A JETTY OF FEAR, PUTIN'S PIPELINE & TIME AND TIDE WAIT FOR NO HASHER

by Man-Pig

 

Run #1907 Monday 7th March from the Wild Goose Inn

 

HARE: Bluebird

 

Who wuz there: Bluebird, Shitfaced, Forrest Stump, T-Humper, Ipoo'd, Piltdown Man, Georgy-Porgy, Smellie, Only Here for the Beer, Melonpicker, Soapy, Teapot, Wetfart, Beefy, Pisswell, Big End, Well-Hopped, Well Hopped's dad, Wet-Johnny, Erection, Manopause, Man-Pig, Zoot, Hot Lips, Cheerio-Beerio (recovering from 40th birthday), Rambo, Ernie, Fallen Woman, Broken Man, Piddler, Jacqui (Red Rock Brewery), Wigwam (via Zoom), Threesum, Ablesemen, Swinger, Polyfella, Strap-On and Mrs Strap-On, Slip On Me and Land Ho invitee Scenic Route.

 

THE CIRCLE

After an absence of two years, the Awards Night was back, but with a difference. This year the awards would cover both 2021 and 2022 due to the covid induced disruption over the past 24 months. Down, but never out, 36 hardy souls who have endured the ups and downs of the past two years turned up to endure Bluebird's trail. What could possibly go wrong? 

 

Normally the Wild Goose does not open on a Monday. However, as it was our Awards Night, they opened especially for us. 

 

Additionally, and in the absence of a chef, IPoo'd stepped in to furnish the Hash with chip butties and, for a select few, the "secret sausages"! 

 

Despite a Hash exclusive evening, the Wild Goose's car park soon filled up with Hashers arriving early to secure a parking space - including some who secured parking spaces that were too small for their cars - Forrest! The village hall car park was full too. I had been running a little late so plumbed for the Coombe Cellars car park. This meant a third of a mile trot back to the pub....just what one needs after the Grizzly!

 

Announcements were thin on the ground so it was pretty much straight over to the Hare for the lowdown on the trail. Inevitably, the trail would be short in order to allow time for both the traditional Down-Downs and highlight of The Awards.In true 'Allo! 'Allo! style Bluebird started by stating, "I veel say theez on li wonce". The Walkers and the Shorts would be .....well....shortish; 3.3 miles with a separate Walkers' trail of less than 2 miles. The Longs was 3.8 miles. "Look out for driftwood". This gave us an inkling that we would not be running inland to Stokeinteignhead. The Bird went on to explain that he had written verses on pieces of driftwood. If we could find, and recall, all the verses there was a prize! The prize would be bucks fizz and beer.....the latter being of no possible use to Cheerio Beerio.

 

THE TRAIL (or, time for a tide table?)

Left out of the car park and back down past the pub to the Newton Abbot - Shaldon road. No check so all turned right heading towards Coombe Cellars. At the turn-off to Coombe Cellars was the Walkers and Shorts/Long split. The Walkers and the Shorts turned left and down the lane to Coombe Cellars. The Longs continued up towards Shaldon - but not for much further. An arrow took us left and onto the entrance that leads to Hearn's field. This is the field that hosts various village events throughout the year. This includes firework night, classical music, plays and even opera! Culture in darkest Devon! Tonight it was eerily silent. Across Hearn's field to rejoin the Walkers and the Shorts in Combe Cellars' car park.

 

The trail then took us diagonally across the car park and onto the coast path. After 100 yards or so, an arrow directed all hashers through a five-bar gate and into a field. Here was the second Walkers and Shorts/Longs split. The Walkers followed the route of the public footpath. This is uphill and diagonally across this field before entering into a second field. The public footpath follows the western edge of the second field before rejoining the black stuff at the end of Cross Lane. 

 

We have been across these fields several times in the past. In the summer they are usually full of the Elephant Grass crop (Miscanthus), sometimes 7 or 8 feet tall. Tonight, the crops were just 2 inches high. 

 

At the first crossroads, the marks took all hashers downhill on a minor road that leads into the western edge of Combeinteignhead.

 

Meanwhile, back in the first field, the Longs and shorts skirted along the northern edge for about 100 yards before arriving at a check by a stile. Beefy checked further along the edge of the field which had now swung south only to rejoin the Shorts. The trail, in fact, continued over the stile and through 300 yards of woodland before dropping onto the foreshore below Netherton House.Wet-Johnny, the appropriately named Scenic Route, Erection, Manopause, Swinger, Polyfella, Piddler and Melonpicker were in front of me and Beefy, Pisswell, Well Hopped, Big End and Coldtits were behind as we scoured the foreshore for the elusive driftwood. Driftwood providing the words that would secure our rewards......hmmm, Bucks Fizz and beer.... but not necessarily at the same time.

 

Now, Bluebird is fond of referring to films and music that may have a passing relevance to the trail when he pens the Words. As we gingerly tiptoed along the edge of the foreshore, it soon became clear that we were on an incoming tide. This was not helped by a quite chilly westerly breeze. My thoughts immediately turned to Time and Tide by Whitesnake. The Bird had got neither quite right. He had laid the trail on Monday afternoon; a good 4 hours before high tide. Sure enough, all the marks were laid above the high tide mark. However, trees, rocks and other obstacles dictated that we all had to move ever closer to the water's edge to navigate them. It did cross my mind that the Dead Sea Scrolls, now recast onto driftwood, may well be on the high seas by now. 

