DÚLRA doesn’t have to scramble every year to get his hands on Christmas holly – because his oul’ mountain mate Steek Megaw always does it for him.
Steek knows Black Mountain like the back of his hand, down to each and every individual tree. And years ago Dúlra couldn’t believe that he even knew where all the fresh springs broke ground – many of them inside thick ditches – the springs that gave their name to the Springfield Road. And as for the Colin Glen mass rock where Kneecap's Móglaí Bap was baptised – well, again, that would still be a mystery had Steek not come across it, overgrown in a deep ravine.
From the city, the lower slopes of Black Mountain look like a straightforward place, all green and smooth. But once you step foot on it, well, it’s like entering a maze.
The fields here can be hazardous, with big ditches and enough brambles to fuel a blackberry factory. Even though this hill adjoins the estates of West Belfast, its lower slopes are off limits.
If something goes wrong when you’re walking there – if you slip into a gully or twist an ankle – you might as well be on top of Everest. In fact, Everest almost certainly has more visitors.
Steek has, sadly, been otherwise occupied in the last couple of days. An unseasonal illness saw him being admitted to the RVH – and Dúlra was among the first visitors.
“What am I going to do for holly?” Dúlra asked him – of course after asking about his health.
“You know where you can get it,” he replied, “just cut onto the mountain on Hannahstown Hill below St Joseph’s,” he said. “You’ll come across a good holly tree there.”
Dúlra had accompanied Steek to another holly tree on the mountain a few years back when we stuffed a binbag with scores of branches heavy with berries. That one was somewhere behind St Mary’s school along an old stream.
The hedgerows on Black Mountain are as they once were throughout Ireland – overgrown. Most are covered with ivy and it’s hard to pick out any holly bush among the tangle of branches.
It’s said that the age of a hedgerow can be judged by the variety of trees – each species outside of hawthorn adds 100 years. So a holly among the hawthorn makes them at least 200 years old. Holly – cuileann in Irish – is third of the elite seven nobles of the wood in ancient Ireland, evidence of its value to people, animals and birds.
Bright red berry on the holly
Not many hollies grow on Black Mountain – and only half of them can have berries as they only appear on female trees. Steek knows every single one of them, of course.
So on Sunday Dúlra set off from below St Joseph’s church, cutting straight across towards the city. He followed the paths cut by cattle through the brambles and scanned each field with his binoculars to make sure he hadn’t missed any holly. He found one tree – a lone male without a single berry. After an hour’s dander – with his jeans cut to ribbons by the brambles – he turned back. Steek’s holly was nowhere to be seen. Dúlra was almost giving up when he spotted the remains of an old house not far from the church itself. There was obviously a garden here at one time – now all the trees and bushes that the family had planted were tangled together as one.
And among those branches shone the magical, bright red berries of the holly. Dúlra snapped off a dozen branches, enough to fill a plastic bag.
It was probably no coincidence that this holly was growing so close to a former home – evergreen trees like this weren’t just good protection, they were good luck as well.
And so Dúlra headed home delighted he had enough holly to bring some festive cheer to the living room.
And he kept a bit over, of course, so Steek too can enjoy a bit of the Black Mountain in his own living room this Christmas when he returns home.
* If you’ve seen or photographed anything interesting, or have any nature questions, you can text Dúlra on 07801 414804.
