June, 1942
I hope I will be able to confide everything to you, as I have never been able to confide in anyone, and I hope you will be a great source of comfort and support.
COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE ON SEPTEMBER 28, 1942: So far you truly have been a areat source of comfort to me, and so has Kitty, whom I now write to regularly.
This way of keeping a diary is much nicer, and now I can hardly wait for those moments when Im able to write in you. Oh, Im so alad I brought you along!
SUNDAY, JUNE 14, 1942
Ill begin from the moment I got you, the moment I saw you lying on the table among my other birthday presents. (I went along when you were bought, but that doesnt count.)
On Friday, June 12, I was awake at six oclock, which isnt surprising, since it was my birthday. But Im not allowed to get up at that hour, so I had to control my curiosity until quarter to seven. When I couldnt wait any longer, I went to the dining room, where Moortje (the cat) welcomed me by rubbing against my legs.
A little after seven I went to Daddy and Mama and then to the living room to open my presents, and you were the first thing I saw, maybe one of my nicest presents.
Then a bouquet of roses, some peonies and a potted plant. From Daddy and Mama I got a blue blouse, a game, a bottle of grape juice, which to my mind tastes a bit like wine (after all, wine is made from grapes), a puzzle, a jar of cold cream, 2.50 guilders and a gift certificate for two books. I got another book as well, Camera Obscura (but Margot already has it, so I exchanged mine for something else), a platter of homemade cookies (which I made myself, of course, since Ive become quite an expert at baking cookies), lots of candy and a strawberry tart from Mother. And a letter from Grammy, right on time, but of course that was just a coincidence.
Then Hanneli came to pick me up, and we went to school. During recess I passed out cookies to my teachers and my class, and then it was time to get back to work. I didnt arrive home until five, since I went to gym with the rest of the class. (Im not allowed to take part because my shoulders and hips tend to get dislocated.) As it was my birthday, I got to decide which game my classmates would play, and I chose volleyball. Afterward they all danced around me in a circle and sang "Happy Birthday.”
When I got home, Sanne Ledermann was already there. Ilse Wagner, Hanneli Goslar and Jacqueline van Maarsen came home with me after gym, since were in the same class. Hanneli and Sanne used to be my two best friends. People who saw us together used to say, "There goes Anne, Hanne and Sanne." I only met Jacqueline van Maarsen when I started at the Jewish Lyceum, and now shes my best friend. Ilse is Hannelis best friend, and Sanne goes to another school and has friends there.
They gave me a beautiful book, Dutch Sasas and Lesends, but they gave me Volume II by mistake, so I exchanged two other books for Volume I. Aunt Helene brought me a puzzle, Aunt Stephanie a darling brooch and Aunt Leny a terrific book: Daisy Goes to the Mountains.
This morning I lay in the bathtub thinking how wonderful it would be if I had a dog
like Rin Tin Tin. Id call him Rin Tin Tin too, and Id take him to school with me, where he could stay in the janitors room or by the bicycle racks when the weather was good.
MONDAY, JUNE 15, 1942
I had my birthday party on Sunday afternoon. The Rin Tin Tin movie was a big hit with my classmates. I got two brooches, a bookmark and two books. Ill start by saying a few things about my school and my class, beginning with the students.
Betty Bloemendaal looks kind of poor, and I think she probably is. She lives on some obscure street in West Amsterdam, and none of us know where it is. She does very well at school, but thats because she works so hard, not because shes so smart.
Shes pretty quiet.
Jacqueline van Maarsen is supposedly my best friend, but Ive never had a real friend.
At first I thought Jacque would be one, but I was badly mistaken.
D.Q.* [* Initials have been assigned at random to those persons who prefer to remain anonymous.] is a very nervous girl whos always forgetting things, so the teachers keep assigning her extra homework as punishment. Shes very kind, especially to G.Z.
E.S. talks so much it isnt funny. Shes always touching your hair or fiddling with your buttons when she asks you something. They say she cant stand me, but I dont care, since I dont like her much either.
Henny Mets is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, except that she talks in a loud voice and is really childish when were playing outdoors. Unfortunately, Henny has a girlfriend named Beppy whos a bad influence on her because shes dirty and vulgar.
J.R. - I could write a whole book about her. J. is a detestable, sneaky, stuck-up, two-faced gossip who thinks shes so grown-up. Shes really got Jacque under her spell, and thats a shame. J. is easily offended, bursts into tears at the slightest thing and, to top it all off, is a terrible show-off. Miss J. always has to be right. Shes very rich, and has a closet full of the most adorable dresses that are way too old for her. She thinks shes gorgeous, but shes not. J. and I cant stand each other.
