, the United States, and the Philippines. Some of these communities continued practicing kendo whenever possible. Kendo also appeared in territories under Japanese occupation, such as Manchuria, where Kenkoku University later became a center for practice.
In the UK, after the Japanese village closed in 1887, Japanese naval visits to collect ships or conduct tours occasionally included kendo demonstrations on the quayside. One notable figure was F.J. Norman, an Indian Army officer who learned kendo in Japan, returned to the UK, and gave demonstrations in London. Around the same time, Gunji Koizumi, the founder of judo in the UK, also taught kendo at the Budokwai, which he established in 1918. This was the first structured system for teaching kendo in the country, continuing until the Second World War. Many Japanese returned home during this period due to the political tensions surrounding Japan’s imperial activities in China. Koizumi Sensei remained, keeping kendo alive alongside judo.
After the Second World War, kendo and judo were revived. Kaoru Mishiku, a judo teacher, helped maintain mainstream kendo instruction alongside judo until the war, and he also restarted teaching afterward. Modern kendo in the UK is often traced to Ronald Knutsen, who, while training in judo in London, discovered three sets of kendo armor in a cupboard. He asked if he could use them, and was allowed, provided he continued judo practice. From these three suits, kendo in the UK was reestablished in 1957. Knutsen then established contact with Japan, formed clubs across the UK, and helped create the British Kendo Association and the European Kendo Federation (then called the Oshu Kendo Renmei). Essentially, this marked the restart of organized kendo in the UK, laying the foundation for the system we have today.
MAYTT: How is the British Kendo Association structured compared to its American counterpart, the All United States Kendo Federation?
PB: No, it’s different. I know quite a few people in America, so I’m familiar with how their structure works, and it’s essentially the same as the European Kendo Federation. In Europe, the European Kendo Federation encompasses all the countries, with each nation having a single organization that belongs to this European body. In the UK, there are two main groups of kendo. One stems from Ronald Knutsen, who originally started the British Kendo Association. In 1974, he left and founded a smaller group, which he led until his passing this year at the age of 92. I had the privilege of meeting him several times to discuss historical aspects of kendo, and I also trained with that group.
The British Kendo Association, however, remains the officially recognized body for the All Japan Kendo Federation. Through the international organization, the FIK (Fédération Internationale de Kendo), only one organization per country is recognized, and in the UK, that is the British Kendo Association. Within this umbrella, related arts such as iaido and jodo are also included.
This is the first part of a two-part interview. Read the second part here.
