care to make them. There’s no one here that sets a good example, everyone should see that he gets the better of his own moods. Every day you hear, “If only it was all over.”
My work, my hope, my love, my courage, all these things keep my head above water and keep me from complaining.
I really believe, Kits, that I’m slightly bats today, and yet I don’t know why. Everything here is so mixed up, nothing is connected any more, and sometimes I very much doubt whether in the future anyone will be interested in all my tosh. ‘The unbosomings of an ugly duckling’ will be the title of all this nonsense. My diary really won’t be much use to Messrs. Bolkestein or Gerbrandy. (Minister of Education and Prime Minister of Dutch Govt. in exile in London, respectively)
Yours, Anne
Saturday, 15 April, 1944
Dear Kitty, ‘Shock upon shock. Will there ever be an end?’ We honestly can ask ourselves that question now. Guess what’s the latest. Peter forgot to unbolt the front door (which is bolted on the inside at night) and the lock of the other door doesn’t work. The result was that Kugler and the men could not get into the house, so he went to the neighbours, forced open the kitchen window, and entered the building from the back. He is livid at us for being so stupid.
I can tell you, it’s upset Peter frightfully. At one meal, when Mummy said she felt more sorry for Peter than anyone else, he almost started to cry.
We’re all just as much to blame as he is, because nearly every day the men ask whether the door’s been unbolted and, just today, no one did.