 

Nevertheless, the doubting Thomas in me was stymied when we came to the end of the timber jetty at Netherton Point. On the first plank, written in yellow chalk, was inscribed the legend: "Jetty of Fear". One down, two verses to go.

 

By the skin of our teeth, Beefy, Pisswell and I managed to keep our feet relatively dry. But the tide was coming in fast. Back in the pub I learned that Well Hopped, Big End and Coldtits had not fared quite so well. [Note to Bluebird - buy some Tide Tables].

 

Almost obscured, to our left was a gap in the woods. This is the end of Hackney Lane, a track that leads down to the sewerage treatment works. 

 

It was high time that we turned inland, lest we grow webbed feet. A quick investigation of the track, by torchlight, revealed marks.Up Hackney Lane to the first junction where the stone and soil track gives way to a tarmac lane. For some reason flour had been superceded by green chalk and chalk arrows pointed us to the left and a steep downhill past Tuckett's Farm. What goes down must Shirley come up. And so it was. A short, but steep, uphill to the crossroads at Cross Lane to rejoin the walkers' trail. 

 

From here it was pretty much downhill all the way back to The Wild Goose.PS we never did find the other two verses but Wet Johnny at least got two out of three. We all missed "Putin's Pipeline" situated immediately in front of the large yellow sign by the gas pipe!

 

THE DOWN-DOWNS

Summoned first to the oche, Erection built a fine tale of woe to ultimately saddle Swinger with the Baby Bat Hat. Her crime? Scolding Manopause, Erection and the hare (who were having a nice little chinwag) for being slowcoaches. Grrrrr.

 

ONLY FOOLS AND HORSES

Wetfart strode to the front amid 'neighs' carrying the revered Homing Horse Head hat. An eloquent address indeed ensued, befitting a Roman senator, and even it's recipient was taken aback when he was awarded the horse's hat for being such a fool. B' Boom!

 

PIDDLER'S PROBLEM

Piddler was next but had a problem - he had put the hashit shirt on the bar and some rogue hasher had purloined it - the swine! After enduring a torrent of heckling, the shirt was located in the Idiot's prize bag and He who should not be nam-ed had to explain that it was Forrest who was the culprit. The story unfolded that Forrest had cunningly squeezed between two cars in the CP only to find he couldn't get out... sigh. Down down please.

 

CHEF SUPREME

ThreeSum produced the Jester's hat and a very well-deserved drink was given to I-Poo'd for her cheffing duties on this, our Night of Nights.

 

As a precursor to the main event, the Driftwood Challenge prize was awarded to Wet Johnny, Wet Johnny, Wet Johnny for discovering the elusive legends: 'Jetty of Fear' on the (very) rickety wooden pier; 'Putin's Pipeline' directly in front of the large yellow signage and 'Safari So Cruise' which even the hare had difficulty finding. Well done WJ!

 

THE CHERISHED AWARDS

Amid trumpet fanfares and ticker-tape, our MC Hammer Shitfaced got the show on the road - after strategically placing a smartphone to broadcast live to hashers' homes all over the planet - well Poland at least.

 

PROPER PLANNING INDEEDY

The amount of planning and preparation, the toil, sweat and tears all came to blinding fruition for this so eagerly anticipated event after languishing long in the Covid induced wilderness.

 

THE AWARDEES

Best newcomer: Cheerio Beerio

Best Hasher: Beefy

Best Harriet: Well Hopped

Best Hare: Pisswell

Best Hash: Forrest

Scribe: Man-Pig

On-Down: Jacqui at red Rock Brewery

Pillock of the Year: Bluebird

All round good egg (formerly the"Crusher Award"): Shitfaced

 

POSTSCRIPT

A brilliant night and greatly enjoyed by all - including the live streamed. After agonising over the wisdom of going round the Teign foreshore (I thought it would be tight), I decided, like the young man from Bengal to risk it and went as a biscuit only to find that Big End, Well Hopped, Ned and Coldtits got gobbled up in the hall by the furious incoming tide. My sincere apologies to you.

 

To be honest, I had not even considered getting any award on the night and was truly (most pleasantly) surprised to get my beloved Pillock shirt once more.

 

As for the awards, weren't they amazing? It was only getting back home that I discovered the work and expense that had gone into their delivery. The names of the winners were printed on each shirt (usually only the category) and there was a fine quality parchment with gold etched names accompanying the carton which enclosed a personalized beer glass - whoa! 

 

Our Grand Master - he of the manufactured Staff of TVH - had also burnt the midnight oil, producing bases for sundry horse shoes - the successor to Wigwam's yellow ducks (yes, Wiggy, they are still fondly recalled!).

 

Oh Yes, Oh Dearly Beloved, your Mismanagement certainly did you proud. HURRAH!

 

NEXT WEEK

The Park Inn, Kingskerswell with "Hare" (fellow cronies assist), Shitfaced. It is Shitfaced's 40th birthday and the Hare (well, Hare's Dad really) will be laying on a complimentary birthday barbeque. Bring an empty tum!

