JULY, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Until today I honestly couldnt find the time to write you. I was with friends all day Thursday, we had company on Friday, and thats how it went until today.
Hello and I have gotten to know each other very well this past week, and hes told me a lot about his life. He comes from Gelsenkirchen and is living with his grandparents. His parents are in Belgium, but theres no way he can get there. Hello used to have a girlfriend named Ursula. I know her too. Shes perfectly sweet and perfectly boring. Ever since he met me, Hello has realized that hes been falling asleep at Ursuls side. So Im kind of a pep tonic. You never know what youre good for!
Jacque spent Saturday night here. Sunday afternoon she was at Hannelis, and I was bored stiff.
Hello was supposed to come over that evening, but he called around six. I answered the phone, and he said, "This is Helmuth Silberberg. May I please speak to Anne?"
"Oh, Hello. This is Anne.”
"Oh, hi, Anne. How are you?" “
"Fine, thanks.”
"I just wanted to say Im sorry but I cant come tonight, though I would like to have a word with you. Is it all right if I come by and pick you up in about ten minutes "Yes, thats fine. Bye-bye!”
"Okay, Ill be right over. Bye-bye!”
I hung up, quickly changed my clothes and fixed my hair. I was so nervous I leaned out the window to watch for him. He finally showed up. Miracle of miracles, I didnt rush down the stairs, but waited quietly until he rang the bell. I went down to open the door, and he got right to the point.
"Anne, my grandmother thinks youre too young for me to be seeing you on a regular basis. She says I should be going to the Lowenbachs, but you probably know that Im not going out with Ursul anymore.”
"No, I didnt know. What happened? Did you two have a fight?”
"No, nothing like that. I told Ursul that we werent suited to each other and so it was better for us not to go together anymore, but that she was welcome at my house and I hoped I would be welcome at hers. Actually, I thought Ursul was hanging around with another boy, and I treated her as if she were. But that wasnt true. And then my uncle said I should apologize to her, but of course I didnt feel like it, and thats why I broke up with her. But that was just one of the reasons.
"Now my grandmother wants me to see Ursul and not you, but I dont agree and Im not going to. Sometimes old people have really old-fashioned ideas, but that doesnt mean I have to go along with them. I need my grandparents, but in a certain sense they need me too. From now on Ill be free on Wednesday evenings. You see, my grandparents made me sign up for a wood-carving class, but actually I go to a club organized by the Zionists. My grandparents dont want me to go, because theyre anti-Zionists. Im not a fanatic Zionist, but it interests me. Anyway, its been such a mess lately that Im planning to quit. So next Wednesday will be my last meeting.
That means I can see you Wednesday evening, Saturday afternoon, Saturday evening, Sunday afternoon and maybe even more."
"But if your grandparents dont want you to, you? shouldnt go behind their backs.”
"Alls fair in love and war.”
Just then we passed Blankevoorts Bookstore and there was Peter Schiff with two other boys; it was the first time hed said hello to me in ages, and it really made me feel good.
Monday evening Hello came over to meet Father and Mother. I had bought a cake and some candy, and we had tea and cookies, the works, but neither Hello nor I felt like sitting stiffly on our chairs. So we went out for a walk, and he didnt deliver me to my door until ten past eight. Father was furious. He said it was very wrong of me not to get home on time. I had to promise to be home by ten to eight in the future. Ive been asked to Hellos on Saturday.
Wilma told me that one night when Hello was at her house, she asked him, "Who do you like best, Ursul or Anne?”
He said, "Its none of your business.”
But as he was leaving (they hadnt talked to each other the rest of the evening), he said, "Well, I like Anne better, but dont tell anyone. Bye!" And whoosh. . . he was out the door.
In everything he says or does, I can see that Hello is in love with me, and its kind of nice for a change. Margot would say that Hello is eminently suitable. I think so too, but hes more than that. Mother is also full of praise: "A good-looking boy. Nice and polite." Im glad hes so popular with everyone. Except with my girlfriends. He thinks theyre very childish, and hes right about that. Jacque still teases me about him, but Im not in love with him. Not really. Its all right for me to have boys as friends.
Nobody minds.
Mother is always asking me who Im going to marry when I grow up, but I bet shell never guess its Peter, because I talked her out of that idea myself, without batting an eyelash. I love Peter as Ive never loved anyone, and I tell myself hes only going around with all those other girls to hide his feelings for me. Maybe he thinks Hello and I are in love with each other, which were not. Hes just a friend, or as Mother puts it, a beau.
