You’re probably a little surprised to hear me talking about admirers at such a tender age. Unfortunately， or not， as the case may be， this vice seems to be rampant at our school. As soon as a boy asks if he can bicycle home with me and we get to talking， nine times out often I can be sure he’ll become enamored on the spot and won’t let me out of his sight for a second. His ardor eventually cools， especially since I ignore his passionate glances and pedal blithely on my way. If it gets so bad that they start rambling on about “asking Father’s permission，” I swerve slightly on my bike. my schoolbag falls， and the young man feels obliged to get off his bike and hand me the bag， by which time I’ve switched the conversation to another topic. These are the most innocent types. Of course， there are those who blow you kisses or try to take hold of your arm， but they’redefinitely knocking on the wrong door. I get off my bike and either refuse to make turther use of their company or act as if I’m insulted and tell them in no uncertain terms to go on home without me. There you are. We’ve now laid the basis for our friendship. Until tomorrow.
Yours， Anne
OCTOBER 9， 1942
Dearest Kitty，
Today I have nothing but dismal and depressing news to report. Our many Jewish friends and acquaintanccs are being taken away in droves. The Gestapo is treating them very roughly and transporting them in cattle cars to Westerbork， the big camp in Drenthe to which they’re sending all the Jews. Miep told us about someone who’d managed to escape from there. It must be terrible in Westerbork. The people get almost nothing to eat， much less to drink， as water is available only one hour a day， and there’s only one toilet and sink for several thousand people. Men and women sleep in the same room， and women and children often have their heads shaved. Escape is almost impossible； many people look Jewish， and they’re branded by their shorn heads.
If it’s that bad in Holland， what must it be like in those faraway and uncivilized places where the Germans are sending them？ We assume that most of them are being murdered. The English radio says they’re being gassed. Perhaps that’s the quickest way to die.
I feel terrible. Miep’s accounts of these horrors are so heartrending， and Miep is also very distraught. The other day， for instance， the Gestapo deposited an elderly， crippled Jewish woman on Miep’s doorstep while they set off to find a car. The old woman was terrified of the glaring searchlights and the guns firing at the English planes overhead. Yet Miep didn’t dare let her in. Nobody would. The Germans are generous enough when it comes to punishment.
Bep is also very subdued， Her boyfriend is being sent to Germany. Every time the planes fly over， she’s afraid they’re going to drop their entire bomb load on Bertus’s head. Jokes like “Oh， don’t worry， they can’t all fall on him” or “One bomb is all it takes” are hardly appropriate in this situation. Bertus is not the only one being forced to work in Germany. Trainloads of young men depart daily. Some of them try to sneak off the train when it stops at a small station， but only a few manage to escape unnoticed and find a place to hide.
But that’s not the end of my lamentations. Have you ever heard the term “hostages”？ That’s the latest punishment for saboteurs. It’s the most horrible thing you can imagine. Leading citizens—innocent people— are taken prisoner to await their execution. If the Gestapo can’t find the saboteur， they simply grab five hostages and line them up against the wall. You read the announcements of their death in the paper， where they’re referred to as “fatal accidents.”
Fine specimens of humanity， those Germans， and to think I’m actually one of them！ No， that’s not true， Hitler took away our nationality long ago. And besides， there are no greater enemies on earth than the Germans and the Jews.
Yours， Anne
WEDNESDAY， JANUARY 13， 1943
Dearest Kitty，
This morning I was constantly interrupted， and as a result I haven’t been able to finish a single thing I’ve begun.
We have a new pastime， namely， filling packages with powdered gravy. The gravy is one of Gies & Co.’s products. Mr. Kugler hasn’t been able to find anyone else to fill the packages， and besides， it’s cheaper if we do the job. It’s the kind of work they do in prisons. It’s incredibly boring and makes us dizzy and giggly.
Terrible things are happening outside. At any time of night and day， poor helpless people are being dragged out of their homes. They’re allowed to take only a knapsack and a little cash with them， and even then， they’re robbed of these possessions on the way. Families are torn apart； men， women and children are separated. Children come home from school to find that their parents have disap peared. Women return from shopping to find their houses sealed， their famthes gone. The Christians in Holland are also living in fear because their sons are being sent to Germany. Everyone is scared. Every night hundreds of planes pass over Holland on their way to German cities， to sow their bombs on German soil. Every hour hundreds， or maybe even thousands， of people are being killed in Russia and Afiica. No one can keep out of the conflict， the entire world is at war， and even though the Allies are doing better the end is nowhere in sight.
As for us， we’re quite fortunate. Luckier than millions of people. It’s quiet and safe here， and we’re using our money to buy food. We’re so selfish that we talk about “after the war” and look forward to new clothes and shoes， when actually we should be saving every penny to help others when the war is over， to salvage whatever we can.
The children in this neighborhood run around in thin shirts and wooden shoes. They have no coats， no caps， no stockings and no one to help them. Gnawing on a carrot to still their hunger pangs， they walk from their cold houses through cold streets to an even colder classroom. Things have gotten so bad in Holland that hordes of children stop passersby in the streets to beg for a piece of bread.
