Those of you who follow this page will have noticed that it hasn’t been updated for a while. It’s not because nothing has been happening. Rather, we’ve been working hard at a rather radical revision. The content is the same; the telling is not. Even the title has been changed from I am Meta to Brave Face: A Half-German Half-Dutch Child Living in the Shadow of WWII. For your interest, we’ve included the first few paragraphs below of the new, improved, book below. Let us know what you think! And, if you want to pre-order, just click the link!

The View from the Window

It was eerily quiet. No sound penetrated the walls of our top story row house over the butcher shop on the Weimerstraat. I shivered. It was as if nature herself were holding her breath. I looked through the corner window of our living room. Our street was empty; not a soul was to be seen. 

A couple of German soldiers in green field uniforms, caps, and knee-high, shiny black boots were walking up and down the Franklinstraat, just around the corner from us. Their rifles, as always, were slung over their shoulders. They often marched, but this was different. They were pacing: up and down, up and down. 

“Mamma, come quickly,” I called. “What’s going on outside?” She was sitting in her favorite chair, as usual, reading a book.

“Get away from that window,” my father shouted from across the room, making me jump. I took a quick step back. My mother got up, pulled me further away from the window, picked me up, and held me fast. 

The house was quiet. We were all waiting, but I didn’t know what for. I kept trying to peek outside over her shoulder, but the lacy net curtains obscured my view. 

My father went to the window and then turned and beckoned to Mamma. She put me down to join him. My teenaged sister, Corrie, went with them. There they stood with my father, carefully peering through a crack in the net curtains. They were no longer watching me. 

It was then that I took my chance: I quickly moved to the side of the window. I pushed the heavy top curtain aside, slipped behind it, and looked out at the street. My sister, Sieglinde, stood behind me, peeking over my shoulder. 

We watched the soldiers, as they marched up and down, up and down, their boots sounding an ominous rhythm: Clop, clop, Clop, clop. It reminded me of the railway station where we’d had to wait years ago at the beginning of the war. It was the middle of the day, but I noticed again that, apart from German soldiers, both streets as far as I could see were still absolutely empty. I could feel my hair standing on end.

Want to know how it ends? Pre-order Brave Face!