This was a direct hit at Mother’s modern child-rearing methods, which she’s
defended on many occasions. Mrs. van Daan was so upset her face turned
bright red. People who flush easily become even more agitated when they
feel themselves getting hot under the collar, and they quickly lose to their
opponents.
The nonflushed mother, who now wanted to have the matter over and done
with as quickly as possible, paused for a moment to think before she replied.
“Well, Mrs. van Daan, I agree that it’s much better if a person isn’t
overmodest. My husband, Margot and Peter are all exceptionally modest.
Your husband, Anne and I, though not exactly the opposite, don’t let
ourselves be pushed around.”
Mrs. van Daan: “Oh, but Mrs. Frank, I don’t understand what you mean!
Honestly, I’m extremely modest and retiring.
How can you say that I’m pushy?”
Mother: “I didn’t say you were pushy, but no one would describe you as
having a retiring disposition.”
Mrs. van D.: “I’d like to know in what way I’m pushy! If I didn’t look out for
myself here, no one else would, and I’d soon starve, but that doesn’t mean I’m
not as modest and retiring as your husband.”
Mother had no choice but to laugh at this ridiculous self-defense, which
irritated Mrs. van Daan. Not exactly a born debater, she continued her
magnificent account in a mixture of German and Dutch, until she got so
tangled up in her own words that she finally rose from her chair and was just
about to leave the room when her eye fell on me. You should have seen her!
As luck would have it, the moment Mrs.
van D. turned around I was shaking my head in a combination of compassion
and irony. I wasn’t doing it on purpose, but I’d followed her tirade so intently
that my reaction was completely involuntary. Mrs. van D. wheeled around
and gave me a tongue-lashing: hard, Germanic, mean and vulgar, exactly like
some fat, red-faced fishwife. It was a joy to behold. If I could draw, I’d like to
have sketched her as she was then.
She struck me as so comical, that silly little scatterbrain!
I’ve learned one thing: you only really get to know a person after a fight.
Only then can you judge their true character!
Yours, Anne
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
The strangest things happen to you when you’re in hiding!
Try to picture this. Because we don’t have a bathtub, we wash ourselves in a
washtub, and because there’s only hot water in the office (by which I mean
the entire lower floor), the seven of us take turns making the most of this
great opportunity. But since none of us are alike and are all plagued by
varying degrees of modesty, each member of the family has selected a
different place to wash. Peter takes a bath in the office kitchen, even though it
has a glass door.
When it’s time for his bath, he goes around to each of us in turn and
announces that we shouldn’t walk past the kitchen for the next half hour. He
considers this measure to be sufficient. Mr. van D. takes his bath upstairs,
figuring that the safety of his own room outweighs the difficulty of having to
carry the hot water up all those stairs. Mrs. van D. has yet to take a bath; she’s
waiting to see which is the best place. Father bathes in the private office and
Mother in the kitchen behind a fire screen, while Margot and I have declared
the front office to be our bathing grounds. Since the curtains are drawn on
Saturday afternoon, we scrub ourselves in the dark, while the one who isn’t in
the bath looks out the window through a chink in the curtains and gazes in
wonder at the endlessly amusing people.
A week ago I decided I didn’t like this spot and have been on the lookout for
more comfortable bathing quarters. It was Peter who gave me the idea of
setting my washtub in the spacious office bathroom. I can sit down, turn on
the light, lock the door, pour out the water without anyone’s help, and all
without the fear of being seen. I used my lovely bathroom for the first time
on Sunday and, strange as it may seem, I like it better than any other place.
The plumber was at work downstairs on Wednesday, moving the water pipes
and drains from the office bathroom to the hallway so the pipes won’t freeze
during a cold winter. The plumber’s visit was far from pleasant. Not only
were we not allowed to run water during the day, but the bathroom was also
off-limits. I’ll tell you how we handled this problem; you may find it
unseemly of me to bring it up, but I’m not so prudish about matters of this
kind. On the day of our arrival, Father and I improvised a chamber pot,
sacrificing a canning jar for this purpose. For the duration of the plumber’s
visit, canning jars were put into service during the daytime to hold our calls
of nature. As far as I was concerned, this wasn’t half as difficult as having to
sit still all day and not say a word. You can imagine how hard that was for
Miss Quack, Quack, Quack. On ordinary days we have to speak in a whisper;
not being able to talk or move at all is ten times worse.
After three days of constant sitting, my backside was stiff and sore. Nightly
calisthenics helped.
Yours, Anne
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1942
Dear Kitty,
Yesterday I had a horrible fright. At eight o’clock the doorbell suddenly rang.
All I could think of was that someone was coming to get us, you know who I
mean. But I calmed down when everybody swore it must have been either
pranksters or the mailman.
The days here are very quiet. Mr. Levinsohn, a little Jewish pharmacist and
chemist, is working for Mr. Kugler in the kitchen. Since he’s familiar with the
entire building, we’re in constant dread that he’ll take it into his head to go
have a look at what used to be the laboratory. We’re as still as baby mice.
