Nick "Arfa-*uck" Storr

Died 21 June 2002, aged 57
Married Heather in 1969. Two daughters, Polly and Gemma.
Ed: St Paul's School, London. Master's degree from the University of Wisconsin, USA

Arfa discovered hashing whilst working as an independent consultant in agricultural economics in Manila in the Philippines in the early 80s. In fact he was one of the principal hares (using his then hash name of "Sari-Sari") when the 7th InterHash was held there in 1990 . His consultancy work for organisations such as the World Bank and the Asian Development Bank took him to many countries all over the world so he became well known to hashers far and wide. When at home in the UK he hashed regularly with Bicester where he was greatly renowned for his wit and repartee and also his apparently inexhaustible series of stories of hashing in far off lands. He was a regular contributor to The Word and I can say without any fear of contradiction that his writing was by far the best that journal has ever seen - it was always hilariously funny and displayed considerable literary skills. Not the greatest example, of course, but some may recall this ditty he composed on the occasion of our 1000th Run in 1994:

The legendary hashers of Bicester
Could not give a stuff for the vista
Of countryside seen
Through a sweaty red sheen
They'd rather get picester and picester

It was this experience with run write-ups which perhaps eventually encouraged him to make use of this undoubted talent and write up some of his memoirs under the nom de plume of Will L B Bogarde, entitled "Ten Times the Price of a Haircut" which he finally published only two years ago. Although there are actually only a few references to hashing in the book it is a typically spicy and irreverent view of the ex-pat life in the third world whilst trying to affect some changes for the better in the face of sheer incompetence, corruption and the lack of plain common sense on the part of the highly esteemed agencies for which he worked. Above all it is an excellent read which should never be attempted in public unless one is completely immune to any onlooker's glare of disapproval at the uncontrollable loud guffaws of laughter it will surely induce.

It used to be fashion amongst paperback writers to list in the blurb on the back cover all the unlikely achievements and jobs the author had undertaken before fame and fortune overtook them. Nick could well have followed suit but modestly chose not to reveal much biographical detail other than what was already inside in the book. In fact at the age of 17 he held a record logged in the Guinness Book of Records for the shortest time required to visit all the stations on the London Underground. For jobs, in addition to being an agricultural economist, he had experience of being a teacher, barman (not surprising!), guitarist, long distance truck driver and as a Corona lemonade salesman. In the latter he was supposed to sell, apart from the other Corona lines, a product called Clarona. Being afflicted with a stutter he found that this word utterly defeated him and his employers were no doubt somewhat puzzled by the fact that all he ever sold to customers was ginger beer.

On hash runs he had a habit of coming out with searching and somewhat bizarre questions such as "Why doesn't a duck's quack produce an echo?" or "Why do the bubbles in a glass of Guinness go down as well as up?" He also had an unerring instinct which enabled him to navigate back to the pub before the majority of the pack. I recall on one run for which he was hare he must have engineered a long loop during which he'd apparently vanished for some time. Eventually the pack rounded a corner to be greeted by him, cool as a cumber, seated in solitary splendour at a table outside a picturesque village pub, calmly sipping a glass of ale. That was sheer class!

His frequent trips abroad were often conducted under difficult and dangerous conditions. Heather tells of one occasion when he managed to phone home from his hotel and during their conversation the sounds of gunfire and explosions could clearly be heard in the background and he informed her that there appeared to be a revolution in full swing outside. "What are your plans then", she enquired. "I'm going to phone downstairs and complain that I've run out of gin." was the reply. That was cool.

We bade our last farewells to Arfa in Oakley Woods. That seemed very appropriate somehow. Not actually the Oakley Woods well known to us from many of our runs but a crematorium in some woods of the same name near his home in Warwickshire. The simple but dignified humanist ceremony to celebrate his very full life was packed to capacity with well-wishers from different aspects of that life together with his relatives, some of whom may not have been previously aware of his other life in the parallel universe of the hashing world. In addition to this support there had been many messages of sympathy to his family from hashers all over the world which hopefully will afford some measure of comfort to Heather, Polly and Gemma.

"On In, Arfa!" It was an excellent run, not nearly long enough but in no way too dry.

Prof

If you have any memories of Arfa you would like to share, send me an e-mail.

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