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    Lifeboat 12
    Lifeboat 12
    Lifeboat 12
    Ebook325 pages2 hours

    Lifeboat 12

    By Susan Hood

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    “This page-turning true-life adventure is filled with rich and riveting details and a timeless understanding of the things that matter most.”—Dashka Slater, author of The 57 Bus
    “Brilliantly told in verse, readers will love Ken Sparks.” —Patricia Reilly Giff, two-time Newbery Honor winner
    “Lyrical, terrifying, and even at times funny. A richly detailed account of a little-known event in World War II.” —Kirkus Reviews
    “Middle grade Titanic fans, here’s your next read.” —BCCB
    “An edge-of-your seat survival tale.” —School Library Journal (starred review)

    A Junior Library Guild Selection
    The 2019 Golden Kite Middle Grade Fiction Award Winner
    A 2019 ALSC Notable Children’s Book
    The 2019–2020 Lectio Book Award Winner
    The 2020–2021 Florida Sunshine State Young Readers Award List
    The 2020 Oklahoma Library Association’s Children’s Sequoyah Book Award Winner
    The Connecticut Book Award Winner

    In the tradition of The War That Saved My Life and Stella By Starlight, this poignant novel in verse based on true events tells the story of a boy’s harrowing experience on a lifeboat after surviving a torpedo attack during World War II.

    With Nazis bombing London every night, it’s time for thirteen-year-old Ken to escape. He suspects his stepmother is glad to see him go, but his dad says he’s one of the lucky ones—one of ninety boys and girls to ship out aboard the SS City of Benares to safety in Canada.

    Life aboard the luxury ship is grand—nine-course meals, new friends, and a life far from the bombs, rations, and his stepmum’s glare. And after five days at sea, the ship’s officers announce that they’re out of danger.

    They’re wrong.

    Late that night, an explosion hurls Ken from his bunk. They’ve been hit. Torpedoed! The Benares is sinking fast. Terrified, Ken scrambles aboard Lifeboat 12 with five other boys. Will they get away? Will they survive?

    Award-winning author Susan Hood brings this little-known World War II story to life in a riveting novel of courage, hope, and compassion. Based on true events and real people, Lifeboat 12 is about believing in one another, knowing that only by banding together will we have any chance to survive.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSimon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
    Release dateSep 4, 2018
    ISBN9781481468855
    Author

    Susan Hood

    Susan Hood is the award-winning author of many books for young readers, including Alias Anna, Lifeboat 12, Ada’s Violin, Brothers in Arms, The Last Straw: Kids vs. Plastics, Shaking Things Up, and Titan and the Wild Boars. She is the recipient of an E. B. White Read-Aloud Picture Book Honor, the Christopher Award, the Américas Award for Children’s and Young Adult Literature, the Golden Kite Award, and the Bank Street Flora Stieglitz Straus Award, given annually for “a distinguished work of nonfiction.” Visit her at susanhoodbooks.com.

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    Reviews for Lifeboat 12

    4/5

    34 ratings4 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Heavily based on a true story, including interviewing the person who is the main character in the book, this novel in verse tells the story of the survivors of a shipwreck. The SS City of Benares was transporting children to Canada in WWII when they were torpedoed off the coast of Ireland, and evacuated. One lifeboat got separated from the rest and was lost at sea. Fascinating history, and an excellent telling of a tragic tale. Boy main character, high adventure, very few survivors. I love how one of the more important adults in the story is the Lascar Steward, Ramjam Buxoo. The verse is effective, but I did find the book a bit of a slow start, and I wasn't entirely sure why it was in verse. A solid read about an aspect of WWII that isn't often covered in children's materials.
    • 5/5
      The story feels so real and raw that at times I wasn't sure it's for kids - it made death feel so real, it sure didn't feel like your regular kids' book. It really makes you appreciate the value of life, of kindness, and how many more dangers and uncertainty people of those times lived in... Recommend this book for kids and adults alike! Read it in one sitting....

