Animal, vegetable, mineral... Ted Greenwood’s Ship Rock forms a trilogy with his earlier V.I.P. and Everlasting Circle; together they become a statement of faith, an affirmation of values far more enduring and universal than the ‘puny memorials’ of humankind. Whether writing about young people ( as in The Boy Who Saw God and Marley and Friends) or the physical world, Ted’s Ghandian wisdom and compassion are always present, offering a firm foundation for a child’s own voyages of discovery. Like most of Ted’s books, Ship Rock has a grave and understated beauty that is in sharp contrast to the brash material world of contemporary consumerism; the life cycle of a gigantic rock outcrop is not to be measured in human terms or time. This is a book to be left lying about, to be picked up and looked at again and again, a book to grow with and absorb into your own being. All ages.

The book most likely to achieve instant popularity with young children (around 5-10) is Clive Eats Alligators, a marvellously free­wheeling (and non-sexist) romp that takes seven assorted kids from Breakfast to Bedtime, each with his or her individual lifestyle: readers will happily follow the daily doings of Celeste, whose interest is ballet, of Frank with his book, Nicky and her treehouse, and Clive – well, Clive eats alligators, doesn’t he? Lester’s relaxed, deadpan illustrations will be immediately familiar to readers of Robin Klein’s Thing, and like prove it, Clive and his mates should prove a winner.

In sharp contrast to these self-reliant youngsters, Terry Denton’s solitary Alexander, with his pale, wistful, oddly adult. face, lives in a world of fearful nightmares where his best friend is Felix, a small and spotted toy dog. One evening Alexander failed to return from his usual walk, and Felix packed his torch and bravely set out to find him, surrounded by the imaginary horrors lurking in the gathering dusk. This is powerful stuff, the terror of the unknown monsters that walk by night in many children’s imagination, here impeccably presented in classic folk tale tradition, complete with secure and happy ending as the two friends find their way safely home with the aid of a talisman, the stuffing that has been leaking all along from a wound in Felix’s side. The illustrations, dense and gothic and wholly original, have a spine­tingling Tomi Ungerer vibrato.

A far more secure childhood is Jonathan’s, whose entire family gathers round to view his malaise. ‘Prisoner of the Mulligrubs’ roars his father jovially, but the doctor diagnoses ‘measles’ and for a time ‘everything was dark and horrible’. But the day comes when Jonathan awakens filled with a new energy, and proceeds to create inventive chaos throughout the house, making up for lost time. Other measles victims will enjoy by proxy the splendid relief of being well enough to be thoroughly naughty and appreciate the reassuring finale. Noela Hills has softened the spikily sophisticated style of her illustrations for Wild and Woolly to better accommodate this warm domestic drama of a much-loved youngest child.

1 is for One is not one but three counting books, each with the same one to ten nonsense rhyme but with amusing variations in the accompanying illustrations. As well as numeracy there is size to play with, for book no. 2 is an exact quarter the size of book no. 1, and no. 3 a quarter of no. 2. The concept is not quite successful – the packaging is awkward, and neither colour nor line is bold enough to carry the joke through – yet despite these disadvantages Helen Leitch’s jolly, grotesque number people are addic­tive: like Sendak’s classic Alligators All Around or the Ahlberg Little Worm Book, in the hands of an imaginative primary teacher-this could become the springboard for a whole range of enjoyable classroom activities ( and learning).

The third of Morimoto’s Japanese folk tales, Mouse’s Marriage, is a charming variant on the familiar Aesopian fable of the north wind and the sun. The fond parents of a beautiful mouse maiden search for the ‘best and mightiest’ husband for her; but what is the measure of relative power? The artist again demonstrates her skill in adapting her style to the story, and her delicate little mice in traditional attire are wholly beguiling in their doll’s-size Japanese domesticity.

An original, and equally inviting animal fantasy is Nilsson’s Tatty, the story of a kitten who almost missed out on ‘Cat Coat Day’, when all the kittens in the neighbourhood exchanged their ‘regulation Kitten khaki’ for their chosen adult apparel. Charlotte yearned for grey with white trimmings, but by the time she reached the coat shop there was nothing left but scraps. However, a patchwork coat can be quite handsome once you get used to it, she discovers, and young cat fanciers, bewitched by Leanne Argent’s smoothly opulent, romantic illustrations, will agree.

Dreams of free flight are the obsession of Mungo Merryweather, who enlivens his drab boarding house existence with increasingly bizarre inventions and cumulative disasters, until finally even the birds take pity and lend a wing. Terry Denton’s extraordinary imagination is not confined to stories for younger children; his madly detailed, Leunigesque Flying Man could become a cult book with teenagers.

Also for an appreciative older audience, is Susan Ferrier’s Lola, a brilliantly witty send-up of the Montez legend. This is a marvellous parody, more assured than last year’s Ned, with Lola flouncing her way from the arms of Buckley (and Nunn) to Captain Moonlight and the Melbourne Cup. All ages.

Paperback reprints: The Boy who Painted the Sun and An Eye Full of Soot and an Ear Full of Steam were both first published in hardback in 1983. Jill Morris’ poignant story of a homesick child who paints his memories of country life across the dreary cityscape was shortlisted for the 1984 picture book award, while Nan Runt’s feline fantasy is a sequel to her earlier Whistle Up the Chimney, as the cat Tom Bola takes an unexpected ride on a phantom train.