Steve Walsh: 1975 - 2022
Great friendships are often forged behind shop counters. Mine and Steve's began on the third floor at Waterstone's Piccadilly in 2009, and it was a whirlwind relationship. Within a year and a half I'd asked him to be my best man, and not long after that we started the podcast that would bind us together for a decade.
Nat Metcalfe, another comrade from behind the till, referred to Steve as a pied piper and it made me think of those early days when I would literally follow him about as he shelved books in sport and MBS. He diligently did his work while I picked things up at random, whether it be The Golden Bough or an out-of-print paperback from the Indoor Games section, and he’d give me the lowdown on the subject, seemingly without exception.
After we left, I’d follow him around Gosh after the shop had closed, him cashing up and me pointing at the comics and asking his opinion. Again, without fail he’d tell me if they were any good and why. Steve’s knowledge was a deep well, but he wore it lightly. He was as humble as he was intelligent; as warm as he was sharp.
He was also one of the most natural conversationalists I’ve ever known, one of the reasons South London Hardcore was such a joy to record and why it endures. We started the show in December 2011, lifting the name, logo and sense of local pride from our great friend Lewie Peckham, and creating something that we both had immediate boundless enthusiasm for. By the time we recorded our final face-to-face episode last October, talking to Steve about animals running amok on the streets of Charlton had become one of my very favourite things to do.
When I saw Steve in hospital in February the tumour had taken away much of his mobility and vision, making him a prisoner in his own body. Mercifully he was still completely himself inside, and while it was an effort to speak, we could cut through it with the shorthand of 13 years of references, anecdotes and in-jokes. There was even time for a few ‘get him on the show!’s, something we’d say whenever we found out a celebrity was from South London.
Just before we said our goodbyes for the final time, Steve was moved from his chair to the hospital bed and we were trying to get him comfortable. His dad had the reclining controller in his hand and an uncertain look on his face as he tried to get it working. I said how it felt like the beginning of a hackneyed comedy sketch; cue Frank Spencer impressions from around the room. It was great to get one final belly laugh from Steve, ending our relationship how I used to try to end the show; Steve chuckling before the closing theme music played.
Lakisha and I will miss Steve more than we can ever put into words and it hurts deeply that Xaviere and Marlow have been denied the ultimate avuncular figure.
But how lucky we are to have known him. And how lucky that if we want to hear his voice again there are a couple of hundred hours of audio at our fingertips. Not only on South London Hardcore, but also his brilliant comics interviews on Process and Signals from the Hill, and his effortless patter with fellow mensch Micky Boyd on Mickypedia and Effing & Blinding.
He will live on in the podcasts and he will live on in us. So many people were uplifted, touched and inspired by him. He had an undeniable light that cannot be extinguished.
For one of our final shows, Steve unearthed some wonderful information about a short-lived group that celebrated transpontine icons like Blake, Pepys and Dickens in much the same way we did, only 6 decades earlier. They were called the South London Immortals Club and their object was ‘to honour the old immortals and create new ones’. I don’t think there’s a more worthy candidate for inclusion than Steve Walsh. On Wednesday he joined their ranks.
Jack McInroy, 27th March 2022