Veni, Vidi....that’s all

My last posting was some 17 days ago. I have been on my holidays. The sights, sounds and experiences of the vacation in Thailand have provided me with a very rich range of things to write about. 

In the coming days and weeks I hope the various themes and subjects will not be too boring. 

By way of balance and contrast, in terms of providing background for future blogs, I have also been able to catch up on my reading as well as broaden my knowledge of the wider world and different cultural influences from those with whom I shared the vacation or came across along the 16000 mile round trip. Actually today's resumption of normal service is from my first day back at home in the UK. 

Here goes.

In my childhood a lot of inanimate objects had currency amongst my peer group. 

These included glass marbles, collectable and swappable cards for football players and teams, popular toys such as Matchbox and Tonka branded vehicles, soccer match programmes and memorabilia and of course, on a seasonal basis, conkers. 

This colloquialism refers to the natural oversized seed of the Horse Chestnut, a very widely found species of broad leaved deciduous tree in the parks, gardens and street-scenes of the UK. 

In the spring and summer months the trees have a splendid display of distinctive flower blossoms which as an observant child I always associated with the anticipation in September and October of a bumper crop of conkers. 

This was encouraging as I would not be the only one on the lookout for boughs heavily laden with the green, spiny shells in which the glossy and smooth conkers were concealed. 

It was a tradition, although crude and violent, for the Horse Chestnut, to be assaulted when in full and ripe canopy by Grandfathers, Dads, Uncles and older male siblings throwing up sticks in order to bring down the hanging conkers. T

The purpose of this was, in the first instance, to obtain the currency of the conker although in reality it was one of those age-old rites for males to prove their athleticism and vitality. 

In this way the area around any majestic Horse Chestnut in the autumnal months was always a scene of carnage and yet those leaving the scene of the crime with a carrier bag brimming with conkers were amongst the happiest and most rewarded on the planet. 

My own woody acquisitions were destined to be baked in a weak vinegar solution before being drilled through and laced with a knotted end length of string. 

In this way they stood the best chance of sustained victory in the very competitive and usually bruising rounds of conkering that dominated sessions in the school playground before, in between and after lessons. 

Many State schools right through from infants, juniors and senior level came to ban the traditional practice because of the inevitable incidences of cuts and swellings from a poorly aimed shot , the ricochet of a conker sent into a restrained orbit or one let loose in a shrapnel effect amongst the crowd of onlookers and participants. 

I have been both a keen player in childhood and a supplier for my own offspring as an adult. I am not proud that I have caused damage to the mighty Horse Chestnut. 

My house overlooks a city park and a row of ancient HC's, some of which date from the inception of this much loved Civic Amenity by a philanthropic former Lord Mayor in the 1860's. 

In an attempt to be absolved from my past misdemeanours I have scolded those who have been too early in the season to gather conkers. To seek redemption from Mother Nature I have also gathered up the complete shell encased conkers which have fallen naturally after a windy day and arranged them under the tree in a random pattern on the ground so as to be easily found by foragers and hopefully to avoid the need for male bravado and aggression in the time honoured way.

Even though a deep rooted tradition I have, on a year on year casual observation of the trees in the park, noticed that there has been a steady decline in the number and frequency of those seeking out the conker. 

This is somewhat against the demographic trend in my inner city surroundings where there has been an increase in births and those under 10 years of age.

On return from my holiday and my first walk, today,  through the park I came across hundreds and hundreds of shelled and loose conkers. 

These lay as they had fallen onto the grass or the circulatory road, the latter being subsequently squashed and exploded by passing traffic. 

Clearly, we have just passed the era of  peak demand for the conker and the sad waning of its value in the currency of childhood.