Complete Poems and Plays (25 page)

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 overdue

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

Of the travellers in the First and in the Third;

He establishes control by a regular patrol

And he’d know at once if anything occurred.

He will watch you without winking and he sees what you are thinking

And it’s certain that he doesn’t approve

Of hilarity and riot, so the folk are very quiet

When Skimble is about and on the move.

   You can play no pranks with Skimbleshanks!

       He’s a Cat that cannot be ignored;

   So nothing goes wrong on the Northern Mail

       When Skimbleshanks is aboard.

Oh it’s very pleasant when you have found your little den

With your name written up on the door.

And the berth is very neat with a newly folded sheet

And there’s not a speck of dust on the floor.

There is every sort of light — you can make it dark or bright;

There’s a button that you turn to make a breeze.

There’s a funny little basin you’re supposed to wash your face in

And a crank to shut the window if you sneeze.

Then the guard looks in politely and will ask you very brightly

‘Do you like your morning tea weak or strong?’

But Skimble’s just behind him and was ready to remind him.

For Skimble won’t let anything go wrong.

     And when you creep into your cosy berth

    And pull up the counterpane,

  You ought to reflect that it’s very nice

  To know that you won’t be bothered by mice —

  You can leave all that to the Railway Cat,

    The Cat of the Railway Train!

In the watches of the night he is always fresh and bright;

Every now and then he has a cup of tea

With perhaps a drop of Scotch while he’s keeping on the watch,

Only stopping here and there to catch a flea.

You were fast asleep at Crewe and so you never knew

That he was walking up and down the station;

You were sleeping all the while he was busy at Carlisle,

Where he greets the stationmaster with elation.

But you saw him at Dumfries, where he summons the police

If there’s anything they ought to know about:

When you get to Gallowgate there you do not have to wait —

For Skimbleshanks will help you to get out!

   He gives you a wave of his long brown tail

      Which says: ‘I’ll see you again!

   You’ll meet without fail on the Midnight Mail

         The Cat of the Railway Train.’

You’ve read of several kinds of Cat,

And my opinion now is that

You should need no interpreter

To understand their character.

You now have learned enough to see

That Cats are much like you and me

And other people whom we find

Possessed of various types of mind.

For some are sane and some are mad

And some are good and some are bad

And some are better, some are worse —

But all may be described in verse.

You’ve seen them both at work and games,

And learnt about their proper names,

Their habits and their habitat:

But

How
would
you
ad-dress
a
Cat
?

So first, your memory I’ll jog,

And say:
A CAT IS NOT A DOG
.

Now Dogs pretend they like to fight;

They often bark, more seldom bite;

But yet a Dog is, on the whole,

What you would call a simple soul.

Of course I’m not including Pekes,

And such fantastic canine freaks.

The usual Dog about the Town

Is much inclined to play the clown,

And far from showing too much pride

Is frequently undignified.

He’s very easily taken in —

Just chuck him underneath the chin

Or slap his back or shake his paw,

And he will gambol and guffaw.

He’s such an easy-going lout,

He’ll answer any hail or shout.

Again I must remind you that

A Dog’s a Dog —
A CAT’S A CAT
.

With Cats, some say, one rule is true:

Don’t
speak
till
you
are
spoken
to.

Myself, I do not hold with that —

I say, you should ad-dress a Cat.

But always keep in mind that he

Resents familiarity.

I bow, and taking off my hat,

Ad-dress him in this form:
O CAT
!

But if he is the Cat next door,

Whom I have often met before

(He comes to see me in my flat)

I greet him with an
OOPSA CAT
!

I think I’ve heard them call him James —

But we’ve not got so far as names.

Before a Cat will condescend

To treat you as a trusted friend,

Some little token of esteem

Is needed, like a dish of cream;

And you might now and then supply

Some caviare, or Strassburg Pie,

Some potted grouse, or salmon paste —

He’s sure to have his personal taste.

(I know a Cat, who makes a habit

Of eating nothing else but rabbit,

And when he’s finished, licks his paws

So’s not to waste the onion sauce.)

A Cat’s entitled to expect

These evidences of respect.

And so in time you reach your aim,

And finally call him by his
NAME
.

So this is this, and that is that:

And there’s how you
AD-DRESS A CAT
.

I once was a Pirate what sailed the ’igh seas —

But now I’ve retired as a com-mission-aire:

And that’s how you find me a-takin’ my ease

And keepin’ the door in a Bloomsbury Square.

I’m partial to partridges, likewise to grouse,

And I favour that Devonshire cream in a bowl;

But I’m allus content with a drink on the ’ouse

And a bit o’ cold fish when I done me patrol.

I ain’t got much polish, me manners is gruff,

But I’ve got a good coat, and I keep meself smart;

And everyone says, and I guess that’s enough;

‘You can’t but like Morgan, ’e’s got a good ’art.’

I got knocked about on the Barbary Coast,

And me voice it ain’t no sich melliferous horgan;

But yet I can state, and I’m not one to boast,

That some of the gals is dead keen on old Morgan.

So if you ’ave business with Faber — or Faber —

I’ll give you this tip, and it’s worth a lot more:

You’ll save yourself time, and you’ll spare yourself labour

If jist you make friends with the Cat at the door.

MORGAN.