Kensuke's Kingdom. Michael Morpurgo

They’d argue a lot, about little niggly things – and they had never been like that. My father stopped fixing things around the house. He was scarcely ever home anyway. If he wasn’t looking for a job, he’d be down in the pub. When he was home he’d just sit there flicking through endless yachting magazines and saying nothing.

      I tried to stay out of the house and play football as much as I could, but then Eddie moved away because his father had found a job somewhere down south. Football just wasn’t the same without him. The Mudlarks disbanded. Everything was falling apart.

      Then one Saturday I came home from my paper round and found my mother sitting at the bottom of the stairs and crying. She’d always been so strong. I’d never seen her like this before.

      ‘Silly beggar,’ she said. ‘Your dad’s a silly beggar, Michael, that’s what he is.’

      ‘What’s he done?’ I asked her.

      ‘He’s gone off,’ she told me, and I thought she meant for good. ‘He wouldn’t hear reason, oh no. He’s had this idea, he says. He wouldn’t tell me what it was, only that he’s sold the car, that we’re moving south, and he’s going to find us a place.’ I was relieved, and quite pleased, really. South must be nearer to Eddie. She went on: ‘If he thinks I’m leaving this house, then I’m telling you he’s got another think coming.’

      ‘Why not?’ I said. ‘Not much here.’

      ‘Well there’s the house, for a start. Then there’s Gran, and there’s school.’

      ‘There’s other schools,’ I told her. She became steaming angry then, angrier than I’d ever known her.

      ‘You want to know what was the last straw?’ she said. ‘It was you, Michael, you going off on your paper round this morning. You know what your dad said? Well, I’ll tell you, shall I? “Do you know something?” he says. “There’s only one lousy wage coming into this house – Michael’s paper money. How do you think that makes me feel, eh? My son’s eleven years old. He’s got a job, and I haven’t.” ’

      She steadied herself for a moment or two before she went on, her eyes filled with fierce tears. ‘I’m not moving, Michael. I was born here. And I’m not going. No matter what he says, I’m not leaving.’

      I was there when the phone call came a week or so later. I knew it was my father. My mother said very little, so I couldn’t understand what was going on, not until she sat me down afterwards and told me.

      ‘He sounds different, Michael. I mean, like his old self, like his very old self, like he used to be when I first knew him. He’s found us a place. “Just pack your stuff and come,” he says. Fareham. Somewhere near Southampton. “Right on the sea,” he says. There’s something very different about him, I’m telling you.’

      My father did indeed seem a changed man. He was waiting for us when we got off the train, all bright-eyed again and full of laughter. He helped us with the cases. ‘It’s not far,’ he said, ruffling my hair. ‘You wait till you see it, monkey face. I’ve got it all sorted, the whole thing. And it’s no good you trying to talk me out of it, either of you. I’ve made up my mind.’

      ‘What about?’ I asked him.

      ‘You’ll see,’ he said.

      Stella Artois bounded along ahead of us, her tail held high and happy. We all felt like that, I think.

      In the end we caught a bus because the cases were too heavy. When we got off we were right by the sea. There didn’t seem to be any houses anywhere, just a yachting marina.

      ‘What are we doing here?’ my mother asked.

      ‘There’s someone I want you to meet. A good friend of mine. She’s called Peggy Sue. She’s been looking forward to meeting you. I’ve told her all about you.’

      My mother frowned at me in puzzlement. I wasn’t any the wiser either. All I knew for certain was that he was being deliberately mysterious.

      We struggled on with our suitcases, the gulls crying overhead, the yacht masts clapping around us, and Stella yapping at all of it, until at last he stopped right by a gang plank that led up to a gleaming dark blue yacht. He put the cases down and turned to face us. He was grinning from ear to ear.

      ‘Here she is,’ he said. ‘Let me introduce you. This is the Peggy Sue. Our new home. Well?’

      Considering everything, my mother took it pretty well. She didn’t shout at him. She just went very quiet, and she stayed quiet all through his explanation down in the galley over a cup of tea.

      ‘It wasn’t a spur of the moment thing, you know. I’ve been thinking about it a long time, all those years working in the factory. All right, maybe I was just dreaming about it in those days. Funny when you think about it: if I hadn’t lost my job, I’d never have dared do it, not in a million years.’ He knew he wasn’t making much sense. ‘All right, then. Here’s what I thought. What is it that we all love doing most? Sailing, right? Wouldn’t it be wonderful, I thought, if we could just take off and sail around the world? There’s people who’ve done it. Blue water sailing, they call it. I’ve read about it in the magazines.

      ‘Like I said, it was just a dream to start with. And then, no job and no chance of a job. What did the man say? Get on your bike. So why not a boat? We’ve got our redundancy money, what little there was of it. There’s a bit saved up, and the car money. Not a fortune, but enough. What to do with it? I could put it all in the bank, like the others did. But what for? Just to watch it dribble away till there was nothing left? Or, I thought, or I could do something really special with it, a once-in-a-lifetime thing: we could sail around the world. Africa. South America. Australia. The Pacific. We could see places we’ve only ever dreamed of.’

      We sat there completely dumbstruck. ‘Oh, I know what you’re thinking,’ he went on. ‘You’re thinking, all we’ve ever done is reservoir sailing, dinghy sailing. You’re thinking, he’s gone crazy, loopy in the head. You’re thinking, it’s dangerous. You’re thinking, we’ll be flat broke. But I’ve thought it all out. I even thought of your gran – there’s a thing. We won’t be gone for ever, will we? She’ll be here when we get back, won’t she? She’s perfectly healthy.

      ‘We’ve got the money. I’ve done my sums. We’re going to do six months’ training. We’ll be away a year, eighteen months maybe, just so long as the money lasts. We’re going to do it safe, do it properly. Mum, you’ll do your Yachtmaster’s certificate. Oh, didn’t I say? I didn’t did I? You’ll be the skipper, Mum. I’ll be first mate and handyman. Michael, you’ll be ship’s boy, and Stella – well Stella can be the ship’s cat.’ He was full of it, breathless with excitement. ‘We’ll train ourselves up. Do a few trips across the channel to France, maybe over to Ireland. We’ll get to know this boat like she’s one of us. She’s a forty-two foot. Bowman, best make, best design. Safest there is. I’ve done my homework. Six months’ time and we’ll be off round the world. It’ll be the adventure of a lifetime. Our one chance. We’ll never get another one. What do you think then?’

      ‘Ex . . . cell . . . ent,’ I breathed, and that was exactly what I thought.

      ‘And I’ll be skipper, you say?’ my mother asked.

      ‘Aye aye, Cap’n,’ and my father laughed and gave her a mock salute.

      ‘What about Michael’s school?’ she went on.

      ‘I’ve thought of that, too. I asked in the local school down here. It’s all arranged. We’ll take all the books he’ll need. I’ll teach him. You’ll teach him. He’ll teach himself. I’ll tell you something for nothing, he’ll learn more in a couple of years at sea, than he ever would in that monkey school of his. Promise.’

      She took a sip of tea, and then nodded slowly. ‘All right,’ she said, and I saw she was smiling. ‘Why not? Go ahead then. Buy her. Buy the boat.’

      ‘I