Anne Frank's Tales from the Secret Annex (8 page)

D
O ANY OF
those people in their warm and cosy living rooms have any idea what kind of life a beggar leads? Do any of those ‘good’ and ‘kind’ people ever wonder about the lives of so many of the children and adults around them? Granted, everyone has given a coin to a beggar at some time or another, though they usually just shove it into his hand and slam the door. And in most cases the generous donors think it’s disgusting to touch that hand! Am I right or not? Then, afterwards, people are amazed that beggars are so shameless! Wouldn’t you be shameless too if you were treated more like a dog than a human being?

It’s terrible, really terrible, that people treat each other this way in a country like Holland, which claims to have such a good social system and so many decent, upstanding citizens. In the eyes of most of the well-to-do, a beggar is an inferior being, somebody who’s scruffy and unwashed,
pushy and rude. But have they ever asked themselves how beggars got to be that way?

You should try comparing one of those beggar children with your own children! What’s the difference? Yours are pretty and neat, the others are ugly and ragged! Is that all? Yes, that’s all, that’s the only difference. If you dressed one of those urchins in nice clothes and taught him good manners, there wouldn’t be a whit of difference!

Everyone is born equal; we all come into the world helpless and innocent. We all breathe the same air, and many of us believe in the same God. And yet…and yet, to many people this one small difference is a huge one! It’s huge because many people have never realized what the difference is, for if they had they would have discovered long ago that there’s actually no difference at all!

Everyone is born equal; we will all die and shed our earthly glory. Riches, power and fame last for only a few short years. Why do we cling so desperately to these fleeting things? Why can’t people who have more than enough for their own needs give the rest to their fellow human beings? Why should anyone have to have such a hard life for those few short years on earth?

But above all, a gift should never be flung in anyone’s face – every person has a right to kindness. Why should you be nicer to a rich lady than to a poor one? Has anyone ever studied the difference in their characters?

Human greatness does not lie in wealth or power, but in character and goodness. People are just people, and all
people have faults and shortcomings, but all of us are born with a basic goodness. If we were to start by adding to that goodness instead of stifling it, by giving poor people the feeling that they too are human beings, we wouldn’t necessarily have to give money or material things, since not everyone has them to give.

Everything starts in small ways, so in this case you can begin in small ways too. On trams, for example, don’t just offer your seat to rich mothers, think of the poor ones too. And say ‘excuse me’ when you step on a poor person’s toe, just as you say it to a rich one. It takes so little effort, yet it means so much. Why shouldn’t you show a little kindness to those poor urchins who are already so deprived?

We all know that a good example is more effective than advice. So set a good example, and it won’t take long for others to follow. More and more people will become kind and generous, until finally no one will ever again look down on those without money.

Oh, if only we were there already! If only Holland, then Europe, and finally the whole world realized how unfair it was being, if only the time would come when people treated each other with genuine good will, in the realization that we’re all equal and that worldly things are transitory!

How wonderful it is that no one has to wait, but can start right now to gradually change the world! How wonderful it is that everyone, great and small, can immediately help bring about justice by giving of themselves!

As with so many things, most people seek justice in very different quarters, and grumble because they themselves receive so little of it. Open your eyes, be fair in your own dealings first! Give whatever there is to give! You can always – always – give something, even if it’s a simple act of kindness! If everyone were to give in this way and didn’t scrimp on kindly words, there would be much more love and justice in the world!

Give and you shall receive, much more than you ever thought possible. Give and give again. Keep hoping, keep trying, keep giving! People who give will never be poor!

If you follow this advice, within a few generations, people will never have to feel sorry for poor little beggar children again, because there won’t be any!

The world has plenty of room, riches, money and beauty. God has created enough for each and every one of us. Let us begin by dividing it more fairly!

Sunday, 26 March 1944

E
VER SINCE
I was a little girl and could barely talk, the word ‘why’ has lived and grown along with me. It’s a
well-known
fact that children ask questions about anything and everything, since almost everything is new to them. That was especially true of me, and not just as a child. Even when I was older, I couldn’t stop asking questions. That wasn’t necessarily bad, and I must admit that my parents patiently answered my questions until…until I started pestering strangers too. Not all people can stand being bombarded with children’s questions.

I have to admit that it can be annoying sometimes, but I comfort myself with the thought that ‘You won’t know until you ask,’ though by now I’ve asked so much that they ought to have made me a professor.

