It was a common scene for one of the older boys to play the fiddle while the others toe danced.

You were like a zombie for a minute there. It was supes scary.

Here the cheers and shouts of the gallery were interrupted by a shabby little man in the back row who yelled out with piercing distinctness: “Don't matter what you call ’im now, George. The bugger’s dead.”

You have 30 minutes for the quiz. We'll take up the answers at 1 o'clock.