Friday, 1 October 2010


I can't resist filling my pockets with shiny, brown conkers. What's wrong with little boys today ... they don't seem to care about them any more.
When I was little, by 3.45pm there wouldn't be a conker in sight ... you had to run out of school before they all disappeared from under the tree by the bus-stop. There was conker warfare on the way home.
But I could collect sackfuls on the pavements around here.
Maybe I should donate a conker. (This year's crop does seem smaller in size if not in volume.)
Last year I showed two little boys how to tie their conkers on a string.
I remembered that my brothers used to go through arcane and secret rituals involving vinegar and baking in the oven.
If only I'd paid more attention.
I lost interest in my conkers as soon as they lost their shine. (This lovely book showed how to make dolls' house chairs from your conkers but, to be honest, it didn't really work.)
I never dreamed I'd be responsible for handing down a male tradition.

4 comments:

Sue said...

I'm after a big basket of shiny conkers too. Not to do battle just to rumble my hands through.

I have that book (given to me in 1972)and I remember making the conker furniture.

mary said...

I love that satiny feel, Sue. If only they stayed like that.

Lucille said...

I love that book. Did you make matchbox furniture? That was much more successful.

mary said...

I'm sure we did, Lucile. And made toffee apples. And I think I still have a coathanger somewhere that I covered in shiny blue Lurex!