NOVEMBER, 1942
Dear Kitty,
Bep stayed with us Friday evening. It was fun, but she didnt sleep very well because shed drunk some wine. For the rest, theres nothing special to report. I had an awful headache yesterday and went to bed early. Margots being exasperating again.
This morning I began sorting out an index card file from the office, because itd fallen over and gotten all mixed up. Before long I was going nuts. I asked Margot and Peter to help, but they were too lazy, so I put it away.
Im not crazy enough to do it all by myself!
Anne Frank
PS. I forgot to mention the important news that Im probably going to get my period soon. I can tell because I keep finding a whitish smear in my panties, and Mother predicted it would start soon. I can hardly wait. Its such a momentous event. Too bad I cant use sanitary napkins, but you cant get them anymore, and Mamas tampons can be used only by women whove had a baby. i COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE ON JANUARY 22, 1944: I wouldnt be able to write that kind of thing anymore.
Now that Im rereading my diary after a year and a half, Im surprised at my childish innocence. Deep down I know I could never be that innocent again, however much Id like to be. I can understand the mood chanaes and the comments about Margot, Mother and Father as if Id written them only yesterday, but I cant imagine writina so openly about other matters. It embarrasses me areatly to read the panes dealina with subjects that I remembered as beina nicer than they actually were. My descriptions are so indelicate. But enouah of that.
I can also understand my homesickness and yearning for Moortje. The whole time Ive been here Ive longed unconsciously and at times consciously for trust, love and
physical affection. This longing may change in intensity, but its always there.
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1942
Dear Kitty,
The British have finally scored a few successes in Africa and Stalingrad hasnt fallen yet, so the men are happy and we had coffee and tea this morning. For the rest, nothing special to report.
This week Ive been reading a lot and doing little work. Thats the way things ought to be. Thats surely the road to success.
Mother and I are getting along better lately, but were never close. Fathers not very open about his feelings, but hes the same sweetheart hes always been. We lit the stove a few days ago and the entire room is still filled with smoke. I prefer central heating, and Im probably not the only one. Margots a stinker (theres no other word for it), a constant source of irritation, morning, noon and night.
Anne Frank
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Mothers nerves are very much on edge, and that doesnt bode well for me. Is it just a coincidence that Father and Mother never scold Margot and always blame me for everything? Last night, for example, Margot was reading a book with beautiful illustrations; she got up and put the book aside for later. I wasnt doing anything, so I picked it up and began looking at the pictures. Margot carne back, saw "her" book in my hands, knitted her brow and angrily demanded the book back. I wanted to look through it some more. Margot got madder by the minute, and Mother butted in:
"Margot was reading that book; give it back to her.”
Father came in, and without even knowing what was going on, saw that Margot was being wronged and lashed out at me: "Id like to see what youd do if Margot was looking at one of your books!”
I promptly gave in, put the book down and, according to them, left the room in a huff." I was neither huffy nor cross, but merely sad.
It wasnt right of Father to pass judgment without knowing what the issue was. I would have given the book to Margot myself, and a lot sooner, if Father and Mother hadnt intervened and rushed to take Margots part, as if she were suffering some great injustice.
Of course, Mother took Margots side; they always take each others sides. Im so used to it that Ive become completely indifferent to Mothers rebukes and Margots moodiness. I love them, but only because theyre Mother and Margot. I dont give a darn about them as people. As far as Im concerned, they can go jump in a lake. Its different with Father. When I see him being partial to Margot, approving Margots every action, praising her, hugging her, I feel a gnawing ache inside, because Im crazy about him. I model myself after Father, and theres no one in the world I love more.
He doesnt realize that he treats Margot differently than he does me: Margot just happens to be the smartest, the kindest, the prettiest and the best. But I have a right to be taken seriously too. Ive always been the clown and mischief maker of the family; Ive always had to pay double for my sins: once with scoldings and then again with my own sense of despair. Im no longer satisfied with the meaningless affection or the supposedly serious talks. I long for something from Father that hes incapable of giving. Im not jealous of Margot; I never have been. Im not envious of her brains or her beauty. Its just that Id like to feel that Father really loves me, not because Im his child, but because Im me, Anne.
