A small but rather amazing incident happened just before finishing this book.
While out on a day trip to Liverpool with friends, we decided to have a rest in a local park and sit in the sunshine. As we walked towards a bench, my eye fell, in passing, on a memorial stone engraved “611 Squadron.” It nagged me that it sounded familiar, but I could not immediately think why.
On returning to the memorial, I realized it was the name of Taro’s squadron that he flew with when he was shot down. And indeed, there on the memorial plaque was his name inscribed along with the other pilots who had lost their lives. The memorial was only placed there in 2019.
What a coincidence. To find his name, nearly eighty years later in a public park in England, near my home. It was just meant to be: a small connection with the past and a fitting end to his part in this story.