saturday, july 11, 1942
dearest kitty,
father, mother and margot still can''t get used to the chiming of the westertoren clock, which tells us the time every quarter of an hour. not me, i liked it from the start; it sounds so reassuring, especially at night. you no doubt want to hear what i think of being in hiding. well, all i can say is that i don''t really know yet. i don''t think i''ll ever feel at home in this house, but that doesn''t mean i hate it. it''s more like being on vacation in some strange pension. kind of an odd way to look at life in hiding, but that''s how things are. the annex is an ideal ce to hide in. it may be damp and lopsided, but there''s probably not a morefortable hiding ce in all of amsterdam. no, in all of hond.
up to now our bedroom, with its nk walls, was very bare. thanks to father -- who brought my entire postcard and movie-star collection here beforehand -- and to a brush and a pot of glue, i was able to ster the walls with pictures. it looks much more cheerful. when the van daans arrive, we''ll be able to build cupboards and other odds and ends out of the wood piled in the attic.
margot and mother have recovered somewhat. yesterday mother felt well enough to cook split-pea soup for the first time, but then she was downstairstalking and forgot all about it. the beans were scorched ck, and no amount of scraping could get them out of the pan.
the building on our right is a branch of the kegpany, a firm from zaandam, and on the left is a furniture workshop. though the people who work there are not on the premises after hours, any sound we make might travel through the walls. we''ve forbidden margot to cough at night, even though she has a bad cold, and are giving herrge doses of codeine.
i''m looking forward to the arrival of the van daans, which is set for tuesday. it will be much more fun and also not as quiet. you see, it''s the silence that makes me so nervous during the evenings and nights, and i''d give anything to have one of our helpers sleep here.
it''s really not that bad here, since we can do our own cooking and can listen to the radio in daddy''s office.
mr. kleiman and miep, and bep voskuijl too, have helped us so much. we''ve already canned loads of rhubarb, strawberries and cherries, so for the time being i doubt we''ll be bored. we also have a supply of reading material, and we''re going to buy lots of games. of course, we can''t ever look out the window or go outside. and we have to be quiet so the people downstairs can''t hear us.
yesterday we had our hands full. we had to pit two crates of cherries for mr. kugler to can. we''re going to use the empty crates to make bookshelves.
someone''s calling me.
yours, anne<pment added by anne on september 2g, 1942: not beina able to ao outside upsets me more than i can say, and i''m terrified our hidina ce will be discovered and that we''ll be shot. that, of course, is a fairly dismal prospect.
dearest kitty,
father, mother and margot still can''t get used to the chiming of the westertoren clock, which tells us the time every quarter of an hour. not me, i liked it from the start; it sounds so reassuring, especially at night. you no doubt want to hear what i think of being in hiding. well, all i can say is that i don''t really know yet. i don''t think i''ll ever feel at home in this house, but that doesn''t mean i hate it. it''s more like being on vacation in some strange pension. kind of an odd way to look at life in hiding, but that''s how things are. the annex is an ideal ce to hide in. it may be damp and lopsided, but there''s probably not a morefortable hiding ce in all of amsterdam. no, in all of hond.
up to now our bedroom, with its nk walls, was very bare. thanks to father -- who brought my entire postcard and movie-star collection here beforehand -- and to a brush and a pot of glue, i was able to ster the walls with pictures. it looks much more cheerful. when the van daans arrive, we''ll be able to build cupboards and other odds and ends out of the wood piled in the attic.
margot and mother have recovered somewhat. yesterday mother felt well enough to cook split-pea soup for the first time, but then she was downstairstalking and forgot all about it. the beans were scorched ck, and no amount of scraping could get them out of the pan.
the building on our right is a branch of the kegpany, a firm from zaandam, and on the left is a furniture workshop. though the people who work there are not on the premises after hours, any sound we make might travel through the walls. we''ve forbidden margot to cough at night, even though she has a bad cold, and are giving herrge doses of codeine.
i''m looking forward to the arrival of the van daans, which is set for tuesday. it will be much more fun and also not as quiet. you see, it''s the silence that makes me so nervous during the evenings and nights, and i''d give anything to have one of our helpers sleep here.
it''s really not that bad here, since we can do our own cooking and can listen to the radio in daddy''s office.
mr. kleiman and miep, and bep voskuijl too, have helped us so much. we''ve already canned loads of rhubarb, strawberries and cherries, so for the time being i doubt we''ll be bored. we also have a supply of reading material, and we''re going to buy lots of games. of course, we can''t ever look out the window or go outside. and we have to be quiet so the people downstairs can''t hear us.
yesterday we had our hands full. we had to pit two crates of cherries for mr. kugler to can. we''re going to use the empty crates to make bookshelves.
someone''s calling me.
yours, anne<pment added by anne on september 2g, 1942: not beina able to ao outside upsets me more than i can say, and i''m terrified our hidina ce will be discovered and that we''ll be shot. that, of course, is a fairly dismal prospect.