Ilse Wagner is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, but shes extremely fInicky and can spend hours moaning and groaning about something. Ilse likes me a lot. Shes very smart, but lazy.
Hanneli Goslar, or Lies as shes called at school, is a bit on the strange side. Shes usually shy -- outspoken at horne, but reserved around other people. She blabs whatever you tell her to her mother. But she says what she thinks, and lately Ive corne to appreciate her a great deal.
Nannie van Praag-Sigaar is small, funny and sensible. I think shes nice. Shes pretty smart. There isnt much else you can say about Nannie. Eefje de Jong is, in my opinion, terrific. Though shes only twelve, shes quite the lady. She acts as if I were a baby. Shes also very helpful, and I like her.
G.Z. is the prettiest girl in our class. She has a nice face, but is kind of dumb. I think theyre going to hold her back a year, but of course I havent told her that.
COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE AT A LATER DATE: To my areat surprise, G.Z.
wasnt held back a year after all.
And sitting next to G.Z. is the last of us twelve girls, me.
Theres a lot to be said about the boys, or maybe not so much after all.
Maurice Coster is one of my many admirers, but pretty much of a pest. Sallie Springer has a filthy mind, and rumor has it that hes gone all the way. Still, I think hes terrific, because hes very funny.
Emiel Bonewit is G.Z.s admirer, but she doesnt care. Hes pretty boring. Rob Cohen used to be in love with me too, but I cant stand him anymore. Hes an obnoxious, two-faced, lying, sniveling little goof who has an awfully high opinion of himself.
Max van de Velde is a farm boy from Medemblik, but eminently suitable, as Margot would say.
Herman Koopman also has a filthy mind, just like Jopie de Beer, whos a terrible flirt and absolutely girl-crazy.
Leo Blom is Jopie de Beers best friend, but has been ruined by his dirty mind.
Albert de Mesquita came from the Montessori School and skipped a grade. Hes really smart.
Leo Slager came from the same school, but isnt as smart.
Ru Stoppelmon is a short, goofy boy from Almelo who transferred to this school in the middle of the year.
C.N. does whatever hes not supposed to.
Jacques Kocernoot sits behind us, next to C., and we (G. and I) laugh ourselves silly.
Harry Schaap is the most decent boy in our class. Hes nice.
Werner Joseph is nice too, but all the changes taking place lately have made him too quiet, so he seems boring. Sam Salomon is one of those tough guys from across the tracks. A real brat. (Admirer!)
Appie Riem is pretty Orthodox, but a brat too.
SATURDAY, JUNE 20,1942
Writing in a diary is a really strange experience for someone like me. Not only because Ive never written anything before, but also because it seems to me that later on neither I nor anyone else will be interested in the musings of a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl. Oh well, it doesnt matter. I feel like writing, and I have an even greater need to get all kinds of things off my chest.
"Paper has more patience than people." I thought of this saying on one of those days when I was feeling a little depressed and was sitting at home with my chin in my hands, bored and listless, wondering whether to stay in or go out. I finally stayed where I was, brooding. Yes, paper does have more patience, and since Im not planning to let anyone else read this stiff-backed notebook grandly referred to as a "diary,”
unless I should ever find a real friend, it probably wont make a bit of difference.
Now Im back to the point that prompted me to keep a diary in the first place: I dont have a friend.
Let me put it more clearly, since no one will believe that a thirteen year-old girl is completely alone in the world. And Im not. I have loving parents and a sixteen-year-old sister, and there are about thirty people I can call friends. I have a throng of admirers who cant keep their adoring eyes off me and who sometimes have to resort to using a broken pocket mirror to try and catch a glimpse of me in the classroom. I have a family, loving aunts and a good home. No, on the surface I seem to have everything, except my one true friend. All I think about when Im with friends is having a good time. I cant bring myself to talk about anything but ordinary
everyday things. We dont seem to be able to get any closer, and thats the problem.
Maybe its my fault that we dont confide in each other. In any case, thats just how things are, and unfortunately theyre not liable to change. This is why Ive started the diary.
To enhance the image of this long-awaited friend in my imagination, I dont want to jot down the facts in this diary the way most people would do, but I want the diary to be my friend, and Im going to call this friend Kitty.
Since no one would understand a word of my stories to Kitty if I were to plunge right in, Id better provide a brief sketch of my life, much as I dislike doing so.
