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I've already told you that I was one of the few boys in my school who was never really into conkers – as a game. That was because my older brother was into it and I always wanted to do different things to him. From what I read here the ritual was more or less the same up and down the country – although we'd start a bit earlier down South but there is some “conker clothing” that I can tell you about.

My Brother's 42er

I've already told you that I was one of the few boys in my school who was never really into conkers – as a game. That was because my older brother was into it and I always wanted to do different things to him – you know like brothers are. The other thing was that when I first played I got hurt and didn't like it. I told you before how my brother used to soak his conkers in vinegar and even bake them in the oven to harden them. I'm sure lots of other boys did the same. He used to get the holes drilled by the dad of one of his friends who was in the cubs with him. He let me have one of his prize conkers once – he swapped it in exchange for me doing his share of the washing up for a week. I was always a soft touch as a kid. After I realised that I'd been conned I tried to get out of it but my mum made be stick to the bargain to teach me a lesson. Anyway this conker was all stringed up and hard as anything from the vinegar and the oven. We weren't allowed to play in school but boys would show them to each other and boast about them and arrange the after school contests which took place in the park. I had one for once and, repeating what my brother had told me, announced that my conker was a 42er – meaning that it had survived 42 fights by splitting other conkers. This challenge meant that everyone was eager to take me on. If they could split my conker they would inherit the tally for themselves – their 6-er would instantly become a 48-er.

Serious Business

Anyway when we got to the park I wasn't properly prepared like my challengers were. The thing is that this was a serious business and there were a few underhand tricks went on. Once the contest started you had to see it through to the end – until one of the conkers was split. If the game was interupted for some reason – normally by someone's mum coming out to bring them home - then that was too bad – the game was lost and the boy who had to leave it had to hand over his conker to his oponent.

The worst thing was when a teacher on playground duty would spot boys huddled in the corner and come over to investigate. She'd make them turn out their pockets and confiscate any conkers – you weren't meant to take them into school. Then she'd announce that they were going on to the fire. This could be heartbreaking – but I always found it quite funny if a boy who'd been boasting too much lost his conkers in this way. When the headmisstress had a real crackdown on conkers it really was dangerous to bring them into school and some boys would bury them in a secret spot in the park on the way in – marking it with a twig – while others would leave them at home and run home after school to get them. Some though would still bring them in to school but not show them off – risking getting caught but hiding them in their satchel's rather than keeping them in their pockets.

Towards the end of my time at the school the caretaker would look after boys' conkers for them – they'd slip them to him on the way in and get them back at hometime. I could write a whole book about my school caretaker when I was at primary school. He was always getting us kids out of trouble in some way and he used to chat up the teachers if he had to come into the classroom to repair something so we were learning things there too. Some of the teachers used to blush – but they were always in a good mood after he'd left. His wife used to help supervise at dinnertime and she was also in charge of first aid. They lived in a small house that was attached to the school and you could sometimes see the pair of them laughing and joking with other during the break. Once when I got really sick with a fever she took me into their house and wrapped me in a blanket in front of the fire until my mum came to get me. That was when I got really sick and my mum had to stay off work but that's another story.

My Big Fight

Anyway to my conker fight.I managed to take my conker into school on the Monday and still have it at the end of the day. I hid it in the inside pocket of my blazer and was worrying about it all day. We hung our outdoor coats up in the cloakrom downstairs but we hung our blazers up on pegs in the classroom. Our school was always roasting hot – it was an old Victorian building but each classroom had a massive black stove in it surrounded by a wire guard. In the Winter we'd put the school milk by it to thaw out if it had frozen – and when I was in the top class our teacher used to have the kids who didn't have proper coats out of their desks to sit around it on benches if it had been raining and they were soaked to the skin. I could write a book about that teacher too and how she looked after her kids. Anyway I boasted about my conker at playtime – although I wouldn't show it to anyone for fear of it being spotted and confiscated – and accepted a challenge! for after school.

