Hash 563 – Peterborough Arms @ Dauntsey Bank

Date Hares Scribe
14 Apr 2019 Colin, Robb, Elena Maurice

So who was the hare in all this? Was it the senior elder, Colin of Chiseldon, whose last hash as hare had us run over 9 miles and finish through a slurry pit, including walkers, including Kathy for crying out loud? Or was it the lovely smiley, Elena, daughter of Colin of Chiseldon and grand-daughter of the driver of the last steam engine from Swindon? Or was it Robb, partner of Elena of Chiseldon, studying for his finals and trying to find time to set a hash and, for that matter, his role in all this? Or was it all three?

Would it be as eventful as Colin’s previous hash now that it was being managed by a Committee? We, walkers and runners, are of strong mettle. We turned out in big numbers and braced ourselves. Colin gave the pre-hash speech and encouraged our worst expectations. He said that Des had warned him against the Peterborough Arms as there were no routes anywhere near.

Mike inspecting the hares

The Committee had run the route several times and could confirm that it was pretty dour – fields gone to weed and interweaved in traps, the land as barren as an old witch, rough underfoot and dangerous for us who are light of foot, broken fences and more ready to give with the pressure of a finger tip, trip-wires camouflaged in bindweed, an absence of right-of-way signs, fences put across paths by humans, stiles missing, and half a mile of tarred road until the first stile.

On and on he went and in inverse proportion, down and down went our hearts. Furtive calls were made on mobile phones to loved ones that we would be back late, if at all. Someone suggested cancelling lunch. Dark clouds hung mockingly over the car park. The only happy faces were canine – those of Maisie and Rocky as they frolicked around the gathering unaware of the foreboding route into the lands beyond.

And I might as well forewarn you that it was even worse, characterised by a large and angry giant of a farming woman who Annie said had forgotten to take her HRT medication that morning. But let’s get to that later.

We were off! It was half-a-mile for the eight runners to get to the first stile. It was a dangerous stretch of road with fancy fast cars driven by louts in cloth caps out for their Sunday speed-kick.

I decided to run ahead to get Rocky off the road and stop to get photos of the runners. Bloody hell, they were a grim lot that morning. Colin had got to them. Each pair were talking about illnesses and aches as they passed me by. Actually, that continued through the early part of the route as groups of two and three formed and re-formed. The writer, Maeve Binchey, had a rule at her literary lunches which we should adopt for KVH3 – first ten minutes to discuss ailments and then that’s it!

Over the first wobbly stile and into a field that was clearly marked and then the flour disappeared as if the weeds and brambles had scoffed it up. It was a miserable place but we found remnants where flour had been and kept on, sturdy knights that we were. At the next circle I ran to the right and found a blob, then another, and then nine more before coming to a T. Nine blobs and then a T? What did I do to the person on the Committee to warrant that?

Was everyone checking for cowpats?

As Colin had said, the land was in a dreadful condition. Probably a farmer had died and the next of kin who are city-dwellers were squabbling over the inheritance and did nothing with it for years. An absolute disgrace. The stiles were broken and the signs had been removed even though they were clearly marked on Colin’s map.

I did choose most of the wrong options on the day so there was a lot of running to catch up. John seemed to choose well as he stayed out in front. Then we had a circle followed by another circle. There’s nothing wrong with that but it always amuses me for some reason. Then a circle followed by an arrow and two dots which was clearly a piss-take by someone who needs counselling. Then over the railway bridge into the land of Doom.

By the time I caught up, the front runners were being herded back the way they came by a very large woman in a four-wheel rhombus that she had trouble controlling. She said the official path did not go by her house, which was private. The runners kept shuffling backwards as there was no obvious way out. I ran up to her and apologised in a grovelling type of way and wished I had brought my soft cap so I could touch it and turn her into a princess. But I might have had to wait an aeon, so I said there are no signs for the path and would she mind directing us.

When I got closer she was for all the world Esme Hoggett, the farmer’s wife in “Babe”. My second thought was that I would not like to get lost in those folds, never to be seen again, spaghetti spit out of a rotovator.

She was angry, jabbed her finger into the distance, shouting in some local dialect like a post-verbal synapse. I cajoled her several times to make sense of the jabbing, thought about asking if it was a book, a TV programme or a film. She jabbed towards the electric fence, which luckily was turned off, and we walked over a patch of ground to a path hidden beyond the fence that left about a foot to run along. I did get a big smile from her which initially I thought was my good nature and flirtatious presence and later thought it was because she could enjoy us being torn to pieces by brambles. Plus, I’m now seventy and beyond flirting so it was clearly the latter.

