SUNDAY, JUNE 13, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
The poem Father posed for my birthday is too o keep to myself.
Since Pim writes his verses only in German, Margot volunteered to translate it into Dutch. See for yourself whether Margot hasnt done herself proud. It begins with the usual summary of the years events and then tinues:
As you among us, but small no more, Your life be trying, for we have the chore Of being your teachers, a terrible bore.
"Weve got experieake it from me!」
"Weve dohis all before, you see.
We know the ropes, we know the same.」
Siime immemorial, always the same.
Ones own shortings are nothing but fluff, But everyone elses are heavier stuff:
Faultfinding es easy when this is our plight, But its hard for your parents, try as they might, To treat you with fairness, and kindness as well;
Nitpigs a habit thats hard to dispel.
Men youre living with old folks, all you do
Is put up with their nagging -- its hard but its true.
The pill may be bitter, but down it must go, For its meant to keep the peace, you know.
The many months here have not been in vain, Since wasting time noes against your Brain.
You read and study nearly all the day, Determio chase the boredom away.
The more difficult question, much harder to bear, Is "What oh do I have to wear?
Ive got no more panties, my clothes are too tight, My shirt is a loincloth, Im really a siaht!
To put on my shoes I must off my toes, Dh dear, Im plagued with so many woes!」
Margot had trouble getting the part about food to rhyme, so Im leaving it out. But aside from that, dont you think its a good poem?
For the rest, Ive been thhly spoiled and have received a number of lovely presents, including a big book on my favorite subject, Greek and Roman mythology.
Nor I plain about the lack of dy; everyone had dipped into their last reserves. As the Benjamin of the Annex, I got more than I deserve.
Yours, Anne
TUESDAY, JUNE 15, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
Heaps of things have happened, but I often think Im b you with my dreary chitchat and that youd just as soon have fewer letters. So Ill keep the news brief.
Mr. Voskuijl wasnt operated on for his ulcer after all. Ohe doctors had him on the operating table and opened him up, they saw that he had cer. It was in su advaage that aion ointless. So they stitched him up agai him in the hospital for three weeks, fed him well a him bae. But they made an unfivable error: they told the poor maly what was in store for him.
He t work anymore, and hes just sitting at home, surrounded by his eight children, brooding about his approag death. I feel very sorry for him and hate not being able to go out; otherwise, Id visit him as often as I could aake his mind off matters. Now the good man o longer let us know whats being said and done in the warehouse, which is a disaster for us. Mr. Voskuijl was reatest source of
help and suppor when it came to safety measures. We miss him very much.
month its our turn to hand over our radio to the authorities. Mr. Kleiman has a small set hidden in his home that hes giving us to replace our beautiful et radio.
Its a pity we have to turn in Philips, but when youre in hiding, you t afford t the authorities down on your heads. Of course, well put the "baby」
radio upstairs. Whats a destine radio when there are already destine Jews and destine m