      1 person found this helpful

    • 5/5
      This book is based on the real-life story of Ken Sparks, a 13-year-old British boy who boards a boat bound for Canada with a bunch of other children ages 5 to 15 in hopes of avoiding the Blitz at home. But their ride is quickly torpedoed and the children are forced to abandon ship. Ken and roughly 40 people (children, adults, and crewman) scramble aboard Lifeboat 12 and are soon adrift on sea waiting for rescue....Based on a true story, this historical fiction novel was riveting and tells a lesser-known story from this period of history. It covers a little of everything from bombings to rations to warfare. The book ends with extensive backmatter relaying the actual facts (although it appears the fictional story stays very close to the true one), sources for more information, and archival photographs. I found the book incredibly compelling and read it in one sitting. Despite its length, it reads quickly as it is not a traditional prose novel but a novel in verse. Each short poem made me want to read the next one. However, I worry that this particular format might turn away the intended young reader audience. I think once they start it, they would also be equally engrossed by the story, but it's been my experience that kids just glance at that format and turn away immediately. I hope not in this case as it's a story of courage and resilience worth reading.

      1 person found this helpful

    • 5/5
      Lifeboat 12 by Susan Hood is a kid's historical fiction novel about the sinking of the SS City of Benares by a German U-Boat. Among the passengers were children being sent from London to Canada to keep them safe from the bombings. We see the story through the eyes of a survivor, 13yr old Ken Sparks. An accident of fate found Ken separated from his friend Terry, on Lifeboat 12, instead of Lifeboat 8 like he should have been. For 8 days, the survivors of Lifeboat 12 floated alone and lost, with dwindling water supplies. By the time rescue arrived one man had died, and several were critical. All were malnourished and suffering from 'trench foot’. But they survived when many didn't. This is their story. I loved this book! First, this is about a subject I know little about, and I found it fascinating. Hood wrote in Ken's voice, and from his perspective. What we know of the events are only what this boy knows. The tale is written via a series of free-verse poems that got very creative at times, with font changes and zig-zaggy words, that mirrored the emotions Ken was going through. Each poem pulled me to the next. I HAD to know if they got rescued. Every day they got weaker and weaker. Who might be gone the next day? I see more and more books like this, of late, where the stories are told through snapshot poems. Such poignant stories can be told this way, and I find that I quite enjoy the style. The end of the book has sections with the stats of the Benares, and a more concise rendering of the facts of the case. This is perfect for the middle-grade reader who loves history, and for classroom reading.***Many thanks to Netgalley and Simon & Schuster Children's for providing an egalley in exchange for a fair and honest review.

      1 person found this helpful

    Book preview

    Lifeboat 12 - Susan Hood

    For Ken Sparks, with thanks to my mother-in-law, Nancy Hurst-Brown, a British evacuee whose childhood letters home led me to this story

    ESCAPE

    SUMMER, 1940

    The Envelope

    I shouldn’t do it.

    I know I shouldn’t.

    I’ll be in trouble

    if I open the large envelope

    addressed to my parents.

    But it’s stamped

    on His Majesty’s Service.

    It’s not every day

    a family like mine

    gets a letter from the King.

    The clock tick, tick, ticks.

    I glance down the hall

    to make sure I’m alone.

    I slide my finger

    under the flap,

    and peer inside.

    Dear Sir (or Madam),

    I am directed by the

    Children’s Overseas Reception Scheme . . .

    It’s nothing,

    a dull form letter

    but . . . wait!

    Someone has written in my name—

    your preliminary application

    has been considered

    by the Board and

    they have decided that

    KENNETH J. SPARKS

    is are suitable for being

    sent to . . . CANADA.

    What are you doing?

    cries my stepmum,

    seizing the letter from my hands.

    "That is not addressed to you.

    Charles! Charles!

    This cheeky son of yours

    wants a good clout about the ears!"

    "That letter is about me!" I say.

    You’re sending me away!

    I glare up at my father

    who appears in the doorway.

    My stepmum got her wish—

    to get rid of me.

    Ken, let me explain,

    says my dad.

    This letter could save your life.

    The Reasons Why

    They sit me down.

    I shrug their hands off my shoulders

    and stare at the floor,

    heart slamming,

    heat rising.

    They talk and talk,

    voices swirling in the air

    rising and falling,

    overlapping, interrupting,

    weaving a net,

    a trap,

    but I’m not going

    to fall for it.