When I grew older, I noticed that not all questions can be asked and that many whys can never be answered. As a result, I tried to work things out for myself by mulling over my own questions. And I came to the important discovery that questions which you either can’t or
shouldn’t ask in public, or questions which you can’t put into words, can easily be solved in your own head. So the word ‘why’ not only taught me to ask, but also to think.

And now for the second aspect of the word ‘why’. I believe that if everyone asked themselves ‘why?’ before they did something, they’d be much better persons, and also much more honest. The best way to become good and honest is never to pass up an opportunity for
self-examination
.

The most cowardly thing a person can do is not admit to himself his own faults and shortcomings, which we all have. This applies to both children and adults, since in this respect they’re alike. Most people think that parents are supposed to educate their children and try to develop their characters to the best of their ability, but that’s not true.

From an early age, children need to educate themselves and develop their own characters. A lot of people might think this sounds crazy, but it’s not. A child, no matter how young, is a person with a conscience of his own. Getting a child to realize that his own conscience punishes him far more severely is a large part of
child-rearing
.

To fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds, any form of punishment is ridiculous, since at that age they know that no one, not even their own parents, can accomplish anything by punishing them, physically or otherwise. By reasoning with them and confronting them with their own behaviour you will achieve results faster than with the most severe of punishments.

But I didn’t intend this to be a lecture on child-rearing.

All I wanted to say was that in the lives of every child and adult, the word ‘why’ plays a significant role, as indeed it should.

The saying ‘You won’t know until you ask’ is true to the extent that it gets people to think. And thinking has never hurt anyone. On the contrary, it does us all a world of good.

Undated

A
WEEK AGO
I was sitting in a train, chugging along to my aunt’s in Bussum. I was hoping to be able to amuse myself in the train at least, since having to put up with a week of Aunt Josephine’s company was not my idea of fun.

So there I sat, with the highest of hopes, but I was out of luck, because at first sight my fellow passengers looked neither interesting nor amusing. The little old lady across from me was indeed concerned for my welfare, but wasn’t the least bit amusing; neither was the
distinguished
gentleman beside her, who kept his eyes glued to his newspaper; nor did the farmer’s wife on his other side look like she was dying to talk. Still, I was determined to amuse myself, and wasn’t about to give up my plan. If I had to make a pest of myself, so be it. Aunt Josephine and her scrawny neck would just have to take the blame.

After fifteen minutes with nothing to show for it, I didn’t look a bit more amusing than the other passengers
in my compartment. However, the train made its first stop and, to my great delight, a man of about thirty got in. He didn’t look amusing, but he did look interesting.

The general consensus among women is that men with youthful faces and greying temples are interesting, and I had never doubted the truth of this. Now I could put one of these gentlemen to the test, or at any rate not let his interesting looks go to waste.

The big question now was how was I to get Mr Interesting to show me how interesting he was? Another fifteen minutes must have gone by before I suddenly hit upon the simple but time-honoured trick of dropping my handkerchief. The results were spectacular. Not only because the interesting gentleman very gallantly (what else would you expect?) scooped up my handkerchief from the filthy floor, but also because he took advantage of the opportunity to strike up a conversation with me.

‘Excuse me, miss,’ he began quite openly, though of course he kept his voice down, since there was no need for the other passengers to hear us. ‘I believe this belongs to you. But in exchange for your handkerchief, I’d like to know your name!’

To be honest, I thought he was rather bold, but since I was determined to have a good time, I replied in a similar vein, ‘Well, of course, sir. It’s Miss van Bergen.’

He gave me a reproachful look, then suavely said, ‘Oh, but I’d like to know your first name!’

‘Well, all right then,’ I replied. ‘It’s Hetty.’

‘Ah, Hetty,’ he repeated, and we chatted for a while about this and that. But for the life of me I couldn’t turn
it into an interesting conversation. That, I felt, was up to the gentleman, who, in the eyes of the world, was supposed to be interesting.

He got out at the next station, and I was greatly disappointed. However, the little old lady across from me suddenly unwound and started talking to me. She was so funny and interesting that the time simply flew by, and before I knew it, I’d reached my destination. I thanked the interesting old lady, and I now know that so-called interesting men owe their reputation to their looks alone.