 

And finally, it's goodbye from Man-Pig and goodbye from me until next week. ON ON!

REGGIE PERRIN RESCUES A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

by Man-Pig

Run #1906 Monday 28th February from the Manor Inn at Galmpton

 

HARE: U-bend

Who wuz there: U-Bend, Shitfaced, Piltdown Man, Georgy-Porgy, Smellie, Only Here for the Beer, Melonpicker, Soapy, Teapot, Wetfart, Beefy, Pisswell, Big End, Well-Hopped, Ned, Wet-Johnny, Erection, Man-Pig, Rambo, Ernie, Fallen Woman, Piddler.

 

Who didn't read Facebook TVH3 page: Teapot, Rambo & Piddler

 

THE CIRCLE

Again, numbers were a little down on the usual attendance - a combination of the weather and half-term. Sure, it was a little wet but drier than it had been earlier in the day. Hence twenty-one Teign Valley stalwarts turned up to enjoy the run from the Churston Court, Churston Ferrers......or was it?

Quite late in the day (Sunday 3 pm), our hobbled Facebook web-page administrator, Bluebird, announced a change of venue. The venue would now be the Manor Inn at Galmpton. Despite the web-page update, the information did not reach three of our seasoned hashers. Teapot, Rambo and Piddler went to the original venue at Churston Court. Fortunately they were early enough to realise their error and make it to the Manor in time for the Circle. Well, that took care of the Down-Downs for the evening.

 

LIGHT BROWN UND CRISPY?

Shitfaced reminded us all to get our voting forms in for the awards night next week. U-bend described the menu followed by the trail. "Sausage and fries, veggie sausage and fries, fries, cheesy fries". So, if you like chips, the Manor is the place to go!

 

GONE WITH THE WIND (1939)

Yes, it had been damp so there might not be any marks left. Any that were left....could be anywhere. If you can't find the marks make your own trail up".

Reassuring words from the Hare. U-Bend went on to advise that the Longs was just under six miles and the Shorts about three.

 

THE TRAIL with FROGS (1972)

We turned right out of the car park and at the first junction a check. The trail took us right and up Slade Lane and onto Galmpton Common. Amazingly, at this this point the trail was being led by Fallen Woman, Smellie and Pisswell. A peculiar shout from Fallen Woman, "Watch out for the Frogs". "Have they surrendered already?" I queried. "NO. Frogs on the road". Sure enough, there were a load of big frogs hopping down Slade Lane.

 

On the common, confusion reigned as the marks had all been washed away. Beefy and Man-Pig led the checking with Beefy eventually finding a mark at the edge of the common. Across Dartmouth Road (A3022) and then across Bascombe Road and onto a steep and slippery footpath leading to Broadsands Road.

 

The marks were pretty clear on the tarmac pavement as we descended down Elberry Lane towards the coast. At the end of the tarmac we lost the marks again until the Hare put us back on trail. We were heading along a wide track before arriving at a footpath that took us onto the beach at Elberry Cove.

After Beefy had effected his rescue of Smellie, the trail took us into the edge of Marridge Woods and the Long/Short split. I think Erection must have been standing on the Long/Short split as he asked, "Which way is the Shorts Man-Pig?". I was just about to commence the Longs. We had a quick look around but could only find the Longs marking. The marks for the Shorts would not be far away.

By the time I set-off in pursuit of the FRB's, they were at least 200 yards in front of me. The FRB's comprised Beefy, Ernie, Big End and Well Hopped...with Ned, of course.

 

SHINE A LIGHT

My new torch proved to be pretty poor and the FRB's continued to pull away, eventually disappearing from view. The marks in the woods were almost non-existent. It was also slippery underfoot with wet roots breaking the surface of the path. I eventually gave up on the new torch and reverted to the old one. Much better, but I knew that it had a shorter duration battery. I couldn't see, or hear, anyone behind me so I thought that I was the last of the Longs. This proved not to be the case as Pisswell, Smellie and Piddler were also on the Long, but a long way back.

 

I WANT TO BREAK FREE (Queen)

In the absence of marks, I stuck to the main path and then encountered a big fork in the path. Which way to go but, voila, a mark. For the next 200 or 300 yards there were quite a number of forks but each one clearly marked with a dot. Eventually the dots ran out. I had missed a turn but I could see the FRB's. They were about 300 yards away at the top of a clearing. They were all shouting to each other so they must have been checking or off trail. I reckoned that if I carried on I would eventually end up quite near to where they were. It wasn't long before they got on trail and disappeared from sight. Soon after, I broke free from the woods at Ball Copse and crossed some barren land before climbing a wide but very slippery track.

 

At the top of the track was a stone wall with a pedestrian exit cut in it and a public footpath sign. Through the hole in the wall and a look at the sign - Churston Ferrers 3/4 miles to my right. That looked promising. Even more promising, a mark at the bottom of the footpath sign. I was back on trail but no sign of the FRB's.

