Once, when we spoke about sex. Daddy told me that I couldn’t possibly understand the longing yet; I always knew that I did understand it and now I understand it fully. Nothing is so beloved to me now as he, my Peter.
Yours, Anne
Wednesday, 12 January, 1944
Dear Kitty, Bep has been back a fortnight. Miep and Jan were away from their work for two days—they both had tummy upsets. I have a craze for dancing and ballet at the moment, and practice dance steps every evening diligently. I have made a super-modern dance frock from a light blue petticoat edged with lace belonging to Mumsie. A ribbon is threaded through round the top and ties in a bow in the centre, and a pink corded ribbon completes the creation. I tried in vain to convert my gym shoes into real ballet shoes. My stiff limbs are well on the way to becoming supple again like they used to be. One terrific exercise is to sit on the floor, hold a heel in each hand, and then lift both legs up in the air. I have to have a cushion under me, otherwise my poor little behind has a rough time.
Everyone here is reading the book, A Cloudless Morning. Mummy thought it exceptionally good; there are a lot of youth problems in it. I thought to myself rather ironically, ‘Take a bit more trouble with your own young people first!’ I believe Mummy thinks there could be no better relationship between parents and their children, and that no one could take a greater interest in their children’s lives than she. But quite definitely she only looks at Margot, who I don’t think ever has such problems and thoughts as I do. Still, I wouldn’t dream of pointing out to Mummy that, in the case of her daughters, it isn’t at all as she imagines, because she would be utterly
amazed and wouldn’t know how to change anyway. I want to save her the unhappiness it would cause her, especially as I know that for me everything would remain the same in any case.
Mummy certainly feels that Margot loves her much more than I do, but she thinks that this just goes in phases! Margot has grown so sweet; she seems quite different from what she used to be, isn’t nearly so catty these days and is becoming a real friend. Nor does she any longer regard me as a little kid who counts for nothing.
I have an odd way of sometimes, as it were, being able to see myself through someone else’s eyes. Then I view the affairs of a certain ‘Anne’ at my ease, and browse through the pages of her life as if she were a stranger.
Before we came here, when I didn’t think about things as much as I do now, I used at times to have the feeling that I didn’t belong to Mumsie, Pim and Margot, and that I would always be a bit of an outsider. Sometimes I used to pretend I was an orphan, until I reproached and punished myself, telling myself it was all my own fault that I played this self-pitying role, when I was really so fortunate. Then came the time that I used to force myself to be friendly. Every morning, as soon as someone came downstairs I hoped that it would be Mummy who would say good morning to me I greeted her warmly, because I really longed for her to look lovingly at me. Then she made some, remark or other that seemed unfriendly, and I would go off to school again feeling thoroughly disheartened. On the way home I would make excuses for her because she had so many worries, arrive home very cheerful, chatter nineteen to the dozen, until I began repeating myself, and left the room wearing a pensive expression, my satchel under my arm.
Sometimes I decided to remain cross, but when I came home from school I always had so much news that my resolutions were gone with the wind and Mummy, whatever she might be doing, had to lend an ear to all my adventures. Then the time came once more when I didn’t listen for footsteps on the staircase any longer, and at night my pillow was wet with tears.
Everything grew much worse at that point, enfin you know all about it.
Now God has sent me a helper—Peter... I just clasp my pendant, kiss it, and think to myself, “What do I care about the lot of them! Peter belongs to
