Conkers
written by: Eamon O’Leary
There is something unique about Autumn walks although, at times, the incessant rain can dampen the pleasure of watching leaves, like sails without boats, fall in the wind like outrageously large confetti. Underfoot in the woods is a soggy mess although the colours; woodland browns, reds, and golds are admirable. And on the occasional dry day, that wonderful sound of dry leaves crunching as you march along is unbeatable.
All wonderful, although I almost came a cropper last week. I’d stood on a duck egg-sized chestnut still in its spiky shell. Inside wasn’t one but two identical brown nuggets, shining as brightly as a pair of polished brogues. I put the twins in my pocket. The path, grass verge, and road were awash with conkers. Nothing unusual about that, perhaps, except this footpath, bordering the woods, leads to one of the biggest primary schools in our area.
How times have changed. Many’s a day, we’d arrive late for school, pockets bulging, our brown leather bags jammed full of the beauties, copybooks with the writing and sums squashed at the bottom. Before break-time, holes had to be made. We used everything from the tip of a wooden dipping pen to a straightened-out safety pin. Shoelaces were as good as string.
In the yard, contests often developed into battles to see who had the best conker.
On the way home, we’d give a volunteer a hoist and after scrambling up the tree, he’d shake the branches to encourage any stragglers to fall. Getting a wallop on the noggin was an acceptable price to be paid as we clambered about replenishing our stocks.
Someone suggested that putting them up the chimney for a few days would strengthen them, and I remember placing them on the shelf by the back boiler. However, we quickly forgot and moved on and only found them again the following spring when Da got the chimney cleaned.
Arriving back at base camp, I let nostalgia take over and headed straight to our shed, where using a cordless drill, I made two 5mm holes and threaded the chestnuts with equal-sized lengths of sturdy garden twine.
Herself wasn’t too enamoured when I challenged her to a contest, but after further cajoling she realised I needed to be humoured and relented.
And so, for the first time in over 50 years, I played a game of conkers. And…and I lost!
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