So, if you’re hoping to amuse yourself during a trip or whatever, do as I do and look around for people who are old or ugly. They’re sure to entertain you more than the men whose faces are all but glowing with conceit.

Undated

K
AATJE IS THE GIRL
next door. When I look out of my window during nice weather, I can see her playing in the garden. Kaatje has a velvet burgundy-coloured dress for Sundays and a cotton one for weekdays. She has flaxen hair done up in tiny little pigtails, and bright-blue eyes.

Kaatje has a loving mother, but her father has died. Kaatje’s mother is a washerwoman. Sometimes she’s gone during the day, cleaning other people’s houses, and when she comes home at night she does the laundry for ‘her’ people. At eleven o’clock she is still beating the rugs and hanging row after row of washing on the line.

Kaatje has six brothers and sisters. One of them screams and cries and latches on to his eleven-year-old sister’s skirts whenever their mother calls ‘Bedtime!’

Kaatje has a cat that’s as black as a Moor; Kaatje takes good care of her cat. Every evening, just before bedtime, you can hear her calling, ‘Kat…je, kat…je.’
*

Which explains the name Kaatje. Maybe the little girl next door isn’t even called Kaatje, but she looks like she ought to be.

Kaatje also has two rabbits: a white one and a brown one. Hop…hop…hop, they jump and skip around in the grass at the foot of the steps to Kaatje’s house.

Sometimes Kaatje is naughty, just like other children, especially when she and her brothers are having a quarrel. Oh, Kaatje can get angry all right. She can hit, kick and bite with the best of them. Her brothers have learned to respect their strong sister.

‘Kaatje…,’ Mother calls, ‘I need you to go to the shop!’ Kaatje quickly covers her ears so that she can honestly say she didn’t hear her mother. Kaatje hates going to the shop. But she wouldn’t lie just to get out of it. Kaatje never lies. All you need to do is look into those blue eyes of hers to know she doesn’t.

One of Kaatje’s brothers is sixteen, and he works as an office boy. This brother sometimes bosses the younger children around as if he were their father. Kaatje doesn’t dare contradict Piet, because he’s liable to smack her and because she knows from experience that if you do what he says, he might give you a sweet. Kaatje likes sweets, and so do her sisters.

On Sundays, when the church bells are going
ding-dong
-ding, Kaatje’s mother and all her brothers and sisters go to church. Kaatje prays for her dear father, who’s in Heaven, and also for her mother, that she will live a long, long time. After church they all go for a walk, which Kaatje enjoys a lot. They stroll through the park, and every
once in a while they go to the zoo. But the zoo trip will have to wait until September, when the admission price drops back down to twenty-five cents, or until Kaatje’s birthday. She’s allowed to ask for an outing like that for her birthday, since it’s the only kind of present her mother can afford.

Kaatje often has to comfort her mother, because, after a hard day’s work, she sometimes falls exhausted into her chair at night and cries. So Kaatje promises to give her all the things she herself would like to have when she grows up. Kaatje wishes she were grown up already, so that she could earn money and buy beautiful clothes and give sweets to her sisters, like Piet does. But first Kaatje has to go to school for years and years and learn all sorts of things.

Mother would like her to go to a domestic science school, but Kaatje isn’t keen on the idea. She doesn’t want to work in a rich lady’s house. She wants to work in a factory, like the girls who troop by her house every day. You aren’t alone in a factory, you can chat with the others. And Kaatje loves to talk. At school she sometimes has to stand in the corner because she’s been caught talking again, but otherwise she’s a good student.

Kaatje adores her teacher, who’s usually nice to her and is a very clever woman. You must have to work really hard to become that clever! But fewer brains will do. Kaatje’s mother always says that if you’re too clever, you won’t find a husband, and Kaatje would hate that. After all, she wants to have children of her own one day, though not children like her brothers and sisters. Hers will be a lot nicer, and
a lot better-looking. They’ll have beautiful brown curly hair instead of her flaxen hair (which is horrible), and they won’t have any freckles, which she has lots of. Nor does Kaatje want to have as many children as her mother did. Two or three will be enough. But, oh, she’ll have to wait such a very long time – twice as long as she’s lived so far.

‘Kaatje,’ Mother calls. ‘Come here, you naughty little girl. Where have you been? Off to bed you go. I bet you’ve been daydreaming again!’

Kaatje sighs. Just when she’d been making such lovely plans for the future!

Saturday, 7 August 1943