About the Book

Book: When the Curlews Call

Author: Joanne Markey

Genre: Christian Historical Mystery, Fairytale retelling

Release Date: September 5, 2023

Some say all Sophia Randall thinks of are romance novels and dance frocks…

That may have been true once, but when war broke out, reaching even to our isolated corner of the bush, my priorities changed. I now read news from afar and dance but rarely.

Only my love for the Almighty God, for family and friends, for the man who captured my heart, for the bush, and for the call of the curlew haven’t changed. Especially the call of the curlew.

Some say it’s mournful—even sinister—but I’ve always delighted in that lonely cry heralding the end of another day. And when Kenny went off to war, it became a promise—a reminder of his love and determination to return.

When the unthinkable happens, my prayers become listless. New challenges surface. Ghostly footsteps join the coal trucks rumbling through town. Dingoes lurk in the shadows. Valuables vanish. A… presence chases me through the bush. Burdens weigh me down, and I forget to remember.

But is all lost? Would the pain in my heart be easier to bear if I stopped to listen for the curlews’ call?

Loosely based on “The Boy Who Disappeared”, When the Curlews Call is a story of ghostly doings, missing airmen, and a young girl desperate to keep the home fires burning when all hope seems lost. Told through a series of letters, readers will follow Sophia’s journey, sharing her triumphs and trials all through the long, dark days of World War II.

Click here to get your copy!

About the Author

Originally from Australia, Joanne Markey now lives in Ohio with her husband and seven children. When she’s not reading or writing, you might find her wandering the property with her kids in search of whatever seasonal treasure they’re trying to find.

Author Interview with Joanne

Q: What was the inspiration behind this novel?

Joanne: The inspiration for this novel came from my own family history. My Dad’s hometown has always fascinated me. He always talked fondly of the years he lived there, and I wished I could have visited that town. However, it was completely demolished to make way for a coal mine, so visiting was never an option. Add to that the fact there was an Uncle Kenny on both sides of the family who served during WWII, and you have the setting and the hero. When the opportunity came to write a book set during WWII both of those things combined to bring us When the Curlews Call.

Q: Do any of the novel’s characters hold a special place in your heart?

Joanne: Definitely. The hero, Kenny, was based on two uncles. One from each side of our family—both named Kenny. One fought on the European front and is buried somewhere in France. The other fought in the Pacific and was taken prisoner. When the war ended, the other boys all came home. Enough time passed that the family gave up hope of his survival, and then he came home. I named my hero Kenny to honor those two men.

Q: In what setting do you enjoy writing the most?

Joanne: Honestly, it depends. If the story is flowing, I can write anywhere, no matter how quiet or noisy it is, or whether I’m inside or outside. If I’m struggling to write, I’ve needed a particular situation—certain music for one series, writing on my phone for another, and then there was the time I had to write on my laptop because our internet was bad and I couldn’t sync my writing program between devices.

Q: How many bookshelves are in your home?

Joanne: As a family of readers with eleven people in the house (multi-generational household) we have ten bookshelves in use, a closet shelf piled with books, and more boxed up in storage. Most of the books in storage belong to my husband and myself, with the kids also having some books put away. We are forever adding to our collection, but finding places to put new books is becoming a challenge.

Q: Who is an author you would recommend to anyone and everyone?

Joanne: I have a lot of favorite authors, but the one author I can recommend to anyone, young or old, no matter what genre they read, is Chautona Havig. She writes in practically all the genres, if not all, her books are always clean, and there is something for everyone. She’s also the author who introduced me to my favorite genre—contemporary romance. It was as though a lightbulb went off when I first read her books ten or so years ago and I realized that was my genre.

Enjoy an Excerpt!

Sunday, 17th September, 1939

 My dear friend Lilian,

The war has hardly begun and already I wish it were over! From the way they talk, we live in daily fear that my beloved brothers, Hans and Peter, will enlist. They hardly talk of anything else. Hans has begun to wave goodbye in the morning with a cheery—as only Hans can manage!—warning that Mum ought not be surprised if he should sign up before nightfall.

