A near deserted shopping Parade
That could be any town, anywhere;
Not so very long ago our thriving
Cattle market stood just there,
Full of buyers and sellers and
Drovers, auctioneer and his clerk
All those many and varied folk
That make such places work.
And, standing by its entrance
A place for a pint and a chat
That worthy market hostelry
Hotel Whittington And Cat.
It's many many years
Since I went there first
With a friend on leave,
Both with a squaddie's thirst
In those past times Pubs closed at three
And opened again just after tea
But not the Whittington. On Market day
So long as you bought you could stay.
So there we were for the full stint
With a bunch of dockers on the dint
Then we shared one or two glasses
With a couple of honest working lasses
Oh I'll never forget that session
Nine full hours, Whittington and Cat
For some strange reason the night
Gets blurry and distorted after that,
But here's the proof that I survived
For here I am and very much alive.
My drinking mate now long gone
To the Parade Ground at Life's End
But still alive in my memory
A true and valued friend.
Much quieter now these days
When I go out;
You can't drink too much
When you suffer from gout.
And the Cat still stands there;
You're greeted with a smiling face,
In the midst off all that change
Still a warm and welcoming place.
So raise a glass and make a toast
Long may yee thrive, our welcoming host.
Long may we drop in for pints and chat
Again lets toast the Whittington and Cat.