My father, the most adorable father Ive ever seen, didnt marry my mother until he was thirty-six and she was twenty-five. My sister Margot was born in Frankfurt am Main in Germany in 1926. I was born on June 12, 1929. I lived in Frankfurt until I was four. Because were Jewish, my father immigrated to Holland in 1933, when he became the Managing Director of the Dutch Opekta Company, which manufactures products used in making jam. My mother, Edith Hollander Frank, went with him to Holland in September, while Margot and I were sent to Aachen to stay with our grandmother. Margot went to Holland in December, and I followed in February, when I was plunked down on the table as a birthday present for Margot.
I started right away at the Montessori nursery school. I stayed there until I was six, at which time I started first grade. In sixth grade my teacher was Mrs. Kuperus, the principal. At the end of the year we were both in tears as we said a heartbreaking farewell, because Id been accepted at the Jewish Lyceum, where Margot also went to school.
Our lives were not without anxiety, since our relatives in Germany were suffering under Hitlers anti-Jewish laws. After the pogroms in 1938 my two uncles (my mothers brothers) fled Germany, finding safe refuge in North America. My elderly grandmother came to live with us. She was seventy-three years old at the time.
After May 1940 the good times were few and far between: first there was the war, then the capitulation and then the arrival of the Germans, which is when the trouble started for the Jews. Our freedom was severely restricted by a series of anti-Jewish decrees: Jews were required to wear a yellow star; Jews were required to turn in their bicycles; Jews were forbidden to use street-cars; Jews were forbidden to ride in cars, even their own; Jews were required to do their shopping between 3 and 5 P.M.;
Jews were required to frequent only Jewish-owned barbershops and beauty parlors;
Jews were forbidden to be out on the streets between 8 P.M. and 6 A.M.; Jews were
forbidden to attend theaters, movies or any other forms of entertainment; Jews were forbidden to use swimming pools, tennis courts, hockey fields or any other athletic fields; Jews were forbidden to go rowing; Jews were forbidden to take part in any athletic activity in public; Jews were forbidden to sit in their gardens or those of their friends after 8 P.M.; Jews were forbidden to visit Christians in their homes; Jews were required to attend Jewish schools, etc. You couldnt do this and you couldnt do that, but life went on. Jacque always said to me, "I dont dare do anything anymore, cause Im afraid its not allowed.”
In the summer of 1941 Grandma got sick and had to have an operation, so my birthday passed with little celebration. In the summer of 1940 we didnt do much for my birthday either, since the fighting had just ended in Holland. Grandma died in January 1942. No one knows how often I think of her and still love her. This birthday celebration in 1942 was intended to make up for the others, and Grandmas candle was lit along with the rest.
The four of us are still doing well, and that brings me to the present date of June 20, 1942, and the solemn dedication of my diary.
SATURDAY, JUNE 20, 1942
Dearest Kitty! Let me get started right away; its nice and quiet now. Father and Mother are out and Margot has gone to play Ping-Pong with some other young people at her friend Treess. Ive been playing a lot of Ping-Pong myself lately. So much that five of us girls have formed a club. Its called "The Little Dipper Minus Two." A really silly name, but its based on a mistake. We wanted to give our club a special name; and because there were five of us, we came up with the idea of the Little Dipper. We thought it consisted of five stars, but we turned out to be wrong. It has seven, like the Big Dipper, which explains the "Minus Two." Ilse Wagner has a Ping-Pong set, and the Wagners let us play in their big dining room whenever we want. Since we five Ping-Pong players like ice cream, especially in the summer, and since you get hot playing Ping-Pong, our games usually end with a visit to the nearest ice-cream parlor that allows Jews: either Oasis or Delphi. Weve long since stopped hunting around for our purses or money -- most of the time its so busy in Oasis that we manage to find a few generous young men of our acquaintance or an admirer to offer us more ice cream than we could eat in a week.
Youre probably a little surprised to hear me talking about admirers at such a tender age. Unfortunately, or not, as the case may be, this vice seems to be rampant at our school. As soon as a boy asks if he can bicycle home with me and we get to talking, nine times out of ten I can be sure hell become enamored on the spot and wont let
me out of his sight for a second. His ardor eventually cools, especially since I ignore his passionate glances and pedal blithely on my way. If it gets so bad that they start rambling on about "asking Fathers permission," I swerve slightly on my bike, my schoolbag falls, and the young man feels obliged to get off his bike and hand me the bag, by which time Ive switched the conversation to another topic. These are the most innocent types. Of course, there are those who blow you kisses or try to take hold of your arm, but theyre definitely knocking on the wrong door. I get off my bike and either refuse to make further use of their company or act as if Im insulted and tell them in no uncertain terms to go on home without me. There you are. Weve now laid the basis for our friendship. Until tomorrow.
