My father took just one book with him when he left us.

Books were his most cherished possessions so it didn’t make sense at the time. Of course he took things other than that one title – clothes, a sleeping bag, his fishing kit, the only working binoculars and one of our two knives.

It was only days later when we found his note that it started to make sense. “I knew Robinson Crusoe was his favourite” I gloated to my brother “he only took Huckleberry Finn as he’s planning to use it to start fires not read it. Robinson Crusoe might contain some tips we can use. If we were stranded on a riverboat it might be different but he’s hoping we’ll survive ’til he returns to rescue us”.

My older brother just sadly shook his head. “You’re so naive. I think he has abandoned us to save his own skin. We should read the Jungle Book instead”.