Come home, Paddy Reilly, to Ballyjamesduff, a well-known song in Ireland, full of sentimental lyrics. But who was rice? And was it worth going back to Ballyjamesduff? Because whatever Ballyjamesduff is, a small town in County Cavan, Garden Eden is not. Even when folk poet Percy French passed by, it was a remarkably unremarkable place. It doesn’t matter, French said, and set about (as was his custom) to compose some poetry about the city. Or, rather, using the town’s name in another of his regular “local flavor” pieces, checking on Finea and Cootehill’s name in progress.
And the song became a bestseller and the Frenchman is still remembered for a lovely statue in the center of Ballyjamesduff.
By the way, since French forgot to secure the copyright of the United States, he never received any payment from the other side of the water. Despite the immense popularity his little song enjoyed there.
Come Home Paddy Reilly – the letra
The Garden of Eden has vanished, they say.
But I still know the lie;
Just turn left on the bridge of Finea
and stop when you are halfway to Cootehill.
There I will find it,
I know for sure.
When fortune has come to call me,
Oh the grass is green around Ballyjamesduff
and the blue sky is over everything.
And the tones that are tender and the tones that are rough
They whisper over the sea:
Come back, Paddy Reilly to Ballyjamesduff.
Come home, Paddy Reilly, to me.
My mother once told me that when I was born
the day I saw the light for the first time,
I looked out into the street that first morning
and gave a great crow of joy.
Now most newborn babies look angry
And they start with a sad storm
But I knew I was born in Ballyjamesduff
and that’s why I smiled at everyone.
The baby is a man, now he is tired and hard.
Still, whispers reach the sea:
Come back, Paddy Reilly to Ballyjamesduff.
Come home, Paddy Reilly, to me.
The night we dance in the moonlight, with
Phil up front with his flute,
When Phil flipped his lip on “Come Again Soon,” he danced!
the foot of your boot!
The day I took Magee for clothes
to slander Rosie Kilrain,
then, leaving it straight from Ballyjamesduff,
I helped him to a drain.
Oh sweet are the dreams, like the kind who snort,
whispers over the sea:
Come back, Paddy Reilly to Ballyjamesduff,
Come home, Paddy Reilly, to me.
I have loved the young women of all countries,
that was always easy for me;
I just tell them the beauties of the Black-a-moor brand
and Feegee’s chocolate shapes.
But that kind of love is a brilliant thing
and it will never confuse my brain,
because the bells will ring in Ballyjamesduff
for me and me, Rosie Kilrain!
And through all its glamor, its gas and its energy.
A whisper reaches the sea:
Come back, Paddy Reilly to Ballyjamesduff.
Come home, Paddy Reilly, to me.
I have finally found oil!
I got to work, and I swear
that I put on remarkable clothes,
I hit a policeman for saying that now
I would go back with my beautiful Rose.
Beauties can boast,
boys can bluff
But this I will always keep
There is no place in the world like Ballyjamesduff
There is no guril like Rosie Kilrain.
I’ve already paid my ticket, the sea can be rough.
But with every breeze there will be
Come back, Paddy Reilly to Ballyjamesduff.
Come home, Paddy Reilly, to me.
The irony of Black-a-moor
When Percy French mentioned exotic delicacies like Fijian women and “the Black-a-moor brand,” he could not have foreseen that Ballyjamesduff in the 21st century would have a very high proportion of non-Irish citizens. Many of whom are of African and Brazilian origin. So meeting a “Black-a-moor” at Ballyjamesduff would be an everyday occurrence today, not something exotic.
Who was Percy French?
William Percy French, born May 1, 1854, died January 24, 1920, is considered one of the leading composers of his time in Ireland. A Trinity College graduate and civil engineer by trade, he was employed by the Cavan County Board of Works, with the exciting title of “Drain Inspector.” When the Board of Works cut staff, French became the editor of “The Jarvey,” a weekly offering light entertainment. After this venture failed, French turned to a full-time (and successful) career as a songwriter and artist.
Percy French became a household name for composing and singing mostly comic songs and often verifying city names in Ireland, his best known song being »The Mountains of Morne«.
