JULY, 1943
Dear Kitty,
To get back to the subject of child-rearing (for the umpteenth time), let me tell you that Im doing my best to be helpful, friendly and kind and to do all I can to keep the rain of rebukes down to a light drizzle. Its not easy trying to behave like a model child with people you cant stand, especially when you dont mean a word of it. But I can see that a little hypocrisy gets me a lot further than myoid method of saying exactly what I think (even though no one ever asks my opinion or cares one way or another). Of course, I often forget my role and find it impossible to curb my anger when theyre unfair, so that they spend the next month saying the most impertinent girl in the world. Dont you think Im to be pitied sometimes? Its a good thing Im not the grouchy type, because then I might become sour and bad-tempered. I can usually see the humorous side of their scoldings, but its easier when somebody else is being raked over the coals.
Further, Ive decided (after a great deal of thought) to drop the shorthand. First, so that I have more time for my other subjects, and second, because of my eyes. Thats a sad story. Ive become very nearsighted and should have had glasses ages ago.
(Ugh, wont I look like a dope!). But as you know, people in hiding cant. . .
Yesterday all anyone here could talk about was Annes eyes, because Mother had suggested I go to the ophthalmologist with Mrs. Kleiman. Just hearing this made my
knees weak, since its no small matter. Going outside! Just think of it, walking down the street! I cant imagine it. I was petrified at first, and then glad. But its not as simple as all that; the various authorities who had to approve such a step were unable to reach a quick decision. They first had to carefully weigh all the difficulties and risks, though Miep was ready to set off immediately with me in tow. In the meantime, Id taken my gray coat from the closet, but it was so small it looked as if it might have belonged to my little sister. We lowered the hem, but I still couldnt button it.
Im really curious to see what they decide, only I dont think theyll ever work out a plan, because the British have landed in Sicily and Fathers all set for a "quick finish.”
Beps been giving Margot and me a lot of office work to do. It makes us both feel important, and its a big help to her. Anyone can file letters and make entries in a sales book, but we do it with remarkable accuracy.
Miep has so much to carry she looks like a pack mule. She goes forth nearly every day to scrounge up vegetables, and then bicycles back with her purchases in large shopping bags. Shes also the one who brings five library books with her every Saturday. We long for Saturdays because that means books. Were like a bunch of little kids with a present. Ordinary people dont know how much books can mean to someone whos cooped up.
Our only diversions are reading, studying and listening to the radio.
Yours, Anne
TUESDAY, JULY 13, 1943
The Best Little Table Yesterday afternoon Father gave me permission to ask Mr. Dussel whether he would please be so good as to allow me (see how polite I am?) to use the table in our room two afternoons a week, from four to five-thirty. I already sit there every day from two-thirty to four while Dussel takes a nap, but the rest of the time the room and the table are off-limits to me. Its impossible to study next door in the afternoon, because theres too much going on. Besides, Father sometimes likes to sit at the desk during the afternoon.
So it seemed like a reasonable request, and I asked Dussel very politely. What do you think the learned gentlemans reply was? "No." Just plain "No!”
I was incensed and wasnt about to let myself be put off like that. I asked him the
reason for his "No," but this didnt get me anywhere. The gist of his reply was: "I have to study too, you know, and if I cant do that in the afternoons, I wont be able to fit it in at all. I have to finish the task Ive set for myself; otherwise, theres no point in starting. Besides, you arent serious about your studies. Mythology -- what kind of work is that? Reading and knitting dont count either. I use that table and Im not going to give it up!”
I replied, "Mr. Dussel, I do take my wsork seriously. I cant study next door in the afternoons, and I would appreciate it if you would reconsider my request!”
Having said these words, the insulted Anne turned around and pretended the learned doctor wasnt there. I was seething with rage and felt that Dussel had been incredibly rude (which he certainly had been) and that Id been very polite.
That evening, when I managed to get hold of Pim, I told him what had happened and we discussed what my next step should be, because I had no intention of giving up and preferred to deal with the matter myself. Pim gave me a rough idea of how to approach Dussel, but cautioned me to wait until the next day, since I was in such a flap. I ignored this last piece of advice and waited for Dussel after the dishes had been done. Pim was sitting next door and that had a calming effect.
