From Stephen Foster

When a big bell tolls, the sound seems to sink into your soul, affecting you deeply.  In the Japanese koryū community the news that Quintin Chambers Sensei had passed most surely had that very same effect.

He trained in judō and aikidō, but when he found the koryū, he became enthralled by it. Quintin was one of the foreign koryū pioneers in Japan that trained under both Shimizu Takaji Sensei in Shintō Musō-ryū (SMR) and Otake Risuke Sensei in Katori Shintō-ryū (KSR).  Shimizu Sensei authorized him to instruct in SMR which he did in Hawai’i.  He taught the art to a group that always remained small; the required fee was sincere effort and thought about the art.

Describing Quintin’s demeanor is actually quite easy.  He was the quintessential British gentleman until he wielded a weapon.  You then faced a serious warrior with impenetrable zanshin. Quintin’s body was sinewy; the intent he exuded could be imposingly dangerous. However, he was absolutely not a typical budō jock.  This became immediately obvious as he spoke with the British Received Pronunciation acquired in England’s Public School System and at Cambridge University.  He could, for example, wax eloquent on languages, classical music, and politics.  Both his technique and language were precise.  Quintin taught the omote techniques but consistently sought the ura, insisting that the omote can get you killed.  Since KSR is a strong sword-based tradition, he also had great insight for the uchidachi side of SMR.  He thought the path of training is not a matter of how many years you must strive; rather, it was how many decades.

We remember him fondly and respectfully.  Anyone who trained with him knew it was an honor to have done so.  The good knight’s name and reputation will resonate long into the future.

From Joe Cieslik

I was fortunate in my travel plans and was able to visit and talk with Chambers Sensei several times before he passed. Right up to the end, he was concerned about his students and their training. He treated everyone with courtesy and respect. Because of his consideration, his students always tried to reach the high bar that he set. He accomplished a great deal in his life with talent, integrity, intelligence, dedication, athleticism and an innate generosity. I feel the world has lost someone completely irreplaceable and is a lesser place.

From John Howland

To anyone who knew him, any description of Quintin Chambers, the public man, would present an easily recognizable constellation of features. He was gentlemanly, charming, and considerate of others. His deep, resonant voice carried easily–he might have made a fine opera singer, but he always kept his volume down a few notches below oratorical. He was erudite and witty. His humor never coarse, but sometimes (oh, so gently) biting.

Quintin is well-remembered for his compassion. He loved animals and had an optimistic view of humankind. He once said, “Wherever you go, anywhere in the world, you find good people. That is the norm.” His handsome, angular features (sometimes pensive, sometimes creased into a boyish grin) were unforgettable. My wife always referred to him as “Dear Quintin.”

In contrast to his privileged background, Quintin chose to be a man of the common people. He denounced the vestiges of the class system in England and complained that his accent would make him unwelcome in a cockney bar. He was content to spend more than half-a-century living in the gentle climate and multi-ethnic diversity of the Hawai’ian Islands.
Chambers the critic was a somewhat different animal. His intense desire was to seek the combative utility beneath the pedagogical norms and performative aesthetics of the ryūha. It is well known that he and his training partner, Donn Draeger, conspired to establish what was then the International Hoplological Research Center in Hawai’i. What is less known is that one of his main reasons for volunteering to leave Japan before Draeger was the concern that his young son not be brought up in the Japanese public school system. He explained, “Their critical thinking is zero.”
Quintin the warrior was a man of highest integrity who expressed a willingness to fight for a cause at a moment’s notice. This was the man who ordered his students to hold back while he went, alone, to deal with a motorcycle gang who had threatened violence against one of them. Teacher, critic, warrior, friend; for all of these we are ever indebted.

From Roger Lake

I first met Quintin Chambers in 2009 after moving my family to Hawaii in 2008. My journey in Shintō Musō-ryū began in 2000 at the Shutokukan Dojo in New Jersey, under Meik and Diane Skoss. When I shared with them our family’s plan to move to Hawaii, they told me that Quintin Chambers is based in Hawaii and they were kind enough to arrange an introduction for me. I had heard of Quintin Chambers, along with the other first generation of “pioneers” who had travelled to Asia to explore the martial arts firsthand. Their stories were magnificent. I even owned a copy of his still popular Stick Fighting book, co-authored with Hatsumi Masaaki.

Meeting Quintin Chambers was a combination of excitement and awe. I remember his gentle but firm handshake and his piercing blue eyes, warmly welcoming me to participate in the practice. The “dojo” itself was unlike anywhere I had trained before, a scenic hilltop within the Pu’u Ualaka’a State Park, about 1,000 feet above Honolulu, the scenery and the ocean from that elevation just breathtaking. As soon as practice began, I realized this was something truly special.

When Sensei took kamae, he displayed a quiet intensity that I had never experienced before, a gaze of steel, an imperturbability that would make anyone take pause. His movements were always precise and deliberate. However, in beautiful contrast, Sensei believed that in the practice of budō, the ability to spare life was just as important, if not more so, than taking it. Sensei always had us consider an underlying question when practicing kata, a way to pare it down to its practical essence: ”Does it make sense?” Each movement must be purposeful, necessary, and both sides of the kata are of equal importance.

I will always be grateful for all the lessons Sensei passed on to me, lessons that I have carried with me on duty as a Honolulu Police Officer, lessons that I truly believe have helped me get home safely. I am honored to have been a student of Quintin Chambers. His influence in the koryū community is profound and his legacy will continue. Thank you Sensei.

From Ellis Amdur

Unlike all of the men above, I was never fortunate to be a student of Quintin’s; we were friends. I first heard of Quintin through Terry Dobson, a friend and teacher of mine. He described him to me as having started out in jūdō, but that he was too slender to withstand the constant impact, and he shifted first to aikidō and then to koryū.

In this film, one can see Quintin doing KSR ryōtō (at 22:50)

I would always visit with Quintin during family trips to Hawaii. He charmed my wife with his impeccable French and gracious manner. He and I would spend a couple hours, always too short a time, always talking about budō. Quintin listened. Carefully. He was not one of those people who impatiently waits out his conversational partner to let you know his ideas (which were, by the way, profound). He truly wanted to hear what others had to say, myself among them, and he was adult enough to not be distressed when we did not always agree. I loved being in his company, and wish that I had more time.

Quintin was of the generation before me – or perhaps better, the “half-generation” before. And among us all, I felt that Quintin was perhaps the best of us. A well-balanced man, kind and dignified, very fierce as a practitioner, he was a gentleman in the best sense of the word.