Bonkers Conkers

I have been both disturbed and distressed by the disease of bleeding canker which is currently attacking the magnificent canopied horse chestnut trees throughout the country. I saw one sorry case in the front garden of a posh house in Newland Park. It looked as though the elbow of the main trunk divide had been painted with bitumastic but in fact the disgusting black morass was organic and septic, the equivalent of blood poisoning in humans. I remembered this terminal case after almost falling over from stepping on a newly fallen conker in the street earlier today. It would be a very sad day if the horse chestnut disappeared from our streetscapes, parks and broadleaved woods. Saying that, I don't think this species is as appreciated as much now as it was 'back in the day'. I remember, as a child, the excitement of the conker season approaching and the increasing levels of guile and cunning that were required to source a supply away from the most accessible and visible trees.There was a good run in to the season announced by the flowering of the candle shaped shoots amongst the greenery. Some parents were shameful in their quest for conkers. Many of the most well endowed trees were blatantly vandalised by the practice of almost factory farming. This usually entailed the hurling of a large branch or other dense object into the canopy of the tree and hoping it would displace or sever the armoured shells. This was even before the conkers had reached maturity. The other method was equally terrible. This involved violently shaking the branches and smaller boughs until they gave up and themselves fell to the ground or reluctantly gave up their prizes.The mostly dual onslaught left the trees looking as though they had been through an artillery barrage. The folklore and myth around the sport of conkers is rich and confusing. I spent many hours boiling my conkers in vinegar which was reputed to make them as hard as a ball bearing. As much time again was spent on careful drilling and stringing ready for the competition of the school playground. This stage of preparation usually involved gross misuse of hand tools including a brace and bit, workbench vice and any long sharp objects to push through the knot-ended twine. State Primary Schools, seeing an increase in conker related injuries and conker induced crime, soon enforced a blanket ban within their grounds. Consequently the sport went underground for many years before dying out against competition from clackers, the swopping of Pokemon cards and kiss catch. The variety of conker shapes was also interesting but the spiny green shells did not hint at whether their contents were of a superbly proportioned all-conquering example, a weedy half grown and half white one or, curse upon curse - a cheeser. This was a half rounded fully grown end but with a smooth flat face and of no use to anyone. This element of chance in the scramble for fallen shells was as exciting as having the niner, tenner or elevenser or more following a free milk crazed lunchtime orgy of conker fighting that was the late autumn sport in the junior schools of England.