I began, "Mr. Dussel, you seem to believe further discussion of the matter is pointless, but I beg you to reconsider.”
Dussel gave me his most charming smile and said, "Im always prepared to discuss the matter, even though its already been settled.”
I went on talking, despite Dussels repeated interruptions. When you first came here,”
I said, "we agreed that the room was to be shared by the two of us. If we were to divide it fairly, youd have the entire morning and Id have the entire afternoon! Im not asking for that much, but two afternoons a week does seem reasonable to me.”
Dussel leapt out of his chair as if hed sat on a pin. "You have no business talking about your rights to the room. Where am I supposed to go? Maybe I should ask Mr.
van Daan to build me a cubbyhole in the attic. Youre not the only one who cant find a quiet place to work. Youre always looking for a fight. If your sister Margot, who has more right to work space than you do, had come to me with the same request, Id never even have thought of refusing, but you. . .”
And once again he brought up the business about the mythology and the knitting, and once again Anne was insulted. However, I showed no sign of it and let Dussel finish:
"But no, its impossible to talk to you. Youre shamefully self-centered. No one else matters, as long as you get your way. Ive never seen such a child. But after all is said and done, Ill be obliged to let you have your way, since I dont want people saying later on that Anne Frank failed her exams because Mr. Dussel refused to relinquish his table!”
He went on and on until there was such a deluge of words I could hardly keep up.
For one fleeting moment I thought, "Him and his lies. Ill smack his ugly mug so hard hell go bouncing off the wall!" But the next moment I thought, "Calm down, hes not worth getting so upset about!”
At long last Mr. Dussel s fury was spent, and he left the room with an expression of triumph mixed with wrath, his coat pockets bulging with food.
I went running over to Father and recounted the entire story, or at least those parts he hadnt been able to follow himself. rim decided to talk to Dussel that very same evening, and they spoke for more than half an hour.
They first discussed whether Anne should be allowed to use the table, yes or no.
Father said that he and Dussel had dealt with the subject once before, at which time hed professed to agree with Dussel because he didnt want to contradict the elder in front of the younger, but that, even then, he hadnt thought it was fair. Dussel felt I had no right to talk as if he were an intruder laying claim to everything in sight. But Father protested strongly, since he himself had heard me say nothing of the kind. And so the conversation went back and forth, with Father defending my "selfishness" and my "busywork" and Dussel grumbling the whole time.
Dussel finally had to give in, and I was granted the opportunity to work without interruption two afternoons a week. Dussel looked very sullen, didnt speak to me for two days and made sure he occupied the table from five to five-thirty -- all very childish, of course.
Anyone whos so petty and pedantic at the age of fifty-four was born that way and is never going to change.
FRIDAY, JULY 16, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
Theres been another break-in, but this time a real one! Peter went down to the warehouse this morning at seven, as usual, and noticed at once that both the
warehouse door and the street door were open. He immediately reported this to Pim, who went to the private office, tuned the radio to a German station and locked the door. Then they both went back upstairs. In such cases our orders are not to wash ourselves or run any water, to be quiet, to be dressed by eight and not to go to the bathroom," and as usual we followed these to the letter. We were all glad wed slept so well and hadnt heard anything. For a while we were indignant because no one from the office came upstairs the entire morning; Mr. Kleiman left us on tenterhooks until eleven-thirty. He told that the burglars had forced the outside door and the warehouse door with a crowbar, but when they didnt find anything worth stealing, they tried their luck on the next floor. They stole two cashboxes containing 40 guilders, blank checkbooks and, worst of all, coupons for 330 pounds of sugar, our entire allotment. It wont be easy to wangle new ones.
Mr. Kugler thinks this burglar belongs to the same gang as the one who made an unsuccessful attempt six weeks ago to open all three doors (the warehouse door and the two outside doors).
The burglary caused another stir, but the Annex seems to thrive on excitement.
