George Robey (1869-1954), known for half a century as the Prime Minister of Mirth, was one of the most dominating figures the music hall has ever produced. The huge black eyebrows, the little cane, the shabby bowler and seedy clerical costume were notorious throughout the whole of the English-speaking world. So, too, were the catch-phrases he threw with reproving disdain at audiences who persisted in detecting unspeakable double-meanings in the patter which he delivered with an air of archi-episcopal blandness. The Dickensian orotundity, the lip-smacking enjoyment of unctuous polysyllables, were cunningly deployed to reinforce the impression of wild anarchy. His command of the audience was absolute, his diction impeccable, his personality overpowering. When the music hall entered on its decline the versatile Robey shrewdly adapted to the demands of revue, musical comedy, operetta, straight plays and films. He even made his Shakespearean debut as a memorable Falstaff. Behind the public image of red-nosed disrespect there lurked a man of establishment views who gloried in the CBE and the knighthood which his charity work brought him. In private life he was an informed collector of Oriental art and ceramics, a painter in watercolours and a craftsmanlike maker of exquisite violins. He was also a footballer who played professionally, a cricketer and member of Lords, and an accomplished athlete of such physical endurance that, in his late sixties, he could perform his act sixteen times a day in non-stop revue. This book places him in the music hall of his time and re-creates the feverish atmosphere in which he climbed to the top of the bill and stayed there for many years. We meet friends who shared star billing with him - Marie Lloyd, Little Tich, Dan Leno, Nellie Wallace, Harry Tate and Billy Bennett. In the shadows move the impresarios - Oswald Stoll of the icy aspect, elegant Edward Moss, the ebullient pantomime king Julian Wylie - who gave their stars an opportunity to shine.