WHEN window cleaner Stephen ‘Steek’ Megaw hung up his chamois recently after 40-odd years, it was a sad day for the residents of upper Andersonstown.
And it wasn’t just that their windows would no longer get a regular clean, but they would also miss the weekly catch-up. Steek provided a vital service, especially to the elderly residents who he chatted to while taking his smoke break, which seemed to be at every second house!
Customers used to joke with him that he learned his trade on the boats – cleaning a porthole-like circle on the windows, leaving the edges out. And he’d hit back, describing himself not as a window cleaner but a transparent wall engineer!
But Steek’s real calling were the mountains and fields that embrace West Belfast. Dúlra spent endless hours with him traipsing far and wide. Adventure and laughs were never far away – and one particular time, neither were tears and a hospital visit.
That ordeal started when Steek called up to the house one evening saying how the previous day he’d been attacked by a swarm of wasps and ended up getting stung from head to foot – literally.
When the swarm attacked as he was walking the dogs through a field on Black Mountain, he was so shocked that he actually jumped out of his water boots!
He made it to the Glen Road – but the wasps were still attacking. He said that motorists were looking on in disbelief as he jumped around, hitting himself like a madman. Many of the wasps had embedded themselves in his thick curly hair while the confused and excited dogs snapped at his heels.
By the time he relived the story to Dúlra next day, the 24 hours of pain had receded and Dúlra found it hard to believe this tall tale.
Steek cleaning Dúlra's bedroom window back in the day
And so Dúlra volunteered to go up the mountain and retrieve the water boots, despite Steek’s warnings. The boots were still standing right in the centre of the field, and as Dúlra leaned down to grab them, a single wasp appeared on the back of his hand. He bolted like an Olympic sprinter from the starting blocks – but it was too late. The swarm circled him all the way back to Andersonstown, stinging at will. They were in his clothes, in his hair – one even stung him under his armpit as he paced the street in agony an hour later!
Dúlra’s parents were out, but when they got back later that night they took him to the RVH, where the nurse counted 26 stings – and that was only the stings she could see.
As for Steek’s boots – well, they’re probably still up in that field today.
Another time, we’d walked the whole mountain one sunny Sunday, through the fields, up over the White Cliffs, all along the top of Divis and Black Mountain, before finally cutting down home through Colin Glen.
Steek’s wee terrier Shep didn’t follow us home but we never thought twice about it, because Shep loved hunting so much that he often stayed up there and came home an hour or so later.
But this time he didn’t return home an hour later. Or a day later. Finally, on the Wednesday, Steek realised we’d have to go look for him – maybe the terrier had been trapped somewhere and couldn’t get himself free?
We had to retrace our steps. But the good weather had long passed and it was absolutely teeming. It was one of those days, like Saturday of this week, when the heavens open in the morning and just don’t close.
But it had to be done.
And so we set off, across the fields, above the White Cliffs, all the time calling his name in the driving rain.
When we got to the top of Divis, we toured the old badger sets that were now inhabited by rabbits, leaning into each entrance and calling his name then listening for a reply. And what do you know? Down one we heard the distant yelps of a dog. Shep!
But how were we going to get him out? We headed over to the quarry and the watchman there gave us what he called a “long tail shovel” – one with an extended handle.
And so the work began. We dug for hours in the relentless rain, deeper and deeper. Finally, Shep appeared before us, his head wedged between two rocks. Steek stretched down and managed to move one of the rocks and a skinny Shep ran free – straight down another hole in search of those pesky rabbits! We got him out once more and put a lead on him and dragged him home.
It’s said that you can only see a couple of things on Earth from space – the Great Wall of China, the Grand Canyon – and the hole we dug that day on the top of Black Mountain to free wee Shep!
But as Steek enjoys his retirement, he can rest in the knowledge that he rediscovered one of West Belfast’s most precious artefacts – the Mass Rock of Colin Glen.
It had long been written and spoken about, but in recent decades its exact whereabouts had been forgotten. Steek knows the hills like the back of his hand – where each freshwater spring emerges, where every berried holly tree grows.
One day in a remote corner of a tributary of Colin Glen, he came across a flat rock in the undergrowth. And when he scraped away the brambles and the thick moss, he saw a carving of a cross on its surface.
He knew it was the fabled Colin Glen Mass Rock, where the priest defied death to say Mass during penal times, while lookouts sat on the hilltops to warn of approaching Redcoats.
Without Steek, the Colin Glen Mass Rock – where Móglaí Bap of Kneecap fame was later baptised – would most probably be lost to us for ever.
So have a happy retirement ,Steek – you certainly deserve it!
• If you’ve seen or photographed anything interesting, or have any nature questions, you can text Dúlra on 07801 414804.
