DECEMBER, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
The closer it got to St. Nicholas Day, the more we all thought back to last years festively decorated basket.
More than anyone, I thought it would be terrible to skip a celebration this year. After long deliberation, I finally came up with an idea, something funny. I consulted rim, and
a week ago we set to work writing a verse for each person.
Sunday evening at a quarter to eight we trooped upstairs carrying the big laundry basket, which had been decorated with cutouts and bows made of pink and blue carbon paper. On top was a large piece of brown wrapping paper with a note attached.
Everyone was rather amazed at the sheer size of the gift. I removed the note and read it aloud:
"Once again St. Nicholas Day Has even come to our hideaway;
It wont be quite as Jun, I fear, As the happy day we had last year.
Then we were hopeful, no reason to doubt That optimism would win the bout, And by the time this year came round, Wed all be free, and s* and sound.
Still, lets not Jorget its St. Nicholas Day, Though weve nothing left to give away.
Well have to find something else to do:
So everyone please look in their shoe!”
As each person took their own shoe out of the basket, there was a roar of laughter.
Inside each shoe was a little wrapped package addressed to its owner.
Yours, Anne
Dearest Kitty,
A bad case of flu has prevented me from writing to you until today. Being sick here is dreadful. With every cough, I had to duck under the blanket -- once, twice, three times -- and try to keep from coughing anymore.
Most of the time the tickle refused to go away, so I had to drink milk with honey, sugar or cough drops. I get dizzy just thinking about all the cures Ive been subjected to: sweating out the fever, steam treatment, wet compresses, dry compresses, hot drinks, swabbing my throat, lying still, heating pad, hot-water bottles, lemonade and, every two hours, the thermometer. Will these remedies really make you better? The worst part was when Mr. Dussel decided to play doctor and lay his pomaded head on my bare chest to listen to the sounds. Not only did his hair tickle, but I was embarrassed, even though he went to school thirty years ago and does have some kind of medical degree. Why should he lay his head on my heart? After all, hes not my
boyfriend! For that matter, he wouldnt be able to tell a healthy sound from an unhealthy one.
Hed have to have his ears cleaned first, since hes becoming alarmingly hard of hearing. But enough about my illness. Im fit as a fiddle again. Ive grown almost half an inch and gained two pounds. Im pale, but itching to get back to my books.
Ausnahmsweise* (the only word that will do here [* By way of exception]), were all getting on well together. No squabbles, though that probably wont last long. There hasnt been such peace and quiet in this house for at least six months.
Bep is still in isolation, but any day now her sister will no longer be contagious.
For Christmas, were getting extra cooking oil, candy and molasses. For Hanukkah, Mr.
Dussel gave Mrs. van Daan and Mother a beautiful cake, which hed asked Miep to bake. On top of all the work she has to do! Margot and I received a brooch made out of a penny, all bright and shiny. I cant really describe it, but its lovely.
I also have a Christmas present for Miep and Bep. For a whole month Ive saved up the sugar I put on my hot cereal, and Mr. Kleiman has used it to have fondant made.
The weather is drizzly and overcast, the stove stinks, and the food lies heavily on our stomachs, producing a variety of rumbles.
The war is at an impasse, spirits are low.
Yours, Anne
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1943
Dear Kitty,
As Ive written you many times before, moods have a tendency to affect us quite a bit here, and in my case its been getting worse lately. "Himmelhoch jauchzend, zu Tode betrubt"* [* A famous line from Goethe: "On top of the world, or in the depths of despair."] certainly applies to me. Im "on top of the world" when I think of how fortunate we are and compare myself to other Jewish children, and "in the depths of despair" when, for example, Mrs. Kleiman comes by and talks about Jopies hockey club, canoe trips, school plays and afternoon teas with friends.
I dont think Im jealous of Jopie, but I long to have a really good time for once and
to laugh so hard it hurts.
Were stuck in this house like lepers, especially during winter and the Christmas and New Years holidays. Actually, I shouldnt even be writing this, since it makes me seem so ungrateful, but I cant keep everything to myself, so Ill repeat what I said at the beginning: "Paper is more patient than people.”
Whenever someone comes in from outside, with the wind in their clothes and the cold on their cheeks, I feel like burying my head under the blankets to keep from thinking, "When will we be allowed to breathe fresh air again?" I cant do that -- on the contrary, I have to hold my head up high and put a bold face on things, but the thoughts keep coming anyway. Not just once, but over and over.
