her powerful, poignant story brings alive the horror of war, and somehow being in those same rooms where she wrote the dairy makes it all so real, so immediate, that we feel it today still.

I buy a ticket and walk into the information lobby, which is modern and has no emotional pull. Then I step into the first room, to watch the short introductory video and immediately something strong and intangible grabs me.

Each of the spaces in the house-museum is dimly-lit, with many informational boards in English and Dutch, and quotations from the Diary which somehow capture the essence of each space. Each quotation is heartbreaking, as we can imagine Anne speaking.

The warehouse on the first floor in front, the kitchen and the Private Office on the second floor, and the offices of the helpers, all set the scene for the hiding place. I almost expect to see them wandering through the door, as the atmosphere and style of these rooms is gloomy, transporting us back to those dark days in the 1940's. The third floor has a storeroom in front of the house, and the moveable bookcase which hides the doorway up into the Secret Annex, the hiding place at the back.

The actual hiding rooms are now empty but the walls are original, with pencil marks showing how the girls (Anne and her sister Margot) grew while in hiding, plus Anne's walls decorated with postcards, a few photos, and pictures cut out of magazines.

It's a sobering thought that eight people lived here for two years, cramped, tense from trying to be quiet and wanting to go outside. I am very moved and almost tearful at the enormity of the experience. The people going through the house and exhibits are silent, or speak only in whispers, as they too try to make sense of what they are seeing and experiencing.

We step through into the modern building next door, in stark contrast with the cramped dark Annex. Two large display rooms show graphic pictures of conditions in concentration camps and what happened to all the helpers and those in hiding after the arrest on August 4, 1944. Only Otto Frank, the father, returned. We also see the original diary and examples of the hundreds of editions in about 60 languages. The awfulness of life squandered meaninglessly hits me in the face again. I am not alone in asking, why?