on my parents' re-visit to Anne Frank's house/museum a couple of years ago, they brought back a book for me; 'the last seven months of Anne Frank - the stories of six women who knew Anne Frank'. for some reason, i have only fully read it recently.
'the story of Anne Frank is one of the most famous of World War II. millions around the glove have been moved by the extraordinary diary of the girl who spent more than two years hiding from the Nazis in the sealed-off back rooms of an Amsterdam office building.
but very little is known of the last seven months of Anne Frank's life, after her brutal capture on 4 August 1944. what did she think and feel? how did she endure the suffering of the death camps? our only insights come from the women whose lives touched hers - at Westerbork, Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen.
each of the six women interviewed for this book has a remarkable story to tell - a story of unimaginable horror but also of great courage. Anne Frank's life ended shortly before her sixteenth birthday. these women were more fortunate. they lived.'
below are some section that i had tagged, perhaps a little aptly, with 'shit' sticky-notes.
--------------------
we arrived in the dark. to start with, we went through the gates. the first thing we saw was the infamous sign: ARBEIT MACHT FREI. it was oppressively quiet. we passed many watchtowers, little houses surrounded by barbed wire, and high electric poles. everyone knew immediately where we were. it was so insane - that moment of realisation, yes, this is an extermination camp. it was dreadful, horrible.
the horrible effect of the very bright, dirty-looking neon light, a bluish light, and that grey sky above, more or less lit up by the neon lamps. and those little men in blue striped suits, who whispered, 'ihr seid gesund. lauf.' (you are healthy. walk).' they were trying to warn us. we didn't understand any of it. we were too tired and too resigned and too far off balance to realise what was happening to us. yes, it was a kind of nightmare, an inferno.
- p56, Janny Brandes-Brilleslijper
the Italian girls were very aggressive. i remember somethign nice about the French girls. they had been shaved completely bald. they found a little piece of glass and a small comb with three prongs. with that they combed their eyebrows, looking into the little mirror. then they tied their clothes around their heads and looked again to see if they weren't still a little bit elegant.
i find such things delightful. the Nazis tried to set countries and nations against each other and to attack and take away a person's best quality - his dignity. and so i find people like those French girls so marvelous - those girls who fixed up their eyebrows with a little dirt in order to look a little better - really what the French call 'esprit', the strength to not give up, not to knuckle under. never.
- p58, Janny Brandes-Brilleslijper
all the people were subjected to the most vicious sorts of threats in order to make their fight for survival even mroe difficult and to create even more tension. one punishment - a very common one - was, for example, to have to kneel in front of the barracks with a stone in your hands. no one could talk to you or you would be beaten. you were also beaten if yuo turned your head - and you had to stay there for hours. a lot of people died that way. it was not easy to stay alive; it was easier to die. it was easy to contrive something in order to die. and if you had no other ideas, it was even simpler just to walk into the barbed wire. countless people walked into the electrified barbed wire. i don't think that's a secret. people made their farewells and walked into the barbed wire (in Auschwitz).
- p70, Janny Brandes-Brilleslijper
in Westerbork, i met the Frank family for the first time. my husband had quickly made contact with Otto Frank and got along with him very well. they had profound conversations and we had a very good relationship with Mrs Frank, whom i always addressed as Mrs Frank. i never called her by her first name; she was really a very special woman. i had less difficulty saying 'Otto'. she worried a lot about her children. she was always busy with those girls. it is an especially close relationship - a mother with her children.
soon thereafter we went onto the transport. naturally, i spoke with the girls. Anne, especially, was a nice child. your heart broke since they were so young and there was nothing you couild do to keep them out of it. those children expected so much from life. we did too, of course, but were years older. i was twenty-seven or twenty-eight. my husband was thirty-one. but that was what was so tragic about everything. you couldn't do anything - absolutely nothing. we had to let happen what would happen.
it was probably for the best when parents were with their children, because i met mothers after the war who had lost their children, and i have often thought: Mother, why didn't you go into the gas chamber too; it would have been better.
after the war, their lives were unbearable. i still know those women, with all of their sorrow. women who lost a couple of children and their husbands as well, who have never recovered. in that regard, to go together as a family was for the best.
