“LA SAVATE”

Greymouth Evening Star, 13 January 1928, Page 5

“LA SAVATE”

BOXING UPSIDE DOWN.

In the dear dead days beyond recall —even before the South African War —when British boxing could still be taken seriously, old boys in clubs stared with amazement at a picture on the cover of “The Idler,” Jerome K. Jerome’s brilliant magazine (now alas, like its founder, ho more!), which portrayed two French boxers fighting with their’ feet (writes the. London correspondent of the Sydney “Sun”). ’ ’’ ’ * It is true that foot-fighting of the baser sort was then no novelty. It was carried out with some skill in the slums of Whitechapel, Stepney, and Shoreditch, the instruments being hobnailed boots, and the victims generally wives and infrequently -policemen. Kipling, then a contributor to “The Idler,” as one of that bright band which included W. W. Jacobs, Robert Barr, Israel Zangwill, James Payn, S. H. Sime, and Aubrey Beardsley, described, in “The Record of Ba(talih Herodsfoot,” exactly how it was done.

Such being the state of affairs, nice rosy old gentlemen were horrified (yes damme, si?, horrified!) to find that foot-fighting could be elevated to the science of an art. 1 If was pnthinkable tjiat such a polite race as the French should bring so vulgar a performance into the ring, ad’d ’a' grace to it,’’arid establish it, as a manly art under the title of “La Savate.”

The Savate has just been revived in London, and, in full accord with outworn British tradition, it was demonstrated by a lady and a gentleman. But both were French —and the lady could take ample care of herself. The couple were Madame Dubus and her husband, two noted Parisian exponents of this form of self-defence. The skill and adroitness of their performance at The Ring, Blackfrairs, where more than one' Australian boxer has acquired a cauliflower ear, aroused much interest. 1 Most of the criticisms of the London boxing writers were conservative in tone. Here is a representative sample: —

For a fighter to attack with the foot is repugnant to our way of thinking, but as long as the two combatants agree to such a fifing, its employment is as fair for one as the other then. With all that, however, the' Savate boxing savours too much of the “all in” business, and I am sure it would never appeal to the English temperament as a competitive sport for that reason. As a form of athletics, and as a medium of expression for something that i'i graceful and artistic in movement it is not without a certain appeal. It was this side of the entertainment that apepaled to the Ring fans, La Savate is only for the young, however. People like Lord Derby, who cannot touch their toes would not find its bending and thrusting movements much too difficult. It combines the virtues of fencing, wrestling, and physical jerks all in one. but is no game for Pinero’s man of 40.” Madame Dubus is an even more vigorous exponent of the art than her husband —and neither of them subscribe for a moment' to the maxim, “It’s no use kicking.” They have proved the contrary. After having watched their skilful and attractive contest the moves in which are more visible to the spectator (though not to the unskilled participator), than those of the conventional boxing match under Queensberry rules, an amateui’ lightweight “put on the shoes” with a savateur. It was amusing—for everybody but the tyro, whose opponent seemed to have, as it were, dipped his foot ip earthquake and eclipse. The savateur, having explained that it was permissable to kick how when, \yhere, and as one licked, or “box wiz ze feets,” opened the ball. As deleft Burgess might haye said, it was the greatest since Marathon. Both men were •wearing boxing gloves and light canvas shoes. After some preliminary sparring, in Ayhich the Frenchman was always just out of reach, his leg shot out and his foot shaved the Englishman’s ear, “La Savate” had begun with a left toe to the jaw. It went on like a fireyvork. The Frenchman, in the words of a dazed spectator, “high-kicked like Pavlova piroutted like Karsavina /and cartwheeled like Greek.” He was on his head and heels; and the Englishman did not know whether he was or not. He was swiftly trodden into extinction; and the Frenchman said that it yas a mere dusting. Only once, with the effect of hiccup in the midst of a peroration, was he checked. He dropped on his hands like an acrobat, and lashed out with both feet at once. The Englishman seized his ankles and turned him a complete somersault. He bounced like a ball, the rebound of which was a heavy blow on his opponent’s chest. Sparring was resumed. The Englishman dropped his guard and lunged. It was over. A comet shot past, and somebody turned off the sun. In other words, there had been a foot to the solar plexus, and another to the point. The Englishman says that next time he adventures upon La Savate he will do so in jack-boots and spurs.