“It was Christmas Eve, babe …” You know the rest. The unmistakable voice of Shane MacGowan singing the opening lyrics of Fairytale of New York accompanied by a lone piano, The Pogues’ song long embedded in our consciousness as heralding the approach of Christmas.
I’ve no doubt the song evokes a memory or two for many of you; that first kiss under the mistletoe, dancing at a work Christmas party or singing along with friends on the night bus home. But my early memories of Fairytale go back to 1987; I was 11 and my dad, Frank Murray, was the band’s manager.
December 1987 was filled with anticipation, the wait for the early morning phone call on the last Sunday before Christmas that would confirm if Fairytale was number one. It wasn’t, pipped to the post by Pet Shop Boys’ You Were Always on my Mind. It was number two, not quite the pressie we were hoping for. Nonetheless, it was a celebratory time. The band still had gigs before Christmas and our whole family joined The Pogues on the road as they headed to The Barrowland Ballroom in Glasgow.
My parents hadn’t been able to arrange my youngest brother Aran’s Christening due to conflicting tour schedules of his godparents, Kirsty MacColl and two of the crew. My mum rang the local Catholic churches in Glasgow until she found a priest willing to baptise him the next day. Not your average Christening, a two-year-old running around the altar with The Pogues, Kirsty MacColl and Joe Strummer in attendance, but that was our normal.
The following December, in 1988, there were more gigs in the run-up to Christmas, with the band back from Japan and Australia to, this time, Wembley Arena in London. By now I had grown to enjoy their music more and I was finally impressed. Watching from backstage I’d be mesmerised and slightly intimidated watching the riot of young fans singing and bouncing in unison, a sweaty band of brothers and sisters, united by music at a time when discrimination against the Irish was still very palpable in the UK.
[ Fairytale of New York: The surprising story behind The Pogues’ Christmas anthemOpens in new window ]
I loved watching the synthetic snow falling on Shane and Kirsty as they danced together during Fairytale and I treasure the memory of watching my mum and dad dancing in an embrace to Rainy Night in Soho.
Those memories are even more special and poignant now that all four of them are gone, all four of them passing in the days and weeks leading up to Christmas. Kirsty was tragically killed in an accident on December 18th, 2000; my dad died unexpectedly on December 22nd, 2016; Shane died on November 30th last year; and my mum, Ferga, died a week later, on December 6th.
We’d been expecting my dad to fly to London for Christmas on December 23rd but instead I received a phone call from my uncle telling me that he’d had a heart attack and died. Amid the grief and devastation, the following days were like playing radio roulette, knowing that Fairytale was going to be played but never knowing when that opening melody was going to reach through the speakers and into my heart. That first radio play was the hardest. It remains the hardest every year.
[ Man who got MacGowan to write ‘Fairytale of New York’ has diedOpens in new window ]
I was driving to Dublin when I heard the news on the radio that Shane had passed away. I’d been hoping to visit him before he died and found myself crying uncontrollably on the M9. So many memories flooding in, the on-air tributes and the music transporting me back to my childhood, to a time when both my parents were alive and there with me.
Seven days later my wonderful mum died. She had been deteriorating significantly in the preceding three years as Alzheimer’s brutally ravaged her brain and body. Despite this, when the time came it was still an immense shock, and I’m still absorbing that loss now.
My brother Emmet and I attended Shane’s funeral in Nenagh, only two days after mum sadly left us. Some were surprised to see us but that church was the best place for us to be, to celebrate Shane and to be surrounded by many of mum and dad’s friends, people I’ve known since I was five years old. Friends who adored our mum and who remembered her at her finest. We were able to absorb that love for her, for dad and for us, my brothers and me. And of course to sing along to the most wonderful performance of Fairytale, it was of huge comfort.
We had my mum’s funeral a week later in Dublin. It was a beautiful cold winter afternoon, the sun was setting as she was carried into the chapel accompanied by piper Séamus Ong who had played at Shane’s funeral too. It couldn’t have been more perfect; much like our dad’s service, music was a vital part of the celebration. My brother Dara had said, ‘we had a piper for Dad, Mum should have one too’.
I’ve become accustomed to this new version of Christmas. I’ve refused from the outset to let the bereavement and the sense of loss take over. I’ll miss them forever but I’ll celebrate them fiercely; for the last seven years I’ve toasted my dad’s anniversary with family and friends, and I shall do the same for my mum. They died either side of my birthday so it makes for a very sociable December.
Now when I hear Fairytale I embrace the nostalgia and find solace in sometimes letting the tears flow and sometimes singing along loudly, remembering synthetic snowfall and Christmases past.
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