Later, he would struggle to think how it had all happened. When had the change taken place, and what could have caused it.? And whether they had spotted him, whether they’d been on their way to discover him. Had he escaped by the very skin of his teeth?

Couched on his belly in the natural hollow, he was sure he wasn’t visible to them as they stood and talked, faces serious and voices raised, so as to carry across the wide circle they formed. Their own noise would easily have drowned out any sound he made.
He’d made every effort to be silent, to the point where, when you are terrified and trapped as he was, you could believe that the sound of your own heart beating, or the breath escaping from your mouth and nose, was as deafening to others as it sounded in your own ears, though you knew it was not.

He wriggled cautiously, trying to find a position where he could see them without having to kneel up all the time. His movements were careful ones; he didn’t want to cause the long, silky grass that lined his hide to sway and betray him.

No use. If he lay lower down, he could no longer see them. He nudged back to where they were again visible and sighed silently.

The sun was still strong, and had wheeled round so he was no longer even partly in the shade. He could feel the backs of his legs and his neck starting to burn. He imagined them, red and sore, knowing there was nothing he could do to help it without risking being seen. The light breeze there had been earlier had dropped, making the sun feel hotter, and meaning also that the grass around him stood still, rendering any movement he made even more dangerous. His muscles ached from the effort of stillness. No way out just yet.

Raising his eyes, he contemplated the great stone that provided the main body of his cover. Higher than a man, and thicker than his thigh, it had stood in this spot longer than anyone could remember. His grandmother said it was put there by pagans long ago, for their Devil-worship, and warned that it was no place for God-fearing Christian folk to tarry.

But to Keith and himself it did not feel evil, and it was a great defensive position in any game you cared to play – Cops and Robbers, Cowboys and Indians, shooting the Nazis – or just made for a good hiding place in Hide and Seek, as today. If he’d managed to get behind it, that was.

The huge narrow gash from shoulder height down to about six inches above the ground , through which he was watching the people in the circle, reminded him of the arrow-slits in ancient castles like the one at nearby Pontefract. But there was no doubt, this mammoth piece of millstone grit was more ancient than any castle.

The thought of Keith and their game prompted him to turn his head, screwing his eyes up to squint back up at the brow of the hill behind him. Still no sign.

He looked down at the grassy earth beneath him. His right knee felt uncomfortable, on a stone perhaps?

He shifted his weight, still cautious, glancing up to make sure his movements didn’t give him away.

He didn’t know why he wanted to remain hidden, just a feeling that he was in some way spying on them, and perhaps a vague anxiety that they might be hostile if they caught him doing so.

There – his knee was more comfortable now. He breathed a sigh of relief and resumed his watch, not knowing quite what to do next, how to get out of the situation.

Keith was still nowhere to be seen back up the slope, and Jack started to worry now. He couldn’t be sure how long he’d been there, but Keith had had more than enough time to count up to the usual hundred. It struck him that he hadn’t heard the ‘Coming, ready or not’, and then a worse thought occurred – what if Keith were to call out now, or come racing down the slope? He’d be sure to draw the attention of the people down there – and then what? What would they do? How would they react? Who were they, anyway?

His knees started to ache again with the effort of keeping still for so long, and he shifted position once more, feeling on the ground this time, watching through the slit all the time with a growing fear of being seen. His hand felt a hard, cold object by his right knee – probably the stone he’d been kneeling on before – and he looked down to make sure he didn’t end up on it again, feeling for its edges.

Odd stone, was his first thought on seeing it. More like the edge of a coin, buried sideways on in the soft ground. Then – not a stone at all. It felt more like metal, polished smooth along the rounded, flat edge that protruded from the grassy earth.

Curious now, his curiosity about the object overcoming his immediate fear of discovery, he wriggled gingerly backwards in the hollow until he could lie flat on his stomach and get a closer look.

It did look like a coin – but a big one – maybe an old penny?, he thought. Propping himself up on his left elbow, he started to scrape away at the earth around it with his right hand, more interested now in the object than in the people down there.

Ants scrambled away as he dug; and despite the softness of the soil, it seemed to take forever, his fingernails soon aching from the activity. He’d all but forgotten Keith now, intently concentrating on both the digging and on remaining hidden.

After what seemed an eternity, he had managed to scrape away the earth to a depth of around an inch down the flat, vertical sides of the object. His fingernails, already bitten before he’d begun (a habit that had exhausted the patient reminders of both his mother and his grandmother) were now bleeding through the thick layers of moist soil that clung to his fingertips.