 

ALL BECOMES CLEAR

I hotfooted down this very wide track which ended at its junction with Copythorne Road. An arrow took me right onto Church Road and past Churston Court and a sign that read "Under New Management"...hmmmm. Another arrow and straight on along Links Close and then another arrow that guided us left and onto the public footpath that bisects the golf course. But what was this? A fluttering torch coming towards me. It was Beefy who had decided to backtrack to find Pisswell. "Who's behind you Man-Pig?" "No-one", I answered honestly. Beefy continued his reverse course whilst I could see torches in front of me. These were the balance of the FRB's who had already turned left and were proceeding up the middle section of Elberry Lane. We were now back on the same route as the Shorts. It was only now that I realised just how long Elberry Lane is.

 

Today, parts of Elberry Lane are small lanes, footpaths or farm tracks. However, years ago, this must have been one of the main thoroughfares. Elberry Lane crosses Bascombe Road and continues up to its junction with New Road. Here another arrow directed us north west and onto Dartmouth Road. This was where I caught up with the rest of the FRB's who thought that I was in front of them. Just past Churston Ferrers station and the Railway Inn, two arrows took us across to the western side of Dartmouth Road and for our final descent down Greenway Road and back to the pub.

 

THE DOWN-DOWNS

This week the pub kindly donated the beer for the Down-Downs so the first order of service was to thank the pub for the beer.

 

Pisswell had the Hashshit shirt from last week. She regaled a tale of chivalry and selfishness. This involved poor Smellie who got herself lost on the beach and was heading out to sea. On seeing the disaster about to unfold, Piddler merely commented,"R-U?" and continued along the beach and into the Woods. Meanwhile, Beefy, in true Reginald Perrin style, stripped off and dived into the cruel sea to save our damsel in distress.

 

So, to whom should the Hashshit shirt be awarded? The hero of the moment for his selfless bravery and chivalry or the villain of the piece, the selfish Piddler? The decibel meter declared Piddler to be the winner so a note for the "Selfish Git".

 

Piltdown Man hadn't seen anything on trail but, in light of recent events in Ukraine, decided that the baby Bat Hat should be awarded to the Hash's very own Vladamir Putin lookalike. Who could this be? All eyes turned to Wet-Johnny and Erection. Which one was it? Could it be a draw? Was Piltdown working on a different wavelength and going to give the award to the most un-Vlad-like impersonator? Various shouts of "Wet-Johnny" and "Erection" were called but the recipient was Erection....all six foot of him! I think Mad Vlad is 5'5" but looks smaller!

 

Awarded the Horse Head hat by Beefy the previous week, U-Bend stepped up to the oche to award. U-Bend recited a story from the previous week. A senior hasher had approached him in the pub to ask about this week's trail. Would it be long or short, hilly or flat. U-Bend thought that he was being offered the assistance of a co-hare to help lay the trail. No such luck. When U-Bend asked:

"What time do you want to meet up to lay the trail?"

The response was:

"I don't lay trails anymore".

 

Who was the "retired Hare"? None other than Wetfart. Accordingly a note for "The Lazy Git".

 

One half pint of beer still to award. No more stories so, obviously, the last Down-Down of the evening went to the Hare accompanied by a chorus of, "Hold it in your hand Mrs Murphy...."

 

Well done U-Bend. Laying a trail singled-handed in the rain is an achievement in itself. We all enjoyed the change of venue and the warm welcome from the pub.

 

NEXT WEEK

It is the Awards Night. The venue is The Wild Goose, Combeinteignhead which is not normally open on a Monday night. Our Hare for the evening is Bluebird. Make sure that you get your voting forms in!

 

On-On to next week!

THE BATTLE OF ALLER HILL

by Marshal Homme-Cochon and Napoleon Birdaparte

 

Run #1905 Monday 21st February from the Smugglers Inn, Dawlish

 

HARES: Piltdown Man & Georgy Porgy

 

Through the river splash they thrashed with nostrils flared and bloodshot eyes - 'Death before dishonour!' was the rousing battle cry. Around a bend and there stood the author of their destruction..

 

SMUGGLERS ROLL CALL

Who wuz there: Piltdown Man, Georgy-Porgy, Shitfaced, Only Here for the Beer, Melonpicker, Cheerio-Beerio, Teapot, Wetfart, Beefy, Pisswell & dog, Big End, Well-Hopped, Ned, Broadshit, Able Semen, Coldtits, Bluebird, Man-Pig, Rambo, U-Bend, Check Mate, Smellie (recovered).

Who wuzn't: quite a few

 

CIRCLE UP

Numbers were down for tonight's run. I guess that this was due to the legacy of storms Eunice and Franklin. This was a shame as those who didn't make it missed an excellent little run. The wind had dropped and what could/should have been a wet and slippery run turned out to be pretty dry. The high winds of earlier in the day had dried out the trail nicely.

 

Despite low numbers, the pub car park was full.....on a Monday night in winter! I suppose the fact that it was half-term had a lot to do with it. Nevertheless, after a torrid couple of years for the hospitality sector, it was good to see a busy pub.

 

There were no virgins or returnees so straight over to the GM. Shitfaced was brief. The distillery tour has been rescheduled for late March (19th I think). This is due to the original date conflicting with the Six Nations rugby and, hence, a low take-up......4!

 

Piltdown briefed the pack on his and Georgy Porgy's trail. "There are some marks left over from a hash a couple of weeks ago. My trail was laid 3 hours ago. Do not follow old marks." The longs was just under 6 miles. I wasn't paying attention to the Shorts' distance but the Walkers were to remain in the car park. Ah....food. A choice of chips or cheesy chips.

