THURSDAY, MAY 25, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Bep’s engaged! The news isn’t much of a surprise, though none of us are
particularly pleased. Bertus may be a nice, steady, athletic young man, but
Bep doesn’t love him, and to me that’s enough reason to advise her against
marrying him.
Bep’s trying to get ahead in the world, and Bertus is pulling her back; he’s a
laborer, without any interests or any desire to make something of himself,
and I don’t think that’ll make Bep happy. I can understand Bep’s wanting to
put an end to her indecision; four weeks ago she decided to write him off, but
then she felt even worse. So she wrote him a letter, and now she’s engaged.
There are several factors involved in this engagement.
First, Bep’s sick father, who likes Bertus very much. Second, she’s the oldest
of the Voskuijl girls and her mother teases her about being an old maid.
Third, she’s just turned twenty-four, and that matters a great deal to Bep.
Mother said it would have been better if Bep had simply had an affair with
Bertus. I don’t know, I feel sorry for Bep and can understand her loneliness.
In any case, they can get married only after the war, since Bertus is in hiding,
or at any rate has gone underground. Besides, they don’t have a penny to their
name and nothing in the way of a hope chest.
What a sorry prospect for Bep, for whom we all wish the best.
I only hope Bertus improves under her influence, or that Bep finds another
man, one who knows how to appreciate her!
Yours, Anne M. Frank
THE SAME DAY
There’s something happening every day. This morning Mr.
van Hoeven was arrested. He was hiding two Jews in his house.
It’s a heavy blow for us, not only because those poor Jews are once again
balancing on the edge of an abyss, but also because it’s terrible for Mr. van
Hoeven.
The world’s been turned upside down. The most decent people are being sent
to concentration camps, prisons and lonely cells, while the lowest of the low
rule over young and old, rich and poor. One gets caught for black
marketeering, another for hiding Jews or other un- fortunate souls. Unless
you’re a Nazi, you don’t know what’s going to happen to you from one day to
the next.
Mr. van Hoeven is a great loss to us too. Bep can’t possibly lug such huge
amounts of potatoes all the way here, nor should she have to, so our only
choice is to eat fewer of them. I’ll tell you what we have in mind, but it’s
certainly not going to make life here any more agreeable. Mother says we’ll
skip breakfast, eat hot cereal and bread for lunch and fried potatoes for dinner
and, if possible, vegetables or lettuce once or twice a week. That’s all there is.
We’re going to be hungry, but nothing’s worse than being caught.
Yours, Anne M. Frank
FRIDAY, MAY 26, 1944
My dearest Kitty,
At long, long last, I can sit quietly at my table before the crack in the window
frame and write you everything, everything I want to say.
I feel more miserable than I have in months. Even after the break-in I didn’t
feel so utterly broken, inside and out.
On the one hand, there’s the news about Mr. van Hoeven, the Jewish question
(which is discussed in detail by everyone in the house), the invasion (which is
so long in coming), the awful food, the tension, the misera- ble atmosphere,
my disappointment in Peter. On the other hand, there’s Bep’s engagement, the
Pentecost reception, the flowers, Mr.
Kugler’s birthday, cakes and stories about cabarets, movies and concerts. That
gap, that enormous gap, is always there.
One day we’re laugh- ing at the comical side of life in hiding, and the next
day (and there are many such days), we’re frightened, and the fear, tension
and despair can be read on our faces.
Miep and Mr. Kugler bear the greatest burden for us, and for all those in
hiding-Miep in everything she does and Mr.
Kugler through his enormous responsibthty for the eight of us, which is
sometimes so overwhelming that he can hardly speak from the pent-up
tension and strain. Mr. Kleiman and Bep also take very good care of us, but
they’re able to put the Annex out of their minds, even if it’s only for a few
hours or a few days. They have their own worries, Mr. Kleiman with his
health and Bep with her engagement, which isn’t looking very promising lat
the moment. But they also have their outings, their visits with friends, their
everyday lives as ordinary people, so that the tension is sometimes relieved,
if only for a short while, while ours never is, never has been, not once in the
two years we’ve been here.
How much longer will this increasingly oppressive, unbearable weight press I
down on us?
The drains are clogged again. We can’t run the wa- ter, or if we do, only a
trickle; we can’t flush the toilet, so we have to use a toilet brush; and we’ve
been putting our dirty water into a big earthenware jar. We can man- age for
today, but what will happen if the plumber can’t fix it on his own?
