FRIDAY, JULY 10, 1942
Dearest Kitty, I’ve probably bored you with my long description of our house,
but I still think you should know where I’ve ended up; how I ended up here is
something you’ll figure out from my next letters.
But first, let me continue my story, because, as you know, I wasn’t finished.
After we arrived at 263 Prinsengracht, Miep quickly led us through the long
hallway and up the wooden staircase to the next floor and into the Annex.
She shut the door behind us, leaving us alone. Margot had arrived much
earlier on her bike and was waiting for us.
Our living room and all the other rooms were so full of stuff that I can’t find
the words to describe it. All the cardboard boxes that had been sent to the
office in the last few months were piled on the floors and beds. The small
room was filled from floor to cethng with linens. If we wanted to sleep in
properly made beds that night, we had to get going and straighten up the
mess. Mother and Margot were unable to move a muscle. They lay down on
their bare mattresses, tired, miserable and I don’t know what else. But Father
and I, the two cleaner-uppers in the family, started in right away.
All day long we unpacked boxes, filled cupboards, hammered nails and
straightened up the mess, until we fell exhausted into our clean beds at night.
We hadn’t eaten a hot meal all day, but we didn’t care; Mother and Margot
were too tired and keyed up to eat, and Father and I were too busy.
Tuesday morning we started where we left off the night before. Bep and
Miep went grocery shopping with our ration coupons, Father worked on our
blackout screens, we scrubbed the kitchen floor, and were once again busy
from sunup to sundown. Until Wednesday, I didn’t have a chance to think
about the enormous change in my life. Then for the first time since our arrival
in the Secret Annex, I found a moment to tell you all about it and to realize
what had happened to me and what was yet to happen.
Yours, Anne
SATURDAY, JULY 11, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Father, Mother and Margot still can’t get used to the chiming of the
Westertoren clock, which tells us the time every quarter of an hour. Not me, I
liked it from the start; it sounds so reassuring, especially at night. You no
doubt want to hear what I think of being in hiding. Well, all I can say is that I
don’t really know yet. I don’t think I’ll ever feel at home in this house, but that
doesn’t mean I hate it.
It’s more like being on vacation in some strange pension.
Kind of an odd way to look at life in hiding, but that’s how things are. The
Annex is an ideal place to hide in. It may be damp and lopsided, but there’s
probably not a more comfortable hiding place in all of Amsterdam. No, in all
of Holland.
Up to now our bedroom, with its blank walls, was very bare. Thanks to
Father — who brought my entire postcard and movie-star collection here
beforehand — and to a brush and a pot of glue, I was able to plaster the walls
with pictures.
It looks much more cheerful. When the van Daans arrive, we’ll be able to
build cupboards and other odds and ends out of the wood piled in the attic.
Margot and Mother have recovered somewhat. Yesterday Mother felt well
enough to cook split-pea soup for the first time, but then she was
downstairstalking and forgot all about it. The beans were scorched black, and
no amount of scraping could get them out of the pan.
Last night the four of us went down to the private office and listened to
England on the radio. I was so scared someone might hear it that I literally
begged Father to take me back upstairs. Mother understood my anxiety and
went with me.
Whatever we do, we’re very afraid the neighbors might hear or see us. We
started off immediately the first day sewing curtains. Actually, you can
hardly call them that, since they’re nothing but scraps of fabric, varying
greatly in shape, quality and pattern, which Father and I stitched crookedly
together with unskilled fingers. These works of art were tacked to the
windows, where they’ll stay until we come out of hiding.
The building on our right is a branch of the Keg Company, a firm from
Zaandam, and on the left is a furniture workshop.
Though the people who work there are not on the premises after hours, any
sound we make might travel through the walls. We’ve forbidden Margot to
cough at night, even though she has a bad cold, and are giving her large doses
of codeine.
I’m looking forward to the arrival of the van Daans, which is set for Tuesday.
It will be much more fun and also not as quiet. You see, it’s the silence that
makes me so nervous during the evenings and nights, and I’d give anything to
have one of our helpers sleep here.
It’s really not that bad here, since we can do our own cooking and can listen
to the radio in Daddy’s office.
Mr. Kleiman and Miep, and Bep Voskuijl too, have helped us so much.
