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….
(the full poem can be found here).