A flea that walks as well as jumps is a new experience for me. I picked it up and squeezed as hard as I could, but Mr Flea hopped away again. Sighing, I got undressed and subjected my naked body and my clothes to a thorough examination until I finally found the flea in my knickers. A second later, it was off with his head.
Wednesday, 7 July 1943
Memories of my schooldays at the Jewish Lyceum
DO YOU REMEMBER? I’ve spent many a delightful hour talking about school, teachers, adventures and boys. Back when our lives were still normal, everything was so wonderful. That one year in the Lyceum was heaven to me: the teachers, the things I learned, the jokes, the prestige, the crushes, the admirers.
Do you remember? When I came back from town that afternoon and found a package in the mailbox from ‘un ami, R’. It could only have come from Rob Cohen. Inside there was a brooch worth at least two and a half guilders. Ultra-modern. Rob’s father sold that kind of stuff. I wore it for two days, and then it broke.
Do you remember? How Lies and I told on the class. We had a French test. I wasn’t having too much trouble with it, but Lies was. She copied my answers and I went over them to make corrections (on her test, I mean). She got a C+ and I got a C-, since thanks to my help she had got some things right, but both grades had been crossed out and replaced with a big fat F. Great indignation. We went to Mr Premsela to explain what had happened, and at the end Lies said, ‘Yes, but the entire class had their books open under their desks!’ Mr Premsela promised the class that nobody would be punished if all those who had cheated would raise their hands. About ten hands went up – less than half the class, of course. A few days later Mr Premsela sprang the test on us again. Nobody would talk to Lies and me, and we were branded as snitches. I soon caved in under the pressure and wrote a long letter of apology to Class 1 L II, begging their forgiveness. Two weeks later all had been forgotten. The letter went something like this:
To the students in Class 1 L II,
Anne Frank and Lies Goslar hereby offer their sincere apologies to the students in Class 1 L II for their cowardly act of betrayal in the matter of the French test.
However, the deed was done before we had time to think, and we freely admit that we alone should have been punished. We believe that everyone is liable to let a word or sentence slip out in anger from time to time, and this can result in an unpleasant situation, even though it wasn’t meant to. We hope that Class 1 L II will see the incident in this light and will repay evil with good. There’s nothing more to be gained by it, and the two guilty parties can’t undo what’s been done.
We wouldn’t be writing this letter if we weren’t genuinely sorry for what happened. Furthermore, we ask those of you who have been ignoring us to please stop, since what we did wasn’t so bad as to justify being looked upon as criminals for all eternity.
Anyone who is unable to put this matter behind them should come to us and either give us a good scolding or ask us for a favour, which we will gladly grant, if at all possible.
We trust that everyone in Class 1 L II will now be able to forget the affair.
Anne Frank and Lies Goslar
Do you remember? How C.N.* told Rob Cohen in the tram, within earshot of Sanne Ledermann who passed it on to me, that Anne had a much prettier face than J.R., especially when she smiled. Rob’s answer was, ‘My, you’ve got big nostrils, C.!’
Do you remember? How Maurice Coster was planning to present himself to Pim to ask his permission to see his daughter.
Do you remember? How Rob Cohen and Anne Frank exchanged a flurry of letters when Rob was in hospital.
Do you remember? How Sam Solomon always followed me on his bicycle and wanted to walk arm in arm with me.
Do you remember? How A.W. kissed me on the cheek when I promised not to tell a soul about E.G. and him.
I hope that such happy, carefree schooldays will come again.
Undated
* Initials have been assigned at random to those persons wishing to remain anonymous.
YESTERDAY AFTERNOON FATHER gave me permission to ask Dussel whether he would please be so good as to allow me (see how polite I am?) to use the table in our room two afternoons a week, from four to five-thirty.
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