The Sanitation Department can’t come until Tuesday.
Miep sent us a raisin bread with “Happy Pentecost” written on top. It’s almost
as if she were mocking us, since our moods and cares are far from “happy.”
We’ve all become more frightened since the van Hoeven business. Once
again you hear “shh” from all I sides, and we’re doing everything more
quietly. The police forced the door there; they could just as easily do that here
too! What will we do if we’re ever. . . no, I mustn’t write that down.
But the question won’t let itself be pushed to the back of my mind today; on
the contrary, all the fear I’ve ever felt is looming before me in all its horror.
I had to go downstairs alone at eight this evening to use the bathroom. There
was no one down there, since they were all listening to the radio. I wanted to
be brave, but it was hard. I always feel safer upstairs than in that huge, silent
house; when I’m alone with those mysterious muffied sounds from upstairs
and the honking of horns in the street, I have to hurry and remind myself
where I am to keep from getting the shivers.
Miep has been acting much nicer toward us since her talk with Father. But I
haven’t told you about that yet. Miep came up one afternoon all flushed and
asked Father straight out if we thought they too were infected with the current
anti-Semitism. Father was stunned and quickly talked her out of the idea, but
some of Miep’s suspicion has lingered on.
They’re doing more errands for us now and showing more of an interest in
our troubles, though we certainly shouldn’t bother them with our woes. Oh,
they’re such good, noble people!
I’ve asked myself again and again whether it wouldn’t have been better if we
hadn’t gone into hiding, if we were dead now and didn’t have to go through
this misery, especially so that the others could be spared the burden. But we
all shrink from this thought. We still love life, we haven’t yet forgotten the
voice of nature, and we keep hoping, hoping for. . . everything.
Let something happen soon, even an air raid. Nothing can be more crushing
than this anxiety. Let the end come, however cruel; at least then we’ll know
whether we are to be the victors or the vanquished.
Yours, Anne M. Frank
WEDNESDAY, MAY 31, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday it was too hot to hold my fountain
pen, which is why I couldn’t write to you.
Friday the drains were clogged, Saturday they were fixed.
Mrs. Kleiman came for a visit in the afternoon and told us a lot about Jopiej
she and Jacque van Maarsen are in the same hockey club. Sunday Bep
dropped by to make sure there hadn’t been a break-in and stayed for
breakfast. Monday (a holiday because of Pentecost), Mr. Gies served as the
Annex watchman, and Tuesday we were finally allowed to open the
windows.
We’ve seldom had a Pentecost weekend that was so beautiful and warm. Or
maybe “hot” is a better word. Hot weather is horrible in the Annex. To give
you an idea of the numerous complaints, I’ll briefly describe these sweltering
days.
Saturday: “Wonderful, what fantastic weather,” we all said in the morning.
“If only it weren’t quite so hot,” we said in the afternoon, when the windows
had to be shut.
Sunday: “The heat’s unbearable, the butter’s melt- ing, there’s not a cool spot
anywhere in the house, the bread’s drying out, the milk’s going sour, the
windows can’t be opened. We poor outcasts are suffocating while everyone
else is enjoying their Pentecost.” (According to Mrs. van D.) Monday: “My
feet hurt, I have nothing cool to wear, I can’t do the dishes in this heat!”
Grumbling from early in the morning to late at night. It was awful.
I can’t stand the heat. I’m glad the wind’s come up today, but that the sun’s
still shining.
Yours, Anne M. Frank
FRIDAY, JUNE 2, 1944 J
Dear Kitty,
“If you’re going to the attic, take an umbrella with you, preferably a large
one!” This is to protect you from
“household showers.” There’s a Dutch proverb: “High and dry, safe and
sound,” but it obviously doesn’t apply to wartime (guns!) and to people in
hiding (cat box!). Mouschi’s gotten into the habit of relieving herself on some
newspapers or between the cracks in the floor boards, so we have good
reason to fear the splatters and, even worse, the stench. The new Moortje in
the warehouse has the same problem. Anyone who’s ever had a cat that’s not
housebroken can imagine the smells, other than pepper and thyme, that
permeate this house.
I also have a brand-new prescription for gunfire jitters: When the shooting
gets loud, proceed to the nearest wooden staircase. Run up and down a few
times, making sure to stumble at least once. What with the scratches and the
noise of running and falling, you won’t even be able to hear the shooting,
much less worry about it. Yours truly has put this magic formula to use, with
great success!
