Two days previously, when my brother and I were about to climb into bunks in the family cabin, we had been told by a passing steward that the ship would be crossing Newfoundland’s Grand Banks during the night. As he began to eat, my father said, ‘These are the first pork sausages I have tasted since 1940. After the transatlantic liner docked in Quebec in 1951, we walked up to the city heights to have breakfast in a diner. I was given the book by my father when I was a child, just after the family emigrated to Canada in what turned out to be a failed attempt to escape the privations of post-war Britain, where daily life was governed by the ration card.
I have been aware of the themes of Rudyard Kipling’s novel Captains Courageous (1897) almost all my life.
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