 

PART ONE: DICK DASTARDLY RIDES AGAIN

Timing would be crucial, Man-Pig was not far behind. In full battle camouflage and lights out, the Bird dived to the left, executing a forward roll into the rough but rain-softened grass. With heart pounding, he waited. A few seconds later and a high-vis yellow jacketed figure coursed past but four feet from the tightly curled Bird.

 

Not far behind, BroadS was next followed by Big End, Well Hopped and Ned.

 

Still was the night and still was the Bird who lay motionless and yes, there he was, the great white shark, Beefy, starting at the rear and cruising up to the FRB's. With the longs plunging off-road onto the cliff path, the Bird hatched [Shirley sic] his cunning plan.

 

The Bird rose, phoenix-like from his concealment and fled the scene. ARGHHH! Another head torch appeared. Oh No, Oh Dearly Rumbled, a witness to the Dick Dastardly act. 

 

'You're going the Wong Wei!' did speak the apparition. It was Pisswell plus faithful muttley. Swearing her to secrecy, the Bird doubled back to the Smugglers Inn at a furious pace.

 

Breasting the rise Dawlish side of the pub, head torches were discerned peeling off into a footpath betwixt the houses. The Bird had made contact with the shorts and was about to ruffle a few feathers.

A cat amongst the pigeons, the fox let loose in the hen-house - Oh how cruelly treated were the unfortunate shorts when El Diablo Azul was released upon them. 

 

Convinced the trail went right through the copse, an almighty screech of rage emanated from that vicinity when a cross appeared.

 

At last encountering tarmac, the final nail in the coffin was choosing wrong at the check. Looking back, Man-Pig was seen legging it down the road and a naughty word escaped the frustrated lips of the befeathered One. 

 

But back to the beginning for now, Oh Dearly Beloved but never fear, I Shall Return in true Dougie style..

 

THE TRAIL ACCORDING TO MP

Despite lower than usual numbers, or maybe because of reduced numbers, the pack ended up being reasonably distributed across the three trails. As far as I could make out the Longs comprised: Beefy, Pisswell, Bluebird, Man-Pig, Broadshit, Big End and Well Hopped and Smellie (good to see Smellie back on the Longs and recovered from her bout of Covid. Also interesting to note that she'd donated her 100% reflective silver running jacket to Rambo - or do they simply go to the same shops?).

 

The Shorts appeared to be: Rambo, Melon-Picker, U-Bend, Cheerio-Beerio & Coldtits. The Walkers comprised the balance: Teapot, Wetfart, Shitfaced, Only Here for the Beer, Able Semen (apologies if I got this wrong as three Long-Short splits allowed the pack to mix 'n' match). I don't know which trail Check Mate was on. He usually runs with Smellie but I suspect that he wasn't on the Long - but I may be mistaken.

 

The first Long/Short split was dictated before we'd even started running. The Longs were to turn left out of the pub car park and head towards Teignmouth. Meanwhile the Shorts would be turning right out of the car park. The Longs did a mile loop around the coast path following the trail laid by Rambo last year for his 68th birthday. Bluebird went off like a shot. I couldn't touch him. Not far behind me was either Broadhshit or Beefy.

 

On arriving back at the Teignmouth-Dawlish main road, George Porgy directed us left before arrows had us crossing to the landward side of the road. We could see headtorches across the road, meandering through a housing estate. This proved to be the Walkers who had already got lost. Apparently they were already following the old marks from two weeks ago.

 

In the absence of new marks, the Shorts did their own thing. They dropped down into Dawlish and then made their own way back up to the Smugglers.

 

The Longs, meanwhile, joined up with the Shorts. Having crossed the main road the marks took us along South Down Road and then we followed a footpath across two fields. We began to catch up with the Shorts, first passing Coldtits and then Rambo. We could hear Bluebird in the distance. He had just exited the second field onto Oak Hill Cross Road where there was a check. The Bird went left....BONG! wrong. Everyone else went right, but not far.

 

After 400 yards, we came to a crossroads and a check. I had just passed Melonpicker and came across U-bend and Cheerio-Beerio in true seasoned hasher pose i.e. standing on the check and not going anywhere. With the Bird now somewhere behind me, the Pig decided to check out Aller Hill. This is a long steep downhill dropping into the back of Dawlish. 100 yards - no marks. 200 yards - no marks, but no-one calling from the check either.

 

I should have turned back but something kept me going forward....gravity! After 300 yards the first mark! "On one" but could they hear me back at the top of Aller Hill? Another 200 yards before the second mark "On two". It would be a long climb back if the next mark was a cross. 

 

Just before the ford at the bottom of Aller Hill, a third mark. I nearly missed this one as it was half way up the hedge. "On-On". Would the pack be able to hear me, now some 700 yards away? But wait. What was that? A call of "On-On" but from in front of me! Who on earth was in front of me? 200 yards later, I found out. it was Piltdown man using his new echo location technique to beckon Hashers down to the bottom of Aller Hill.

 

"Did you do the first Long" asked Piltdown.

"Yes", I answered.

"So you've passed the Shorts?"

"Yes", again.

"Where are they?"

"Still faffing around at the check at the top of Aller Hill". (see PART 2)

"OK".

