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The Plough
East Hendred


Gnome Alone, Maid Marion

Fairly Cold People

Dribbler Butterfly Donut Hashgate Simple Skids Nutty Potty Snowballs BGB Hazel Motox Tinopener Lilo and dog Minx Kay and dog Ebony Cheating Bomber Posh Iceman Dumper Ms Whiplash Dunny Rampant Twanky Florence Zebedee Little Stiffy Slackbladder and new dog Maisie OldDog AWOL Slapper NoSole C5 Paul and Damien Dorothy Lima John Anna John (again) Booby

A Delightful Hash

Sticking closely to Ms Whiplash’s rear (steady Motox. We were in the cars) we followed her through the pretty village of East Hendred and into the car park where a surprising number of Hashers stamped about and clapped their hands together in the bitter cold. Some new faces joined us – always nice to see. This pub, as Simple reminded us, was where we had held Sh*t Shoveller’s celebration/memorial Hash a year ago. Simple also regaled us with a variety of facts regarding East Hendred, none of which, I am sad to report, I remember. But it was flipping cold and we were keen to get moving… but that didn’t happen quite as quickly as we wanted since Gnome had decided to air his pedantry and gave a studied and erudite presentation of Hashing signs using flour flourished dramatically on the car park ground. Quite how much our virgin Hashers took in I don’t know but it was a bravura performance worthy of a polite ripple of applause. Pity he didn’t get one. But, like I said, it was flipping cold.

Given the requirement for warmth through movement our slothlike On Out belied the requirement to heat up. We went out last with the late-running Motox who gave us a rueful account of how he had got stuck behind a slow-moving horsebox. We felt rather the same as we caught up with the Pack a hundred yards down the road that was milling aimlessly. Not the road, that is. The Pack. Hashes always seem to start slowly in a tarmac environment. Usually because there are so many options. This time was no exception and the early Checks slowed us down too. Five or six blobs followed by an ‘F’. This certainly foxed FRBs like Rampant and Dunny. I’m sure I heard one of them say, “We’ve been foxed.” As they tramped back from yet another elongated False. And then there were those like Snowballs who wandered vacantly past what I saw as a rather obvious Check by an iron gate. The poor schleb had no idea where he was going but then who did? I recognized where we were – one of the nicest places we have run through. In the Gobsheet for Sh*it Shoveller I wrote: ‘we overlooked a large paddock with a green hill in it, on top of which two fine, grey horses grazed and, partially hidden in the background, stood the square towered history of an old church. Nothing could have been more quintessentially English.’ Nothing had changed, except it was winter and the trees were bare. A lovely place.

Another interesting place was pointed out by Florence, who stopped by a front garden with a pottery totem pole consisting of faces stacked on top of each other. It was fully 7 feet (have you noticed I’ve used non-metric terminology twice now – just fancied a bit of imperial in the Gobsheet) tall and quite impressive. She peered at the sculpture. “You know,” she said, “they’re better looking than most Hashers.” And trotted off with that Cheshire Cat grin of her, disappearing into the distance.

We dropped down a little hill to a church gate where older worshippers were creaking their way into cars. Most of them smiled and gave us a cheerful “Good morning” when they realised we were mostly as old as them, just dafter and less religious. I found myself alone on the path through the little churchyard, pacing carefully towards a stout lady wearing an expensive coat and a disapproving look as she spotted the negative (black running gear, titanium hair) stick insect pounding towards her in the rather fetching lycra shorts. I thought I’d try a little charm, beamed a twinkle-eyed smile at her and bade her the friendliest “Good morning” yet. She gulped, remembered she was a practising Christian and that life could be fun really and returned the greeting with gusto. Nice to know Hashing can bring a little joy amongst the seriousness.

After some off-roading and burrowing around in some slippery, tangled undergrowth, followed by a number of the Hash Virgins. (oops! I was slightly off-Trail. Hope they didn’t mind) we all fetched up at the Regroup, set in the trees just above an S-bend in a stream. After last week’s shenanigans Whinge had to jump in the river to save it being swept away) you would have thought that Kay would want to keep her eager black and white spaniel, Ebony, away from all water. But, no. She led the little thing down to it and hurled her in. Well, perhaps I’m being a little profligate with the description. The creature jumped in joyfully and paddled about on the end of her lead. Tin Opener sardonically pointed out the billowing plastic bag that was tied to the lead, advising me that Kay obviously used it like a float on a lead-weighted fishing line in order to locate her dog while it was engaged in submarine activities. What a deliciously evil sense of humour you have Tin Opener.

Just before we got too cold and just as young Damien had climbed half way up a tree we all rushed off again, leaving Paul to get him down and catch up. After a fine bit of calm green forest and a longish bit of blustery high land with some stunning views we dropped down into what we assumed was East Hendred, certainly civilization. C5 and I enjoyed the view of the covered way that crossed above the road between the Presbytery and the church of St Mary’s East Hendred and St. Patrick’s East Ilsley, fully expecting the pub to appear at any moment. Sadly, it didn’t. Gnome and Maid Marian led the Trail up a short but steep hill at the top of which sat a huge dog, held by its grinning owner. “Don’t worry.” He said. “She’s eaten a good breakfast.” Given our state of exhaustion and the mental torture inflicted by the Hares we wouldn’t have cared if the damn thing had hurled itself forward and sunk its teeth into our collective leg. But we didn’t have too much further to go and the last bit was largely downhill. We embraced the sight of the welcoming pub and heard the delight of Hazel who told us she hadn’t done this kind of thing for about thirty four years and had thoroughly enjoyed it. We had thoroughly enjoyed it too, Hares, and look forward to the next time we can run round this beautiful area.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA C5 presented the following :-



Style points


Her birthday

We were as impressed as ever


Wearing a snood on the Hash

Hmm. Reasonable. Littl spillage


Wearing some very dodgy running gear and ear pods

Really not  too bad

All our virgins


Excellent by all

Old Dog, Potty

Sharing a romantic moment at the Regroup

Nice, arms linked style


We sang ‘In the Bleak Mid Winter’ for her

Very ladylike. But then, she is, isn’t she?


Losing a glove, later found by the RA

Very little dribbling


Awarded by the GM for an email curiosity

Like a true spammer

Maid Marion, Gnome Alone

Our Hares

Well deserved and well drunk

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






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Nappy Rash
Heavy Petting




The Blackbird
Newbury RG20 8AQ

Little Stiffy