filled to the ceiling with bedclothes. We had to start clearing up immediately, if we wished to sleep in decent beds that night. Mummy and Margot were not in a fit state to take part; they were tired and lay down on their beds, they were miserable, and lots more besides. But the two “clearers-up” of the family—Daddy and myself—wanted to start at once.
The whole day long we unpacked boxes, filled cupboards, hammered and tidied, until we were dead beat. We sank into clean beds that night. We hadn’t had a bit of anything warm the whole day. but we didn’t care, Mummy and Margot were too tired and keyed up to eat, and Daddy and I were too busy.
On Tuesday morning we went on where we left off the day before. Bep and Miep collected our rations for us. Daddy improved the poor blackout screens, we scrubbed the kitchen floor, and were on the go the whole day long again. I hardly had time to think about the great change in my life until Wednesday. Then I had a chance, for the first time since our arrival, to tell you all about it, and at the same time to realise myself what had actually happened to me and what was still going to happen.
Yours, Anne
Saturday, 11 July, 1942
Dear Kitty, Daddy, Mummy, and Margot can’t get used to the sound of the Westertoren clock yet, which tells us the time every quarter of an hour. I can. I loved it from the start, and especially in the night it’s like a faithful friend. I expect you will be interested to hear what it feels like to ‘disappear’; well, all I can say is that I don’t know myself yet. I don’t think I shall ever feel really at home in this house, but that does not mean that I loathe it here, it is more like being on vacation in a very peculiar boarding-
house. Rather a mad idea, perhaps, but that is how it strikes me. The ‘Secret Annexe’ is an ideal hiding place. Although it leans to one side and is damp, you’d never find such a comfortable hiding place anywhere in Amsterdam, no, perhaps not even in the whole of Holland. Our little room looked very bare at first with nothing on the walls, but thanks to Daddy who had brought my filmstar collection and picture postcards on beforehand, and with the aid of paste pot and brush, I have transformed the walls into one gigantic picture. This makes it look much more cheerful, and when the van Daans come, we’ll get some wood from the attic, and make a few little cupboards for the walls and other odds and ends to make it look more lively.
Margot and Mummy are a little bit better now. Mummy felt well enough to cook some soup for the first time yesterday, but then forgot all about it, while she was downstairs talking, so the peas were burned to a cinder and refused to leave the pan. Mr. Kleiman has brought me a book called Young People’s Annual. The four of us went to the private office yesterday evening and turned on the radio. I was so terribly frightened that someone might hear it that I simply begged Daddy to come upstairs with me. Mummy understood how I felt and came too. We are very nervous in other ways, too, that the neighbours might hear us or see something going on. We made curtains straight away on the first day. Really one can hardly call them curtains, they are just light, loose strips of material, all different shapes, qualities, and patterns, which Daddy and I sewed together in a most unprofessional way. These works of art are fixed in position with drawing pins, not to come down until we emerge from here.
There are some large business premises on the right of us, and on the left, a furniture workshop; there is no one there after working hours but even so, sounds could travel through the walls. We have forbidden Margot to cough at night, although she has a bad cold, and make her swallow large doses of codeine. I am looking forward to Tuesday when the van Daans arrive; it will be much more fun and not so quiet. It is the silence that frightens me so in the evenings and nights. I wish like anything that one of our protectors could sleep here at night. I can’t tell you how oppressive it is