I cling to Father because my contempt of Mother is growing daily and its only through him that Im able to retain the last ounce of family feeling I have left. He doesnt understand that I sometimes need to vent my feelings for Mother. He doesnt want to talk about it, and he avoids any discussion involving Mothers failings. And yet Mother, with all her shortcomings, is tougher for me to deal with. I dont know how I should act. I cant very well confront her with her carelessness, her sarcasm and her hard-heartedness, yet I cant continue to take the blame for everything.
Im the opposite of Mother, so of course we clash. I dont mean to judge her; I dont have that right. Im simply looking at her as a mother. Shes not a mother to me -- I have to mother myself. Ive cut myself adrift from them. Im charting my own course, and well see where it leads me. I have no choice, because I can picture what a mother and a wife should be and cant seem to find anything of the sort in the woman Im supposed to call "Mother.”
I tell myself time and again to overlook Mothers bad example. I only want to see her good points, and to look inside myself for whats lacking in her. But it doesnt work, and the worst part is that Father and Mother dont realize their own inadequacies and how much I blame them for letting me down. Are there any parents who can make
their children completely happy?
Sometimes I think God is trying to test me, both now and in the future. Ill have to become a good person on my own, without anyone to serve as a model or advise me, but itll make me stronger in the end.
Who else but me is ever going to read these letters? Who else but me can I turn to for comfort? Im frequently in need of consolation, I often feel weak, and more often than not, I fail to meet expectations. I know this, and every day I resolve to do better.
They arent consistent in their treatment of me. One day they say that Annes a sensible girl and entitled to know everything, and the next that Annes a silly goose who doesnt know a thing and yet imagines shes learned all she needs to know from books! Im no longer the baby and spoiled little darling whose every deed can be laughed at. I have my own ideas, plans and ideals, but am unable to articulate them yet.
Oh well. So much comes into my head at night when Im alone, or during the day when Im obliged to put up with people I cant abide or who invariably misinterpret my intentions. Thats why I always wind up coming back to my diary -- I start there and end there because Kittys always patient. I promise her that, despite everything, Ill keep going, that Ill find my own way and choke back my tears. I only wish I could see some results or, just once, receive encouragement from someone who loves me.
Dont condemn me, but think of me as a person who sometimes reaches the bursting point!
Yours, Anne
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 9,1942
Dearest Kitty,
Yesterday was Peters birthday, his sixteenth. I was upstairs by eight, and Peter and I looked at his presents. He received a game of Monopoly, a razor and a cigarette lighter. Not that he smokes so much, not at all; it just looks so distinguished.
The biggest surprise came from Mr. van Daan, who reported at one that the English had landed in Tunis, Algiers, Casablanca and Oran.
"This is the beginning of the end," everyone was saying, but Churchill, the British Prime Minister, who must have heard the same thing being repeated in England, declared, "This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning." Do you see the difference? However, theres reason for optimism. Stalingrad, the Russian city that has been under attack for three months, still hasnt fallen into German hands.
In the true spirit of the Annex, I should talk to you about food. (I should explain that theyre real gluttons up on the top floor.)
Bread is delivered daily by a very nice baker, a friend of Mr. Kleimans. Of course, we dont have as much as we did at home, but its enough. We also purchase ration books on the black market. The price keeps going up; its already risen from 27 to 33 guilders. And that for mere sheets of printed paper!
To provide ourselves with a source of nutrition that will keep, aside from the hundred cans of food weve stored here, we bought three hundred pounds of beans. Not just for us, but for the office staff as well. Wed hung the sacks of beans on hooks in the hallway, just inside our secret entrance, but a few seams split under the weight. So we decided to move them to the attic, and Peter was entrusted with the heavy lifting.
He managed to get five of the six sacks upstairs intact and was busy with the last one when the sack broke and a flood, or rather a hailstorm, of brown beans went flying through the air and down the stairs. Since there were about fifty pounds of beans in that sack, it made enough noise to raise the dead. Downstairs they were sure the house was falling down around their heads. Peter was stunned, but then burst into peals of laughter when he saw me standing at the bottom of the stairs, like an island in a sea of brown, with waves of beans lapping at my ankles. We promptly began picking them up, but beans are so small and slippery that they roll into every conceivable corner and hole. Now each time we go upstairs, we bend over and hunt around so we can present Mrs. van Daan with a handful of beans.