Yours, Anne
SUNDAY, JULY 5, 1942
Dear Kitty,
The graduation ceremony in the Jewish Theater on Friday went as expected. My report card wasnt too bad. I got one D, a C- in algebra and all the rest Bs, except for two B+s and two B-s. My parents are pleased, but theyre not like other parents when it comes to grades. They never worry about report cards, good or bad. As long as Im healthy and happy and dont talk back too much, theyre satisfied. If these three things are all right, everything else will take care of itself.
Im just the opposite. I dont want to be a poor student. I was accepted to the Jewish Lyceum on a conditional basis. I was supposed to stay in the seventh grade at the Montessori School, but when Jewish children were required to go to Jewish schools, Mr. Elte finally agreed, after a great deal of persuasion, to accept Lies Goslar and me.
Lies also passed this year, though she has to repeat her geometry exam.
Poor Lies. It isnt easy for her to study at home; her baby sister, a spoiled little two-year-old, plays in her room all day. If Gabi doesnt get her way, she starts screaming, and if Lies doesnt look after her, Mrs. Goslar starts screaming. So Lies has a hard time doing her homework, and as long as thats the case, the tutoring shes been getting wont help much. The Goslar household is really a sight. Mrs. Goslars parents live next door, but eat with the family. The theres a hired girl, the baby, the always absentminded and absent Mr. Goslar and the always nervous and irrita Ie Mrs.
Goslar, whos expecting another baby. Lies, whos all thumbs, gets lost in the mayhem.
My sister Margot has also gotten her report card.
Brilliant, as usual. If we had such a thing as "cum laude," she would have passed with honors, shes so smart.
Father has been home a lot lately. Theres nothing for him to do at the office; it must be awful to feel youre not needed. Mr. Kleiman has taken over Opekta, and Mr.
Kugler, Gies & Co., the company dealing in spices and spice substitutes that was set up in 1941.
A few days ago, as we were taking a stroll around our neighborhood square, Father began to talk about going into hiding. He said it would be very hard for us to live cut off from the rest of the world. I asked him why he was bringing this up now.
"Well, Anne," he replied, "you know that for more than a year weve been bringing clothes, food and furniture to other people. We dont want our belongings to be seized by the Germans. Nor do we want to fall into their clutches ourselves. So well leave of our own accord and not wait to be hauled away.”
"But when, Father?" He sounded so serious that I felt scared.
"Dont you worry. Well take care of everything. just enjoy your carefree life while you can.”
That was it. Oh, may these somber words not come true for as long as possible.
The doorbells ringing, Hellos here, time to stop.
Yours, Anne
WEDNESDAY, JULY 8, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
It seems like years since Sunday morning. So much has happened its as if the whole world had suddenly turned upside down. But as you can see, Kitty, Im still alive, and thats the main thing, Father says. Im alive all right, but dont ask where or how. You probably dont understand a word Im saying today, so Ill begin by telling you what happened Sunday afternoon.
At three oclock (Hello had left but was supposed to come back later), the doorbell rang. I didnt hear it, since I was out on the balcony, lazily reading in the sun. A little while later Margot appeared in the kitchen doorway looking very agitated. "Father has received a call-up notice from the SS," she whispered. "Mother has gone to see Mr.
van Daan" (Mr. van Daan is Fathers business partner and a good friend.)
I was stunned. A call-up: everyone knows what that means. Visions of concentration camps and lonely cells raced through my head. How could we let Father go to such a fate? "Of course hes not going," declared Margot as we waited for Mother in the living room. "Mothers gone to Mr. van Daan to ask whether we can move to our hiding place tomorrow. The van Daans are going with us. There will be seven of us altogether." Silence. We couldnt speak. The thought of Father off visiting someone in the Jewish Hospital and completely unaware of what was happening, the long wait for Mother, the heat, the suspense -- all this reduced us to silence.
Suddenly the doorbell rang again. "Thats Hello," I said.
"Dont open the door!" exclaimed Margot to stop me. But it wasnt necessary, since we heard Mother and Mr. van Daan downstairs talking to Hello, and then the two of them came inside and shut the door behind them. Every time the bell rang, either Margot or I had to tiptoe downstairs to see if it was Father, and we didnt let anyone else in. Margot and I were sent from the room, as Mr. van Daan wanted to talk to Mother alone.
When she and I were sitting in our bedroom, Margot told me that the call-up was not for Father, but for her. At this second shock, I began to cry. Margot is sixteen -- apparently they want to send girls her age away on their own. But thank goodness she wont be going; Mother had said so herself, which must be what Father had meant when he talked to me about our going into hiding. Hiding. . . where would we hide? In the city? In the country? In a house? In a shack? When, where, how. . . ? These were questions I wasnt allowed to ask, but they still kept running through my mind.
