1.       1965. Capel Celyn.

Mari: In the dream, the waters are rising. The lower rooms are filled to the ceiling with water and I walk among them. Things aren’t quite right; they never are, in dreams, when laws can be broken... (Realises.) It’s the furniture, it is. The table and the dresser should have floated upwards but something weighs them down. The room is full of water but they stay on the floor. Why is that? (Beat) I look out of the window, and I see...nothing. (Pause.) Slowly, I walk through the house, my stick tapping. I push open every door – check on them sleeping. My Tomos is a boy, still, and the man that he became, with his wife beside him. Sarah and Owen are both children, so small. The waters are rising but they’re safe still. I put my hand on their foreheads: dry. So, I keep going. (Quickly, increasing intensity.) There’s a room missing, I can’t find it; there should be more rooms, where does she sleep? (Beat.) And then I remember. When I get to my room it’s full of bones, floating on the water. (Pause.) It’s just a dream. Nerys tells me that this image I have is all wrong, anyway. There’ll be no drowned house, fish swimming in and out of the windows, algae blooming from the chimney like smoke. They knock it down, see. They knock everything down. And they’re going to take away the gravestones. I was angry about that, but now I feel glad. Imagine them there in their rows at the bottom of the lake...inscribing the dead... no mourners... (Pause.) I never thought I’d leave this house. There’s time yet. Maybe I never will.