Nicky Webber’s Reviews > Crow's Song > Status Update

With the two key characters, teenagers during WWII, you get their perspective as they experience life growing up during the war. The chapters mostly alternate between the girl in London and the boy in Holland. This clean story is historically accurate and an ideal read for YA - lots to learn and experience by reading Crow's Song.

"I am an outsider, an interloper in my town home. I watch my dad and Lotte sitting and chatting close and cosy on the sofa in the front room. I move onto the floor and sit on the carpet to observe them more carefully. the entire time, they simply smile at one another and constantly hold hands. He's besotted with her!"

"He waves his black leather-gloved index finger, showing me to towards his direction. My first thought is to turn and run, but I hear my father's warning.
"Never ever run," he told me. "Or they'll shoot you in the back, Piet."

"Did you not hear me? Breaking curfew is punishable by death. I follow orders. These are my orders. Do you want to die?"
He draws out the last word, as if it's a razor cutting into the early evening silence.

Suddenly the crickets and birds fall strangely silent. Only the summer breeze moves into the lounge, making the drapes sashay across the carpet as my cousins play. At first I think I hear a very low humming noise. I strain my ears before realising the sound comes from a swarm of bees but the background noise grows louder...

Mum makes up stories over breakfast, saying my dad telephoned while I slept. How can she think I don’t know this is a lie? There is no telephone in our house. Sometimes she explains that she walks to the neighbours to take his calls while I play in the street with my friends. I know this is a lie too, but I play along. I don’t want to upset her. Sick with worry is how Aunt Connie describes my mum.

Once I returned home, I place them in my sensuously shaped pottery vase and while they seem out of proportion, they also smoulder with light and uplifting energy. Thoughts of touching him again and his hands all over me engulf my senses. Am I becoming addicted to my night-time visitor? Obsessed with a strange man sharing my secret life.

I spluttered and choked but didn't cry. He called me brave, and I felt like him. My feet sank into the sandy bottom, my body strong against the ripples. We splashed one another, laughing. His arms surrounded me like a cosy blanket, sheltered, and I was comforted by the grip of his hand.