- p144,145, Lenie de Jong-van Naarden
early in the morning, we were taken to a very long train with many cars. next to it were SS men with dogs as well as the commandant, who didn't move a muscle. whatever happened they allowed to happen. we were pushed into the cars. those who were sick were shoved inside on stretchers. there were old people who had trouble climbing up into those cars. it was a dreadful sight.
the train rumbled along at a terrible speed. sometimes it stopped for several hours, and once in a while the doors would be opened. most of the time, however, they stayed shut. the young man at the little window kept on saying, 'now we are at so and so,' and he would name one place or another. 'everything's been shot to pieces, i can tell you; there's been some bombardment here.' that gave us a great deal of satisfaction.
afterward, we heard that the train had stopped because people in another car had sawed a hole through the floor of the car. why they were still in the Netherlands, they had dropped through the hole and let the train ride over them. a few people were successful. one woman lost her hands and one man lost an arm. in one way or another, they were given help in the neighbourhood which they had crawled to. they got out of it alive.
- p146, Lenie de Jong-van Naarden
after i had finally made it clear to them, they took me on the back of a bicycle to the train station. but the train had already left for Amsterdam.
there was a policeman there who said, 'here is a paper to fill out for ration cards, and here is this and that.' so i took all that and went to sit down on a bench, because i didn't know where else to go.
the policeman said, 'shouldn't you be goine home?'
i said, 'yes, but i don't know whether my house is still standing.'
'where is it?' he said.
i gave him the address, and he gave me some good advice.
'go to number 4, Pletterjistraat. those are friends of my parents, and they'll be able to tell you whether your mother is there.'
and in fact those people picked up my mother, who lived just on the other side of the street, and now..that ws so marvelous. i looked terrible, but my mother, yes, she had gone to stand at the station every evening, and just this particular evening, she hadn't gon there; she had begun to lose hope because we returned rather late.
well, that was completely crazy, seeing my mother again. i went home with my mother, and we sat up the whole night, talking. i still remember that very well. my mother kept on saying, 'oh, child, how is it possible, how can this be?' i told her all kinds of crazy things, which we laughed about. that's how i came home.
how can i find tranquility,
years later, the tumult of the men resounds,
the swishing of their whips,
above the people being pushed along,
and stamping of boots,
cries of anguish.
i have seen so many go to a desperate death,
across a dirty path, on which their weakened feet
dragged them to the gate.
smoke cannot speak,
from the chimneys, they slip out, formless, above my head,
and are taken by the wind,
robbed of their bones.
since then, despite my clothes, i am naked,
and remain exposed to synonyms.
therefore, it is not tranquil within,
the whips are still lashing,
and at the most unexpected times,
the packing paper pictures come forth,
chilly, yellowed, grey from smoke,
and stiff with death, at night, when i want to sleep.
- p202,203, Ronnie Goldstein-van Cleef
'the story of Anne Frank is one of the most famous of World War II. millions around the glove have been moved by the extraordinary diary of the girl who spent more than two years hiding from the Nazis in the sealed-off back rooms of an Amsterdam office building.
but very little is known of the last seven months of Anne Frank's life, after her brutal capture on 4 August 1944. what did she think and feel? how did she endure the suffering of the death camps? our only insights come from the women whose lives touched hers - at Westerbork, Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen.
each of the six women interviewed for this book has a remarkable story to tell - a story of unimaginable horror but also of great courage. Anne Frank's life ended shortly before her sixteenth birthday. these women were more fortunate. they lived.'
below are some section that i had tagged, perhaps a little aptly, with 'shit' sticky-notes.
--------------------
we arrived in the dark. to start with, we went through the gates. the first thing we saw was the infamous sign: ARBEIT MACHT FREI. it was oppressively quiet. we passed many watchtowers, little houses surrounded by barbed wire, and high electric poles. everyone knew immediately where we were. it was so insane - that moment of realisation, yes, this is an extermination camp. it was dreadful, horrible.
the horrible effect of the very bright, dirty-looking neon light, a bluish light, and that grey sky above, more or less lit up by the neon lamps. and those little men in blue striped suits, who whispered, 'ihr seid gesund. lauf.' (you are healthy. walk).' they were trying to warn us. we didn't understand any of it. we were too tired and too resigned and too far off balance to realise what was happening to us. yes, it was a kind of nightmare, an inferno.
- p56, Janny Brandes-Brilleslijper
the Italian girls were very aggressive. i remember somethign nice about the French girls. they had been shaved completely bald. they found a little piece of glass and a small comb with three prongs. with that they combed their eyebrows, looking into the little mirror. then they tied their clothes around their heads and looked again to see if they weren't still a little bit elegant.
i find such things delightful. the Nazis tried to set countries and nations against each other and to attack and take away a person's best quality - his dignity. and so i find people like those French girls so marvelous - those girls who fixed up their eyebrows with a little dirt in order to look a little better - really what the French call 'esprit', the strength to not give up, not to knuckle under. never.
