The Pogues’ song ‘Fairytale of New York’ is one of the most played Christmas songs of the 21st century. A standout line in the chorus reads: “The boys of the NYPD choir were singing ‘Galway Bay,’ and while many have joined in to sing out the line, few are aware that the NYPD choir has, in fact, never existed, let alone sung ‘Galway Bay.’
To help put the conundrum to rest, the EPIC the Irish Emigration Museum in Dublin decided to bring the famed line to life, assembling an NYPD choir to sing the song as a tribute to the Irish diaspora around the globe – and as a timely tribute to the Pogues’ lead singer, the late Shane MacGowan.
‘Galway Bay’ was penned by Irish emigrant Arthur Colahan as a tribute to his homeland. And almost 36 years after the release of The Pogues’ classic, a group of retired NYPD officers, joined by a local amateur choir, gathered in a recording studio in the heart of New York City to lend their voices to the much-loved song.”
EPIC captured the recording of the song in a heart-warming video, with Aileesh Carew, CEO of EPIC stating, “We take immense pride in highlighting the stories and accomplishments of Irish emigrants, demonstrating that Irish identity transcends the geographical boundaries of our island.”
Back home in Dublin, EPIC also unveiled ‘They Gave The Walls A Talking,’ a meticulously researched and poignant exhibition developed in collaboration with Irish music, entertainment and pop culture magazine and website Hot Press. The temporary exhibition, running through to Jan. 31, is dedicated to The Pogues and MacGowan. It is an opportunity for people to celebrate the songs and the music of The Pogues and to reflect on how the band – and their legendary lead singer and songwriter – became so widely loved and admired.
And to hear the now legendary NYPD choir brought to life. Merry Christmas.
Lyrics
If you ever go across the sea to Ireland
than maybe at the closing of your day
you can sit and watch the moon rise over Claddah
or watch the sun go down on Galway Bay
Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream
the women in the meadow makin’ hay
or to sit beside a turf fire in a cabin
and watch the barefoot gossoms as they play
Oh the breezed blowing o’re the sea from Ireland
are perfumed by the heather as they blow
and the women in the uplands diggin’ praties
speak a language that the strangers do not know
Oh the strangers came and tried to teach us their ways
they blamed us just for bein’ what we are
but they might as well go chasing after moonbeams
or light a penny candle from a star
And if there’s going to be a life hereafter
and something tells me sure there’s going to be
I will ask my God to let me make my Heaven
in the dear old land across the Irish Sea