Dear Kitty, The entrance to our hiding place has now been properly concealed. Mr.
Kugler thought it would be better to put a cupboard in front of our door (because a lot of houses are being searched for hidden bicycles), but of course it had to be a movable cupboard that can open like a door.
Mr. Voskuijl made the whole thing. We had already let him into the secret and he could not have done more to help. If we want to go downstairs, we have to first bend down and then jump, because the step has gone. The first three days we were all going about with masses of lumps on our foreheads, because we all knocked ourselves against the low doorway.
Now we have nailed a cloth filled with small pieces of wood against the top of the door. Let’s see if that helps!
I’m not working much at present; I’m giving myself holidays until September. Then Daddy is going to give me lessons; it’s shocking how much I’ve forgotten already. There is little change in our life here. Mr. van Daan and I usually manage to upset each other, it’s just the opposite with Margot whom he likes very much. Mummy sometimes treats me just like a baby, which I can’t bear. Otherwise things are going better. I still don’t like Peter any more, he is so-boring; he flops lazily on his bed half the time, does a bit of carpentry, and then goes back for another snooze. What a fool!
It is lovely weather and in spite of everything, we make the most we can of it by lying on a camp bed in the attic, where the sun shines through an open window.
Yours, Anne
Wednesday, 2 September, 1942
Dear Kitty,
Mr. and Mrs. van Daan have had a terrific quarrel, I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. Mummy and Daddy would never dream of shouting at each other. The cause was so trivial that the whole thing was a pure waste of breath. But still, everyone to his own liking.
Naturally it is very unpleasant for Peter, who has to stand by. No one takes him seriously, he is so frightfully touchy and lazy. Yesterday he was badly upset because he found that his tongue was blue instead of red; this unusual phenomenon of nature disappeared just as quickly as it had come.
Today he is going about with a scarf on, as he has a stiff neck, in addition ‘M’lord’ complains of lumbago. Pains around the heart, kidneys, and lungs are not unusual either; he is a real hypochondriac (that’s the word for such people, isn’t it?). It is not all honey between Mummy and Mrs. van Daan.
There is plenty of cause for unpleasantness. To give a small example, I will tell you that Mrs. van Daan has taken all three of her sheets out of the common linen cupboard. She takes it for granted that Mummy’s sheets will do for all of us. It will be a nasty surprise for her when she finds out that Mummy has followed her good example.
Also, she is thoroughly piqued that her dinner service and not ours is in use. She is always trying to find out where we have actually put our plates, they are closer than she thinks, they are in a cardboard box behind a lot of junk in the attic. Our plates are ungettable as long as we are here, and that’s good thing too. I always have bad luck, I smashed one of Mrs. van Daan’s soup plates into a thousand pieces yesterday. “Oh!” She cried angrily.
“Couldn’t you be careful for once? That’s the last one I’ve got.” Mr. van Daan is all sugar to me nowadays. Long may it last. Mummy gave me another frightful sermon this morning; I can’t bear them. Our ideas are completely opposite. Daddy is a darling, although he can sometimes be angry with me for five minutes on end.
The previous week saw little interruption in our monotonous life, it was over a book about women—and Peter. First I must tell you that Margot and Peter are allowed to read nearly all the books that Mr. Kleiman lends us, but the grown-ups held back this particular book on the subject of women.
Peter’s curiosity was aroused at once. What was it the two of them were not
allowed to read in this book? He got hold of the book on the sly, while his mother was downstairs talking, and disappeared with his booty to the attic.
All went well for a few days. His mother knew what he was doing, but didn’t tell tales, until his father found out. He was very angry, took the book away, and thought that that would finish the whole business. However, he had not allowed for his son’s curiosity, which waxed rather than waned because of his father’s attitude. Determined to finish it, Peter thought of a way to get hold of this enthralling book. In the meantime, Mrs. van Daan asked Mummy what she thought about it all. Mummy thought this particular book was not suitable for Margot, but she saw no harm in letting her read most books.
“There is a great difference, Mrs. van Daan,” said Mummy, “between Margot and Peter. In the first place, Margot is a girl and girls are always more grown-up than boys; secondly, Margot has read quite a lot of serious books, and does not go in search of things that are forbidden to her; thirdly, Margot is far more developed and intelligent, shown by the fact of her being in the fourth form at school.” Mrs. van Daan agreed, but still thought it was wrong in principle to let children read books which were written for grown- ups.
In the meantime Peter had found a time of the day when no one bothered about him or the book: seven-thirty in the evening—then everyone was in the private office listening to the radio. That was when he took his treasure to the attic again. He should have been downstairs again by eight- thirty but, because the book was so thrilling he forgot the time and was just coming downstairs as his father came into the room. You can imagine the consequences! With a slap and a snatch, the book lay on the table and Peter was in the attic. That’s how matters stood as we sat down to table. Peter stayed upstairs, no one bothered about him, and he had to go to bed without any supper. We went on with the meal, chattering gaily, when suddenly we heard a piercing whistle; we all stopped eating and looked with pale, changed faces at one another. Then we heard Peter’s voice, calling down the chimney, “I say, I’m not coming down anyway.” Mr. van Daan sprang to his feet, his napkin fell down on the floor, and scarlet in the face he shouted,