I almost forgot to mention that Father has recovered from his illness.
Yours, Anne
P.S. The radio has just announced that Algiers has fallen. Morocco, Casablanca and Oran have been in English hands for several days. Were now waiting for Tunis.
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Great news! Were planning to take an eighth person into hiding with us!
Yes, really. We always thought there was enough room and food for one more person, but we were afraid of placing an even greater burden on Mr. Kugler and Mr. Kleiman.
But since reports of the dreadful things being done to the Jews are getting worse by the day, Father decided to sound out these two gentlemen, and they thought it was an excellent plan. "Its just as dangerous, whether there are seven or eight," they noted rightly. Once this was settled, we sat down and mentally went through our circle of acquaintances, trying to come up with a single person who would blend in well with our extended family. This wasnt difficult. After Father had rejected all the van Daan relatives, we chose a dentist named Alfred Dussel. He lives with a charming Christian lady whos quite a bit younger than he is. Theyre probably not married, but thats beside the point. Hes known to be quiet and refined, and he seemed, from our superficial acquaintance with him, to be nice. Miep knows him as well, so shell be able to make the necessary arrangements. If he comes, Mr. Dussel will have to sleep in my room instead of Margot, who will have to make do with the folding bed.* [*After Dussel arrived, Margot slept in her parents bedroom.] Well ask him to bring along something to fill cavities with.
Yours, Anne
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Miep came to tell us that shed been to see Dr. Dussel. He asked her the moment she entered the room if she knew of a hiding place and was enormously pleased when Miep said she had something in mind. She added "that hed need to go into hiding as soon as possible, preferably Saturday, but he thought this was highly improbable, since he wanted to bring his records up to date, settle his accounts and attend to a couple of patients. Miep relayed the message to us this morning. We didnt think it was wise to wait so long. All these preparations require explanations to various people who we feel ought to be kept in the dark. Miep went to ask if Dr. Dussel couldnt manage to come on Saturday after all, but he said no, and now hes scheduled to arrive on Monday.
I think its odd that he doesnt jump at our proposal. If they pick him up on the street, it wont help either his records or his patients, so why the delay? If you ask
me, its stupid of Father to humor him.
Otherwise, no news.
Yours, Anne
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1942
Dearest Kitty!
Mr. Dussel has arrived. Everything went smoothly. Miep told him to be at a certain place in front of the post office at 11 A.M., when a man would meet him, and he was at the appointed place at the appointed time. Mr. Kleiman went up to him, announced that the man he was expecting to meet was unable to come and asked him to drop by the office to see Miep. Mr. Kleiman took a streetcar back to the office while Mr.
Dussel followed on foot.
It was eleven-twenty when Mr. Dussel tapped on the office door. Miep asked him to remove his coat, so the yellow star couldnt be seen, and brought him to the private office, where Mr. Kleiman kept him occupied until the cleaning lady had gone. On the pretext that the private office was needed for something else, Miep took Mr. Dussel upstairs, opened the bookcase and stepped inside, while Mr. Dussellooked on in amazement.
In the meantime, the seven of us had seated ourselves around the dining table to await the latest addition to our family with coffee and cognac. Miep first led him into the Frank familys room. He immediately recognized our furniture, but had no idea we were upstairs, just above his head. When Miep told him, he was so astonished he nearly fainted. Thank goodness she didnt leave him in suspense any longer, but brought him upstairs. Mr. Dussel sank into a chair and stared at us in dumbstruck silence, as though he thought he could read the truth on our faces. Then he stuttered, "Aber . . . but are you nicht in Belgium? The officer, the auto, they were not coming?
Your escape was not working?”