It’s only a joke, but there is a serious glint in his eyes that would seem to imply he is thinking it through. I don’t know why, but he seems to be biding his time.

Perhaps for Mum’s sake? It’s so near Christmas—only a little more than three months—it would not be a surprise if he waited until after that date, because we all know how much the Yuletide season means to our mother.

As much as I would hate to see them go, they feel very strongly about doing their bit. Which one cannot fault them for!

But when I think of the other boys from our district, my heart grows heavy. When will they feel the call to serve God and country? When will we be forced to say goodbye to those we love?

In particular, when will he feel the call to serve?

Oh, how I wish you were here so we could sneak away for one of our late-night yarns. Curled up in the hammocks with our blankets pulled to our chins, and the stars shining overheard as we share the deepest secrets of our hearts. I know you are doing the right thing there in the city, dearest Lilian, but oh, how I miss you!

Don’t mind me. It’s just that I feel particularly emotional tonight, and as I listen to the curlews call and try not to spill tears onto my paper, I will attempt to share as we used to do face to face.

Changes have come to our little town since you’ve been gone. The Salvation Army hall was sold to the Methodist church, and they have begun to remodel the building to be used for services. I miss our little meetings held there, but Mum is longing forward to the day when she can sit down in a good old-fashioned Methodist church again.

Did you know that the McCormicks regularly attend the Methodist church in Clermont?! I only learned that yesterday, and I learned it from a very reliable source.

Kenny!  Yes, you read that right.

Kenneth McCormick himself told me that his family regularly attends church in Clermont, but now that we have our own little Methodist church, he might consider coming here. He’s often over this way to visit his cousin Duncan at the Birimgan sawmill, so he didn’t see why they couldn’t ride into Blair Athol for church before he goes back to his father’s station, Wallaby Run.

I’m sure you are wondering how I came to be talking to Kenny, and that, my dear friend, is why I wish you were here. It would be so much easier to tell you what happened than to write it out. But we cannot change our circumstances by wishing, so I’ll do my best.

Early yesterday morning, Dad trucked a huge load of wethers in. There was a slight mix-up in the time the train arrived, so the man who’d arranged to meet Dad hadn’t come by the time the train got here. I don’t know how or why, but there wasn’t anyone around to help unload, so Dad had me help. He had me don a pair of Peter’s dungarees and boots that were at least a dozen sizes too big. My only hope was that no one would see me, but sadly that wasn’t the case because…

Partway through unloading, Dad called for me to go into the yard with the sheep to close a gate. That would have been all fine and dandy, but just as I got the gate halfway closed, the sheep, being sheep, decided they didn’t want to be in that yard. They wanted to be in the other yard. The one I was trying to close them out of. So, they turned and charged, bleating like their lives depended on it.

I heard yelling but couldn’t decipher the meaning due to the noise of the bleating. All that came to mind was the need to get that gate closed.

However, remember those boots I had to wear? One caught on the other, and instead of closing the gate, the only feat I managed was to fall on my face in the dirt and muck in front of a mob of four thousand charging sheep.

I barely had time to cover my head with my arms before the first sheep rushed by me. My last thought was that this was it. I would never see Mum, Dad, my brothers, you, or Kenny ever again. All I could do was pray that the end would come as swiftly and as painlessly as possible.

Then something strange happened. Instead of being trampled to death, my body rose above the sheep. In my wild, fear-addled state, I momentarily thought death had come and my body being transported to the afterlife. I don’t think it happens that way, but one doesn’t think clearly when one is under the shocking impression one has died!

Only a moment passed before I realized that it wasn’t an angel carrying me, it was a man. One whose voice I recognized as Kenny’s the moment he yelled to Dad that I was okay.

But I wasn’t okay!