be if, every evening before falling asleep, they were to recall to their minds the events of the whole day and consider exactly what has been good and bad. Then, without realising it, you try to improve yourself at the start of each new day and, of course, you achieve quite a lot in the course of time.
Anyone can do this, it costs nothing and is certainly very helpful. Whoever doesn’t know it must learn by experience that: ‘A quiet conscience makes one strong!’
Yours, Anne
Saturday, 8 July, 1944
Dear Kitty, The chief representative of the business, Mr. B., has been in Beverwijk and managed, just like that, to get strawberries at the auction sale. They arrived here, dusty, covered with sand, but in large quantities. No less than twenty-four trays for the office people and us. That very same evening we bottled six jars and made eight pots of jam. The next morning Miep wanted to make jam for the office people.
At half past twelve, with no strangers in the house, front door bolted, trays fetched. Peter, Daddy and van Daan clattered up the stairs. Anne got hot water; Margot, brought a bucket; all hands were on deck! I went into the kitchen, which was chockfull of people, with a queer feeling in my tummy, Miep, Elli, Kleiman, Jan, Daddy, Peter: the families in hiding and their supply column, all mingled together, and in the middle of the day too!
People can’t see in from outside because of the net curtains, but, even so, the loud voices and banging doors positively gave me the jitters. Are we really supposed to be in hiding? That’s what flashed through my mind, and it gives one a very queer feeling to be able to appear in the world again. The pan was full, and I dashed upstairs again. The rest of the family was seated
round our table in the kitchen busy stalk-picking—at least that’s what they were supposed to be doing; more went into mouths than into buckets.
Another bucket would soon be required. Peter went to the downstairs kitchen again—the bell rang twice; the bucket stayed where it was, Peter tore upstairs, locked the cupboard door! We were kicking our heels impatiently, couldn’t turn on a tap, even though the strawberries were only half washed, the rule is: If strangers are in the house, use no water, because of the noise.
At 1 o’clock Jan came and told us that it was the postman. Peter hurried downstairs again. Ting-a-ling... the bell, right about turn. I tried to hear if anyone was coming, standing first at our cupboard door and then at the top of the stairs. Finally, Peter and I both leant over the banisters like a couple of thieves, listening to the din downstairs. No strange voices. Peter sneaked down, stopped halfway, and called out: “Elli!” No answer, one more: “Elli!”
Peter’s voice was drowned by the din in the kitchen. He went right down into the kitchen. I stood looking down tensely. “Get upstairs at once. Peter.
The accountant is here, clear out!” It was Kleiman speaking. Peter came upstairs sighing and closed the cupboard door. Finally Kugler arrived at half past one. “Oh, dear me, I see nothing but strawberries. strawberries at breakfast, strawberries stewed by Miep, I smell strawberries, must have a rest from them and go upstairs—what is being washed up here... strawberries.”
The remainder bottled. In the evening: two jars came unsealed. Daddy quickly makes them into jam. The next morning: two more were unsealed and four in the afternoon. van Daan hadn’t brought them to the right temperature for sterilising. So, now Daddy makes jam every evening.
We eat strawberries with our porridge, skimmed milk with strawberries, bread and butter with strawberries, strawberries for dessert, strawberries with sugar, strawberries with sand. For two whole days strawberries and nothing but strawberries, then either the supply was finished or in bottles and under lock and key.
“I say, Anne,” Margot called out, “the greengrocer down the corner has let us have some green peas, twenty pounds.” “That’s nice of him,” I