    I try to block them out.

    I concentrate on

    slowing the storm in my head.

    They’re sending me away!

    But hang on,

    what’s that about the Germans?

    The Germans are coming, says Dad.

    "France surrendered this summer

    and the Nazis are gunning

    for England next.

    Hundreds of thousands

    of parents applied

    to have their kids sent

    out of harm’s way."

    "You’re lucky

    to have been selected," says Mum.

    "I have a sister

    in Edmonton, Canada.

    You can live with her.

    With your father out of work,

    money is tight.

    We can rent out your room

    to help pay for rations."

    Just think—sailing on a ship! says Dad.

    "It will be an adventure!

    You’ll make your way in the world.

    Get your head out of those books. . . ."

    My books? My stories

    of buccaneers and buried gold,

    cowboys, braves and days of old. . . .

    I snort.

    Most parents would be chuffed

    to have a kid who loves to read.

    I read them because

    they take me away . . .

    far from the way I’m living.

    My three-year-old sister toddles over

    and rests her head on my knees.

    I run my hand over her curls.

    "What about Margaret?

    Shouldn’t she go, too?"

    She’s too young, says Mum.

    Only ages five through fifteen are allowed.

    At thirteen I’ll be one of the oldest.

    No adults? I ask.

    Parents can’t go, says my dad,

    "but you’ll have escorts—

    a whole staff of

    doctors, nurses, teachers, priests

    who are volunteering.

    Yes, son, you’re one of the lucky ones.

    You leave in September.

    You mustn’t tell your friends," says Dad.

    "Loose lips sink ships,

    you know."

    And there will be a new overcoat for you,

    says Mum

    as if that clinches the deal.

    I squint up at her and think,

    I’m as good as gone.

    I tear out of the house.

    Escape

    I dash

    down the streets,

    down the railway line,

    across the tracks,

    over a fence.

    There in the wall,

    behind the loose brick,

    I snatch my stash

    of penny cannon fireworks.

    I stick some in a tree,

    strike a match to the fuse,

    and back away.

    I watch as the wick

    sputters,

    smokes,

    sparks.

    BLAM!

    It makes quite a hole.

    The charcoal-scented smoke wafts away

    and my fury with it.

    The smoke distracts me

    as it does angry bees.

    Let’s face it.

    My stepmum has never liked me.

    She calls me a terror,

    a little so-and-so.

    I wish my own mum

    were alive.

    The doctors told her

    she wasn’t supposed to have children,

    but she didn’t listen.

    She died soon after I was born.

    It’s all my fault.

    But why did my dad

    have to marry my nanny?

    Well, I wouldn’t have Margaret otherwise. . . .

    Sure, she’s a bother sometimes,

    but she makes me laugh.

    I think about my stepmum,

    the ship, and this evacuation plan.

    I feel like a hand-me-down

    my stepmum doesn’t want,

    so she’ll donate me to a good cause.

    Forget it. I’m not going.

    She won’t get rid of me that easily.

    I climb over another fence,

    hoist myself up a tree,

    and grab an apple to eat.

    She thinks I’m a terror?

    Just because I like to

    scrump a few apples?

    My dad just says

    I’m full of beans.

    I can’t get away with much

    or I get a clout round the ear hole

    or the cane at school.

    Now they want to send me away

    across the ocean.

    Well, I’m not going.

    The New World

    That’s what they call it.

    Wonder what it’s like?

    Everything I own

    is old,

    tired,

    secondhand.

    Well, I got a new mum,

    but I’m her secondhand kid.

    She makes me feel

    worn,

    torn,

    worthless.

    A New World

    sounds wide open,

    a chance to start my miserable life

    over again.

    A black ant

    makes his way along the

    gnarled branch

    high off the ground.

    He’s brave, that one.

    I chew on my apple.

    How can it

    taste sour and sweet

    at the same time?

    Maybe Dad’s right. It will be an adventure . . .

    far from the rations,

    far from my stepmum’s scowl,

    far from teacher’s cane,

    far from the war . . .

    ’twould be folly to miss this chance.

    They say I’m one of the lucky ones.

    Maybe I am.

    A Sea Change

    A dog starts barking.

    A man yells,

    "Hey! You again?

