Author: fetchit

Born in 1979 out of equal parts rebellion and mischief, the Sydney Larrikins Hash House Harriers emerged as a breakaway from what some saw as a slightly too “rigid” establishment – the Sydney Hash, affectionately (or not-so-affectionately) dubbed the “POSH Hash.” For those founding few, hashing was never meant to be buttoned‑down, predictable, or polite. It was meant to be fun, chaotic, irreverent – and just a little bit disreputable.

So the Sydney South Harbour Hash House Harriers came into being: a male-only pack of runners, walkers, drinkers, and raconteurs. From its earliest days, the ethos was clear. There were no rules – only guidelines. Trails should ideally be set within 20 kilometres of the Sydney GPO, but beyond that, creativity (and mischief) ruled. Every Tuesday, almost without fail, the pack would gather, follow trails marked in flour, chalk, or whatever came to hand, and inevitably end up somewhere suitable for refreshment and reflection.

That consistency – Tuesday after Tuesday, year after year – became a defining characteristic. Rain, shine, or the occasional questionable navigation choice, the Larrikins turned up. Over decades, these weekly rituals built a rich tapestry of stories, traditions, tall tales, and even taller beers. What started as a splinter group gradually forged its own identity – an identity defined not by strict adherence to rules, but by camaraderie, humour, and a healthy disregard for convention.

The 1984 Helicopter Relay

Among the many stories that have grown into Larrikin legend, none quite captures the club’s cunning ingenuity like the 1984 relay victory.

In a move that was equal parts brilliance and cheek, the Larrikins took to the skies – literally – using a helicopter to complete part of the course. At the time, there was no rule explicitly forbidding airborne assistance, and true to form, the Larrikins were more than happy to exploit that particular oversight.

Predictably, controversy followed. Rivals – particularly from the so-called “POSH Hash” – were quick to cry foul, questioning whether the win was in the spirit of hashing. The Larrikins, of course, maintained their innocence: there were no rules, after all… only guidelines.

The debate would rumble on for decades, becoming part of hashing folklore, until 2018, when the POSH Hash finally and reluctantly conceded the point:

the Larrikins had not cheated.

Vindication, it seems, can sometimes take 34 years – but for the Larrikins, it was worth the wait.

As time rolled on, the world changed – and so did the Larrikins. The once strictly male enclave began to adapt, slowly at first, then more openly, as the group embraced inclusivity and diversity. What had begun as a reaction against perceived “poshness” evolved into something far more organic: a mixed, welcoming, and delightfully unpredictable collection of personalities.

Today’s Sydney Larrikins are a vibrant blend of runners, walkers, talkers, trail setters, and socialisers – a true cross-section of hashing’s enduring appeal. From seasoned veterans with decades (and hundreds of runs) under their belts to new recruits still learning the difference between a true trail and a false one, everyone brings something to the circle.

Despite the evolution, certain things remain unchanged. The Tuesday run still anchors the week. Trails still challenge the mind as much as the legs. The circle still rings with laughter, one song, and the time-honoured ritual of calling out misdemeanours both real and imagined. The philosophy – if it can be called that – remains reassuringly simple: enjoy the run, enjoy the company, and never take things too seriously.

Reaching 2500 runs is no small milestone. It represents not just longevity, but resilience, adaptability, and a steadfast commitment to turning up and having a go. It marks tens of thousands of kilometres covered, countless pubs visited, innumerable stories told (and retold), and friendships forged across generations.

“2500 runs young” isn’t just a catchy turn of phrase – it’s a statement of attitude. Because if the Sydney Larrikins have proven anything since 1979, it’s that age is irrelevant when you’re fuelled by good company, a sense of humour, and the promise of a cold drink at the end of the trail.

From renegade beginnings to a thriving, inclusive community, the Sydney Larrikins Hash House Harriers remain true to their roots while continuing to evolve. Still irreverent. Still unconventional. Still running (more or less) every Tuesday.

Here’s to the next 2500 runs!

==> Larrikin history in photographs <==

On On.

Having heard the sad news yesterday evening via an email from Vertigo’s stepson Jeremy, which I understand was sent to at least two other hashers, that Martin had died earlier during the week, I’ve had a bit of time to put together a few memories of him.

I’m sure plenty of Larrikin and Full Moon hashers have their own memories too, which will probably be recalled fondly at upcoming S2H4 and SFMH3 buckets.