The trouble is when I got to the park after school I wasn't equipped properly. I've told you before how my mum would have a changeover in clothing in Autumn and progressively started wrapping us up as the Winter came on. Well it wasn't that cold around that conker time so mum hadn't dug out the gloves and balaclavas yet. I told you that these gloves (or mittens when we were little) were always knitted navy-blue. I don't know if that was the school rule – but it's all anyone ever wore. When we were little mum would attach the mittens on elastic to the sleeves of our duffle coats so we wouldn't lose them – but I'd persauded her not to that year as I felt I was “grown-up” - I was about eight. I wish she had done though. My opponent was an older boy – and he knew all of the tricks. The first thing he did was put on a pair of gloves so I should have known that something was wrong. When we started to play he used to “accidently” miss and catch my hand with his conker. It really hurt – but you weren't allowed to stop and rub it as you had to take your turn. There was a rule that if you missed your opponent's conker three times in a row you lost the game and forfeited your conker. I was concentrating really hard on hitting his conker but two times out of three he “missed” and either caught my hand with the conker or came in at an angle and got the strings twisted.This last was even worse as then he'd yank at the twisted strings pretending to be trying to unravel them and you'd get a stringburn on the palm of your hand – another reason why these seasoned “players” always wore gloves. It took me a while to cotton on to what was happening – and when I noticed that everyone was laughing I just threw my conker down and stormed off. I had a couple of real bruises on my knuckles and my palm was red and I was in a real temper. I'd never realised conkers was such a dirty game and I never played again.

Collecting

The only other thing where clothes came in to conkers for me was in collecting them. Although the game of conkers had, not surprisingly, little appeal to me I always loved conker (or “horse-chesnut”) trees. I still do. They're great – bare in the Winter then the buds followed by the flowering, the conkers and finally the leaves falling to complete the cycle. Every boy would know where the best conker trees were and couldn't wait for the conkers to start to drop – literally as sticks, school caps, satchels and anything to hand would be thrown up at the trees to try to bring the conkers down early (they're not the sort of trees that are climbable). I used to watch this going on on my way home – and I was secretly glad when someone's cap got stuck in the tree – I hoped that it would happen to my erstwhile “opponent” but this wasn't possible as we'd stopped wearing caps at our school that year. I also used to hate it as some older boys would throw pretty big sticks up at the trees and take down whole chunks of branches. I used to feel sorry for the tree!. This was all useless anyway as bringing down the conkers early meant that they weren't ready to fall and some of them were still white. There was a conker tree behind the church hall where my brother went for cubs and later scouts and this had taken a battering over the years as you would expect. The park keeper or church warden would normally arrive to halt the assault at some point – but there were always boys on smash and grab raids on these trees. It was part of the fun I suppose.I was well out of it all until my last year at primary school.

Collecting Conkers with Michael

I still wasn't interested in conker fights but I'd started hanging around on Sunday afternoons with my mate Michael. I'd met him the Summer before when I was 9 years old and we'd become really good mates. We'd get up to all sorts of things together – sometimes money-making schemes but nothing really illegal. We used to pick the wild rhubarb that grew on the bomb sites and then set up a stall with an old door we found there and sell it. We also used to find old beer bottles that had a deposit on them and we'd clean them up and take them back to the off-license. There were loads of other things – a couple of which were a bit dodgy and one of which got us into big trouble but I'll keep that under my hat. I wanted to save my share of the money and buy something for my mum but he just spent his straight off – and he shared anything he bought like drinks with me. When we were up around the tube station pulling a stunt, as soon as he got any money he used to go and get a dab of brylcreem from the machine in the station and slick it all over his hair. He wanted me to put some on too – and I needed it really as my hair was always sticking up but my mum would go mad if we put anything on our hair. I didn't risk it but I did used to get a suck of the ice lollies he'd buy. That did get me into trouble as my mum banned ice-lollies – she thought the colouring agents in them were bad for you and she was ahead of her time there. She didn't mind ice-cream – especially from the Italian shop down the road from us. Anyway I came back one Sunday and, without realising it, I had a bright orange tongue from sharing Michael's ice-lolly and that was a dead give away. I still didn't realise why my mum was laying in to me “for no reason” until she took me down and held me in front of the bathroom mirror. It was a fair cop and I couldn't say anything. Anyway Michael was into conkers. They were allowed to play at his school – they had a bigger playground – and he was always looking for new material.

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Created: 6:47 AM 7/10/2004
Last updated: 6:47 AM 7/10/2004