YH3 Run 1416, Boot and Shoe, Gawthorpe, 10th August 2009
Hare - Easy Access
Scribe – Jake the Peg
Almost a year to the day since 19th Hole's virgin trail in Morley, I have been called forth to describe once more in lurid detail the deflouring of another not-so-innocent
"hareiette".
Problem is that I wore all the virgin jokes to death last time round (see write-up 1361), so I'll not bore you (on that score at least) by repeating them here.
So, what style to use instead? As soon as my impending scribedom was announced I was regaled by Wheels, Weasel and Rambo, all suggesting various slants on the area's mining
heritage. DH Lawrence, perhaps? Might be some mileage in "Sons and Lovers" (although I guess "Fathers, Daughters and Prospective Mothers-in-Law" might be nearer the mark).
Monty Python, maybe?:
"We work awfully hard in damp conditions when we go coal mining, Father".
"Hard, I'll bloody give you Hard - when you've laid 29 miles of hash trail, listened to a 4 hour circle, won all the raffle prizes AND finished off all the chips that
Weasel's left behind, THEN you can say you've done a proper day's work, Lass!" Etc, Etc ...
Unfortunately it's all been done before, so you're stuck with a normal (whatever that means) Jake-style write-up this time round. Hope it does the job.
The 2009 recession and pub closures had taken their toll. Hapless hashers walked barefoot from all over the county to scratch out a meagre night's beer and flour in darkest
industrial Wakefield: Wheels and Rambo from the East Leeds slums; D'Dog, Easy Access, Littleworld and Black Bush from the Horbury hovels; Weasel Shit, Matilda, Sweetbreads,
Black Widow and Grope from Cockroach-infested Cookridge; Jake from Shitley; Shaggy from the Lancashire lard traps; Ken - a desperate refugee from goodness knows where; HRT,
Lick it Up, Jack Tar, Doolittle and Talking Pussy - soft Shire-based mine owners now fallen on hard times.
Meanwhile, Easy Access had been digging around for weeks to try and find a trail and pub. Would the evening turn out to be the pits or would everything work seamlessly?
Only time would tell.
With no time to wipe our feet on the way out, all were hustled out of the pub roughly on time and, after a group photo round the local post box, the evening's shift started
with a loud whistle (much to Weasel's chagrin on health and safety grounds).
A few devious checks before we even left the village. We felt well and truly shafted. Eventually into countryside and downhill to a "SS" by a large heap. Was it a slag
stop (I'm saying nothing)? No, it was a shot stop by a manure heap as Aquavit imported from Danish Nash Hash was passed round in the fragrent evening air.
So dense was the firedamp, we'd have needed a Davey lamp or a canary to avoid disaster had it been dark. Good job there were no smokers present.
We were directed downhill through the levels and then negotiated a woodland back loop - a large chunk of anthracite in the making. Skirting a field the return conveyor then
dumped us back at the shit stop where we had been 10 minutes before. An arrow had by now appeared miraculously on the ground to guide us through the correct emergency
tunnel. We clung to each other as we tiptoed perilously round several field boundaries, the hare by now having abandoned rights of way in order to rescue the pack as
quickly as possible.
We climbed the main shaft of the Dewsbury road before sheltering temporarily in an air and beer pocket - the Huntsman Pub. Here, many stalwarts propped up both the ceiling
and the bar, using several excellent hand-pulled beers to ease the pain. Definitely a future prospect for a hashing excavation.
Safety equipment back on as we squeezed back into a two-foot seam, this time through a field of maize. By now we were hardly worth a light and, not surprisingly, disaster
struck. Black Widow got caught in machinery and only avoided amputation due to Weasel's swift intervention. She was stretchered to the surface and escaped with a few
cuts.
Soon after we finally and gladly all glimpsed the twilight (no, not that one) and emerged into the sanctuary that was the On Inn. Communal baths having been taken, we
assembled for shovel-loads of chips and sarnies, followed by the circle which went something like this:
- Easy Access - cleverly crafted trail and cracking venues. Virgin? - my arse!
- Black Widow - for needing the Hash emergency services.
- Weasel Shit - for being the Hash emergency services.
- HRT - for being Billy No Mates.
- Lick It Up - for having THREE tents at Full Moon Nash Hash.
- Shaggy Plug - for being a "dirty bastard".
- Wheels - for a random crime lost somewhere in my notes.
Another great hash event. Which was the best part? I don't know - you'll have to take your pick.
On On!
Jake the Peg AD 2009-08-13 23:44.
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