Who would have guessed three months ago that quicksilver Anne would have
to sit so quietly for hours on end, and what’s more, that she could?
Mrs. van Daan’s birthday was the twenty-ninth. Though we didn’t have a
large celebration, she was showered with flowers, simple gifts and good food.
Apparently the red carnations from her spouse are a family tradition.
Let me pause a moment on the subject of Mrs. van Daan and tell you that her
attempts to flirt with Father are a constant source of irritation to me. She pats
him on the cheek and head, hikes up her skirt and makes so-called witty
remarks in an effort to get’s Pim’s attention. Fortunately, he finds her neither
pretty nor charming, so he doesn’t respond to her flirtations. As you know,
I’m quite the jealous type, and I can’t abide her behavior. After all, Mother
doesn’t act that way toward Mr. van D., which is what I told Mrs. van D. right
to her face.
From time to time Peter can be very amusing. He and I have one thing in
common: we like to dress up, which makes everyone laugh. One evening we
made our appearance, with Peter in one of his mother’s skin-tight dresses and
me in his suit. He wore a hat; I had a cap on. The grown-ups split their sides
laughing, and we enjoyed ourselves every bit as much.
Bep bought new skirts for Margot and me at The Bijenkorf.
The fabric is hideous, like the burlap bag potatoes come in.
Just the kind of thing the department stores wouldn’t dare sell in the olden
days, now costing 24.00 guilders (Margot’s) and 7.75 guilders (mine).
We have a nice treat in store: Bep’s ordered a correspondence course in
shorthand for Margot, Peter and me.
Just you wait, by this time next year we’ll be able to take perfect shorthand. In
any case, learning to write a secret code like that is really interesting.
I have a terrible pain in my index finger (on my left hand), so I can’t do any
ironing. What luck!
Mr. van Daan wants me to sit next to him at the table, since Margot doesn’t
eat enough to suit him. Fine with me, I like changes. There’s always a tiny
black cat roaming around the yard, and it reminds me of my dear sweet
Moortje. Another reason I welcome the change is that Mama’s always carping
at me, especially at the table. Now Margot will have to bear the brunt of it. Or
rather, won’t, since Mother doesn’t make such sarcastic remarks to her. Not to
that paragon of virtue! I’m always teasing Margot about being a paragon of
virtue these days, and she hates it. Maybe it’ll teach her not to be such a
goody-goody. High time she learned.
To end this hodgepodge of news, a particularly amusing joke told by Mr. van
Daan: What goes click ninety-nine times and clack once?
A centipede with a clubfoot.
Bye-bye, Anne
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 3, 1942
Dear Kitty,
Everybody teased me quite a bit yesterday because I lay down on the bed
next to Mr. van Daan. “At your age! Shocking!
” and other remarks along those lines. Silly, of course. I’d never want to sleep
with Mr. van Daan the way they mean.
Yesterday Mother and I had another run-in and she really kicked up a fuss.
She told Daddy all my sins and I started to cry, which made me cry too, and I
already had such an awful headache. I finally told Daddy that I love “him”
more than I do Mother, to which he replied that it was just a passing phase,
but I don’t think so. I simply can’t stand Mother, and I have to force myself
not to snap at her all the time, and to stay calm, when I’d rather slap her
across the face. I don’t know why I’ve taken such a terrible dislike to her.
Daddy says that if Mother isn’t feeling well or has a headache, I should
volunteer to help her, but I’m not going to because I don’t love her and don’t
enjoy doing it. I can imagine Mother dying someday, but Daddy’s death
seems inconceivable. It’s very mean of me, but that’s how I feel. I hope
Mother will never read this or anything else I’ve written.
I’ve been allowed to read more grown-up books lately.
Eva’s Youth by Nico van Suchtelen is currently keeping me busy. I don’t
think there’s much of a difference between this and books for teenage girls.
Eva thought that children grew on trees, like apples, and that the stork
plucked them off the tree when they were ripe and brought them to the
mothers.
But her girlfriend’s cat had kittens and Eva saw them coming out of the cat,
so she thought cats laid eggs and hatched them like chickens, and that
mothers who wanted a child also went upstairs a few days before their time to
lay an egg and brood on it. After the babies arrived, the mothers were pretty
weak from all that squatting. At some point, Eva wanted a baby too. She took
a wool scarf and spread it on the ground so the egg could fall into it, and then
she squatted down and began to push. She clucked as she waited, but no egg
came out. Finally, after she’d been sitting for a long time, something did
come, but it was a sausage instead of an egg.
Eva was embarrassed. She thought she was sick. Funny, isn’t it? There are
also parts of Eva’s Youth that talk about women selling their bodies on the
street and asking loads of money.
I’d be mortified in front of a man like that. In addition, it mentions Eva’s
menstruation. Oh, I long to get my period –then I’ll really be grown up.
Daddy is grumbling again and threatening to take away my diary. Oh, horror
of horrors!
