How far can you trust a childhood memory? John Bannerman remembers an incident from his past that has haunted him ever since. He becomes more insecure as he reaches middle-age. Little memories are recalled of that time long ago as the years pass by; yet he still fails to make sense of what he witnessed that weekend while he lay in bed as a nine-year-old during the terrible winter of 1962, suffering from pnuemonia. John understands that another meeting will take place with the strange girl who chatted with him on the mountain that he pictures in his mind. I have included an extract from the play below.

Bannerman:   She asked me again and again why the sea was made of salt. I could not answer. My mind refused to respond as she did not stop talking in that gentle voice. My body was so cold and I must have fallen asleep as I felt her strange touch as she stroked my cheek. Why was it freezing in the bedroom? Looking back, I was unsure as to what had occurred during that long weekend when I lay in bed suffering from pneumonia. I have struggled recently to recall the harsh winter of 1962. I remember my parents telling my sisters and me about the drifts that were over six feet in height, the north winds that came, bringing more snow, and the stillness, my mother told us, was what she recalled the most. She had never known the streets to be so quiet. My father took a few photographs of us in the back garden when the thaw had begun. We were happily throwing snowballs, but the adults looked distinctly morose.  Fiona and Lucy’s memories are as vague as mine. To me, this was deliberate because I did not wish to remember. Rachel, my wife, suspects that I have long hidden a frightful memory that I always knew of. If this had occurred when I was an adult, I would be more perturbed. What might I have witnessed then if I had not seen her through the eyes of a child?

Bannerman’s voice-over fades into Susan, his mother’s voice, as she tucks him into bed. Bannerman is a nine-year-old.

Susan:  Your chest is getting much better. The stew helped you, John. I hope you are going to try to sleep tonight and not call me so much. Your father did not get much sleep either last night. He looked in before he left for the goods yard, but you were fast asleep. He believes you are over the worse.

Bannerman:   I thought I heard him.I was tired, mam. When is dad coming home? We hardly ever see him since he is always being called out to clear the snow.

Susan:     He shouldn’t be late. The men are still trying to clear the railway lines with the new fall of snow. Joe’s mother just popped in and she said they should be home earlier tonight. What’s the matter?

Bannerman:  I do not want to go to hospital. I remember how long I spent there when I was having my tonsils out.

 Susan:    I don’t think there is any call for that now. Sometimes, hospital is the only place you go to get well again.

Bannerman:    The nurse would not let me stay in bed. The only thing I liked was the cold milk from the fridge and the chocolate you and dad brought me.

Susan:     They have to get you up because it does no good lying in bed all day. Your sisters will be in to see you afterwards. They need help with their sums.

\Bannerman:    Why doesn't dad show them?

Susan:    You know what your father's like. He hasn't got much patience if they don't listen to how he tells them to work out their sums when they ask him.

Bannerman:   Well, I did it like that. I found it easy, mam.

Susan:     You understand things quickly on times. Fiona and Lucy will be like you when they get older. I never liked learning my times tables.

Bannerman:    Were you speaking with anyone just now? I could hear voices like whispers.

Susan:   What a strange question to ask?

Bannerman:    Oh, I was just wondering. I thought you were telling Lucy off again for trying on your shoes. She had corn coloured hair the girl who will not turn to look at me.

Susan:    Who did not turn, John?

Bannerman:     The little girl you were speaking with. I can see her clearly. She watched you as you put the clean clothes in the cabinet. She will still not show herself because she is frightened of us.

Susan:    John, I just told you I didn't speak with anyone. You probably heard your sisters running upstairs and downstairs. They were dressing up. You look pale and you are trembling.

Bannerman:   I have been imagining things again, mam. 

Susan:    That is only to be expected when you have an high temperature.

Bannerman:    Are dreams real, mam? I still see her dancing on the hill. There are other girls with her. Their dresses shimmer in the moonlight, they hold each other's hands, and they disappear into a circle of light when I am trying to speak to them.

Susan:   How many girls did you see?

Bannerman:    Three at first, then it was six girls. It is the girl who will not face me that says I am not to go near the stream. If I do, I will sleep for all time and never awaken. (Laughs). I have been trying to remember all that, but I could not until now. (Pauses). What's wrong, mam? Was I sick again? You're shaking.

Susan:     Repeat to me what you just said.

Bannerman: (Yawns)    I told you I would help the girls with their homework. You can leave me now. I will try and get some more sleep. . .