WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 1942Dearest Kitty,Mr. and Mrs. van Daan have had a terrible fight. Ive never seen anything like it, siher and Father wouldnt dream of shouting at each other like that. The argument was based on something so trivial it didnt seem worth wasting a single word on it.Oh well, to each his own.Of course, its very difficult for Peter, who gets caught in the middle, but no oakes Peter seriously anymore, since hes hypersensitive and zy. Yesterday he was beside himself with worry because his tongue was blue instead of pink. This rare phenomenon disappeared as quickly as it came. Today hes walking around with a heavy scarf on because hes got a stiff neck. His Highness has been pining of lumbago too. Aches and pains in his heart, kidneys and lungs are also par for the course. Hes an absolute hypodriac! (Thats the right word, isnt it?)Mother and Mrs. van Daa getting along very well. There are enough reasons for the fri. To give you one small example, Mrs. van D. has removed all but three of her sheets from our unal linen closet. Shes assuming that Mothers be used for both families. Shell be in for a nasty surprise when she discovers that Mother has followed her lead.Furthermore, Mrs. van D. is ticked off because were using her a instead of ours.Shes still trying to find out what weve doh our ptes; theyre a lot closer thahinks, siheyre packed in cardboard boxes iic, behind a load of Opekta advertising material. As long as were in hiding, the ptes will remain out of her reach. Since Im always having acts, its just as well! Yesterday I broke one of Mrs. van D.s soup bowls."Oh!" she angrily excimed. "t you be more careful? That was my st one.”Please bear in mind, Kitty, that the two dies speak abomich (I dont dare ent on the gentlemen: theyd be highly insulted). If you were to hear their butempts, youd ugh your head off. Weve given up pointing out their errors, since correg them doesnt help anyway. Whenever I quote Mother or Mrs. van Daan, Ill write proper Dutstead to duplicate their speech.Last week there was a brief interruption in our monotonous routihis rovided by Peter -- and a book about women. I should expin that Margot aer are allowed to read nearly all the books Mr. Kleiman lends us. But the adults preferred to keep this special book to themselves. This immediately piqued Peters curiosity. What forbidden fruit did it tain? He snuck off with it when his mother was downstairs talking, and took himself and his booty to the loft. For two days all was well. Mrs.van Daan knew what he to, but kept mum until Mr. van Daan found out about it. He threw a fit, took the book away and assumed that would be the end of the business. However, hed ed to take his sons curiosity into at. Peter, not in the least fazed by his fathers swift a, began thinking up ways to read the rest of this vastly iing book.In the meantime, Mrs. van D. asked Mother for her opinion. Mother didnt think this particur book was suitable for Margot, but she saw no harm iing her read most other books.You see, Mrs. van Daan, Mother Said, theres a big differeween Margot aer. To begin with, Margots a girl, and girls are always more mature than boys.Sed, shes already read many serious books and doesnt go looking for those which are no longer forbidden. Third, Margots much more sensible and intellectually advanced, as a result of her four years at an excellent srs. van Daan agreed with her, but felt it was wrong as a matter of principle to let youngsters read books written for adults.Meanwhile, Peter had thought of a suitable time when no one would be ied iher him or the book. At seven-thirty in the evening, wheire family was listening to the radio in the private office, he took his treasure and stole off to the loft again. He should have been back by eight-thirty, but he was so engrossed in the book that he fot the time and was just ing dowairs when his father ehe room. The se that followed was not surprising: after a sp, a whad a tug-of-war, the book y oable aer was in the loft.This is how matters stood when it was time for the family to eat. Peter stayed upstairs. No one gave him a moments thought; hed have to go to bed without his dinner. We tinued eating, chatting merrily away, when suddenly we heard a pierg whistle. We y down our forks and stared at each other, the shock clearly visible on our pale faces.Then we heard Peters voice through the ey: "I won t e down!"Mr. van Daa up, his napkin falling to the floor, and shouted, with the blood rushing to his face, "Ive had enough!”Father, afraid of what might happen, grabbed him by the arm and the two meo the attic. After much struggling and kig, Peter wound up in his room with the door shut, and we went oing.Mrs. van Daan wao save a piece of bread for her darling son, but Mr. van D.was adamant. "If