Take Me Back to Tullamore

by Dave Rhodes

The night air is hot and still, and full of dust.

My horse is lathered and I am weary

As we begin to cross Antelope Valley.

My mind wanders, and my eyes are teary.

I start to dream of our Irish home,

And hear the songs mother sings.

Lord, take me back to Tullamore,

Or, at least, get me to Antelope Springs.

The lack of sleep turns me inside-out,

And my feelings have taken flight.

It seems all the worries of my life

Are on this ride with me tonight.

The green of my childhood I see,

Beautiful flowers and running streams.

Oh Lord, take me back to Tullamore,

Or, at least, get me to Antelope Springs.

The full moon lights up the view,

Not another soul for a hundred miles.

I did not know a man could be so alone,

Or feel such pain over life's trials.

I wonder what I would've become

Had I never left those Irish scenes.

Please Lord, take me back to Tullamore,

Or, at least, get me to Antelope Springs.

It's hard to decide which hurts the most,

My back, my legs or the agony inside of me.

Which will give up first, the mind or the body?

I am losing interest in what the result will be.

Would I be at peace back in Ireland?

For that solitary dream my soul screams.

Dear Lord, take me back to Tullamore,

Or, at least, get me to Antelope Springs.

Down on the flat the trail is fast and clear,

But the reality shows still a long way to go.

How many miles have we gone today?

In my mind is nothing, I really do not know.

Oh! the feel of the mist of the sea!

Yes, and the smell that the ocean brings.

Would you Lord, take me back to Tullamore,

Or, at least, get me to Antelope Springs?

What am I doing here on this horse

So far away from anyone's home?

My purpose is losing its image fast,

Again, aimlessly, my thoughts begin to roam.

But if I were in Ireland, my way'd be set,

I'd have the happiness a sense of purpose brings.

I beg you Lord, take me back to Tullamore,

Or, at least, get me to Antelope Springs.

As the grade rises I know we're closer

To the water we both need bad.

The spring is near the western hills.

Lets get there before I go mad.

Now, lying on the ground, looking at stars,

The trickling water is the sound an angel sings.

Lord, did you take me back to Tullamore?

Or is it true, I made it to Antelope Springs?

Antelope Springs, looking back across Antelope Valley

Note: It was just after Major Howard Egan returned from California to sell beef that he was confronted with a very serious personal tragedy. I have often wondered what his thoughts might have been at the time. He certainly had a lot of time to ponder his problems during the long expeditions in the desert, and perhaps dream about his home in Ireland.