Writing about accompanying at concerts, brings to my mind one or two incidents amusing and otherwise. I was once playing sweet music for a conjuror whose final effort was to produce a Union Jack on a pole from some pocket or other—probably his waistcoat—and to wave it to and fro while the audience sang, “Hearts of Oak” [sic].They were singing lustily, “Hearts of Oak” and I was busily thumping on the piano when the conjuror came too near me in his promiscuous gallivanting about the platform and conked me well and truly on the side of my “bonce” […] It knocked me out for the count and I had a lump as big as an ostrich’s egg—or that’s what it felt like. The song came to an untimely end but after ten minutes I was well enough to resume my place at the piano.