he doesnt apologize this minute, hell have to sleep in the loft.”We protested that going without dinner was enough punishment. What if Peter were to catch cold? We wouldnt be able to call a doctor.Peter didnt apologize, auro the loft.Mr. van Daan decided to leave well enough alohough he did he m that Peters bed had bee in. At seveer went to the attic again, but ersuaded to e downstairs when Father spoke a few friendly words to him. After three days of sullen looks and stubborn silence, everything was back to normal.Yours, AnneMONDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1942Dearest Kitty,Today Ill tell you the general news here in the Annex. A mp has been mounted above my divan bed so that iure, when I hear the guns going off, Ill be able to pull a cord and swit the light. I t use it at the moment because were keeping our window open a little, day and night.The male members of the van Daan ti have built a very handy wood-stained food safe, with real ss. Up to now this glorious cupboard has been located iers room, but ierests of fresh air its been moved to the attic. Where it oood, theres now a shelf. I advised Peter to put his table underh the shelf, add a nice rug and hang his own cupboard where the table now stands. That might make his little cubbyhole more fy, though I certainly wouldnt like to sleep there.Mrs. van Daan is unbearable. Im tinually being scolded for my incessant chatter when Im upstairs. I simply let the words bounce right off me! Madame now has arick up her sleeve: trying to get out of washing the pots and pans. If theres a bit of food left at the bottom of the pan, she leaves it to spoil instead of transferring it to a gss dish. Then iernoon when Margot is stuck with ing all the pots and pans, Madame excims, "Oh, poor Margot, you have so much work to do!”Every other week Mr. Kleiman brings me a couple of books written firls my age.Im enthusiastic about the loop ter Heul series. Ive enjoyed all of Cissy van Marxveldts books very much. Ive read The Za Summer four times, and the ludicrous situations still make me ugh.Father and I are currently w on our family tree, aells me something about each person as we go along. Ive begun my schoolwork. Im w hard at French, cramming five irregur verbs into my head every day. But Ive fotten muuch of what I learned in school.Peter has taken up his English with great reluce. A few schoolbooks have just arrived, and I brought a rge supply of notebooks, pencils, erasers and bels from home. Pim (thats our pet name for Father) wants me to help him with his Dutch lessons. Im perfectly willing to tutor him in exge for his assistah Frend other subjects. But he makes the most unbelievable mistakes!I sometimes listen to the Dutch broadcasts from London. Prince B九-九-藏-書-網ernhard retly annouhat Princess juliana is expeg a baby in January, which I think is wonderful. No one here uands why I take su i in the Royal Family.A few nights ago I was the topic of discussion, and we all decided I was an ignoramus. As a result, I threw myself into my schoolwork the day, since I have little desire to still be a freshman when Im fourteen or fifteen. The fact that Im hardly allowed to read anything was also discussed. At the moment, Mothers readilemen, Wives and Servants, and of course Im not allowed to read it (though Margot is!). First I have to be more intellectually developed, like my genius of a sister. Then we discussed my ignorance of philosophy, psychology and physiology (I immediately looked up these big words in the diary!). Its true, I dont know anything about these subjects. But maybe Ill be smarter year!Ive e to the shog clusion that I have only one long-sleeved dress and three cardigans to wear in the winter. Fathers given me permission to knit a white wool sweater; the yarn isnt very pretty, but itll be warm, and thats what ts.Some of our clothing was left with friends, but unfortunately we wont be able to get to it until after the rovided its still there, of course.Id just finished writing something about Mrs. van Daan when she walked into the room. Thump, I smmed the book shut."Hey, Anne, t I even take a peek?”"No, Mrs. van Daan.”"Just the st page then?”"No, not eve page, Mrs. van Daan.”Of course, I nearly died, sihat particur page tained a rather unfttering description of her.Theres something happening every day, but Im too tired and zy to write it all down.Yours, AnneFRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1942Dearest Kitty,Father has a friend, a man in his mid-seventies named Mr. Dreher, whos sick, poor and deaf as a post. At his side, like a useless appendage, is his wife, twenty-seven years younger and equally poor, whose arms and legs are loaded with real and fake bracelets and rings left over from more prosperous days. This Mr. Dreher has already been a