- p58, Janny Brandes-Brilleslijper
all the people were subjected to the most vicious sorts of threats in order to make their fight for survival even mroe difficult and to create even more tension. one punishment - a very common one - was, for example, to have to kneel in front of the barracks with a stone in your hands. no one could talk to you or you would be beaten. you were also beaten if yuo turned your head - and you had to stay there for hours. a lot of people died that way. it was not easy to stay alive; it was easier to die. it was easy to contrive something in order to die. and if you had no other ideas, it was even simpler just to walk into the barbed wire. countless people walked into the electrified barbed wire. i don't think that's a secret. people made their farewells and walked into the barbed wire (in Auschwitz).
- p70, Janny Brandes-Brilleslijper
in Westerbork, i met the Frank family for the first time. my husband had quickly made contact with Otto Frank and got along with him very well. they had profound conversations and we had a very good relationship with Mrs Frank, whom i always addressed as Mrs Frank. i never called her by her first name; she was really a very special woman. i had less difficulty saying 'Otto'. she worried a lot about her children. she was always busy with those girls. it is an especially close relationship - a mother with her children.
soon thereafter we went onto the transport. naturally, i spoke with the girls. Anne, especially, was a nice child. your heart broke since they were so young and there was nothing you couild do to keep them out of it. those children expected so much from life. we did too, of course, but were years older. i was twenty-seven or twenty-eight. my husband was thirty-one. but that was what was so tragic about everything. you couldn't do anything - absolutely nothing. we had to let happen what would happen.
it was probably for the best when parents were with their children, because i met mothers after the war who had lost their children, and i have often thought: Mother, why didn't you go into the gas chamber too; it would have been better.
after the war, their lives were unbearable. i still know those women, with all of their sorrow. women who lost a couple of children and their husbands as well, who have never recovered. in that regard, to go together as a family was for the best.
- p144,145, Lenie de Jong-van Naarden
early in the morning, we were taken to a very long train with many cars. next to it were SS men with dogs as well as the commandant, who didn't move a muscle. whatever happened they allowed to happen. we were pushed into the cars. those who were sick were shoved inside on stretchers. there were old people who had trouble climbing up into those cars. it was a dreadful sight.
the train rumbled along at a terrible speed. sometimes it stopped for several hours, and once in a while the doors would be opened. most of the time, however, they stayed shut. the young man at the little window kept on saying, 'now we are at so and so,' and he would name one place or another. 'everything's been shot to pieces, i can tell you; there's been some bombardment here.' that gave us a great deal of satisfaction.
afterward, we heard that the train had stopped because people in another car had sawed a hole through the floor of the car. why they were still in the Netherlands, they had dropped through the hole and let the train ride over them. a few people were successful. one woman lost her hands and one man lost an arm. in one way or another, they were given help in the neighbourhood which they had crawled to. they got out of it alive.
- p146, Lenie de Jong-van Naarden
after i had finally made it clear to them, they took me on the back of a bicycle to the train station. but the train had already left for Amsterdam.
there was a policeman there who said, 'here is a paper to fill out for ration cards, and here is this and that.' so i took all that and went to sit down on a bench, because i didn't know where else to go.
the policeman said, 'shouldn't you be goine home?'
i said, 'yes, but i don't know whether my house is still standing.'
'where is it?' he said.
i gave him the address, and he gave me some good advice.
'go to number 4, Pletterjistraat. those are friends of my parents, and they'll be able to tell you whether your mother is there.'
and in fact those people picked up my mother, who lived just on the other side of the street, and now..that ws so marvelous. i looked terrible, but my mother, yes, she had gone to stand at the station every evening, and just this particular evening, she hadn't gon there; she had begun to lose hope because we returned rather late.
well, that was completely crazy, seeing my mother again. i went home with my mother, and we sat up the whole night, talking. i still remember that very well. my mother kept on saying, 'oh, child, how is it possible, how can this be?' i told her all kinds of crazy things, which we laughed about. that's how i came home.
how can i find tranquility,
years later, the tumult of the men resounds,
the swishing of their whips,
above the people being pushed along,
and stamping of boots,
cries of anguish.
i have seen so many go to a desperate death,
across a dirty path, on which their weakened feet
dragged them to the gate.
smoke cannot speak,
from the chimneys, they slip out, formless, above my head,
and are taken by the wind,
robbed of their bones.
since then, despite my clothes, i am naked,
and remain exposed to synonyms.
therefore, it is not tranquil within,
the whips are still lashing,
and at the most unexpected times,
the packing paper pictures come forth,
chilly, yellowed, grey from smoke,
and stiff with death, at night, when i want to sleep.
- p202,203, Ronnie Goldstein-van Cleef
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