What is done cannot be undone, but one can prevent it happening again.
I want to start from the beginning again and it can’t be difficult, now that I have Peter. With him to support me, I can and will!
I’m not alone any more; he loves me. I love him, I have my books, my diary and I love writing, I’m not so frightfully ugly, not utterly stupid, have a cheerful temperament and want to have a good character!
Yes, Anne, you’ve felt deeply that your letter was too hard and that it was untrue. To think that you were even proud of it! I will take Daddy as my example, and I will improve.
Yours, Anne
Monday, 8 May, 1944
Dear Kitty, Have I ever really told you anything about our family?
I don’t think I have, so I will begin now. My father’s parents were very rich. His father had worked himself right up to the top and his mother came from a prominent and rich family as well. So in his youth Daddy had a real little rich boy’s upbringing, parties every week, balls, festivities, beautiful girls, dinners, a large home, etc. After Grandpa’s death all the money was lost during the World War and the inflation that followed.
Daddy was extremely well brought up and he laughed very much yesterday when, for the first time in his fifty-five years, he scraped out the frying pan at table.
Mummy’s parents were rich too and we often listen open-mouthed to stories of engagement parties of two hundred and fifty people, private balls and dinners. One certainly could not call us rich now, but all my hopes are pinned on after the war.
I can assure you I’m not at all keen on a narrow, cramped middle-class existence like Mummy and Margot. I’d adore going to Paris for a year and London for a year to learn the languages and study the history of art.
Compare that with Margot, who wants to be a midwife in Palestine! I always long to see beautiful dresses and interesting people.
I want to see something of the world and do all kinds of exciting things.
I have already told you this before. And a little money as well won’t do any harm.
Miep told us this morning about a party she went to, to celebrate an engagement. Both the future bride and bridegroom came from rich families and everything was very grand. Miep made our mouths water telling us about the food they had: vegetable soup with minced meat balls in it, cheese, rolls, hors d’oeuvre made with eggs and roast beef, fancy cakes, wine and cigarettes, as much as you wanted of everything (black market).
Miep had ten drinks—can that be the woman who calls herself a teetotaler?
If Miep had all those, I wonder however many her spouse managed to knock back? Naturally, everyone at the party was a bit tipsy. There were two policemen from the fighting squad, who took photos of the engaged couple. It seems as if we are never far from Miep’s thoughts, because she took down the addresses of these men at once, in case anything should happen at some time or other, and good Dutchmen might be of help.
We were all visibly salivating. We, who get nothing but two spoonfuls of porridge for our breakfast and whose tummies were so empty that they were positively rattling; we, who get nothing but half-cooked spinach (to preserve the vitamins) and rotten potatoes day after day; we, who get nothing but lettuce, cooked or raw, spinach and yet again spinach in our hollow stomachs. Perhaps we may yet grow to be as strong as Popeye, but I don’t see many signs of that at present!
If Miep had taken us to the party we shouldn’t have left any rolls for the other guests. I can tell you, we positively drew the words from Miep’s lips, we gathered round her, as if we’d never heard about delicious food or smart people in our lives before!
