As large a group as possible would gather round deaf-child and speak animatedly in mime to each other. Frustration growing, he would tap people and ask them earnestly "What are you saying? What? What?", his voice growing weaker and more pathetic to everyone's great amusement. On really special days, when the gods were smiling, deaf-child would frenetically adjust his farcically over-sized ear piece, and with astute comic timing, everyone would begin shouting at the top of their voices, pretending not to notice his confused squirmings. This may seem cruel, but he was a pikey little bastard.

Producing a long, monotone whistle - traditionally used to whittle away the resolve of weaker teachers - will also convince any hard of hearing child that the batteries are running out in their hearing aid.

Believe it or not, and I suspect you won't, we had a living Batty Book title in our year. His condition? He was deaf. His name? Ian Kinnear. No he can't. God how we laughed.