Yours, Anne M. Frank
MONDAY, JUNE 5, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
New problems in the Annex. A quarrel between Dussel and the Franks over
the division of butter. Capitulation on the part of Dussel. Close friendship
between the latter and Mrs.
van Daan, flirtations, kisses and friendly little smiles.
Dussel is beginning to long for female companionship.
The van Daans don’t see why we should bake a spice cake for Mr. Kugler’s
birthday when we can’t have one ourselves.
All very petty. Mood upstairs: bad. Mrs. van D. has a cold.
Dussel caught with brewer’s yeast tablets, while we’ve got none.
The Fifth Army has taken Rome. The city neither destroyed nor bombed.
Great propaganda for Hitler.
Very few potatoes and vegetables. One loaf of bread was moldy.
Scharminkeltje (name of new warehouse cat) can’t stand pepper. She sleeps
in the cat box and does her business in the wood shavings. Impossible to keep
her.
Bad weather. Continuous bombing of Pas de Calais and the west coast of
France.
No one buying dollars. Gold even less interesting.
The bottom of our black moneybox is in sight. What are we going to live on
next month?
Yours, Anne M. Frank
TUESDAY, JUNE 6, 1944
My dearest Kitty,
“This is D Day,” the BBC announced at twelve.
“This is the day.” The invasion has begun!
This morning at eight the British reported heavy bombing of Calais,
Boulogne, Le Havre and Cherbourg, as well as Pas de Calais (as usual).
Further, as a precautionary measure for those in the occupied territories,
everyone living within a zone of twenty miles from the coast was warned to
prepare for bombardments. Where possible, the British will drop pamphlets
an hour ahead of time.
According to the German news, British paratroopers have landed on the coast
of France. “British landing craft are engaged in combat with German naval
units,” according to the BBC.
Conclusion reached by the Annex while breakfasting at nine: this is a trial
landing, like the one two years ago in Dieppe.
BBC broadcast in German, Dutch, French and other languages at ten: The
invasion has begun! So this is the “real”
invasion. BBC broadcast in German at eleven: speech by Supreme
Commander General Dwight Eisenhower.
BBC broadcast in English: “This is 0 Day.” General Eisenhower said to the
French people: “Stiff fighting will come now, but after this the victory. The
year 1944 is the year of complete victory. Good luck!”
BBC broadcast in English at one: 11,000 planes are shuttling back and forth
or standing by to land troops and bomb behind enemy lines; 4,000 landing
craft and small boats are continually arriving in the area between Cher- bourg
and Le Havre. English and American troops are already engaged in heavy
combat. Speeches by Gerbrandy, the Prime Minister of Belgium, King
Haakon of Norway, de Gaulle of France, the King of England and, last but
not least, Churchill.
A huge commotion in the Annex! Is this really the beginning of the longawaited liberation? The liberation we’ve all talked so much about, which still
seems too good, too much of a fairy tale ever to come true? Will this year,
1944, bring us victory? We don’t know yet. But where there’s hope, there’s
life. It fills us with fresh courage and makes us strong again. We’ll need to be
brave to endure the many fears and hardships and the suffering yet to come.
It’s now a matter of remaining calm and steadfast, of gritting our teeth and
keeping a stiff upper lip! France, Russia, Italy, and even Germany, can cry
out in agony, but we don’t yet have that right!
Oh, Kitty, the best part about the invasion is that I have the feeling that
friends are on the way. Those terrible Germans have oppressed and
threatened us for so long that the thought of friends and salvation means
everything to us! Now it’s not just the Jews, but Holland and all of occupied
Europe. Maybe, Margot says, I can even go back to school in October or
September.
Yours, Anne M. Frank
P.S. I’ll keep you informed of the latest news!
This morning and last night, dummies made of straw and rubber were
dropped from the air behind German lines, and they exploded the minute they
hit the ground. Many paratroopers, their faces blackened so they couldn’t be
seen in the dark, landed as well. The French coast was bombarded with 5,500
tons of bombs during the night, and then, at six in the morning, the first
landing craft came ashore. Today there were 20,000 airplanes in action. The
German coastal batteries were destroyed even before the landing; a small
bridgehead has already been formed. Everything’s going well, despite the bad
weather. The army and the people are “one will and one hope.”