We endured and got to the road where the Committee were waiting, plus Mike. How did Mike get into this paragraph, it’s complicated enough? We told our story and Colin pointed to a pole and said the route must have been along there alright and then he bent down and found the top of the pole with the signs which had been sawn off with a hacksaw. Well, that was it, so we headed off on the long route.

Unfortunately, we missed the next drama with the walkers. While the Committee were watching us show our fast pace Mrs. Hoggett started shouting at Colin that he was parked on private land. There was an exchange of words, a hay lorry was expected. Colin demurred, moved his car the requisite distance but not enough for Mrs. Hoggett who threatened to ram his car. Colin is the gentlest of men, a man who knows what righteous is, a man who rolls with the punches, a man who won’t get mad, but getting even at a later date might be an option. In other words, infuriating to argue with it.

Colin asked her to wait while he got the video going and Mrs. Hoggett drove hard at the gate area and missed Colin’s car by inches, just as the walkers came ambling along, happily singing dainty little ditties about the wonder of a Spring day in an English landscape. Mrs. Hoggett blocked their path, threw arms and legs at outward angles so nobody could pass. She was like a shepherd without a dog. She remonstrated, shouted, lost it, said they were trespassing.

Colin then got her attention and explained in a reasonable voice that trespass law was clear. If brought to the attention of the deviant, that said deviant must immediately remove himself/herself by the shortest route off the land and the shortest route was through the gate to which they had been heading, ergo, that’s the way they must go. The law is the law and out the walkers went leaving her to retreat to the mothership.

Meanwhile, through this fracas, the runners were running up a hill with a fabulous view over the countryside. Over a stile and there was a big “E” for Easter eggs. It took a while but we found them and had a jolly time chomping away when we noticed a major anomaly. We were an hour or more into the hash and we had two walkers with us eating our Easter eggs. Julie and Kevin had managed to keep up with the eight runners all along. They just seemed to keep appearing from nowhere while we ran rings around ourselves at each circle. If there was an award for amazing, then Julia and Kevin deserve it.

On a bit further by a farm of solar panels and then a circle outside a lovely farmhouse where David Burley befriended three black sheep. That’ll be four in all then. Sue found a T and turned back on one option and John disappeared on the other. I went after him as sometimes he says “On, On” to himself in his soft voice and we have to guess, but this time we couldn’t see him. I headed down the hill, called “On, On!” in a good old bellow and followed the blobs of flour. When I got to the bottom the next sign had an arrow pointing back up the hill where the walkers were heading. That was just cruel, making me run down a hill so I had to run back up Clack Mount. To make it worse I looked up to see the runners take a short-cut across the field at the top. Cheats!

We passed by the Augustinian Monastery which fell into disrepair after the Dissolution of the Monasteries. The stones were taken away to Wales in the 1930s to renovate St. Donat’s Castle but never used and then sold to an American, Randolph William Hearst, where they still reside in a warehouse. A lesson learned, never trust either nationality.

The route next went through Bradenstoke so we could enjoy the medieval buildings, around some recent dwellings and across three private gardens where the owners smiled as we apologised and tried not to upset their lunch. In fact it had been farmland sold to the residents and the path did go across their gardens. They were very gracious.

So that was it really. It’s a long mag this week but Colin is to blame for taking so long to introduce the hash. Clearly a cunning plan to set low expectations and deliver one of the finest hashes, very well-marked, gloriously outrageous and we have a tale to tell about Mrs. Hoggett that walkers and runners enjoyed.

The pub was lovely. We stood about, surrounding a large man who was having his lunch but didn’t seem perturbed. When Annie apologised, he said: “One man can’t take over a pub.” So wise.

Paul got the shorts for some reason that Mike had known about before he offered them to Ainsley who said she was scribe on the next hash which has got nothing to do with shorts, or maybe it will have which is cunning, but Mike couldn’t remember why Paul was getting them so we clapped anyway. I’m telling you, it’s getting worse.

Thanks to the fun Committee – Elena, Robb and Colin – for a great hash


I said Colin would never get mad but may get even. Here’s his email to the Rights-of-Way Warden for Wiltshire:

Please see attached mark-up – I have never passed so many rights of way in one area that have been obscured or damaged!

DUAN29 – Missing sign from road, no signs across fields and stiles missing/broken.
CMAL12 – North of City Bridge – Missing signs across fields and stiles missing/broken.
CMAL12 – South of City Bridge – Footpath ploughed up – signs and stiles broken/missing
CMAL13 – Missing signs and stiles broken down along length
LYNE34 – At east end, footpath signs/stiles missing.
DAUN12/14 – At south west end – signs missing, stiles missing, fences blocking pathline.
LYNE23 – At south end – signs missing.

This entry was posted in Colin Hare, Maurice Scribe. Bookmark the permalink.