    Get down out of that tree.

    Clear off or

    I’ll have your hide!"

    I pluck another apple,

    jump down, and run

    for the fence,

    the dog at my heels.

    Up and over, I make my getaway.

    All the way home

    I think of narrow escapes

    and high adventure.

    Okay, I’ll show them!

    I’ll go and grow up

    like the chaps in my books—

    like Wart and Robin Hood.

    I’ll go to sea like Jim Hawkins or Robinson Crusoe.

    How long will I be gone?

    Months?

    Years?

    Will I ever come back?

    Liver Again

    Oh, you’re home now, are you?

    says my stepmum,

    as I walk in the door.

    "You get a little hungry

    and all is forgiven."

    Leave him be, Nora, says my dad.

    "He’s had a lot to think about.

    Come on, son, let’s sit down to eat."

    Mum places a plate

    of roly-poly on the table.

    I’ve watched her make it before—

    a bit of chopped liver

    rolled up in a pastry

    of flour, oatmeal, and suet.

    Disgusting.

    I grab a potato and say,

    I’m not hungry.

    "You will be if this rationing

    gets any worse," says Mum.

    "Those Huns keep sinking

    our food supply ships

    and you’ll be lucky

    for any scrap you get.

    That’s almost the last meat for the week,

    so eat up."

    Any sweets, Mummy?

    asks Margaret.

    Yes, dear, says Mum.

    "A nice baked milk pudding

    for dessert.

    Now eat your roly-poly."

    Oof, I’m ready to get out of here.

    Something New

    I haven’t had store-bought clothes

    in months . . . years maybe.

    Make do and mend,

    everyone says,

    part of the war effort.

    I wear hand-me-downs

    from cousins and neighbors,

    patched, faded, worn, torn,

    with stains that won’t come out,

    with arms too long,

    legs too short.

    But it’s cold in Canada,

    says my stepmum.

    With no overcoats

    to be found from friends,

    I find myself fussed over

    in a shop of secondhand clothes.

    Here’s just the ticket, young man,

    says the storekeeper,

    who seems beside himself

    to have a customer.

    Try it on.

    I look in the mirror

    and run my hands

    down the good English wool—

    dark gray,

    double-breasted,

    with wide lapels

    deep pockets and a belt.

    I don’t recognize the person

    smiling back at me in the mirror.

    He almost looks like a man.

    A man with money.

    Is it warm? asks my stepmum.

    That’s the important thing.

    Oh yes, I say.

    Mum asks the storekeeper,

    What’s the cost?

    Fifteen shillings, Madam.

    "Fifteen! Fifteen shillings

    of our hard-earned money?"

    I knew it.

    Nearly a pound sterling on me?

    That’ll never happen.

    I start to untie the belt.

    Oh, very well, she says.

    "There’s no getting round it.

    I hope you appreciate

    all we’re doing for you, Ken."

    "Yes, Mum.

    Thank you, Mum."

    I follow her out

    with a grin on my face.

    This coat is probably the nicest thing

    I’ve ever owned.

    SATURDAY, 7 SEPTEMBER

    It Begins

    September sneaks up on me.

    I’ll be leaving soon.

    Mum is making me clean out my room

    to ready it for a boarder.

    I admit it’s a bloomin’ mess,

    but I like it that way.

    I stack my comics

    and shove them under the bed.

    Oof, it’s hot, even though the sun

    is starting to go down.

    I sweep some trash into the dust bin

    when . . . what’s that?

    Sirens.

    We’ve heard them before.

    It’s probably just another drill.

    Then come the explosions—

    BOOM!

    BOOM!

    BOOM!

    Dad! I call.

    Mum?

    The bombs are not far off—

    blasts shatter the air.

    The earth shudders.

    Margaret wails.

    I hear Mum’s footsteps rushing to her side.

    Dad! I yell. DAD!

    You hold your noise, you! says Mum.

    You’re frightening Margaret!

    No more Phoney War, says my dad.

    We’re in the thick of it now.

    "What should we do?

    Should we get to the shelter?"

    No, c’mon, Dad says. "Get under the table.

    If it’s going to hit us, it’s going to hit us."

    The four of us

    spend

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