R.H. Thomson is like most of us. When he had a chance to ask questions about the history of a distant war and how it affected his family's history, he was too young, too disinterested to do so. Now, having turned past half a century in age, he is haunted by the indifference of his youth. He is luckier than most of us. He had more than 700 letters to draw on (written by five maternal great-uncles) to recapture just a little of what that World War One was all about, what it was like to fight in it, what sacrifices individuals made and what stupidities were carried out. While he had to look beyond those letter—read between the lines, and go to the actual places where these men fought and some died—to create his one-man play, The Lost Boys, those letters were a great starting point. There were also photographs to draw on, one of which shows a family snap shot of seven of the eight Stratford sons, five of whom went to fight in the 'War to end all Wars'. Two died in battle, two died years later from the frightful results of poison gas. The fifth came home whole in body, but obviously not in spirit. He turned to a solitary life and was dismissed by the young Thomson as an eccentric. Yet, here was a great-uncle, who could have been the key to history, to understanding.

The work that the author/actor created is not perfect, but it is deeply moving, and intense and poetic in many places. Thomson's performance is magnificent. His voice carries well and demands ones attention. His movements are graceful, precise, often balletic. He brings snatches of humour to the awful truth that he is unveiling to the audience, an audience that may well not have the slightest idea of what war is like. So, he and his crew worked hard to bring that war to those watching and listening. One also must not forget the voices of the unseen actresses, who bring much poignancy to some of the letters.

Thomson, with his creative team consiting of director Jonas Jurasas, set designer Astrid Janson, lighting designer Martin Conboy, and sound designer Duncan Morgan, created a simple, yet complex image on stage. There is a trench, that symbol of WWI, there is sand and various objects that to this day still can be found in the fields of Belgium. They all help Thomson to tell his uncles' stories, but also that of hundreds of thousands more who fought on both sides of those trenches. Photos are projected onto the back wall of the stage to identify the five men. We see images of explosions, with full sound. They tell of the awful noises with which the men in the trenches had to live. And through it weaves a haunting melody, which—here I am taking a big risk in wrong identification—is an adaptation of Maurice Ravel's Chason hébraïc.

I saw the chaos of shelled trenches, spreading woodchips and body parts evenly

I saw the dead alone and some in crowds on the forest floor.

I saw the obscenity of war postcards sent home, pornographic in death.

I saw the effect of military fury as seen by the souls who had first come upon it.

R.H Thomson

Thomson admits in the play that his quest for understanding the history of his great-uncles is obsessive. To underline this obsession, he tells us about his search for the facts that surrounded his own father's death in a car accident. This is where the imperfection of the work comes to the fore. It was unnecessary to explain. Those who do not understand his need to know will never understand, those of us who are on a similar quest, do not need to be told. His father's death is a dissonant note that has no relationship to the rest of the play, as moving as it may well have been to see a son's need for such facts. While the rest of the play is a revelation of all history and so becomes an objective view of it—from a subjective point of view—the scene about his father's death is too introspective and perhaps, even maudlin.

Thomson's work is an inspiration to continue to look back into history and to seek understanding. One hopes, it will  inspire many to do the so. But, beware of that head of the Hydra that remembers too well. It is the one that brings about the never-ending cycle of 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth' that haunts too many parts of the world.

The Lost Boys is a tale that needs to be told to a generation that doesn't believe in history. Because of that alone, it is worth seeing. The other is the excellent performance, and the fine staging. The faults of the play are not that important at this moment, although one hopes that in future productions some revisions are made.

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