Mr. van Daan filled us in: “Monday morning at nine, Mr.
Goldschmidt phoned and asked if I could come over. I went straightaway and
found a very distraught Mr. Goldschmidt. He showed me a note that the
Frank family had left behind. As instructed, he was planning to bring the cat
to the neighbors, which I agreed was a good idea. He was afraid the house
was going to be searched, so we w=nt through all the rooms, straightening up
here and there and clearing the breakfast things off the table. Suddenly I saw
a notepad on Mrs. Frank’s desk, with an address in Maastricht written on it.
Even though I knew Mrs. Frank had left it on purpose, I pretended to be
surprised and horrified and begged Mr.
Goldschmidt to burn this incriminating piece of paper. I swore up and down
that I knew nothing about your disappearance, but that the note had given me
an idea. ‘Mr.
Goldschmidt,’ I said, ‘I bet I know what this address refers to. About six
months ago a high-ranking officer came to the office. It seems he and Mr.
Frank grew up together. He promised to help Mr. Frank if it was ever
necessary. As I recall, he was stationed in Maastricht. I think this officer has
kept his word and is somehow planning to help them cross over to Belgium
and then to Switzerland. There’s no harm in telling this to any friends of the
Franks who come asking about them. Of course, you don’t need to mention
the part about Maastricht.’ And after that I left. This is the story most of your
friends have been told, because I heard it later from several other people.”
We thought it was extremely funny, but we laughed even harder when Mr.
van Daan told us that certain people have vivid imaginations. For example,
one family living on our square claimed they sawall four of us riding by on
our bikes early in the morning, and another woman was absolutely positive
we’d been loaded into some kind of military vehicle in the middle of the
night.
Yours, Anne
FRIDAY, AUGUST 21, 1942
Dear Kitty,
Now our Secret Annex has truly become secret.
Because so many houses are being searched for hidden bicycles, Mr. Kugler
thought it would be better to have a bookcase built in front of the entrance to
our hiding place.
It swings out on its hinges and opens like a door. Mr.
Voskuijl did the carpentry work. (Mr. Voskuijl has been told that the seven of
us are in hiding, and he’s been most helpful.)
Now whenever we want to go downstairs we have to duck and then jump.
After the first three days we were all walking around with bumps on our
foreheads from banging our heads against the low doorway. Then Peter
cushioned it by nailing a towel stuffed with wood shavings to the doorframe.
Let’s see if it helps!
I’m not doing much schoolwork. I’ve given myself a vacation until
September. Father wants to start tutoring me then, but we have to buy all the
books first.
There’s little change in our lives here. Peter’s hair was washed today, but
that’s nothing special. Mr. van Daan and I are always at loggerheads with
each other. Mama always treats me like a baby, which I can’t stand. For the
rest, things are going better. I don’t think Peter’s gotten any nicer. He’s an
obnoxious boy who lies around on his bed all day, only rousing himself to do
a little carpentry work before returning to his nap. What a dope!
Mama gave me another one of her dreadful sermons this morning. We take
the opposite view of everything. Daddy’s a sweetheart; he may get mad at me,
but it never lasts longer than five minutes.
It’s a beautiful day outside, nice and hot, and in spite of everything, we make
the most of the weather by lounging on the folding bed in the attic.
Yours, Anne
COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE ON SEPTEMBER 21, 1942: Mr. van Daan
has been as nice as pie to me recently. I’ve said nothina, but have been
enjoyina it while it lasts.
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Mr. and Mrs. van Daan have had a terrible fight. I’ve never seen anything like
it, since Mother and Father wouldn’t dream of shouting at each other like that.
The argument was based on something so trivial it didn’t seem worth wasting
a single word on it. Oh well, to each his own.
Of course, it’s very difficult for Peter, who gets caught in the middle, but no
one takes Peter seriously anymore, since he’s hypersensitive and lazy.
