We got up at half past eight. Peter put on his gym shoes, so that when he toured the house he wouldn’t make a noise, and I stood beside him. How it came about so suddenly, I don’t know, but before we went downstairs he kissed me, through my hair, half on my left cheek, half on my ear, I tore downstairs without looking round, and am simply longing for today!
Yours, Anne
Monday, 17 April, 1944
Dear Kitty, Do you think that Daddy and Mummy would approve of my sitting and kissing a boy on a divan—a boy of seventeen and a half and a girl of just under fifteen? I don’t really think they would, but I must rely on myself over this. It is so quiet and peaceful to lie in his arms and to dream, it is so thrilling to feel his cheek against mine, it is so lovely to know that there is someone waiting for me.
But there is indeed a big but because will Peter be content to leave it at this? I haven’t forgotten his promise already, but... he is a boy!
I know myself that I’m starting very soon, not even fifteen, and so independent already! It’s certainly hard for other people to understand, I know almost for certain that Margot would never kiss a boy unless there had been some talk of an engagement or marriage, but neither Peter nor I have anything like that in mind. I’m sure too that Mummy never touched a man before Daddy. What would my girl friends say about it if they knew that I lay in Peter’s arms, my heart against his chest, my head on his shoulder and with his head against mine!
Oh Anne, how scandalous! But honestly, I don’t think it is, we are shut up here, shut away from the world, in fear and anxiety, especially just lately.
Why, then, should we who love each other remain apart? Why should we
