Dear Kitty,
Ive deserted you for an entire month, but so little has happened that I cant find a
newsworthy item to relate every single day. The van Daans arrived on July 13. We thought they were coming on the fourteenth, but from the thirteenth to sixteenth the Germans were sending out call-up notices right and left and causing a lot of unrest, so they decided it would be safer to leave a day too early than a day too late.
Peter van Daan arrived at nine-thirty in the morning (while we were still at breakfast). Peters going on sixteen, a shy, awkward boy whose company wont amount to much. Mr. and Mrs. van Daan came half an hour later.
Much to our amusement, Mrs. van Daan was carrying a hatbox with a large chamber pot inside. "I just dont feel at home without my chamber pot," she exclaimed, and it was the first item to find a permanent place under the divan. Instead of a chamber pot, Mr. van D. was lugging a collapsible tea table under his arm.
From the first, we ate our meals together, and after three days it felt as if the seven of us had become one big family. Naturally, the van Daans had much to tell about the week wed been away from civilization. We were especially interested in what had happened to our apartment and to Mr. Goldschmidt.
Mr. van Daan filled us in: "Monday morning at nine, Mr. Goldschmidt phoned and asked if I could come over. I went straightaway and found a very distraught Mr.
Goldschmidt. He showed me a note that the Frank family had left behind. As instructed, he was planning to bring the cat to the neighbors, which I agreed was a good idea. He was afraid the house was going to be searched, so we w=nt through all the rooms, straightening up here and there and clearing the breakfast things off the table. Suddenly I saw a notepad on Mrs. Franks desk, with an address in Maastricht written on it. Even though I knew Mrs. Frank had left it on purpose, I pretended to be surprised and horrified and begged Mr. Goldschmidt to burn this incriminating piece of paper. I swore up and down that I knew nothing about your disappearance, but that the note had given me an idea. Mr. Goldschmidt, I said, I bet I know what this address refers to. About six months ago a high-ranking officer came to the office. It seems he and Mr. Frank grew up together. He promised to help Mr. Frank if it was ever necessary. As I recall, he was stationed in Maastricht. I think this officer has kept his word and is somehow planning to help them cross over to Belgium and then to Switzerland. Theres no harm in telling this to any friends of the Franks who come asking about them. Of course, you dont need to mention the part about Maastricht. And after that I left. This is the story most of your friends have been told, because I heard it later from several other people.”
We thought it was extremely funny, but we laughed even harder when Mr. van Daan told us that certain people have vivid imaginations. For example, one family living on
our square claimed they sawall four of us riding by on our bikes early in the morning, and another woman was absolutely positive wed been loaded into some kind of military vehicle in the middle of the night.
Yours, Anne
FRIDAY, AUGUST 21, 1942
Dear Kitty,
Now our Secret Annex has truly become secret.
Because so many houses are being searched for hidden bicycles, Mr. Kugler thought it would be better to have a bookcase built in front of the entrance to our hiding place.
It swings out on its hinges and opens like a door. Mr. Voskuijl did the carpentry work.
(Mr. Voskuijl has been told that the seven of us are in hiding, and hes been most helpful.)
Now whenever we want to go downstairs we have to duck and then jump. After the first three days we were all walking around with bumps on our foreheads from banging our heads against the low doorway. Then Peter cushioned it by nailing a towel stuffed with wood shavings to the doorframe. Lets see if it helps!
Im not doing much schoolwork. Ive given myself a vacation until September. Father wants to start tutoring me then, but we have to buy all the books first.
Theres little change in our lives here. Peters hair was washed today, but thats nothing special. Mr. van Daan and I are always at loggerheads with each other. Mama always treats me like a baby, which I cant stand. For the rest, things are going better. I dont think Peters gotten any nicer. Hes an obnoxious boy who lies around on his bed all day, only rousing himself to do a little carpentry work before returning to his nap. What a dope!
Mama gave me another one of her dreadful sermons this morning. We take the opposite view of everything. Daddys a sweetheart; he may get mad at me, but it never lasts longer than five minutes.
Its a beautiful day outside, nice and hot, and in spite of everything, we make the most of the weather by lounging on the folding bed in the attic.
Yours, Anne