 

With that Piltdown pointed to his left. This took us down a footpath, The Newhay, in what looked like a park with a lake. After, maybe 500 yards, we came to a Long/Short split. The Shorts went right through the graveyard at the back of a church. The Longs carried on to join Church Street and a check outside Newquay Close.

 

The obvious way would be to check right and join up with the Shorts. The Pig duly checked up Oak Hill, but nothing. Almost despairing, I returned to the check and checked out in the other direction....MARKS! A left and up Old Town Street for 100 yards or so before right and up Badlake Hill and, boy, was this steep?

 

By now the other Longs were beginning to catch up. I could see torches behind me and hear Bluebird whining about the steepness of the hill. Almost at the top, we came to a check at the junction with Meadow Park. 

 

Just behind the gardens of Meadow Park was another check and a footpath - the obvious choice. Off I went for 200 yards but no marks. And for good reason. After 200 yards the rear fence of one of the gardens had blown over in the wind and completely blocked the footpath. Returning to check I met Beefy running towards me. "Not this way", I said.

 

Back at the check, Beefy continued uphill and past a road called "The Humpy". What an excellent name for a road? Just past The Humpy, an arrow directed us right and onto a public footpath along the edge of a field. This was at the highest point of what could be construed as urban Dawlish.

 

Having crossed one field, we came to a galvanised steel kissing gate and entered a second field. Arrows, four of them, directing us diagonally across a large field with a downhill gradient. It looked strangely familiar. It was. We had run across this field on an Isca Roman Away day about 7 years ago. I had a good idea where I was.

 

The path across the ploughed field was quite distinct. After about 250 yards, we came to another kissing gate at the end of Commons Lane. The other Longs weren't too far behind us. At the end of Commons Lane, we were back amongst the houses and turned right along Hill Gatehouse. Then, on the left, a footpath that runs parallel with East Cliff Road. The old stone wall that forms the northern edge of the footpath had some shiny discs on it. On closer inspection, these turned out to be rock anchors - wall ties to stabilise walls.

 

This footpath runs downhill and behind Swallows Acre and High House Close, eventually terminating at Strand Hill. Strand Hill is quite impressive, it has vertical walls of rock 15 feet high where it has been excavated to create the road. A left turn and up Strand Hill for 50 yards before a right and down Mayflower Close. 

 

At the end of the close another urban footpath links it with The Drive. I think this is where Bluebird and Smellie got confused. With marks at the apex of a junction Smellie and Bluebird ended up inspecting the driveway and garage of some posh house rather than proceeding down the correct route - a Down-Down for the Hare would be the legacy of this misdemeanour.

 

At the bottom of The Drive, we were back on the A379 at the tight S bends just above the railway station. More arrows. Straight across the A379 and onto the footpath that loops around the edge of the old octagonal napoleonic fort, now new housing. Past the dope smoker and down to the station. The marks were pretty close together now. Along Marine Parade and then up and up and up cliff footpaths.

Looking back down into Dawlish we could see three headtorches just entering Marine Parade. This was Broadshit, Big End and Well Hopped - not forgetting Ned who wasn't wearing a headtorch.....not too far behind really.

 

At the top of the cliff paths, we entered a small park. On the other side of the park, Beefy and I rejoined what I'm guessing was the original Dawlish to Teignmouth Road. Ahead was Coldtits who must have been on the Shorts. Across a patch of grass and onto the A379 and the "On-Home".

 

It seemed longer than the 6 miles advertised, but Beefy's Strava was only reading five and a half miles. A really good run. Thank goodness the weather improved for the Hares. 

 

I did spend part of Sunday thinking, "The Hares will have their work cut out laying a trail in this wind". Well done Piltdown Man and Georgy Porgy. A thoroughly enjoyable trail.

 

PART TWO: A BIRD APART?

Napoleon Birdaparte assembled his troops at the crossroads. Casting caution to the winds, Marshal Homme-Cochon had charged way, way doon Aller Hill into the boondocks. With sabre drawn, his war cry was heard in the distance - 'On ONE' ... 

 

Meanwhile, skirmishers Wetfart and Melon Picker had been despatched to the right to search for clues. Very faintly, 'On two' carried back up the valley but some said it was a plaintive cry of 'On you'...

Numbers continued to swell the check and Birdaparte, astride a splendid steam-snorting white stallion, despatched a trusted sergeant to discover what unholy fate had befallen his errant Marshal. 

 

U Bend sallied forth and, as before, 'On one' was called. Gunner Big End enquired politely if anyone had checked left and duly pottered thataway to come to the aid of the stranded party.

 

By now, most of the expeditionary force had assembled and were getting restless. Both U Bend and the Man-Pig had been swallowed up into the Twilight Zone and something had to be done. 

Cometh the hour, cometh the Idiot:

 

'YO-OOOOOH! Allons-y mes amis, la mort ou la gloire!' And thus, into the valley of death rode the Teign Valley Hash.

 

Through the river splash they thrashed with nostrils flared and bloodshot eyes - 'Death before dishonour!' was the rousing battle cry.

 

Around a bend and there stood the author of their destruction - Piltdown Man with a sickly smile upon his face.

