15 June 2012
Granite forest, complete with dirt mounds. Black birds crowing, on chestnut trees. The dead lay leaves scattered, on the green floor. Children laughing, finding conkers among leaves.
Conkers collected, gathered and swapped. Time for the preparations to begin. We'll bake these ones and make them harder. For it's a game of conkers we want to win.
John soaked all of his in vinegar. Tracey left hers out at night to stale. Me and my sister baked them for hardness. Then used the best ones to play all.
Johns went first, cracked right in two. My sisters went next, but we still had some left. Tracey's they shattered, to my ones strength. Me against it's own. The others to ref.
The battle was too fair they were both evenly matched. So we rescheduled the war. And plans were hatched.
I let mine dry, only seasoned them with oil. The match was yet to be won. My sister, she tried to foil. But it ended sweetly, both breaking in two. We didn't care, it was just something to do!
-at least this is what me, my sisters and cousins used to do-
Conkers • Opuss № I