Pontaberfanwy, a small Welsh town, has become the most progressive in Wales, as the Mayor assures us. Building on a legend that the great Wizard Merlin was born there, they have cleared the town of the coal mines and the sheep, and made sure only career couples now live there. The whole town has be geared to the exploitation of tourists..... 

Into the town comes an aging hippy-type. The mayor and the councillors see him, and tell him to leave - they don't want riff-raff like him in the market square, as he will put off the tourists. The hippie asks "Where are the children?", and he is told that they don't encourage children here, although there are a few, safely hidden out of sight, as this is a town for career couples. "And what's this about a wizard?" the hippie asks. Old wives' tales, he is told, who would believe in wizards? But very useful, oh, yes, very useful, as it brings all the tourists in. Now out, we don't want riff-raff like you here. Move on! Move on!

There is a huge and terrible sound. Flashes of lightning. Smoke. The hippie says "You don't believe in wizards then? In that case, I put a plague on this town. A Plague of Children!" Immediately lots of children come rushing onto stage. They are very demanding, wanting food, new clothes, to be entertained... The councillors are horrified, and ask the hippie to take the children away. "I can't do that," he replies. Well, at least make them nice children. You want them to be nice? Yes, please. Are you sure? Quite sure.

There is a huge and terrible sound. Flashes of lightning. Smoke. The children turn into nice children. Terribly nice children. Horribly correct and nice children. They criticize the adults, they tell them to take their hands out of their pockets, to pick up the litter, to clean their shoes, to be polite to the tourists (the audience)... Then in their niceness, they start criticizing the tourists. The councillors are even more horrified, and beg the hippie to take the children away. He won't do that. Well, at least make them a little a little nastier. Are you sure? Quite sure. Anything is better than this.

There is a huge and terrible sound. Flashes of lightning. Smoke. The children turn into horrible brats. Appalling brats. They tear up posters, are rude to the tourists, write on the walls, play terrible tricks.... The exasperated councillors beg the hippie. Please, please, take the children away. We'll do anything. You can stay as long as you like. Free. In the Merlin Motel. All meals paid for. But just take away the children! Have you learnt your lesson? he asks. We have learnt our lesson. Are you sure? Yes, quite sure, only take away the children!!!

There is a huge and terrible sound. Flashes of lightning. Smoke. The children all disappear. The councillors go back to selling souvenirs to the audience. All is peaceful again, except for hte clink of coins changing hands. All is queit. Too quiet. One of the councillors starts to miss the sounds of the children. Then another misses that little kid with the bouncy smile. Then another misses..... A couple of tourists ask where the children have got to. They liked seeing them... Gradually the councillors realise they miss the children. They go back to the hippie, who has been watching. Perhaps we were a little hasty. Perhaps a few children... No too nice, mind you. Not to nasty, either. Just children.....
The children return. The town has learnt its lesson.