Dr. John Rhys is still traumatized by his experiences during the Great War. Deeply affected by the death of a young girl he was treating, Rhys goes home to Wales with his wife Helen, who is also a doctor, to stay with his parents at their home in the Afan Valley. Rhys then hears a story from a farrier about a little boy, Edmund, barely four-years-old, who claims he lived on a neighbouring farm over thirty years ago and was the farmer known as Ronald Penrose who was subsequently murdered. Is Edmund's memory truthful as he talks to Penrose's friends and tells them secrets only the real Penrose could have known? Rhys decides to speak with Edmund and probe the series of mysterious events. I have included an extract from the play below.

Rhys:     Sheila said do we exist because of the way the world is?

Helen:    What did you say to her?

Rhys:   I was flabbergasted by the her reply. Sheila’s insight into something as profound as this would confound an adult. This did set me thinking. Everything is formulated as to how we see the world and not from a different spieces' perspective.

Helen:    The question was not unreasonable?

Rhys:   Of course it wasn't. Does the universe exist because of the way it is perceived and is this why man is the dominant creature? Better minds than mine have floundered at some kind of solution, Helen. Children have always seen things that adults never will. Was Sheila given this purposeful insight because she was dying?  I stayed with her and her parents. One never becomes used to death, especially in the young. There have been patients on the wards who have been as well as you and I and they die during the night. I cannot understand the peaceful expressions on their faces.

Helen:    Try to get some sleep, John.  The exhaustion in your eyes hurts me and you are doing yourself no favours by sleeping in the chair at different hours.

Rhys:   It is difficult to get comfortable in a bed, that’s all. You know what it’s like.

Helen:   The war ended five years ago. The hurt will lessen, John. You have to believe that or you will drive yourself insane. Your silences do not affect me as they once did. You will tell me more of what happened one day.

Rhys:    I don’t think so. I know the silences are not natural. I have tried every way I know to act rationally, Helen. Sleep I may, but it does not make me refreshed. You know the only way I may relax is by staring at the white circle that I would force myself to see while we were waiting hours before an attack. Most of the men relaxed in their own way. I could hear every little noise even with my eyes still open. To be thought of as a friend by the men is what kept me sane, Helen. They were the best of the best. It hurts me that I still cannot see their faces. I try so hard on times to recall events. . .

Helen:    They are forgotten for a reason.

Rhys:   Do you remember that time at Eastbourne, when I was wounded, and that stupid woman handed me a white feather?

Helen:    Yes.

Rhys:   I would have hit her if you had not been with me.

Helen:    I would have expected nothing less.

Rhys:   Little incidents like that come back when least expected. Nothing is the same. Charlie Gardener’s words I can still hear as we waited for the bastards to attack: “Why don’t they come?” he said. He repeated this until it became a prayer in all our minds. Poor bugger. Only sixteen, he was the first to be hit as we left the trench. They would not recognize dear old Blighty if they came home now. Some of our friends seem to believe that Bolshevism will be the panacea for all our ills. They continually castigate this country and all the dead of that damned war. Christ, I don’t understand their reasoning, Helen. Were the boys ’deaths for so little, so effete hypocrites can have their say?

Helen:    People will not forget.

Rhys:  Out of sight, out of mind.You have been patient with me.

Helen:   What else did you expect me to do, John? You will come to terms with this in your own way.

Rhys:   Sheila’s death affected me more than I thought. It was an unusual request for her father to ask me to the funeral. There were just the two of us. He hardly took a firm step, carrying her tiny coffin, as he walked towards the graveside.

Helen:    Sheila took to you instantly.

Rhys: (Half laugh)   I know she did.

Helen:   Do you still think of Jamie Flaxton?

Rhys:   He was the best friend I ever had.