great nuisao Father, and Ive always admired the saintly patieh which he hahis pathetian on the phone. When we were still living at home, Mother used to advise him to put a gramophone in front of the receiver, ohat would repeat every three minutes, "Yes, Mr. Dreher" and "No, Mr. Dreher," sihe old man never uood a word of Fathers lengthy replies anyway.Today Mr. Dreher phohe offid asked Mr. Kugler to e and see him. Mr.Kugler wasnt in the mood and said he would send Miep, but Miep celed the appoi. Mrs. Dreher called the office three times, but since Miep was reportedly out the eernoon, she had to imitate Beps voice. Downstairs in the office as well as upstairs in the Ahere was great hirity. Now each time the phs, Bep says Thats Mrs. Dreher!" and Miep has to ugh, so that the people oher end of the line are greeted with an impolite giggle. t you just picture it?This has got to be the greatest offi the whole wide world. The bosses and theoffice girls have such fun together!Some evenings I go to the van Daans for a little chat. We eat "mothball cookies”(mosses cookies that were stored in a closet that was mothproofed) and have a good time. Retly the versation was about Peter. I said that he often pats me on the cheek, which I dont like. They asked me in a typically grown-up way whether I could ever learn to love Peter like a brother, since he loves me like a sister. "Oh, no!" I said, but what I was thinking was, "Oh, ugh!" Just imagine! I added that Peters a bit stiff, perhaps because hes shy. Boys who arent used to being around girls are like that.I must say that the Annex ittee (the meion) is very creative. Listen to the scheme theyve e up with to get a message to Mr. Broks, aa Co. sales representative and friend whos surreptitiously hidden some of our things for us!Theyre going to type a letter to a store owner in southern Zeand who is, ily, one of Opekta s ers and ask him to fill out a form and send it ba the enclosed self-addressed envelope. Father will write the address on the envelope himself. Ohe letter is returned from Zeand, the form be removed and a handwritten message firming that Father is alive be ied in the envelope.This way Mr. Broks read the letter without suspeg a ruse. They chose the province of Zeand because its close to Belgium (a letter easily be smuggled across the border) and because no one is allowed to travel there without a special permit. An ordinary salesman like Mr. Broks would never be granted a permit.Yesterday Father put on another act. Groggy with sleep, he stumbled off to bed. His feet were cold, so I lent him my bed socks. Five mier he flung them to the floor. Then he pulled the bs over his head because the light bothered him. The mp was switched off, and he gingerly poked his head out from uhe covers. It was all very amusing. We started talking about the fact that Peter says Margot is a "buttinsky." Suddenly Daddys voice was heard from the depths: "Sits on her butt, you mean.Mouschi, the cat, is being o me as time goes by, but Im still somewhat afraid of her.Yours, AnneSUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1942Dearest Kitty,Mother and I had a so-called "discussion" today, but the annoying part is that I burst into tears. I t help it. Daddy is always o me, and he also uands me much better. At moments like these I t stand Mother. Its obvious that Im a strao her; she doesnt even know what I think about the most ordinary things.We were talking about maids and the fact that youre supposed to refer to them as "domestic help" these days. She cimed that when the war is over, thats what theyll want to be called. I didnt quite see it that way. Then she added that I talk about ter" so often and that I act as if I were such a dy, even though Im not, but I dont think building sand castles in the air is such a terrible thing to do, as long as you dont take it too seriously. At any rate, Daddy usually es to my defehout him I wouldnt be able to stick it out here.I do along with Margot very well either. Even though our family never has the same kind of outbursts they have upstairs, I find it far from pleasant. Margots and Mothers personalities are so alien to me. I uand my girlfriends better than my own mother. Isnt that a shame?For the umpteenth time, Mrs. van Daan is sulking. Shes very moody and has been removing more and more of her belongings and log them up. Its too bad Mother doesnt repay every van Daan "disappearing act" with a Frank "disappearing act.”Some people, like the van Daans, seem to take special delight not only in raising their own children but in helping others raise theirs. Margot doesnt , since shes naturally good, kind and clever, perfe itself, but I seem to have enough mischief for the two of us. More than ohe air has been filled with the van Daans admonitions and my saucy replies. Father