Skimbleshanks the railway cat, the cat of the railway train
There’s a whisper down the line at eleven thirty-nine
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
Would be searching high and low
Saying «Skimble, where is Skimble for unless he’s very nimble
Then the night mail just can’t go»
At eleven forty-two with the signal overdue
And the passengers all frantic to a man
That’s when I would appear and I’d saunter to the rear
I’d been busy in the luggage van!
Then he gave one flash of his glass-green eyes
And the signal went «All clear!»
They’d be off at last for the northern part of the northern hemisphere!
Skimbleshanks, the railway cat, the cat of the railway train
You might say that by and large it was me who was in charge
Of the sleeping car express
From the driver and the guards to the bagmen playing cards
I would supervise them all more or less
Down the corridor he paces and examines all the faces
Of the travellers in the first and the third
He established control by a regular patrol
And he’d know at once if anything occurred
He would watch you without winking and he saw what you were thinking
And it’s certain that he didn’t approve
Of hilarity and riot so that folk were very quiet
When Skimble was about and on the move
You could play no pranks with Skimbleshanks
He’s a cat that couldn’t be ignored
So nothing went wrong on the northern mail
When Skimbleshanks was aboard