Mick Clifford: A funeral like no other in parting full of love for Shane MacGowan
Remains Larry The Shane Nenagh Macgowan Coffin Leaves Funeral Cummins Picture: The Of In The Bearing
The streets of Nenagh were softened with Christmas lights as Shane MacGowan was sent on his way on Friday.
In the vicinity of St Mary’s Church, you could hear the first piano notes of the late singer’s paean to the lonely at this time of year. But whatever loneliness afflicted MacGowan in a life lived by his own rules, the farewell afforded him was heavy with love and longing. And more than a few wry expressions of amazement that he made it as far as he did.
They came from across the arts and as far away as Hollywood to bid goodbye to a man whose songs reached down through generations. For the locals, this was farewell to one of their own made good.
Among his peers paying homage was Nick Cave, who almost brought the ancient walls of the old church tumbling down with a rendition of 'Rainy Night in Soho'.
Johnny Depp had to show up for his pal’s last hurrah. And to lend the occasion the official stamp of approval, Michael D Higgins made his entrance just ahead of the coffin, one poet leading in another.
This was a funeral like no other. For two hours before the Mass was scheduled to start, the church was heaving. Every one of the 1,000-plus seats was taken, bar the 300 or so which were reserved for family and lots of friends.
The usual crowd that stands at the back of a packed church had pushed up into the central aisle. The hum of conversation rippled through the place, while on the altar, musicians were tuning up and belting out a few bars.
Already the camera phones were out, raising high to catch the occasion for posterity. Outside on the expansive grounds of the church, local people stood around and mused on the last time they saw Shane sculling a few in Philly Ryan’s.
Among them was Agnes Walkin from the town. She came down because this was her husband’s birthday, one he shared with Sinead O’Connor. And her husband had passed 18 months ago so she came down for him.
“I was at his graveyard this morning so I wanted to come along,” she said. And yes, she too had met Shane down in Ryan’s.
At the appointed hour, the coffin was carried in, draped in the tricolour as if it was a chieftain being buried, rather than a man who had touched so many with his creative magic.
Those who assisted Fr Pat Gilbert in celebrating the Mass included Gerry Adams and Aidan Gillan with readings, while a recording of Bono was also played. Bono was due to read a letter of St Paul to the Corinthians, but recording kept him on the other side of the Atlantic. Unable to let the occasion pass, he recorded the reading, his disembodied voice rippling low down through the church, as if he wasn’t sure what reception he would receive. Like many others he got a round of applause.
Prayers for the faithful were led by Johnny Depp. As he took a breath before delivery, the actor issued a bow towards the coffin. “Maestro,” he said, as only he could. He spoke in a low, Brando-esque voice lost on those of us in the cheap seats at the back due to the poor acoustics. They’d want to get that right for the next gig scheduled in St Mary’s.
The prayers also included one for “people suffering addiction”, the only reference to the condition that dared not speak its name in recent days, but which had blighted MacGowan’s life.
Above all, though, this was a feast of music. Dubliner John Sheahan, Declan O’Rourke, Imelda May, Liam Ó Maonlaí, Camille O’Sullivan, and Mundy, Nick Cave, Lisa O’Neill with Glen Hansard giving it welly on 'Fairytale', and the Pogues' one-time bass player Cait O'Riordan. It is difficult to envisage an artist who could get such a range of talent to turn up on the day to see them off.
Shane's sister Siobhan MacGowan gave a poignant account of the artist as a teenager and young man. Punk made him.
“The energy of anarchy spoke to Shane and in a flash his hippie sensibility was gone,” she said, going on to recount how he started The Pogues. The accolade that meant most to him was the lifetime achievement award he received from the President in the National Concert Hall, she said.
“He probably cried because our beloved mother wasn’t there to see the award,” she said.
The eulogy and its delivery fitted the occasion as she kept herself together until her voice cracked at the very close.
His wife Victoria spoke longingly of him, particularly his irascible character and lightning intellect.
“I think I fell in love with his soul,” she said.
The ceremony ended in the only way it could, with Spider Stacey and an assortment of Pogues belting out 'The Parting Glass'. And then it was over. He was taken off on his final journey.
Outside, darkness had fallen across the town. The Christmas lights were all switched on, MacGowan’s bruised spirit was all around, singing take my hand and dry your eyes, babe.