Yours, Anne
SUNDAY, JUNE 21, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Our entire class is quaking in its boots. The reason, of course, is the upcoming meeting in which the teachers decide wholl be promoted to the next grade and wholl be kept back. Half the class is making bets. G.Z. and I laugh ourselves sick at the two boys behind us, C.N. and Jacques Kocernoot, who have staked their entire vacation savings on their bet. From morning to night, its "Youre going to pass, No, Im not,”
"Yes, you are," "No, Im not." Even G.s pleading glances and my angry outbursts cant calm them down. If you ask me, there are so many dummies that about a quarter of the class should be kept back, but teachers are the most unpredictable creatures on earth. Maybe this time theyll be unpredictable in the right direction for a change. Im not so worried about my girlfriends and myself.
Well make it. The only subject Im not sure about is math. Anyway, all we can do is wait. Until then, we keep telling each other not to lose heart.
I get along pretty well with all my teachers. There are nine of them, seven men and two women. Mr. Keesing, the old fogey who teaches math, was mad at me for the longest time because I talked so much. After several warnings, he assigned me extra homework. An essay on the subject "A Chatterbox." A chatterbox, what can you write about that? Id wbrry about that later, I decided. I jotted down the assignment in my notebook, tucked it in my bag and tried to keep quiet.
That evening, after Id finished the rest of my homework, the note about the essay caught my eye. I began thinking about the subject while chewing the tip of my fountain pen. Anyone could ramble on and leave big spaces between the words, but the
trick was to come up with convincing arguments to prove the necessity of talking. I thought and thought, and suddenly I had an idea. I wrote the three pages Mr. Keesing had assigned me and was satisfied. I argued that talking is a female trait and that I would do my best to keep it under control, but that I would never be able to break myself of the habit, since my mother talked as much as I did, if not more, and that theres not much you can do about inherited traits.
Mr. Keesing had a good laugh at my arguments, but when I proceeded to talk my way through the next class, he assigned me a second essay. This time it was supposed to be on "An Incorrigible Chatterbox." I handed it in, and Mr. Keesing had nothing to complain about for two whole classes. However, during the third class hed finally had enough. "Anne Frank, as punishment for talking in class, write an essay entitled Quack, Quack, Quack, said Mistress Chatterback.“
The class roared. I had to laugh too, though Id ) nearly exhausted my ingenuity on the topic of chatterboxes. It was time to come up with something else, j something original. My friend Sanne, whos good at poetry, offered to help me write the essay from beginning to end in verse. I jumped for joy. Keesing was trying to play a joke on me with this ridiculous subject, but Id make sure the joke was on him. I finished my poem, and it was beautiful! It was about a mother duck and a father swan with three baby ducklings who were bitten to death by the father because they quacked too much. Luckily, Keesing took the joke the right way. He read the poem to the class, adding his own comments, and to several other classes as well. Since then Ive been allowed to talk and havent been assigned any extra homework. On the contrary, Keesings always i making jokes these days.
Yours, Anne
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 24, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Its sweltering. Everyone is huffing and puffing, and in this heat I have to walk everywhere. Only now do I realize how pleasant a streetcar is, but we Jews are no longer allowed to make use of this luxury; our own two feet are good enough for us.
Yesterday at lunchtime I had an appointment with the dentist on Jan Luykenstraat. Its a long way from our school on Stadstimmertuinen. That afternoon I nearly fell asleep at my desk. Fortunately, people automatically offer you something to drink. The dental assistant is really kind.
The only mode of transportation left to us is the ferry. The ferryman at Josef
Israelkade took us across when we asked him to. Its not the fault of the Dutch that we Jews are having such a bad time.
I wish I didnt have to go to school. My bike was stolen during Easter vacation, and Father gave Mothers bike to some Christian friends for safekeeping. Thank goodness summer vacation is almost here; one more week and our torment will be over.
Something unexpected happened yesterday morning. As I was passing the bicycle racks, I heard my name being called. I turned around and there was the nice boy Id met the evening before at my friend Wilmas. Hes Wilmas second cousin. I used to think Wilma was nice, which she is, but all she ever talks about is boys, and that gets to be a bore. He came toward me, somewhat shyly, and introduced himself as Hello Silberberg. I was a little surprised and wasnt sure what he wanted, but it didnt take me long to find out. He asked if I would allow him to accompany me to school. "As long as youre headed that way, Ill go with you," I said. And so we walked together.
Hello is sixteen and good at telling all kinds of funny stories.
He was waiting for me again this morning, and I expect he will be from now on.