Preparing for the hash.....
It was on just such a night, as the moon crested the trees and cast an eerie shadow upon the car park at Henfield Leisure Center, that the Devil Dogs of Henfield Hash House Harriers would send fear into the very bowels of this quiet village. Thirteen hounds, an omnibus number, gathered under a rising full moon. Slowly they arrived in small packs. The first to arrive were Snot and Basket. They were soon joined by Bob St. George, who would hobble throughout the evening and followed by three older but not wiser men: Martin Knight, who knowing the area well would fall victim to a devilish hare, Mike Chapman, caught training early on, and Graham Slade, a mountainous man, whose steps found the deepest marks in the shiggy. Also there was Edward Black and Tot Peirson, who disappointingly following their friend Lloyd, thought safety would be gathered by close friendship to the co-hare. Dave Lowrie hid in the shadows and others there hid in darker shadows yet. Fearful that their presence would be given Jackie, a very buxom woman, who could handle a beer engine as well as a good stiffie, with Dog Meat and Mrs. Snot lending not their feet upon the dreaded moors this evening, but would pay the price later.
And so we begin.
The Hare explain that with Anthrax being grave concern, blood was added to flour, and a red blotch would be left along lane and field for all to follow. Six thirty gave the horn a sound and all followed Basket across a ball field to a row of stinging nettles. A check was found, and many traveled east and west. Basket jumped strait across said nettles, and found his landing was not of solid ground. A second footing saved life and limb, as a deep gorge had been hid by the hare therein. Torches were lit and peering down inside was seen water streaming through old bones left to rot. The flesh was washed downstream to Brighton and eventually out across the Channel to France, but that is for a later story.
Basket heading the pack was soon outfoxed by the hare and went in the wrong direction, which was to be the norm for this evening. The pack went through Parsonage Farm through a corn field onto another check where Basket found a stream and decided to clean his shoes all on his own.
A river was soon encountered, and questions of whether to swim or not, crossed the minds of a few. The choice of having to swim the murky water and clean shite from ones legs, or stand waiting for the hare was being pondered, as a "B" was seen on the ground. Searching nearby a bag of ale was found and opened, and all shared its bounty. Songs of lost cocks and lobstermen filled the eerie darkness, as the beer was consumed. Smiles returned again to solemn faces, wracked with pain earlier from nettles and thorn, and the distance being greater than expected. Once the beer had been finished, the pack moved onward.
Following the river, a footbridge was crossed, but finding no blood flour there, was re-crossed by all, save the snickering hare and Mike Chapman, who knew it was a dead end trail. The pack continued up stream until fences were found. Basket traveled over the first and second, and continued along the river, until he heard the pack going left between the two. As he traversed the pasture further, he found the mud and river joining into ever-deeper muck, until all but his higher being was not covered by it.
Snot called out to show the way through the hedgerow. Crawling under an electric fence, through nettles again, and into a hollowed indentation that lasted a quarter mile. Traveling was even slower here, as a stagnant stream brought ferment from the fields. One had to either run bowlegged at water's edge, or through the center, where foot deep mud sucked mightily at shoes. Bob St.George and Martin Knight were just saying, "this must have been how it was in the trenches of 1914", when Graham Slade came splashing through like a crazed German tank covering their backs with things your mother told you not to put into your mouth. Many slipped here, and cursing the hare was not an unusual sound along this lane.
Those traveling left found trail and called the pack onward over a fence sty, and into a field from whence many a cow had left it’s mark. Having rained the previous fortnight, the ground was soften and the droppings of the cows swollen and fresh. This left all with ankle to knee deep shiggy with which to travel, and made for slow going. Another fence and crossing rounded a pack of cows, which showed their displeasure of interrupting whatever they had been doing in that darkness. Moos sounded, as they moved ever closer to see what sounded horn and whistle. A slight decline into a deeper mulch cause most to caution, but Snot found himself much like his wife 9 months prior to Lloyd's birth, as his feet were far overhead. Landing soundly, his cursing gave rise for the cows to move off to quieter ground, and the pack continued even more cautiously.
A road was crossed and an eagle/chicken split was found. Those of greater stamina followed eagle and those feeling strain of the trails length, followed the chicken. Tot and Edward stood by Lloyd in hopes of finding their way out without too much exertion, but received little help, as all became lost. Soon two fields were encounter, with steps over fence to find a check. Traveling right led to only darkness, but to right flour led to another beer stop. Here, the eagles enjoyed an example of hash blend ale and much singing. The chickens had been duped by the hare, and did not join the pack until most of the beer was finished. Telling by their faces, splattered by muck, a story was told of their disastrous choice of trail, with shiggy not yet seen by all.
A weak British attempt at Swing Low...
With beer finished the pack made their way back along the very same trail the chickens crossed, and eventually out to streets which led back to the carpark. Inside the Leisure Center showers were enjoyed by all, and flesh was seen upon legs scratched and swollen from the evenings events. Upstairs a bar was found with many ales and stouts. Jackie our barmaid for the evening’s event hung upon our every word as she pulled pint after pint, until an Alowetta allowed us to honor her. Her breasts were as big as Lloyd’s chest, but softer with pointed projections that could knock out eyes. She did her down-down graciously, but dribbling upon her shirt allowing Basket to suck up the liquid. She grabbed his head, and it was lost for sometime between its folds.
Down-downs were give to the hare and co-hare, virgins, and visitors. Since none knew different nor protested, Snot named himself Grandmaster, which won him the first hashit. It was fashioned from a WC plunger, aptly inscribed with the H4 insignia. When finishing the first beer from within, it was stuck upon his head and worn with great pride and jubilation. A phone rang across the circle and finding Graham speaking upon it, the hashit found its second victim. Lloyd was named Rumpole Foreskin. The ladies were brought into center for their obsession with dry feet. David Lowrie drank even though he claimed to have run most of the trail, but never saw a single check.
Child Abuse. Lloyd being newly annointed Rumpole Foreskin
The songbook was brought out, and many new songs were joined by all, until the food was served. Curried beef and rice was devoured along with many pitchers of ale, and such jocularity as has not been seen in this sleepy dell since King Arthur returning from the crusades grabbed Mrs. Snot’s ancestor and had his way with her. As the evening waned, many promised to return, but finding most leaving their soiled sneakers in the dustbin, questions about their honesty were voiced. All returned home safely, and the village returned to the quiet still it had before the evenings event, yet fearful of the next full moon’s rising.
Crowning Sir Snot
The cast in no particular order, nor importance to anyone other than the hare:
Snotty - Hare & elected GM
Rumpole Foreskin (formerly Lloyd) (partial hare, knew of shortcuts)
Basket Boom Boom - No intro needed
David Lowrie - Came late, only did part of run, got lost!
Bob St. George - Walker
Martin Knight - Walker (Wife did the curry)
Graham Slade - Hashshit award
Mike Chapman - Training before the run in the Gym
Edward Black - Junior member
Tot Peirson - Junior member
Jackie (barmaid)
Dogmeat
Mrs. Snot