The Spotted
Dog
Andrew Eames Visits the Kuala
Lumpur Birthplace of the Hash House Harriers, Where
Gin Is the Tonic to a Hard Day's Run
From British Airways in flight
magazine "Highlife"
This autumn will be a
breathless time for Kuala Lumpur. In September the
Commonwealth Games bring 2,500 world-class athletes
to the new National Sports Complex South of the City.
Two weeks later, another not-so-well-known sporting
fixture - Interhash '98 - will attract double that
number.
They will descend on a long,
low, mock-Tudor medley of buildings that runs along
one side of Merdeka Square, opposite the onion-domed
law courts. Its official name is the Royal Selangor
Club, but to most it's known affectionately as the
Spotted Dog - the birthplace of the Hash House
Harriers (HHH); that infamous expat "drinking
club with a running problem".
The athletic component began as
a sort of cross-country paperchase originally
concocted by scattered plantation pioneers in the
Malaya of the 1930s. One of the early participants
was a jolly, rotund accountant named Stephen Albert
Gispert (known as 'G') who ran for the Springgit
Harriers in Malacca.
In 1936, Gispert arrived in
Kuala Lumpur and, with his friends 'Torch' Bennett,
Cecil Lee, 'Horse' Thompson and a few others, started
a running club from the Royal Selangor Club and its
associated Selangor Club Chambers (nicknamed the Hash
House for its mediocre cuisine), where they lodged
and dined. Perhaps for the alliterative opportunities
alone the new running club was christened the Hash
House Harriers. It was doubly appropriate because the
sport is a bit of a hash itself: everything and
everyone is thrown into the pot, and while the final
result may not be particularly good, it's taking part
that counts.
For some years hashing remained
a bizarre activity practised only by mad dogs and
Englishmen in Kuala Lumpur before it spread to
Singapore and Brunei. In 1967 the first 'overseas'
chapter was established at the Dhekelia army base in
Cyprus. When the original Hash House Harriers
celebrated their 1,500th run in 1973, there were 35
chapters worldwide. Now as hashing celebrates its
60th anniversary, there are about 1,600 clubs in 180
countries.
Its birthplace, too, has
continued to thrive, although the reality these days
is that the Spotted Dog has less of a running problem
than it did. Despite the considerable number of
sports on the roster, the taking part tends to be
social. Of the 218 members of the golf chapter, 180
don't actually play.
I was welcomed to the club by
its effervescent president: charming, cravated
Lieutenant Colonel (retired) Manjit Singh. It was
still early afternoon, but several chums in the main
bar were already sizzling with bonhomie. A few
stengahs (whiskies) had been yam seng-ed (knocked
back). Would I care to join in? I protested that I
couldn't possibly, so the Lt Colonel (retired, it
turned out, into the business of defence sales)
ordered me a gunner, which despite the alarming name
turned out to be nothing more than a judicious mix of
ginger beer and ginger ale.
The Spotted Dog may be largely
the domain of gentlemen, but it owes its nickname to
the drinking habits of the wife of Captain Syres, the
chief of police at the end of the 1800s when KL was
just a shanty town. Mrs Syres used to turn up in her
carriage for her constitutional, leaving her two
Dalmatians (the spotted dogs) tied up outside.
The club today has en exclusive
membership of movers and shakers, and although the
old colonials are long gone, they've left a lingo
behind. Gin Slings are still popular and conversation
at the Long Bar still runs along the lines of
"My wife's an angel." "Lucky chap -
mine is still alive."
In the club's records are
glorious descriptions of cricket matches gone by,
particularly those encounters between the club's
team, usually representing Malaysia and touring
foreign sides. The account of a visit from the
Australian team in 1927, for example, describes an
Australian cricketer "as powerful as King Kong,
and a Sir Galahad who had the strength of ten, who
went in to stop the rot by knocking Hennessy off his
length". Tip top stuff.
But things have changed since
the days of Maugham and Kipling, who both sojourned
here. The 'one-armed bandits' in the gaming room are
very popular, as is the rising tide of mobile
telephones.
And then there are the club's
physical changes. It has not had an easy history:
once upon a time, sparks from passing steam engines
used to regularly set the cushions on fire. It was
flooded in 1926, the servants' quarters collapsed in
1936, and a generous portion of club buildings were
burnt down in 1970. That it remains on its prime site
at all is the result of much determination on the
part of its well-connected members.
Today most of its sporting
activities take place well out of town, and the
inter-hashers too will be disappearing into rubber
and oil plantations. They will, however, return to
the Long Bar in the evenings, where the talk will be
of what Horse did with Torch all those years ago.