We explained the whole thing to him, about how wed deliberately spread the rumor of the officer and the car to throw the Germans and anyone else who might come looking for us off the track. Mr. Dussel was speechless in the face of such ingenuity, and could do nothing but gaze around in surprise as he explored the rest of our lovely and ultrapractical Annex. We all had lunch together. Then he took a short nap, joined us for tea, put away the few belongings Miep had been able to bring here in advance and began to feel much more at home. Especially when we handed him the following
typewritten rules and regulations for the Secret Annex (a van Daan production):
PROSPECTUS AND GUIDE TO THE SECRET ANNEX A Unique Facility for the Temporary Accommodation of Jews and Other Dispossessed Persons Open all year round: Located in beautiful, quiet, wooded surroundings in the heart of Amsterdam. No private residences in the vicinity. Can be reached by streetcar 13 or 17 and also by car and bicycle. For those to whom such transportation has been forbidden by the German authorities, it can also be reached on foot. Furnished and unfurnished rooms and apartments are available at all times, with or without meals.
Price: Free.
Diet: Low-fat.
Runnina water in the bathroom (sorry, no bath) and on various inside and outside walls. Cozy wood stoves for heating.
Ample storage space for a variety of goods. Two large, modern safes.
Private radio with a direct line to London, New York, Tel Aviv and many other stations. Available to all residents after 6 P.M. No listening to forbidden broadcasts, with certain exceptions, i.e., German stations may only be tuned in to listen to classical music. It is absolutely forbidden to listen to German news bulletins (regardless of where they are transmitted from) and to pass them on to others.
Rest hours: From 10 P.M. to 7:30 A.M.; 10:15 A.M. on Sundays. Owing to circumstances, residents are required to observe rest hours during the daytime when instructed to do so by the Management. To ensure the safety of all, rest hours must be strictly observed!!!
Free-time activities: None allowed outside the house until further notice.
Use of language: It is necessary to speak softly at all times. Only the language of civilized people may be spoken, thus no German.
Reading and relaxation: No German books may be read, except for the classics and works of a scholarly nature. Other books are optional.
Calisthenics: Daily.
Singing: Only softly, and after 6 P.M.
Movies: Prior arrangements required.
Classes: A weekly correspondence course in shorthand. Courses in English, French, math and history offered at any hour of the day or night. Payment in the form of tutoring, e.g., Dutch.
Separate department for the care of small household pets (with the exception of vermin, for which special permits are required).
Mealtimes:
Breakfast: At 9 A.M. daily except holidays and Sundays; at approximately 11:30 A.M.
on Sundays and holidays.
Lunch: A light meal. From 1:15 P.M. to 1:45 P.M.
Dinner: Mayor not be a hot meal.
Mealtime depends on news broadcasts.
Obligations with respect to the Supply Corps: Residents must be prepared to help with office work at all times. Baths: The washtub is available to all residents after 9 A.M.
on Sundays. Residents may bathe in the bathroom, kitchen, private office or front office, as they choose.
Alcohol: For medicinal purposes only.
The end.
Yours, Anne
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Just as we thought, Mr. Dussel is a very nice man. Of course he didnt mind sharing a
room with me; to be honest, Im not exactly delighted at having a stranger use my things, but you have to make sacrifices for a good cause, and Im glad I can make this small one. "If we can save even one of our friends, the rest doesnt matter," said Father, and hes absolutely right.
The first day Mr. Dussel was here, he asked me all sorts of questions -- for example, what time the cleaning lady comes to the office, how weve arranged to use the washroom and when were allowed to go to the toilet. You may laugh, but these things arent so easy in a hiding place. During the daytime we cant make any noise that might be heard downstairs, and when someone else is there, like the cleaning lady, we have to be extra careful. I patiently explained all this to Mr. Dussel, but I was surprised to see how slow he is to catch on. He asks everything twice and still cant remember what youve told him.
Maybe hes just confused by the sudden change and hell get over it. Otherwise, everything is going fine.
Mr. Dussel has told us much about the outside world weve missed for so long. He had sad news. Countless friends and acquaintances have been taken off to a dreadful fate. Night after night, green and gray military vehicles cruise the streets. They knock on every door, asking whether any Jews live there. If so, the whole family is immediately taken away. If not, they proceed to the next house. Its impossible to escape their clutches unless you go into hiding. They often go around with lists, knocking only on those doors where they know theres a big haul to be made. They frequently offer a bounty, so much per head. Its like the slave hunts of the olden days. I dont mean to make light ofthisj its much too tragic for that. In the evenings when its dark, I often see long lines of good, innocent people, accompanied by crying children, walking on and on, ordered about by a handful of men who bully and beat them until they nearly drop. No one is spared. The sick, the elderly, children, babies and pregnant women -- all are marched to their death.
