I could spend hours telling you about the suffering the war has brought， but l’d only make myself more miserable. All we can do is wait， as calmly as possible， for it to end. Jews and Christians alike are waiting， the whole world is waiting， and many are waiting for death.
Yours，Anne
MONDAY， JULY 26， 1943
Dear Kitty，
Yesterday was a very tumultuous day， and we’re still all wound tip. Actually， you may wonder if there’s ever a day that passes without some kind of excitement.
The first warning siren went off in the morning while we were at breakfast， but we paid no attention，because it only meant that the planes were crossing the coast. I had a terrible headache， so I lay down for an hour after breakfast and then went to the office at around two.
At two-thirty Margot had finished her office work and was just gathering her things together when the sirens began wailing again. So she and I trooped back upstairs. None too soon， it seems， for less than five minutes later the guns were booming so loudly that we went and stood in the hall. The house shook and the bombs kept falling. I was clutching my “escape bag，” more because I wanted to have something to hold on to than because I wanted to run away. I know we can’t leave here， but if we had to， being seen on the streets would be just as dangerous as getting caught in an air raid. After half an hour the drone of engines faded and the house began to hum with activity again. Peter emerged from his lookout post in the front attic， Dussel remained in the front office， Mrs. van D. felt safest in the private office， Mr. van Daan had been watching from the loft， and those of us on the landing spread out to watch the columns of smoke rising from the harbor. Before long the smell of fire was everywhere， and outside it looked as if the city were enveloped in a thick fog.
A big fire like that is not a pleasant sight， but fortunately for us it was all over， and we went back to our various chores. Just as we were starting dinner： another air-raid alarm. The food was good， but I lost my appetite the moment I heard the siren. Nothing happened， however， and forty-five minutes later the all clear was sounded. After the dishes had been washed：
another air-raid warning ， gunfire and swarms of planes. “Oh， gosh， twice in one day，” we thought， “that’s twice in one day，” we thought， “that’s twice too many.” Little good that did us， because once agai the bombs rained down， this time on the others of the city. According to British reports， Schipho！ Airport was bombed. The planes dived and climbed， the air was abuzz with the drone of engines. It was very scary， and the whole time I kept thinking， “Here it comes， this is it.”
I can assure you that when I went to bed at nine， my legs were still shaking. At the stroke of midnight I woke up again： more planes！ Dussel was undressing， but I took no notice and leapt up， wide awake， at the sound of the first shot. I stayed in Father’s bed until one， in my own bed until one-thirty， and was back in Father’s bed at two. But the planes kept on coming. At last they stopped firing and I was able to go back “home” again. I finally fell asleep at half past two.
Seven o’clock. I awoke with a start and sat tip in bed. Mr. van Daan was with Father. My first thought was： burglars. “Everything，” I heard Mr van Daan say， and I thought everything had been stolen. But no， this time it was wonderful news， the best we’ve had in months， maybe even since the war began. Mussolini has resigned and the King of Italy has taken over the government.
We jumped for joy. After the awful events of yesterday， finally something good happens and brings us... hope！ Hope for an end to the war， hope for peace.
Mr. Kugler dropped by and told us that the Fokker aircraft factory had been hit hard. Meanwhile， there was another air-raid alarm this morning， with planes flying over， and another warning siren. I’ve had it up to here with alarms. I’ve hardly slept， and the last thing I want to do is work. But now the suspense about Italy and the hope that the war will be over by the end of the year are keeping us awake.
Yours， Anne
FRIDAY， OCTOBER 29， 1943
My dearest Kitty，
Mr. Kleiman is out again； his stomach won’t give him a moment’s peace. He doesn’t even know whether it’s stopped bleeding. He came to tell us he wasn’t feeling well and was going home， and for the first time he seemed really down.
Mr. and Mrs. van D. have had more raging battles. The reason is simple： they’re broke. They wanted to sell an overcoat and a suit of Mr. van D. ’s， but were unable to find any buyers. His prices were way too high.
Some time ago Mr. Kleiman was talking about a furrier he knows. This gave Mr. van D. the idea of selling his wife’s fur coat. It’s made of rabbit skin， and she’s had it for seventeen years. Mrs. van D. got 325 guilders for it， an enormous amount. She wanted to keep the money herself to buy new clothes after the war， and it took some doing before Mr. van D. could make her understand that it was desperately needed to cover household expenses.
You can’t imagine the screaming， shouting， stamping of reet and swearing that went on. It was terrifying. My family stood holding its breath at the bottom of the stairs， in case it might be necessary to drag them apart. All the bickering， tears and nervous tension have become such a stress and strain that I fall into my bed at night crying and thanking my lucky stars that I have half an hour to myself.