 

I shall (mercifully) not dwell long on the remainder of the trail. Suffice it to state that the wheels had come off the Bird's trolley (but then you always knew that, didn't you?) and he was reduced to a pitiful wreck from a once proud FRB. 

 

Petulantly did he sit in the middle of the road bemoaning his fate and exhorting the mercy of the gods on high.

 

No end of L/S splits hove into view and at each one did I tarry, hoping mayhap that my other companions would peel off so I could generously accompany them. I was decidedly the weakest link, but doggedly refused to hoist the white flag.

 

SM Ellie drew the short straw and accompanied the left leg locked flightless one back home. Thanks Ellie.

 

SMUGGLERS DOWNDOWNS

The unfortunate theme of Hard Times (1975) continued with the hash having to purchase the beer. Never mind, snug and cosy were we all, ensconced in our very own back corner of the pub.

 

Our RA Organiser had no need of any stories recounted to him on trail as he and Wetfart had a little gem to relate. Pisswell, on the long, comme d'habitude, made the mistaka of asking if Teapot and Wetfart were also on the long... BONG! Hashit Shirt awarded!

 

Next up, Beefy castigated Coldtits and the Bird for car park infringements but then proceeded to decorate U Bend with the Homing Horse Head Hat for being late for the circle!

 

Clutching the Baby Bat Hat (held over from the Nellie), the barely alive Bird - aided and abetted by joint sufferer SM Ellie - embarked on The Revenge of the Fallen (2009) singling out Piltdown for mark transgressions in some far-flung Dawlishean millionaires ghetto.

 

A gargantuan 900 Run Badge was last on the agenda and there Shirley could only have been one contender - kindly step forward Melon Picker!

 

Thank you and good night Josephine.

 

POSTSCRIPT

Quite an adventure and I am glad I endured the extended detour resulting from the Shaldon Bridge closure. I must tip my Bluebird cap to the hares for an inspired trail - even though I had to hobble round from half way. It weaved here, there and seemingly everywhere and I struggled to get my bearings on more than one occasion. BRAVO!

 

NEXT WEEK

Churston Court, Churston Ferrers. Hare is U-Bend. Bring your own food if you're a scoffer as the Court currently has no Chef!

 

It's goodbye from Man-Pig and goodbye from me.

ON ON mes amis!

A SHIRLEY VALENTINE (1989)* HASH

INSPIRED HARES & FINE CHOCOLATES

by Man-Pig

 

Run #1904 Monday 14th February from the Palk Arms at Hennock

 

HARES: Melon-Picker & Soapy

 

Who wuz there: Melon-Picker, Soapy, Shitfaced, Piltdown Man, Georgy-Porgy, Cheerio-Beerio, Hotlips, Zoot, Forrest-Stump (pubee) , Teapot, Wetfart, Beefy, Well-Hopped, Ned, Swinger, Wet-Johnny, Manopause, Erection, Broadshit, Coldtits, Man-Pig, Fallen Woman, Able, Rambo, returnees UB, Notty and virgins Sarah, Andy and Jacqui.

 

Who wuzn't: apologies from Bluebird and Bobbiball, Smellie (Covid)

 

THE CIRCLE

It's been a while since we last ran from the Palk Arms. In the daylight it has the most stunning of views over the Teign Valley. However, even with a clear night and an almost full moon, the views were lost from sight. Cue a hash from here in the summer so that we can appreciate the scenery. Sunday's weather had been atrocious and the temperature had dropped throughout the day on Monday. How many would turn up? A goodly number, 27 all told - including two returnees and three virgins.

 

Teapot welcomed virgins Sarah (works at Hennock primary school) and Andy (took the King's shilling at the Park Inn courtesy of Shitfaced and was duly press-ganged unto turning up) into the circle. Both were anointed in the traditional manner - with a liberal dusting of flour. Sarah almost got nominated for a down-down before we'd even started the trail. Accused of having "new shoes", she replied, "I've only just cleaned them!"......in this weather?

 

Shitfaced gave us a quick plug for the distillery tour on 26 February and then it was the spiel from the Hares: "Walkers' trail about 2 miles - but have your sweeties now as you will miss the sweetie-stop. Shorts about three and a half. Longs five. Three Long/Short splits. There is a sweetie-stop". A little confusion as to whether the marks were on the left or the right. It was concluded that the marks could be either.

 

THE TRAIL

Man-Pig led the charge as the Hares directed us back down Church Lane, through the village and past the primary school to the first Long/Shorts and Walkers split. The Longs went left down a footpath last used by the Walkers on Forrest's Firework Hash trail. The Walkers and the Shorts continued down to Five Lanes Junction where the Hares directed them up the muddy footpath known as Beacon Lane. I am assuming that Beacon Lane is so called because it had a signal beacon at it's highest point to warn of the attempted invasion by the Spanish Armada. If anyone knows any different, answers on a postcard please.

 

HARES INSPIRED

Beacon Lane rejoins tarmac at Chericombehead where, yet again, the Hare was waiting for us. This was another five way junction and afforded a natural point at which to direct the Longs, Shorts and Walkers onto different trails - how inspired is that?