From now on, I’m going to hide it.
Anne Frank
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 7, 1942
I imagine that. . .
I’ve gone to Switzerland. Daddy and I sleep in one room, while the boys’.
study is turned into a sitting room, where I can receive visitors. As a surprise,
they’ve bought new furniture for me, including a tea table, a desk, armchairs
and a divan. Everything’s simply wonderful. After a few days Daddy gives
me 150 guilders — converted into Swiss money, of course, but I’ll call them
guilders — and tells me to buy everything I think I’ll need, all for myself.
(Later on, I get a guilder a week, which I can also use to buy whatever I
want.) I set off with Bernd and buy:
3 cotton undershirts @ 0.50 = 1.50
3 cotton underpants @ 0.50 = 1.50
3 wool undershirts @ O. 75 = 2.25
3 wool underpants @ O. 75 = 2.25
2 petticoats @ 0.50 = 1.00
2 bras (smallest size) @ 0.50 = 1.00
5 pajamas @ 1.00 = 5.00
1 summer robe @ 2.50 = 2.50
1 winter robe @ 3.00 = 3.00
2 bed jackets @ O. 75 = 1.50
. Anne’s cousins Bernhard (Bernd) and Stephan Elias.
THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL 53
1 small pillow @ 1.00 = 1.00
1 pair of lightweight slippers @ 1.00 = 1.00
1 pair of warm slippers @ 1.50 = 1.50
1 pair of summer shoes (school) @ 1.50 = 1.50
1 pair of summer shoes (dressy) @ 2.00 = 2.00
1 pair of winter shoes (school) @ 2.50 = 2.50
1 pair of winter shoes (dressy) @ 3.00 = 3.00
2 aprons @ 0.50 = 1.00
25 handkerchiefs @ 0.05 = 1.00
4 pairs of silk stockings @ 0.75 = 3.00
4 pairs of kneesocks @ 0.50 = 2.00
4 pairs of socks @ 0.25 = 1.00
2 pairs of thick stockings @ 1.00 = 2.00
3 skeins of white yarn (underwear, cap) = 1.50
3 skeins of blue yarn (sweater, skirt) = 1.50
3 skeins of variegated yarn (cap, scarf) = 1.50
Scarves, belts, collars, buttons = 1.25
Plus 2 school dresses (summer), 2 school dresses (winter), 2 good dresses
(sumr.ner), 2 good dresses (winter), 1 summer skirt, 1 good winter skirt, 1
school winter skirt, 1
raincoat, 1 summer coat, 1 winter coat, 2 hats, 2 caps. For a total of 10g.00
guilders.
2 purses, 1 ice-skating outfit, 1 pair of skates, 1 case (containing powder, skin
cream, foundation cream, cleansing cream, suntan lotion, cotton, first-aid kit,
rouge, lipstick, eyebrow pencil, bath salts, bath powder, eau de cologne, soap,
powder puff).
Plus 4 sweaters @ 1.50,4 blouses @ 1.00, miscellaneous items @ 10.00 and
books, presents @ 4.50.
OCTOBER 9, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Today I have nothing but dismal and depressing news to report. Our many
Jewish friends and acquaintances are being taken away in droves. The
Gestapo is treating them very roughly and transporting them in cattle cars to
Westerbork, the big camp in Drenthe to which they’re sending all the Jews.
Miep told us about someone who’d managed to escape from there. It must be
terrible in Westerbork. The people get almost nothing to eat, much less to
drink, as water is available only one hour a day, and there’s only one toilet
and sink for several thousand people. Men and women sleep in the same
room, and women and children often have their heads shaved. Escape is
almost impossible; many people look Jewish, and they’re branded by their
shorn heads.
If it’s that bad in Holland, what must it be like in those faraway and
uncivilized places where the Germans are sending them? We assume that
most of them are being murdered. The English radio says they’re being
gassed. Perhaps that’s the quickest way to die.
I feel terrible. Miep’s accounts of these horrors are so heartrending, and Miep
is also very distraught. The other day, for instance, the Gestapo deposited an
elderly, crippled Jewish woman on Miep’s doorstep while they set off to find
a car. The old woman was terrified of the glaring searchlights and the guns
firing at the English planes overhead. Yet Miep didn’t dare let her in. Nobody
would. The Germans are generous enough when it comes to punishment.
Bep is also very subdued. Her boyfriend is being sent to Germany. Every
time the planes fly over, she’s afraid they’re going to drop their entire bomb
load on Bertus’s head. Jokes like “Oh, don’t worry, they can’t all fall on him”
or “One bomb is all it takes” are hardly appropriate in this situation. Bertus is
not the only one being forced to work in Germany. Trainloads of young men
depart daily. Some of them try to sneak off the train when it stops at a small
station, but only a few manage to escape unnoticed and find a place to hide.
But that’s not the end of my lamentations. Have you ever heard the term
“hostages”? That’s the latest punishment for saboteurs. It’s the most horrible
thing you can imagine.