Speaking, as we are, of games we played; Yes, Gerry, Conkers was a great game, and I was a great "conkerer," though it irritated some of the boys that a girl could be so good at the game.

"Tin Can Tommy" was another great way to let off steam, though I don't recall details other than the noisy pounding with a stick on a metal dustbin, or dustbin lid, and a great deal of boisterous yelling and running. Can anyone fill me in on the details my memory can't dredge up, (even though I know I played it quite a lot)?

"Knock Down Ginger" was my all-time favorite sport, which I played with dedication until my conscience blossomed and brought an end to it. The game was played after dark, and down the other end of the road, on people to whom we felt no loyalty, though sometimes we were unethical enough to play it on our closer neighbors. It went like this:

After choosing a house, one or two kids would hold open the gate while another tiptoed to the front door to give the doorbell a succession of quick rings, or the knocker a hearty whack or two. The important thing was to make it sound urgent. Then, of course, we ran like greyhounds, glancing over our shoulders to glimpse a porch light coming on, an open door flooding a pathway with light, and the long shadow of an irate homeowner, hands on hips. If we felt particularly devilish we'd return to the same house for a repeat performance, after allowing just enough time for the victim to settle back into his armchair in the back room. But more than twice at one house would have been suicide. If we yearned for true high adventure we could, instead of running away, hide among the shrubbery in the front garden of the "Knock Down Ginger" house. To crouch unseen only a few feet from your fuming victim was the greatest thrill of all. An "adrenaline high" long before the term was thought of!

However, this entertainment unexpectedly came to an end for me, when one day I smiled across the street at a frail-looking elderly lady leaning on her walking stick while she caught her breath. As she sweetly smiled back, it dawned on me that she, or someone like her, might easily become a target of our fun. What if, in her haste to answer the urgent ringing or knocking at her door, she tripped on her stick and fell, and broke her hip? What if she laid alone on the floor for days? What if she died there, a tragic victim of Knock Down Ginger? There was a uncomfortable stirring inside me, and I knew with sadness that I could no longer play my favorite game. No longer play Knock Down Ginger? The thought filled me with dismay, but there was no choice. The time had come to end irresponsible activity. So that was that. Little by little I was growing up. I was ten or eleven years old at the time.