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(One Of The Last Gentlemen Only Hashes in The World)

An Epi Hashers Cautionary Tale!

The pure Cyprus air came clear to his lungs
And the shout of ‘On On’ from twenty odd tongues
The sound of their cry was a joy to his ear
And he thought once again as to why he was here
In three miles or more he’d be there at the finish
And a cool box of Keo he’d help to diminish
In three miles or more he would reach for his dream
So he cried out ‘On On’ and put on some steam
Like a ripple of wind running swift on the grass
Like a whippet on heat with a dog at her arse
Like a rocket he went like a bolt from the blue
In his new ACIS trainers he practically flew
His Keo fed body grew bloody and torn
As he hurled it with gusto ‘mongst bramble and thorn
Through Old Paramali and then up the track
He was away on his own at the front of the pack
‘On On’ he cried with a galloping rally
Down through the Snake and along Second Valley
And then without warning amidst all the yelling
He suddenly realised the speed was now telling
The pack thundered by and his joy in the race
Was savagely wither’d, for where was his pace?
Two minutes ago he was heading the pack
Now the bastards had left him alone at the back
He felt sick as a parrot his stomach was sagging
His legs felt like lead and his feet were now dragging
He stumbled and tripped and he dropped to his knees
He clutched at his chest and he started to wheeze
He rolled slowly sideways and started to twitch
And slid unceremoniously into a ditch
As he lay in that storm drain he whispered ‘ By heck
I think I’ve arrived at my very last check’
And with that he expired and his spirit rose high
Now he runs with the great triple H in the sky
Where the trails are all downhill and angels in white
Serve you tankards of Keo all day and all night
So all you old hashers still eager for glory
Reflect on the moral of this tragic story
Though there’s glamour and honour in leading the pack
It’s a bloody sight safer to trot at the back !

The Confession

O Father, O Father, I've come to confess,

I've left a young girl in a terrible mess,

Her dress is all ripped and her tits are all bare,

There's a lump in her belly that shouldn't be there.


O Son, O Son, with you I am vexed,

When I was your age I used a Durex.

O Father, O Father, you find me unjust,

I used one too but the bloody thing bust!

Ode to a Leek

It's coming

'IF' by Anon of Paramali

If my ageing limbs can no longer run

If the weekly hash is no longer fun

If I prefer to go home once the run is done

Then I’ll quit


If Doc Smith has told me to give up the booze

If my eyesights so bad I can’t tie up my shoes

If I think that the hares don’t deserve their abuse

Then I’ll quit


If the aches don’t stop, if I’m still in pain

If I think I won’t go if it looks like rain

If I start to believe the On. Pres is half sane

Then I’ll quit


Though I’ve heard all the jokes oh so often before

Though there are no new trails for me to explore

Will I stop while there’s Keo, good company and more

Not ruddy likely

A Toast to Saint David

Come quaff off your Sherry, and let us be merry

All you that look to be saved

Then sup of your bowls, and be merry souls

For this is the day of St. David.


This is the week, when we wear a Leek

And carouse in Bacchus' fountains

We had rather be here, with cold Keo beer,

Than back home in our wet misty Mountains.


Now drink you to him, till both your brains swim,

In this Nectarian Liquor:

Let him drink to me, and I'll drink to thee,

‘T'will make all our tongues run the quicker.


Come cast away grief, we need no relief,

We'll drink, we'll be merry and play:

We'll sing, and we'll clown, whilst our liquor we down,

For this is St. David's day.