Were so fortunate here, away from the turmoil. We wouldnt have to give a moments thought to all this suffering if it werent for the fact that were so worried about those we hold dear, whom we can no longer help. I feel wicked sleeping in a warm bed, while somewhere out there my dearest friends are dropping from exhaustion or being knocked to the ground.
I get frightened myself when I think of close friends who are now at the mercy of the cruelest monsters ever to stalk the earth.
And all because theyre Jews.
Yours, Anne
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
We dont really know how to react. Up to now very little news about the Jews had reached us here, and we thought it best to stay as cheerful as possible. Every now and then Miep used to mention what had happened to a friend, and Mother or Mrs.
van Daan would start to cry, so she decided it was better not to say any more. But we bombarded Mr. Dussel with questions, and the stories he had to tell were so gruesome and dreadful that we cant get them out of our heads. Once weve had time to digest the news, well probably go back to our usual joking and teasing. It wont do us or those outside any good if we continue to be as gloomy as we are now. And what would be the point of turning the Secret Annex into a Melancholy Annex?
No matter what Im doing, I cant help thinking about those who are gone. I catch myself laughing and remember that its a disgrace to be so cheerful. But am I supposed to spend the whole day crying? No, I cant do that. This gloom will pass.
Added to this misery theres another, but of a more personal nature, and it pales in comparison to the suffering Ive just told you about. Still, I cant help telling you that lately Ive begun to feel deserted. Im surrounded by too great a void. I never used to give it much thought, since my mind was filled with my friends and having a good time. Now I think either about unhappy things or about myself. Its taken a while, but Ive finally realized that Father, no matter how kind he may be, cant take the place of my former world. When it comes to my feelings, Mother and Margot ceased to count long ago.
But why do I bother you with this foolishness? Im terribly ungrateful, Kitty, I know, but when Ive been scolded for the umpteenth time and have all these other woes to think about as well, my head begins to reel!
Yours, Anne
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 2g, 1942
Dearest Kitty,
Weve been using too much electricity and have now exceeded our ration. The result:
excessive economy and the prospect of having the electricity cut off. No light for fourteen days; thats a pleasant thought, isnt it? But who knows, maybe it wont be so long! Its too dark to read after four or four-thirty, so we while away the time with all kinds of crazy activities: telling riddles, doing calisthenics in the dark, speaking English or French, reviewing books -- after a while everything gets boring. Yesterday I discovered a new pastime: using a good pair of binoculars to peek into the lighted rooms of the neighbors. During the day our curtains cant be opened, not even an inch, but theres no harm when its so dark.
I never knew that neighbors could be so interesting. Ours are, at any rate. Ive come across a few at dinner, one family making home movies and the dentist across the way working on a frightened old lady.
Mr. Dussel, the man who was said to get along so well with children and to absolutely adore them, has turned out to be an old-fashioned disciplinarian and preacher of unbearably long sermons on manners. Since I have the singular pleasure (!) of sharing my far too narrow room with His Excellency, and since Im generally considered to be the worst behaved of the three young people, its all I can do to avoid having the same old scoldings and admonitions repeatedly flung at my head and to pretend not to hear. This wouldnt be so bad if Mr. Dussel werent such a tattletale and hadnt singled out Mother to be the recipient of his reports. If Mr. Dussels just read me the riot act, Mother lectures me all over again, this time throwing the whole book at me.
And if Im really lucky, Mrs. van D. calls me to account five minutes later and lays down the law as well!
Really, its not easy being the badly brought-up center of attention of a family of nitpickers.
In bed at night, as I ponder my many sins and exaggerated shortcomings, I get so confused by the sheer amount of things I have to consider that I either laugh or cry, depending on my mood. Then I fall asleep with the strange feeling of wanting to be different than I am or being different than I want to be, or perhaps of behaving differently than I am or want to be.
Oh dear, now Im confusing you too. Forgive me, but I dont like crossing things out, and in these times of scarcity, tossing away a piece of paper is clearly taboo. So I can only advise you not to reread the above passage and to make no attempt to get to the bottom of it, because youll never find your way out again!
Yours, Anne