We’ve already canned loads of rhubarb, strawberries and cherries, so for the
time being I doubt we’ll be bored.
We also have a supply of reading material, and we’re going to buy lots of
games. Of course, we can’t ever look out the window or go outside. And we
have to be quiet so the people downstairs can’t hear us.
Yesterday we had our hands full. We had to pit two crates of cherries for Mr.
Kugler to can. We’re going to use the empty crates to make bookshelves.
Someone’s calling me.
Yours, Anne
COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE ON SEPTEMBER 2g, 1942: Not beina
able to ao outside upsets me more than I can say, and I’m terrified our hidina
place will be discovered and that we’ll be shot. That, of course, is a fairly
dismal prospect.
SUNDAY, JULY 12, 1942
They’ve all been so nice to me this last month because of my birthday, and
yet every day I feel myself drifting further away from Mother and Margot. I
worked hard today and they praised me, only to start picking on me again
five minutes later.
You can easily see the difference between the way they deal with Margot and
the way they deal with me. For example, Margot broke the vacuum cleaner,
and because of that we’ve been without light for the rest of the day. Mother
said,
“Well, Margot, it’s easy to see you’re not used to working; otherwise, you’d
have known better than to yank the plug out by the cord.” Margot made some
reply, and that was the end of the story.
But this afternoon, when I wanted to rewrite something on Mother’s shopping
list because her handwriting is so hard to read, she wouldn’t let me. She
bawled me out again, and the whole family wound up getting involved.
I don’t fit in with them, and I’ve felt that clearly in the last few weeks. They’re
so sentimental together, but I’d rather be sentimental on my own. They’re
always saying how nice it is with the four of us, and that we get along so
well, without giving a moment’s thought to the fact that I don’t feel that way.
Daddy’s the only one who understands me, now and again, though he usually
sides with Mother and Margot. Another thing I can’t stand is having them talk
about me in front of outsiders, telling them how I cried or how sensibly I’m
behaving. It’s horrible. And sometimes they talk about Moortje and I can’t
take that at all. Moortje is my weak spot. I miss her every minute of the day,
and no one knows how often I think of her; whenever I do, my eyes fill with
tears. Moortje is so sweet, and I love her so much that I keep dreaming she’ll
come back to us.
I have plenty of dreams, but the reality is that we’ll have to stay here until the
war is over. We can’t ever go outside, and the only visitors we can have are
Miep, her husband Jan, Bep Voskuijl, Mr. Voskuijl, Mr. Kugler, Mr.
Kleiman and Mrs. Kleiman, though she hasn’t come because she thinks it’s
too dangerous.
COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE IN SEPTEMBER 1942: Daddy’s always so
nice. He understands me perfectly, and I wish we could have a heart-to-heart
talk sometime without my bursting instantly into tears. But apparently that
has to do with my age. I’d like to spend all my time writing, but that would
probably get boring.
Up to now I’ve only confided my thoughts to my diary. I still haven’t gotten
around to writing amusing sketches that I could read aloud at a later date. In
the future I’m going to devote less time to sentimentality and more time to
reality.
FRIDAY, AUGUST 14, 1942
Dear Kitty,
I’ve deserted you for an entire month, but so little has happened that I can’t
find a newsworthy item to relate every single day. The van Daans arrived on
July 13. We thought they were coming on the fourteenth, but from the
thirteenth to sixteenth the Germans were sending out call-up notices right and
left and causing a lot of unrest, so they decided it would be safer to leave a
day too early than a day too late.
Peter van Daan arrived at nine-thirty in the morning (while we were still at
breakfast). Peter’s going on sixteen, a shy, awkward boy whose company
won’t amount to much. Mr.
and Mrs. van Daan came half an hour later.
Much to our amusement, Mrs. van Daan was carrying a hatbox with a large
chamber pot inside. “I just don’t feel at home without my chamber pot,” she
exclaimed, and it was the first item to find a permanent place under the divan.
Instead of a chamber pot, Mr. van D. was lugging a collapsible tea table
under his arm.
From the first, we ate our meals together, and after three days it felt as if the
seven of us had become one big family.
Naturally, the van Daans had much to tell about the week we’d been away
from civilization. We were especially interested in what had happened to our
apartment and to Mr. Goldschmidt.