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 HASH MAG ARCHIVE 1992: RUN NO.465 Run Date: 28 September 1992 The Soussons Saga Listen. The fame of Drake Hash House Harriers in days gone by, the daring feats of those heroes is well known to us. And so they came to Soussons Forest when lesser folk cowered by their firesides, shunning the night outside. A vast and eerie night it was, when the great mist wraith came unbidden to Dartmoor's slopes, crawling over forest and moor, squeezing the land in its spectral grasp until all was obliterated in the fathomless mirk. And were they dismayed? No, not they, not Endosperm, HT2, F Ferret, Deadly, IAT, Cream Soda, Zippy, Heinz, Muscles, Mimi, Begorrah, Yakkidah, Schweppes, Anonymouse, Megamouth, Mudflaps, Minimouse, Not Norman, Yokelbonker, Hobnails, Carol, Kirsty, Rambo, Doris, John & Limpalong. For these hashers were true kin of Drake; their bodies strong and quick, with hearts of fire and minds of ice. They faced the night and were undaunted. Eager they were, like hounds scenting a stag, like a peregrine at its stoop, they hastened to the trail. And as they ran their soaring spirits found tongue, and the forest rang with their shouts. Then the gloom reached out to them, only to recoil as darkness was put to flight by the brilliance of the hashers' dancing torches. But it was an evil place they had come to: Where the ground clawed and dragged at them, whereupon was revealed a sea of branches. Where quagmires lurked to claim the unwary in jaws of mud. A subtle enchantment existed there, fogging their minds, confusing their sense of direction, until they found themselves running but travelling little. And so it was by devious means that they were led from the true path and onto false trails. But one alone was not misled. He that is known as Zippy penetrated the web of falsehood and by his might ran the trail down. His companions in their bewilderment stood and wondered and sorely did they curse. Then in the depths of the night a marvel was revealed. In far off times the heart of the forest had been pierced by a Golden Dagger that caused the Earth's heart blood to flow, and each drop was a tree. Thus the Earth bleeds root and branch, sap and leaf - a marvel indeed. Many were the adventures they had, those hashers and many were the wonders they saw on their journey homeward, but these I must leave for another time. Weary they were on their return but still their spirits burned bright, and proudly did they bear the scars of their ordeal. Then they made for an alehouse that in these parts was known as The East Dart. Great was the rejoicing that night, and high was the praise for Begorrah and Schweppes and for the trail. And to them was given The Champion's Portion. Then in fellowship tales were told and extravagant boasts made of exploits past and to come. I have never heard of a greater band of runners gathered with such dignity. Then the glorious hashers sat on the mead benches, rejoicing in the feast. Courteously together they quaffed many an ale cup, confident hashers in that high hall. The East Dart was packed with feasters who were friends, and therein lay their strength. For true fellowship is a precious gift, freely given, whenever hashers meet.
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