and Mother always defend me fiercely.Without them I wouldnt be able to jump bato the fray with my usual posure.They keep telling me I should talk less, mind my own business and be more modest, but I seem doomed to failure. If Father werent so patient, Id have long ago given up hope of ever meeting my parents quite moderate expectations.If I take a small helping of a vegetable I loathe a potatoes instead, the van Daans, especially Mrs. van Daan, t get over how spoiled I am. "e on, An some more vegetables," she says."No, thank you, maam," I reply. "The potatoes are more than enough.”"Vegetables are good for you; your mother says so too. Have some more," she insists, until Father intervenes and upholds my right to refuse a dish I dont like.Then Mrs. van D. really flies off the handle: "You should have been at our house, where children were brought up the way they should be. I dont call this a proper upbringing. Anne is terribly spoiled. Id never allow that. If Anne were my daughter. ..”This is always how her tirades begin and end: "If Anne were my daughter. . ." Thank goodness Im not.But to get back to the subject of raising childreerday a silence fell after Mrs.van D. finished her little speech. Father then replied, "I think Anne is very well brought up. At least shes learned not to respond to your interminable sermons. As far as the vegetables are ed, all I have to say is look whos calling the kettle bck.”Mrs. van D. was soundly defeated. The pot calling the ketde bck refers of course to Madame herself, since she t tolerate beans or any kind of cabbage in the evening because they give her "gas." But I could say the same. What a dope, dont you think?In any case, lets hope she stops talking about me.Its so funny to see how quickly Mrs. van Daan flushes. I dont, and it secredy annoys her no end.Yours, AnneMONDAY, SEPTEMBER 28,1942Dearest Kitty,I had to stop yesterday, though I was nowhere near finished. Im dying to tell you about another one of our cshes, but before I do Id like to say this: I think its odd that grown-ups quarrel so easily and so often and about such petty matters. Up to now I always thought bickering was just something children did and that they outgrew it. Often, of course, theres sometimes a reason to have a real quarrel, but the verbal exges that take pce here are just pin bickering. I should be used to the fact that these squabbles are daily occurrences, but Im not and never will be as long as Im the subject of nearly every discussion. (They refer to these as "discussions”instead of "quarrels," but Germans dont know the differehey criticize everything, and I meahing, about me: my behavior, my personality, my manners; every ine, from head to toe and back again, is the subject of gossip ae. Harsh words and shouts are stantly being flung at my head, though Im absolutely not used to it. Acc to the powers that be, Im supposed to grin andbear it. But I t! I have no iion of taking their insults lying down. Ill show them that Anne Frank wasnt borerday. Theyll sit up and take notid keep their big mouths shut when I make them see they ought to attend to their own manners instead of mine. How dare they act that way! Its simply barbaric. Ive been astoime and again, at such rudeness and most of all. . . at such stupidity (Mrs. van Daan). But as soon as Ive gotteo the idea, and that shouldnt take long, Ill give them a taste of their own medie, and then theyll ge their tune!Am I really as bad-mannered, headstrong, stubborn, pushy, stupid, zy, etc., etc., as the van Daans say I am? No, of course not. I know I have my faults and shortings, but they blow them all out of proportion! If you only knew, Kitty, how I seethe when they scold and mock me. It wont take long before I explode with pent-up rage.But enough of that. Ive bored you long enough with my quarrels, a I t resist adding a highly iing dinner versation.Somehow we nded on the subject of Pims extreme diffidence. His modesty is a well-known fact, which eveupidest person wouldnt dream of questioning. All of a sudden Mrs. van Daan, who feels the herself into every versation, remarked, "Im very modest airing too, much more so than my husband!”Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? This sentence clearly illustrates that shes ly what youd call modest!Mr. van Daan, who felt obliged to expin the "much more so than my husband,”answered calmly, "I have no desire to be modest airing. In my experience, you get a lot further by being pushy!" And turning to me, he added, "Dont be modest airing, A will get you nowhere.”Mreed pletely with this viewpoint. But, as usual, Mrs. van Daan had to add her two ts. This time, however, instead of addressing me directly, she turo my parents and said, "You must have a stralook on life to be able to say that to Ahings were different when I was growing up. Though they probably havent ged much sihen, except in your modern household!”This was a direct hit at Mothers modern child-rearihods, which shes defended on many occasions. Mrs. van Daan was so upset her face turned bright red. People who flush easily bee even mitated when they feel themselves getting hot uhe colr, and they quickly lose to their oppos.The nonflushed mother, who now wao have the matter over and doh as quickly as possible, paused for a moment to think before she replied. "Well, Mrs. van Daan, I agree that its much better if a person isnt overmodest. My husband, Margot aer are all exceptionally modest. Your husband, Anne and I, though ly the opposite, do ourselves be pushed around.”Mrs. van Daan: "Oh, but Mrs. Frank, I dont uand what you mean! Holy, Im extremely modest airing. How you say that Im pushy?”Mother: "I didnt say you were pushy, but no one would describe you as having a retiring disposition.”Mrs. van D.: "Id like to know in what way Im pushy! If I didnt look out for myself here, no one else would, and Id soon starve, but that doesnt mean Im not as modest airing as your husband.”Mother had no choice but to ugh at this ridiculous self-defense, which irritated Mrs.van Daan. ly a borer, she tinued her magnifit at in a mixture of German and Dutch, until she got so tangled up in her own words that she finally rose from her chair and was just about to leave the room when her eye fell on me. You should have seen her! As luck would have it, the moment Mrs. van D. turned around I was shaking my head in a bination of passion and irony. I wasnt doing it on purpose, but Id followed her tirade so ily that my rea was pletely involuntary. Mrs. van D. wheeled around and gave me a tongue-shing:hard, Germanic, mean and vulgar, exactly like some fat, red-faced fishwife. It was a joy to behold. If I could draw, Id like to have sketched her as she was then. She struck me as so ical, that silly little scatterbrain! Ive learned ohing: you only really get to knoerson after a fight. Only then you judge their true character!Yours, AUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1942Dearest Kitty,The strahings happen to you when youre in hiding! Try to picture this.Because we dont have a bathtub, we wash ourselves in a washtub, and because theres only hot water in the office (by which I meaire lower floor), the seven of us take turns making the most of this great opportunity. But sinone of us are alike and are all pgued by varying degrees of modesty, each member of thefamily has selected a different pce to wash. Peter takes a bath in the office kit, even though it has a gss door. When its time for his bath, he goes around to each of us in turn and annouhat we shouldnt ast the kit for the half hour. He siders this measure to be suffit. Mr. van D. takes his bath upstairs, figuring that the safety of his own room outweighs the difficulty of having to carry the hot water up all those stairs. Mrs. van D. has yet to take a bath; shes waiting to see which is the best pce. Father bathes in the private offid Mother i behind a fire s, while Margot and I have decred the front office to be our bathing grounds. Sihe curtains are drawn on Saturday afternoon, we scrub ourselves in the dark, while the one who isnt ih looks out the window through a k in the curtains and gazes in wo the endlessly amusing people.A week ago I decided I didnt like this spot and have been on the lookout for more fortable bathing quarters. It eter who gave me the idea of setting my washtub in the spacious office bathroom. I sit down, turn on the light, lock the door, pour out the water without anyones help, and all without the fear of being seen.I used my lovely bathroom for the first time on Sunday and, strange as it may seem, I like it better than any other pce.The plumber was at work downstairs on Wednesday, moving the water pipes and drains from the office bathroom to the hallway so the pipes wont freeze during a cold wihe plumbers visit was far from pleasant. Not only were we not allowed to run water during the day, but the bathroom was also off-limits. Ill tell you how we hahis problem; you may find it unseemly of me t it up, but Im not so prudish about matters of this kind. On the day of our arrival, Father and I improvised a chamber pot, sacrifig a ing jar for this purpose. For the duration of the plumbers visit, ing jars were put into service during the daytime to hold our calls of nature. As far as I was ed, this wasnt half as difficult as having to sit still all day and not say a word. You imagine how hard that was for Miss Quack, Quack, Quack. On ordinary days we have to speak in a whisper; not being able to talk or move at all is ten times worse.After three days of stant sitting, my backside was stiff and sore. Nightly calisthenics helped.Yours, Anne