 

POUNDSHOP SHARES PLUMMET

Melonpicker directed the Longs left towards Shaptor Cross. The Walkers went right and straight down Bell Lane and back to the pub. The Shorts was almost straight across and a long downhill canter along Beadon Lane to the bridge over Beadon Brook. The trail beared right and into Netton Cleave Wood where Soapy was manning the superior Valentine's Day sweetie-stop. No plastic bags of sweets from the Poundshop here. A fine box of milk chocolates.....hmmm, lovely.

 

NIGHT FISHING (2011)

From here the trail ran a short way along Beardon Brook till a single plank footbridge took us onto the public footpath on the south side of the brook. Up and up we went through woodland following very clear and very close marks. Past Great Rock and a disused mine before dropping steeply down to a small lake where some anglers were doing a spot of night fishing.

 

At the bottom of the steep descent it was a right turn at Greatrock Farm and up a concrete road for 100 yards before turning left and following the footpath signs up a very steep track through woodland. At the top a traverse along the edge of an open field before joining the dead end of the lane that took us back to the Palk Arms. All very well laid with plenty of clear marks. Big thumbs up, well done Hares.

The Longs, meanwhile, had to contend with 2/3 Long/Short splits. The first was in Hennock and took us down a footpath to Warm Hill Farm and a check. Man-PIg, who thought he knew where he was, checked downhill. BONG! Wrong. Beefy checked up Warm Hill and came to a check at the first crossroads.

 

I reached the check to find Swinger, Well-Hopped and Ned waiting for a call. It was almost certainly straight on and up to Five Lanes. Wrong again. Broadshit returned from the right calling, "False trail". Then, in the opposite direction; this was Beefy calling. The trail was left and heading away from Hennock. Not a good sign.

 

SHAMEFACED?

A fairly long downhill to another check at a junction with a muddy track on the right hand side. This looked promising and it wasn't long before we heard Beefy calling "On-On". I'd never been up here before. It is, incredulously, classified as a road! It is called Shamefaced Lane (I wonder why?).

 

WETFART CALLS TIME

Sure enough, it exited at Five Lanes where we rejoined the Longs and the Walkers. Ascending the very wet Beacon Lane, it wasn't long before hashers came into sight. These would be the Walkers. We'd caught up with Wetfart who was suffering the interminable hill. "Shout when you reach the top Man-Pig", was Wetfart's plea to which I was happy to oblige. Next to be overtaken was Coldtits. Then Shitfaced. Just before arriving at Chericombehead we passed Zoot and Hotlips.

 

WETFART REVISITED

At Chericombehead, the Longs went left and then right at Shaptor Cross to arrive back at the Walkers/Short & Longs split at Chericombehead. I'd been pretty much on my own since the second check. No sight of Beefy in front of me or Swinger, Well-Hopped and Broadshit behind me. Hence it came as a welcome respite to catch up with Wetfart for the second time on the descent down Beadon Lane.

 

THE LAST TRAIL (1927)

A short while later and I caught up with Coldtits, again, and then Manopause and Erection just before the sweetie-stop. After a very nice chocolate, I carried on along the trail to find Melon-Picker guiding Hashers towards the footbridge. This was the last Hasher that I would see on trail until the pub. Just as well the trail was well marked.

 

THE DOWN-DOWNS

Thine RA Man-Pig welcomed everyone to the Palk Inn. The first item on the agenda was to thank the pub for opening as it has only just started reopening on Monday nights. Indeed, apart from the Hash there were only two punters at the bar. We, additionally, thanked the pub for the beer. Most hashers had, in fact, found something pink to wear in the pub. However, most hashers had not brought their better halves. Would we all be in the dog house when we got home?

 

TEAPOT'S TALL TALES

Without further ado, it was time to dish out the Awards. Wetfart had the Hashshit shirt. This he awarded to Teapot for compulsive lying. Teapot had made up stories about how good/ bad, hilly/flat, wet/dry the trail was when he hadn't done any of it! A note for Pinnochio and his long nose.

 

HORSE HEAD HAT HOMES IN ON CARROT-CRUNCHER

Next up was Man-Pig who had the Horse Head Hat to give away. Having seen nothing on trail apart from a mouse and a box of chocolates he had to think hard. It was almost a full moon and the road sections could easily be managed without the use of a torch. However, Beefy was observed taking his torch into the pub. Obviously he needs to improve his night vision by increasing Beta-Carotene in his diet. A note for the carrot-cruncher.

 

PUDDING & PIE FOR BIRTHDAY GIRL?

No more stories or, indeed, awards. But there was a birthday girl. It was Georgy Porgy's birthday the previous day. Obviously, "All the right notes. Not necessarily in the right order".

 

HARES COME DANCING

As Georgy had opted for water, this left two halves to be distributed. No-one more deserving than our two Hares for the evening. Before the down-downs there was some discussion about the missing Songmeister, as only he knows all the songs and all the words. Nevertheless, there was some recollection of, "I'm climbing up sunshine mountain...." followed by a passable attempt at Father Abraham with all the associated limb movements and "Oooohs" and "Ahhhrs".....interesting. Accordingly a note for "Come dancing".

 

Well done Hares. Good trail. Good marks and well done everyone who made the effort to find something pink.

 

* I couldn't resist..

 

NEXT WEEK

Smugglers Inn near Holcombe, between Teignmouth and Dawlish. Hare is Piltdown Man, no doubt assisted by Georgy Porgy.

 

On-On to next week.