thursday, march 4, 1943
dearest kitty,
mrs. van d. has a new niame -- weve started calling her mrs. beaverbrook. of course, that doesnt mean anything to you, so let me explain. a certain mr.
beaverbrook often talks on the english radio about what he siders to be the far too le bombardment of germany. mrs. van daan, who always tradicts everyone, including churchill and the news reports, is in plete agreement with mr.
beaverbrook. so we thought it would be a good idea for her to be married to him, and since she was flattered by the notion, weve decided to call her mrs. beaverbrook from now on.
were getting a new warehouse employee, sihe old one is beio germany. thats bad for him but good for us because the new one wont be famthar with the building. were still afraid of the men who work in the warehouse.
gandhi is eating again.
the black market is doing a booming business. if we had enough moo pay the ridiculous prices, we could stuff ourselves silly. reengrocer buys potatoes from the "wehrmacht" and brings them in sacks to the private office. since he suspects were hiding here, he makes a point of ing during lunchtime, when the warehouse employees are out.
so much pepper is being ground at the moment that we sneeze and cough with every breath we take. everyone who es upstairs greets us with an "ah-rs. van d. swears she wont go downstairs; one more whiff of pepper and shes going to get sick.
i dont think father has a very nice business. noth ing but pe and pepper. as long as youre in the food business, why not make dy?
a veritable thuorm of words came crashing down on me again this m.
the air flashed with so many coarse expressions that my ears were ringing with "annes bad this" annd "van daans good that." fire and brimstone!
yours, anne
wednesday, march 10, 1943
dearest kitty,
we had a short circuit last night, and besides that, the guns were booming away until dawn. i still havent gotten over my fear of planes and shooting, and i crawl into
fathers bed nearly every night for fort. i know it sounds childish, but wait till it happens to you! the ack-ack guns make so muoise you t hear your own voice. mrs. beaverbrook, the fatalist, practically burst into tears and said in a timid little voice, "oh, its so awful. oh, the guns are so loud!" -- which is another way of saying "im so scared.”
it didnt seem nearly as bad by dlelight as it did in the dark. i was
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