Naturally, we were glad the cash register and the typewriters had been safely tucked away in our clothes closet.
Yours, Anne
PS. Landing in Sicily. Another step closer to the . . . !
MONDAY, JULY 19,1943
Dearest Kitty,
North Amsterdam was very heavily bombed on Sunday. There was apparently a great deal of destruction. Entire streets are in ruins, and it will take a while for them to dig out all the bodies. So far there have been two hundred dead and countless wounded;
the hospitals are bursting at the seams. Weve been told of children searching forlornly in the smoldering ruins for their dead parents. It still makes me shiver to think of the dull, distant drone that signified the approaching destruction.
FRIDAY, JULY 23, 1943
Bep is currently able to get hold of notebooks, especially journals and ledgers, useful for my bookkeeping sister! Other kinds are for sale as well, but dont ask what theyre like or how long theyll last. At the moment \ theyre all labeled "No Coupons
Needed!" Like everything else you can purchase without ration stamps, theyre i totally worthless. They consist of twelve sheets of gray I paper with narrow lines that slant across the page. Margot is thinking about taking a course in calligraphy; Ive advised her to go ahead and do it. Mother wont let me because of my eyes, but I think thats silly. Whether I do I that or something else, it all comes down to the same I thing.
Since youve never been through a war, Kitty, and since you know very little about life in hiding, in spite of my letters, let me tell you, just for fun, what we each want to do first when were able to go outside again.
Margot and Mr. van Daan wish, above all else, to have a hot bath, filled to the brim, which they can lie in for more than half an hour. Mrs. van Daan would like a cake, Dussel can think of nothing but seeing his Charlotte, and Mother is dying for a cup of real coffee. Father would like to visit Mr. Voskuijl, Peter would go downtown, and as for me, Id be so overjoyed I wouldnt know where to begin.
Most of all I long to have a home of our own, to be able to move around freely and have someone help me with my homework again, at last. In other words, to go back to school!
Bep has offered to get us some fruit, at so-called bargain prices: grapes 2.50 guilders a pound, gooseberries 70 cents a pound, one peach 50 cents, melons 75 cents a pound. No wonder the papers write every evening in big, fat letters: "Keep Prices Down!”
MONDAY, JULY 26, 1943
Dear Kitty,
Yesterday was a very tumultuous day, and were still all wound up. Actually, you may wonder if theres ever a day that passes without some kind of excitement.
The first warning siren went off in the morning while we were at breakfast, but we paid no attention, because it only meant that the planes were crossing the coast. I had a terrible headache, so I lay down for an hour after breakfast and then went to the office at around two.
At two-thirty Margot had finished her office work and was just gathering her things together when the sirens began wailing again. So she and I trooped back upstairs.
None too soon, it seems, for less than five minutes later the guns were booming so loudly that we went and stood in the hall. The house shook and the bombs kept
falling. I was clutching my "escape bag," more because I wanted to have something to hold on to than because I wanted to run away. I know we cant leave here, but if we had to, being seen on the streets would be just as dangerous as getting caught in an air raid. After half an hour the drone of engines faded and the house began to hum with activity again. Peter emerged from his lookout post in the front attic, Dussel remained in the front office, Mrs. van D. felt safest in the private office, Mr. van Daan had been watching from the loft, and those of us on the landing spread out to watch the columns of smoke rising from the harbor. Before long the smell of fire was everywhere, and outside it looked as if the city were enveloped in a thick fog.
A big fire like that is not a pleasant sight, but fortunately for us it was all over, and we went baCk to our various chores. Just as we were starting dinner: another air-raid alarm. The food was good, but I lost my appetite the moment I heard the siren.
Nothing happened, however, and forty-five minutes later the all clear was sounded.
After the dishes had been washed: another air-raid warning, gunfire and swarms of planes. "Oh, gosh, twice in one day," we thought, "thats twice in one day," we thought, "thats twice too many." Little good that did us, because once agai the bombs rained down, this time on the others of the city. According to British reports, Schiphol Airport was bombed. The planes dived and climbed, the air was abuzz with the drone of engines. It was very scary, and the whole time I kept thinking, "Here it comes, this is it.”
