An afternoon's work

There's an enormous tree in front of my house. It towers above the path, five, or maybe six storeys high, with enormous leaves and strong branches, dripping with big, heavy, green fruit. Marang. Today the afternoon games included a raid on the fruit. A group of neighbourhood boys propped an old plank against the trunk then took a running jump, the plank springboarding each raider high enough to grab the lowest branch. Like lithe monkeys they swung up into the higher boughs. The last boy on the ground passed up a 4-metre bamboo pole, split at the end into a convenient fork.

A raider slid easily along a branch, both eyes not on the long fall to the ground below, but on the one-kilogram prize at the branch's end. When he was as far out as daring allowed, he swung the bamboo pole, whacking the fruit, or using the prongs to hook the bunch and shake it, until THUMP! a little spray of dirt, a frightened squawk from an unsuspecting chicken, the prize was won. When all the boys had dropped a few fruit, they swung down again through the kingly tree, landing on the damp earth to claim their spoils.