Margot and I started packing our most important belongings into a schoolbag. The first thing I stuck in was this diary, and then curlers, handkerchiefs, schoolbooks, a comb and some old letters. Preoccupied by the thought of going into hiding, I stuck the craziest things in the bag, but Im not sorry. Memories mean more to me than dresses.
Father finally came hQme around five oclock, and we called Mr. Kleiman to ask if he could come by that evening. Mr. van Daan left and went to get Miep. Miep arrived and promised to return later that night, taking with her a bag full of shoes, dresses, jackets, underwear and stockings. After that it was quiet in our apartment; none of us felt like eating. It was still hot, and everything was very strange.
We had rented our big upstairs room to a Mr. Goldschmidt, a divorced man in his thirties, who apparently had nothing to do that evening, since despite all our polite hints he hung around until ten oclock.
Miep and Jan Gies came at eleven. Miep, whos worked for Fathers company since 1933, has become a close friend, and so has her husband Jan. Once again, shoes, stockings, books and underwear disappeared into Mieps bag and Jans deep pockets. At eleven-thirty they too disappeared.
I was exhausted, and even though I knew itd be my last night in my own bed, I fell asleep right away and didnt wake up until Mother called me at five-thirty the next morning. Fortunately, it wasnt as hot as Sunday; a warm rain fell throughout the day.
The four of us were wrapped in so many layers of clothes it looked as if we were going off to spend the night in a refrigerator, and all that just so we could take more clothes with us. No Jew in our situation would dare leave the house with a suitcase full of clothes. I was wearing two undershirts, three pairs of underpants, a dress, and over that a skirt, a jacket, a raincoat, two pairs of stockings, heavy shoes, a cap, a scarf and lots more. I was suffocating even before we left the house, but no one bothered to ask me how I felt.
Margot stuffed her schoolbag with schoolbooks, went to get her bicycle and, with Miep leading the way, rode off into the great unknown. At any rate, thats how I thought of it, since I still didnt know where our hiding place was.
At seven-thirty we too closed the door behind us; Moortje, my cat, was the only living creature I said good-bye to. According to a note we left for Mr. Goldschmidt, she was to be taken to the neighbors, who would give her a good home.
The stripped beds, the breakfast things on the table, the pound of meat for the cat in the kitchen -- all of these created the impression that wed left in a hurry. But we werent interested in impressions. We just wanted to get out of there, to get away and reach our destination in safety. Nothing else mattered.
More tomorrow.
Yours, Anne
THURSDAY, JULY 9, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
So there we were, Father, Mother and I, walking in the pouring rain, each of us with a schoolbag and a shopping bag filled to the brim with the most varied assortment of items. The people on their way to work at that early hour gave us sympathetic looks;
you could tell by their faces that they were sorry they couldnt offer us some kind of transportation; the conspicuous yellow star spoke for itself.
Only when we were walking down the street did Father and Mother reveal, little by little, what the plan was. For months wed been moving as much of our furniture and apparel out of the apartment as we could. It was agreed that wed go into hiding on July 16. Because of Margots call-up notice, the plan had to be moved up ten days, which meant wed have to make do with less orderly rooms.
The hiding place was located in Fathers office building. Thats a little hard for outsiders to understand, so Ill explain. Father didnt have a lot of people working in his office, just Mr. Kugler, Mr. Kleiman, Miep and a twenty-three-year-old typist named Bep Voskuijl, all of whom were informed of our coming. Mr. Voskuijl, Beps father, works in the warehouse, along with two assistants, none of whom were told anything.
Heres a description of the building. The large warehouse on the ground floor is used as a workroom and storeroom and is divided into several different sections, such as the stockroom and the milling room, where cinnamon, cloves and a pepper substitute are ground.
Next to the warehouse doors is another outside door, a separate entrance to the office. Just inside the office door is a second door, and beyond that a stairway. At the top of the stairs is another door, with a frosted window on which the word "Office" is written in black letters. This is the big front office -- very large, very light and very full. Bep, Miep and Mr. Kleiman work there during the day. After passing through an alcove containing a safe, a wardrobe and a big supply cupboard, you come to the small, dark, stuffy back office. This used to be shared by Mr. Kugler and Mr. van Daan, but now Mr. Kugler is its only occupant. Mr. Kuglers office can also be reached from the hallway, but only through a glass door that can be opened from the inside but not easily from the outside. If you leave Mr. Kuglers office and proceed through the long, narrow hallway past the coal bin and go up four steps, you find yourself in the private office, the showpiece of the entire building. Elegant mahogany furniture, a linoleum floor covered with throw rugs, a radio, a fancy lamp, everything first class.
