Dod’s chestnuts

It was a sunny morning, a respite after the recent high winds and rain. I headed out to the shops up the back street, Castle Wynd, and was looking at the leaves and twigs that had been blown across the road, when I noticed a familiar figure:

Broken Conkers

“Hi Dod. What are you doing?”

“Hello Ruth. Good to see you. I noticed all these conkers brought down by the wind, and stopped to see if I could use any of them.”

“So you call them conkers too,” I said.

“Yes, it stops them being confused for the chestnuts we eat.”

“Can’t you eat these chestnuts too?’

“Well, we can, but they don’t taste very nice, and make your teeth feel squeaky, so we don’t bother, especially when the other chestnuts are so tasty.”

“So have you found any conkers you can use?” I asked.

“No these are all broken and they’re not ripe yet.”

Unripe conkers

“That’s a shame, what do you use them for?”

“Mainly for water: we hollow them out, and use them to collect and store water, but they’re useful for all sorts of things. I’m going to go up in the tree and see if how ripe some of them are. There’s a lovely cluster up there:”


And with that, he scampered up the wall with surprising agility, heading for the tree:

Dod on stone wall

“See you soon, Ruth,” he cried, and he slipped over the top of the wall and out of sight.


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