In Montreal, we used to call the game, Conkers,
which I now realize must be slang for Conquerors.
There were very few chestnut trees in our area
and, one poor unfortunate soul on Cote St. Antoine
Road, had the one tree that all the kids
knew about. The day that I decided to seek
out a supply of chestnuts, the owner happened
to be home and rushed out with his black book.
He told us that we had to give him our names
and if he ever caught us again, he would report
us to the police. Ten-year old that I was,
I gave him all my information and left without
any chestnuts. Of course, I never went back
for fear of being reported to the police.
I wonder where that book is now. It might be
fun to see all the names. I never knew about
the nail polish trick. Wow! That’s like steroids
for chestnuts.