“I’ve had enough of this.” Daddy took his arm, afraid of what might happen, and the two men went together to the attic. After a good deal of resistance and stamping, Peter landed up in his room with the door closed and we went on eating. Mrs. van Daan wanted to save one slice of bread for the dear boy, but his father stood firm. “If he doesn’t apologise soon, he will have to sleep in the attic.” Loud protests arose from the rest of us, as we thought missing supper was quite enough punishment. Besides, Peter might catch cold and we couldn’t call a doctor.
Peter did not apologise; he was already in the attic. Mr. van Daan did nothing more about it, but I noticed the next morning that Peter’s bed had been slept in. Peter was back in the attic at 7 o’clock, but Daddy managed with a few friendly words to persuade him to come down again. Sour faces and obstinate silences for three days and then everything went smoothly once more.
Yours, Anne
Monday, 21 September, 1942
Dear Kitty, Today I’m going to tell you our general news.
Mrs. van Daan is unbearable. I get nothing but ‘blow-ups’ from her for my continuous chatter. She is always pestering us in some way or other.
This is the latest: she doesn’t want to wash up the pans if there is a fragment left, instead of putting it into a glass dish, as we’ve always done until now, she leaves it in the pan to go bad.
After the next meal Margot sometimes has about seven pans to wash up and then Madame says, “Well, well, Margot, you have got a lot to do!”
I’m busy with Daddy working out his family tree: as we go along he tells me little bits about everyone— it’s terribly interesting. Mr. Kleiman
brings a few special books for me every other week. I’m thrilled with the Joop ter Heul series. I’ve enjoyed the whole of Cissy van Marxveldt’s books very much. And I’ve read Een Zomerzotbeid four times and I still laugh about some of the ludicrous situations there.
Term time has begun again, I’m working hard at my French and manage to pump in five irregular verbs per day. Peter sighs and groans over his English. A few schoolbooks have just arrived; we have a good stock of exercise books, pencils, rubbers, and labels, as I brought these with me. I sometimes listen to the Dutch news from London, and heard Prince Bernhard recently. He said that Princess Juliana is expecting a baby about next January. I think it is lovely; it surprises the others that I should be so keen on the Royal Family.
I was being discussed and they decided that I’m not completely stupid after all, which had the effect of making me work extra hard the next day. I certainly don’t want to still be in the first form when I’m fourteen or fifteen.
Also the fact that I’m hardly allowed to read any decent books was mentioned. Mummy is reading Heeren, Vrouwen en Knecbten now, which I’m not allowed (Margot is). First I must be more developed, like my talented sister. Then we talk about my ignorance of philosophy and psychology, about which I know nothing. Perhaps by next year I shall be wiser! (I looked up these difficult words quickly in Koenen.) I have just woken up to the disturbing fact that I have one long-sleeved dress and three cardigans for the winter. I’ve received permission from Daddy to knit a jumper of white sheep’s wool; it’s not very nice wool, but as long as it’s warm that’s all that matters. We have some clothes deposited with friends, but unfortunately we shall not see them until after the war, that is if they are still there then. I had just written something about Mrs. van Daan when in she came. Slap! I closed the book. “Hey, Anne, can’t I just
have a look?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Just the last page then?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