Jukebox is in a much better position to describe how he (Vertigo) founded the Sydney Full Moon hash, but for what it’s worth, here are some memories that I have of him.

I don’t know how many folks are aware that as well as having almost identical surnames, we grew up within 2 miles of each other in East Sussex, albeit about a decade apart, but were completely unaware of each other’s existence until we met on a Larrikin run sometime in the early 90s, whenever it was that he first pitched up on the Sydney H3 scene, a few years after I did.

I knew that he’d been a seriously keen hasher at various overseas posts -mainly in the Middle East- where he’d worked as, I think, an aviation freight loader, and that aviation ran in his blood.

I’m unable to recall how he met his lovely first wife, a year or so (?) after arriving in Sydney, who sadly died of cancer far too young, but I can definitely recall how he met his second wife, Sue, because it occurred at my house!

In an email that I sent last night to Martin’s stepson, Jeremy, who had sent me the email yesterday evening advising that he’d died, I described the meeting this way:

“You (or may not) recall at the memorial for your Mum at Cammeray Golf Course not long after her passing how I described to those assembled that Martin and Sue had infact met at my house at a ‘Full Moon Run’ that I’d set from there!

It was your Mum’s first ever hash run and it was chucking down with rain. If I recall correctly Peter ‘Jukebox’ Ridgway, who was the club’s ’Grand Master’ at the time ‘named’ her ‘Musical Chairs’ as she spent the afternoon trying to avoid the attention of , I think, the only 2 other people that had turned up on such a wet day, whom Jukebox recalls as ‘buzzing around her like flies on heat’..!

One was Roy ‘Mutant’ Bennett, a Kiwi, like your mother, and the other was a certain Pom by the name of Martin ‘Vertigo’ Pooley! In the end, Martin’s persistence clearly paid off, and I enjoyed having them as virtual neighbours for a few years when they lived directly under the flight path in our shared suburb of Marrickville: did you ever visit that house?! 🛫✈️😱”

Using that email to Jeremy as source material I guess I can add that Martin and I found out quite early on in our acquaintance that we had quite a bit of commonality, in addition to almost identical surnames, and coming from the same UK postcode.

For instance his elderly aunt, Margaret Pooley, was a long time acquaintance, and later friend, of both my parents, who attended the village surgery, at which she was the front desk gatekeeper!

Both his parents died a long time before he pitched up in Australia, but both mine were alive through to the late ‘00s, and I asked him one time whether he’d like me to visit their grave in Wadhurst churchyard , and clean it up a bit if necessary, and the answer was yes. From then onwards, over a period of perhaps 6 or 7 years I’d send him a photo of the grave with flowers, on varying visits back to Sussex in the ‘90s and ‘00s, and he appreciated that.

We also had both worked in the Shetland Isles, at different times, and regularly discussed ‘Scatsta Airport’, located up there, where he used to be loadmaster, which served ‘FIFO’ workers at Sullom Voe Oil Terminal, during its construction, and which for a while was the busiest UK airport after Heathrow and Gatwick. He had lots of amusing anecdotes about trying to herd sheep off the runway, and trying to understand some of the Glaswegian workers with whom he had to liase 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿😂!

He and Sue visited me in Brighton 🇬🇧 in the mid ‘00s when I was residing for a few months at Humper 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿’s seafront flat, attempting unsuccessfully to write a travel book there, and the two of them were, I think, between their Sicily 🇮🇹sojourn and their longer stint in rural France 🇫🇷 .

So, there was really quite alot we had in common, but after Sue died, and he deleted his Facebook account, I found it hard to keep in contact with him once he found his bolt hole in NZ, as he seemed to withdraw into himself, or so it seemed from afar.

Lots of memories, now that I think about it, and I’m glad I played a small part, albeit by default, in getting him and Sue together.

It’s a great shame he was unable to secure permanent residency in Sydney as I’m sure he’d’ve liked to’ve retired here, but I’m glad he found peace in NZ, where he WAS able to secure residency for himself, through his marriage to Sue, along with a number of their feline house companions who’d been flown at great expense from France to New Zealand: the last cargo aviation ‘loading’ he managed..

So, ‘Here’s to Vertigo, He’s True Blue’..

On On, and Cheers,
Chimney