Wincing with the pain, he wiggled the coin back and forth, pushing first on one flat side and then on the other, trying to work it loose. It was hard work at first, making his fingers ache even more, and he bit his lip hard to stop himself gasping out loud with the pain.

Persistence eventually started to pay off though, and he started to feel some slight movement, a bit of give. Taking a short rest, he rolled his shoulders to the ground and peered around the stone. The group of people, though still talking, had broken their circle and were starting to walk up the slope, heading right for the stone that was his only cover.

He tugged frantically at the object now, back and forth, the job becoming easier with each sideways push. Another panicked look told him they were now about halfway up the slope. There was no way he could avoid being seen if they came right up to the stone.

The fear of Keith suddenly appearing or maing a noise struck him again, and he wiggled the object harder, faster than ever. It came loose, suddenly, unexpectedly, and rolled out of its rut, down towards the stone.

Without looking at it, he sneaked another glance around the stone. They were about ten feet aawy now, still talking, but their voices carrying to him much more loudly than before. Something sounded odd about their speech, he couldn't quite make out the words, despite their proximity; and a new fear rippled through him – what if they were German spies? What would they do to him? – for it seemed certain now – he would not, could not, avoid discovery.

Still watching them, he fumbled around at the base of the stone for the object. As his fingers touched the very edge of it, one of the people suddenly stopped walking and turned to point west, off into the trees, and the whole group followed suit, voices falling quiet as they scanned the woods.

Now was his only chance. He made up his mind in an instant to grab the object and crawl on his belly the six feet or so to the trees to the east of the grassy track, away from the direction they were staring in. With a bit of luck, he might just reach the woods and be able to hide properly until they has passed the stone and gone out of sight. In one daring, desperate movement, his right hand closed around the object and he started to crawl.

He didn’t get far.

When he woke, he was still on his belly, face down in the grass about a foot away from the hollow. His head ached, and lights danced behind his eyelids. The sun was still warm on his back, and again he was aware of the smarting of his sunburnt legs and neck. All was quiet and still. He opened his eyes, and turned his head to see where the people were – but there was no-one. No-one at all. Just the stone and the long sweep of the grassy track down the slope.

‘Coming, ready or not!’ came a shout, and he turned his head again, up the slope this time, to see Keith appearing over the brow of the hill and running down the track towards him.

‘That’s the most rubbishest hiding place I’ve ever seen,’ panted Keith, coming to a stop over the prone Jack. ‘Gerrup, it’s your turn to be seeker now,’ he continued, ‘and you won’t find me so easy, I can tell you. You’d ‘ave been better off hiding behind it.’

‘What d’you mean, easy?’ retorted Jack, slowly getting to his knees and then his feet. ‘I’ve been here hours. Thought you’d run off ‘ome for your tea by now.’

‘What’re you on about?’ Keith looked puzzled. ‘I only gorrup to fifty, couldn’t be bothered with a hundred, seeing as there’s on’y one person to find.’

Now it was Jack’s turn to be puzzled. Where had the people gone? Had he fallen and knocked himself out? Had it all been a dream? Surely, he’d been hiding behind the stone for hours?

‘What’ve you done to your hand?’ asked Keith suddenly, jolting Jack out of his confusion.

Jack brought his right hand up, bending his throbbing fingers over to inspect his nails. As he did so, he became aware again of the object in his palm.

Sure enough, his fingertips were filthy with soil, and bleeding. He opened his hand, and there was the object.

‘What’s that? Where’d you get that from? Le’ss ‘ave a look,’ demanded Keith.

‘A’ right.’ Jack suddenly felt light-headed, sank down to sit with his back resting on the stone. It hadn’t been a dream – but then what had it been? And who were the people? Where had they gone?

‘Take it. Have a look.’ He stretched out his hand to Keith. ‘I found it. Had to dig it out of the ground. It were buried just here.’

He looked down yet again at the ground by the stone. It was just flat, silky grass. There was no sign of the digging he’d done, no sign even that anything had ever lain buried there.

‘Where?’ asked Keith, ‘You’re having me on, aren’t you?’

‘I’ll tell you all about it,’ said Jack. ‘I’m not having you on, but it’s all a bit queer. You’ll just have to believe me, that’s all. I don’t understand it meself. But we’ve got to gerrout of here now, there’s some odd folk about. Might even be Germans. Let’s gerroff home.’