I can assure you that when I went to bed at nine, my legs were still shaking. At the stroke of midnight I woke up again: more planes! Dussel was undressing, but I took no notice and leapt up, wide awake, at the sound of the first shot. I stayed in Fathers bed until one, in my own bed until one-thirty, and was back in Fathers bed at two.
But the planes kept on coming. At last they stopped firing and I was able to go back "home" again. I finally fell asleep at half past two.
Seven oclock. I awoke with a start and sat up in bed. Mr. van Daan was with Father.
My first thought was: burglars. "Everything," I heard Mr. van Daan say, and I thought everything had been stolen. But no, this time it was wonderful news, the best weve had in months, maybe even since the war began. Mussolini has resigned and the King of Italy has taken over the government.
We jumped for joy. After the awful events of yesterday, finally something good happens and brings us. . . hope! Hope for an end to the war, hope for peace.
Mr. Kugler dropped by and told us that the Fokker aircraft factory had been hit hard.
Meanwhile, there was another air-raid alarm this morning, with planes flying over, and another warning siren. Ive had it up to here with alarms. Ive hardly slept, and the
last thing I want to do is work. But now the suspense about Italy and the hope that the war will be over by the end of the year are keeping us awake. .
Yours, Anne
THURSDAY, JULY 29, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
Mrs. van Daan, Dussel and I were doing the dishes, and I was extremely quiet. This is very unusual for me and they were sure to notice, so in order to avoid any questions, I quickly racked my brains for a neutral topic. I thought the book Henry from Across the Street might fit the bill, but I couldnt have been more wrong; if Mrs.
van Daan doesnt jump down my throat, Mr. Dussel does. It all boiled down to this:
Mr. Dussel had recommended the book to Margot and me as an example of excellent writing. We thought it was anything but that. The little boy had been portrayed well, but as for the rest. . . the less said the better. I mentioned something to that effect while we were doing the dishes, and Dussel launched into a veritable tirade.
"How can you possibly understand the psychology of a man? That of a child isnt so difficult [!]. But youre far too young to read a book like that. Even a twenty-year-old man would be unable to comprehend it." (So why did he go out of his way to recommend it to Margot and me?)
Mrs. van D. and Dussel continued their harangue: "You know way too much about things youre not supposed to. Youve been brought up all wrong. Later on, when youre older, you wont be able to enjoy anything anymore. Youll say, Oh, I read that twenty years ago in some book. Youd better hurry if you want to catch a husband or fall in love, since everything is bound to be a disappointment to you. You already know all there is to know in theory. But in practice? Thats another story!”
Can you imagine how I felt? I astonished myself by calmly replying, "You may think I havent been raised properly, but many people would disagree!”
They apparently believe that good child-rearing includes trying to pit me against my parents, since thats all they ever do. And not telling a girl my age about grown-up subjects is fine. We can all see what happens when. people are raised that way.
At that moment I could have slapped them both for poking fun at me. I was beside myself with rage, and if I only knew how much longer we had to put up with each others company, Id start counting the days.
Mrs. van Daans a fine one to talk! She sets an example all right -- a bad one!
Shes known to be exceedingly pushy, egotistical, cunning, calculating and perpetually dissatisfied. Add to that, vanity and coquettishness and theres no question about it:
shes a thoroughly despicable person. I could write an entire book about Madame van Daan, and who knows, maybe someday I will. Anyone can put on a charming exterior when they want to. Mrs. van D. is friendly to strangers, especially men, so its easy to make a mistake when you first get to know her.
Mother thinks that Mrs. van D. is too stupid for words, Margot that shes too unimportant, Pim that shes too ugly (literally and figuratively!), and after long observation (Im never prejudiced at the beginning), Ive come to the conclusion that shes all three of the above, and lots more besides. She has so many bad traits, why should I single out just one of them?
Yours, Anne
P.S. Will the reader please take into consideration that this story was written before the writers fury had cooled?