Beaming in triumph, his dad looked at him as he came back to the front. “I had a hunch, Rich, and it’s proven correct. Look what it says here, on this plaque.”
Following the direction of his dad’s pointed finger, Richard read out the name inscribed on the base of the plinth. “‘Jonathan Hilton. September, 1917. A son of Little Lowland.’” It was now Richard’s turn to split his face into a wide grin. It was the first piece of concrete evidence they had found for the existence of the village. Elated, he threw up his arms and gave a loud whoop of joy.
Jonathan Hilton. September, 1917. A son of Little Lowland.“Steady, Rich, you’ll have that shopkeeper running out to tell us to clear off.”
“Well, maybe he should – then he can see that the place is real. Dad, this means we’re not imagining thin