Next door is a spacious kitchen with a hot-water heater and two gas burners, and beside that a bathroom. Thats the second floor.
A wooden staircase leads from the downstairs hallway to the third floor. At the top of the stairs is a landing, with doors on either side. The door on the left takes you up to the spice storage area, attic and loft in the front part of the house. A typically Dutch, very steep, ankle-twisting flight of stairs also runs from the front part of the house to another door opening onto the street.
The door to the right of the landing leads to the "Secret Annex" at the back ofthe house. No one would ever suspect there were so many rooms behind that plain gray door. Theres just one small step in front of the door, and then youre inside. Straight ahead of you is a steep flight of stairs. To the left is a narrow hallway opening onto a room that serves as the Frank familys living [INSERT MAP HERE]
room and bedroom. Next door is a smaller room, the )edroom and study of the two young ladies of the family. ro the right of the stairs is a windowless washroom. with a link. The door in the corner leads to the toilet and another one to Margots and my room. If you go up the itairs and open the door at the top, youre surprised to see such a large, light and spacious room in an old canalside house like this. It contains a stove (thanks to the fact hat it used to be Mr. Kuglers laboratory) and a sink.
This will be the kitchen and bedroom of Mr. and Mrs. van Daan, as well as the general living room, dining room and study for us all. A tiny side room is to be Peter van Daans bedroom. Then, just as in the front part of the building, theres an attic and a loft. So there you are. Now Ive introduced you to the whole of our lovely Annex!
Yours, Anne
FRIDAY, JULY 10, 1942
Dearest Kitty, Ive probably bored you with my long description of our house, but I still think you should know where Ive ended up; how I ended up here is something youll figure out from my next letters.
But first, let me continue my story, because, as you know, I wasnt 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 cant 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 dont 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 hadnt eaten a hot meal all day, but we didnt 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 didnt 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 cant 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 dont really know yet. I dont think Ill ever feel at home in this house, but that doesnt mean I hate it. Its more like being on vacation in some strange pension. Kind of an odd way to look at life in hiding, but thats how things are. The Annex is an ideal place to hide in. It may be damp and lopsided, but theres 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, well 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, were 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 theyre 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 theyll 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. Weve forbidden Margot to cough at night, even though she has a bad cold, and are giving her large doses of codeine.
Im 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, its the silence that makes me so nervous during the evenings and nights, and Id give anything to have one of our helpers sleep here.
Its really not that bad here, since we can do our own cooking and can listen to the radio in Daddys office.
Mr. Kleiman and Miep, and Bep Voskuijl too, have helped us so much. Weve already canned loads of rhubarb, strawberries and cherries, so for the time being I doubt well be bored. We also have a supply of reading material, and were going to buy lots of games. Of course, we cant ever look out the window or go outside. And we have to be quiet so the people downstairs cant hear us.
Yesterday we had our hands full. We had to pit two crates of cherries for Mr. Kugler to can. Were going to use the empty crates to make bookshelves.
Someones 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 Im terrified our hidina place will be discovered and that well be shot. That, of course, is a fairly dismal prospect.
SUNDAY, JULY 12, 1942
Theyve 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 weve been without light for the rest of the day. Mother said, "Well, Margot, its easy to see youre not used to working; otherwise, youd 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 Mothers shopping list because her handwriting is so hard to read, she wouldnt let me. She bawled me out again, and the whole family wound up getting involved.
I dont fit in with them, and Ive felt that clearly in the last few weeks. Theyre so sentimental together, but Id rather be sentimental on my own. Theyre always saying how nice it is with the four of us, and that we get along so well, without giving a moments thought to the fact that I dont feel that way.
Daddys the only one who understands me, now and again, though he usually sides with Mother and Margot. Another thing I cant stand is having them talk about me in front of outsiders, telling them how I cried or how sensibly Im behaving. Its horrible.
And sometimes they talk about Moortje and I cant 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 shell come back to us.
I have plenty of dreams, but the reality is that well have to stay here until the war is over. We cant 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 hasnt come because she thinks its too dangerous.
COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE IN SEPTEMBER 1942: Daddys 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.
Id like to spend all my time writing, but that would probably get boring.
Up to now Ive only confided my thoughts to my diary. I still havent gotten around to writing amusing sketches that I could read aloud at a later date. In the future Im going to devote less time to sentimentality and more time to reality.