Yesterday he was beside himself with worry because his tongue was blue
instead of pink. This rare phenomenon disappeared as quickly as it came.
Today he’s walking around with a heavy scarf on because he’s got a stiff
neck. His Highness has been complaining of lumbago too. Aches and pains in
his heart, kidneys and lungs are also par for the course. He’s an absolute
hypochondriac!
(That’s the right word, isn’t it?)
Mother and Mrs. van Daan aren’t getting along very well.
There are enough reasons for the friction. To give you one small example,
Mrs. van D. has removed all but three of her sheets from our communal linen
closet. She’s assuming that Mother’s can be used for both families. She’ll be
in for a nasty surprise when she discovers that Mother has followed her lead.
Furthermore, Mrs. van D. is ticked off because we’re using her china instead
of ours. She’s still trying to find out what we’ve done with our plates; they’re a
lot closer than she thinks, since they’re packed in cardboard boxes in the attic,
behind a load of Opekta advertising material. As long as we’re in hiding, the
plates will remain out of her reach.
Since I’m always having accidents, it’s just as well!
Yesterday I broke one of Mrs. van D.’s soup bowls.
“Oh!” she angrily exclaimed. “Can’t you be more careful?
That was my last one.”
Please bear in mind, Kitty, that the two ladies speak abominable Dutch (I
don’t dare comment on the gentlemen: they’d be highly insulted). If you were
to hear their bungled attempts, you’d laugh your head off. We’ve given up
pointing out their errors, since correcting them doesn’t help anyway.
Whenever I quote Mother or Mrs. van Daan, I’ll write proper Dutch instead of
trying to duplicate their speech.
Last week there was a brief interruption in our monotonous routine. This was
provided by Peter — and a book about women. I should explain that Margot
and Peter are allowed to read nearly all the books Mr. Kleiman lends us. But
the adults preferred to keep this special book to themselves.
This immediately piqued Peter’s curiosity. What forbidden fruit did it
contain? He snuck off with it when his mother was downstairs talking, and
took himself and his booty to the loft. For two days all was well. Mrs. van
Daan knew what he was up to, but kept mum until Mr. van Daan found out
about it. He threw a fit, took the book away and assumed that would be the
end of the business. However, he’d neglected to take his son’s curiosity into
account. Peter, not in the least fazed by his father’s swift action, began
thinking up ways to read the rest of this vastly interesting book.
In the meantime, Mrs. van D. asked Mother for her opinion.
Mother didn’t think this particular book was suitable for Margot, but she saw
no harm in letting her read most other books.
You see, Mrs. van Daan, Mother Said, there’s a big difference between
Margot and Peter. To begin with, Margot’s a girl, and girls are always more
mature than boys. Second, she’s already read many serious books and doesn’t
go looking for those which are no longer forbidden. Third, Margot’s much
more sensible and intellectually advanced, as a result of her four years at an
excellent school.”
Mrs. van Daan agreed with her, but felt it was wrong as a matter of principle
to let youngsters read books written for adults.
Meanwhile, Peter had thought of a suitable time when no one would be
interested in either him or the book. At seven-thirty in the evening, when the
entire family was listening to the radio in the private office, he took his
treasure and stole off to the loft again. He should have been back by eightthirty, but he was so engrossed in the book that he forgot the time and was
just coming down the stairs when his father entered the room. The scene that
followed was not surprising: after a slap, a whack and a tug-of-war, the book
lay on the table and Peter was in the loft.
This is how matters stood when it was time for the family to eat. Peter stayed
upstairs. No one gave him a moment’s thought; he’d have to go to bed without
his dinner. We continued eating, chatting merrily away, when suddenly we
heard a piercing whistle. We lay down our forks and stared at each other, the
shock clearly visible on our pale faces.
Then we heard Peter’s voice through the chimney: “I won t come down!”
Mr. van Daan leapt up, his napkin falling to the floor, and shouted, with the
blood rushing to his face, “I’ve had enough!”