Believe me, if youve been shut up for a year and a half, it can get to be too much for you sometimes. But feelings cant be ignored, no matter how unjust or ungrateful they seem. I long to ride a bike, dance, whistle, look at the world, feel young and know that Im free, and yet I cant let it show. just imagine what would happen if all eight of us were to feel sorry for ourselves or walk around with the discontent clearly visible on our faces. Where would that get us? I sometimes wonder if anyone will ever understand what I mean, if anyone will ever overlook my ingratitude and not worry about whether or not Im Jewish and merely see me as a teenager badly in need of some good plain fun. I dont know, and I wouldnt be able to talk about it with anyone, since Im sure Id start to cry. Crying can bring relief, as long as you dont cry alone. Despite all my theories and efforts, I miss -- every day and every hour of the day -- having a mother who understands me. Thats why with everything I do and write, I imagine the kind of mom Id like to be to my children later on. The kind of mom who doesnt take everything people say too seriously, but who does take me seriously. I find it difficult to describe what I mean, but the word mom" says it all.
Do you know what Ive come up with? In order to give me the feeling of calling my mother something that sounds like "Mom," I often call her" Momsy." Sometimes I shorten it to "Moms"; an imperfect "Mom." I wish I could honor her by removing the "s." Its a good thing she doesnt realize this, since it would only make her unhappy.
Well, thats enough of that. My writing has raised me somewhat from "the depths of despair.”
Yours, Anne
Its the day after Christmas, and I cant help thinking about Pim and the story he told me this time last year. I didnt understand the meaning of his words then as well as I do now. If only hed bring it up again, I might be able to show him I understood what
he meant!
I think Pim told me because he, who knows the "intimate secrets" of so many others, needed to express his own feelings for once; Pim never talks about himself, and I dont think Margot has any inkling of what hes been through. Poor Pim, he cant fool me into thinking hes forgotten that girl. He never will. Its made him very accommodating, since hes not blind to Mothers faults. I hope Im going to be a little like him, without having to go through what he has!
Anne MONDAY, DECEMBER 27, 1943
Friday evening, for the first time in my life, I received a Christmas present. Mr.
Kleiman, Mr. Kugler and the girls had prepared a wonderful surprise for us. Miep made a delicious Christmas cake with "Peace 1944" written on top, and Bep provided a batch of cookies that was up to prewar standards.
There was a jar of yogurt for Peter, Margot and me, and a bottle of beer for each of the adults. And once again everything was wrapped so nicely, with pretty pictures glued to the packages. For the rest, the holidays passed by quickly for us.
Anne WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1943
I was very sad again last night. Grandma and Hanneli came to me once more.
Grandma, oh, my sweet Grandma. How little we understood what she suffered, how kind she always was and what an interest she took in everything that concerned us.
And to think that all that time she was carefully guarding her terrible secret. * [*Annes grandmother was terminally ill.] Grandma was always so loyal and good. She would never have let any of us down.
Whatever happened, no matter how much I misbehaved, Grandma always stuck up for me. Grandma, did you love me, or did you not understand me either? I dont know.
How lonely Grandma must have been, in spite of us. You can be lonely even when youre loved by many people, since youre still not bd"dI" any 0 y s one an only.
And Hanneli? Is she still alive? Whats she doing? Dear God, watch over her and bring her back to us. Hanneli, youre a reminder of what my fate might have been. I keep seeing myself in your place. So why am I often miserable about what goes on here?
Shouldnt I be happy, contented and glad, except when Im thinking of Hanneli and those suffering along with her? Im selfish and cowardly. Why do I always think and dream the most awful things and want to scream in terror? Because, in spite of everything, I still dont have enough faith in God. Hes given me so much, which I dont deserve, and yet each day I make so many mistakes!
Thinking about the suffering of those you hold dear can reduce you to tears; in fact, you could spend the whole day crying. The most you can do is pray for God to perform a miracle and save at least some of them. And I hope Im doing enough of that!
Anne THURSDAY, DECEMBER 30, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
Since the last raging quarrels, things have settled down here, not only between ourselves, Dussel and "upstairs," but also between Mr. and Mrs. van D. Nevertheless, a few dark thunderclouds are heading this way, and all because of . . . food. Mrs. van D. came up with the ridiculous idea of frying fewer potatoes in the morning and saving them for later in the day. Mother and Dussel and the rest of us didnt agree with her, so now were dividing up the potatoes as well. It seems the fats and oils arent being doled out fairly, and Mothers going to have to put a stop to it. Ill let you know if there are any interesting developments. For the last few months now weve been splitting up the meat (theirs with fat, ours without), the soup (they eat it, we dont), the potatoes (theirs peeled, ours not), the extras and now the fried potatoes too.
If only we could split up completely!
Yours, Anne
P.S. Bep had a picture postcard of the entire Royal Family copied for me. Juliana looks very young, and so does the Queen. The three little girls are adorable. It was incredibly nice of Bep, dont you think?