The Tory: Perspectives And Poems: Dr Pratt Datta

SKIMBLESHANKS: THE RAILWAY CAT There's a whisper down the line at 11.39 When the Night Mail's ready to depart, Saying 'Skimble where is Skimble has he gone to hunt the thimble? We must find him or the train can't start.' All the guards and all the porters and the stationmaster's daughters They are searching high and low, Saying 'Skimble where is Skimble for unless he's very nimble Then the Night Mail just can't go.' At 11.42 then the signal's nearly due And the passengers are frantic to a man— Then Skimble will appear and he'll saunter to the rear: He's been busy in the luggage van!         He gives one flash of his glass-green eyes             And the signal goes 'All Clear!'         And we're off at last for the northern part             Of the Northern Hemisphere! You may say that by and large it is Skimble who's in charge Of the Sleeping Car Express. From the driver and the guards to the bagmen playing cards He will supervise them all, more or less. Down the corridor he paces and examines all the faces O