Father, afraid of what might happen, grabbed him by the arm and the two
men went to the attic. After much struggling and kicking, Peter wound up in
his room with the door shut, and we went on eating.
Mrs. van Daan wanted to save a piece of bread for her darling son, but Mr.
van D. was adamant. “If he doesn’t apologize this minute, he’ll have to sleep
in the loft.”
We protested that going without dinner was enough punishment. What if
Peter were to catch cold? We wouldn’t be able to call a doctor.
Peter didn’t apologize, and returned to the loft.
Mr. van Daan decided to leave well enough alone, though he did note the
next morning that Peter’s bed had been slept in.
At seven Peter went to the attic again, but was persuaded to come downstairs
when Father spoke a few friendly words to him. After three days of sullen
looks and stubborn silence, everything was back to normal.
Yours, Anne
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Today I’ll tell you the general news here in the Annex. A lamp has been
mounted above my divan bed so that in the future, when I hear the guns
going off, I’ll be able to pull a cord and switch on the light. I can’t use it at the
moment because we’re keeping our window open a little, day and night.
The male members of the van Daan contingent have built a very handy woodstained food safe, with real screens. Up to now this glorious cupboard has
been located in Peter’s room, but in the interests of fresh air it’s been moved
to the attic. Where it once stood, there’s now a shelf. I advised Peter to put his
table underneath the shelf, add a nice rug and hang his own cupboard where
the table now stands. That might make his little cubbyhole more comfy,
though I certainly wouldn’t like to sleep there.
Mrs. van Daan is unbearable. I’m continually being scolded for my incessant
chatter when I’m upstairs. I simply let the words bounce right off me!
Madame now has a new trick up her sleeve: trying to get out of washing the
pots and pans. If there’s a bit of food left at the bottom of the pan, she leaves
it to spoil instead of transferring it to a glass dish. Then in the afternoon when
Margot is stuck with cleaning all the pots and pans, Madame exclaims, “Oh,
poor Margot, you have so much work to do!”
Every other week Mr. Kleiman brings me a couple of books written for girls
my age. I’m enthusiastic about the loop ter Heul series. I’ve enjoyed all of
Cissy van Marxveldt’s books very much. I’ve read The Zaniest Summer four
times, and the ludicrous situations still make me laugh.
Father and I are currently working on our family tree, and he tells me
something about each person as we go along. I’ve begun my schoolwork. I’m
working hard at French, cramming five irregular verbs into my head every
day. But I’ve forgotten much too much of what I learned in school.
Peter has taken up his English with great reluctance. A few schoolbooks have
just arrived, and I brought a large supply of notebooks, pencils, erasers and
labels from home.
Pim (that’s our pet name for Father) wants me to help him with his Dutch
lessons. I’m perfectly willing to tutor him in exchange for his assistance with
French and other subjects.
But he makes the most unbelievable mistakes!
I sometimes listen to the Dutch broadcasts from London.
Prince Bernhard recently announced that Princess juliana is expecting a baby
in January, which I think is wonderful. No one here understands why I take
such an interest in the Royal Family.
A few nights ago I was the topic of discussion, and we all decided I was an
ignoramus. As a result, I threw myself into my schoolwork the next day,
since I have little desire to still be a freshman when I’m fourteen or fifteen.
The fact that I’m hardly allowed to read anything was also discussed.
At the moment, Mother’s reading Gentlemen, Wives and Servants, and of
course I’m not allowed to read it (though Margot is!). First I have to be more
intellectually developed, like my genius of a sister. Then we discussed my
ignorance of philosophy, psychology and physiology (I immediately looked
up these big words in the dictionary!).
It’s true, I don’t know anything about these subjects. But maybe I’ll be smarter
next year!
I’ve come to the shocking conclusion that I have only one long-sleeved dress
and three cardigans to wear in the winter.