Action Report masthead

No.14, July 20, 1998


FOR THIRTY-FIVE years author David Irving has kept a private diary. It has proven useful in countless actions. For the information of his many supporters he publishes an edited text in his irregular newsletter ACTION REPORT.




jANUARY 1, 1998 I work until two a.m. copying files for Observer discovery. Groggy. Sunny but bleak morning. Jessica busy with stick-ons in a Hercules book.

I say, "That's Hercules riding on a horse." "Not a horse, Daddy," she replies. "Pegasus!"

In the afternoon, a surprise visit from J., a South African diplomat, now stationed in Maputo, Mozambique. She recalls that she attended my speech at Johannesburg [see picture below], which is so nastily "described" by a Jewish gentleman [David Katz] on the Internet. I ask if she ever heard me use the word "niggers" either there or at any other time, and she says emphatically that I definitely never used it, at any time. I wonder if I ought to get an affidavit from her, in case I ever need it. These little monkeys -- you never know what tricks they will spring on you, otherwise.

Joburg1987I work from 10 p.m. until two a.m. looking for more missing documents required by Discovery for the Observer action; find two of them, and a host of other interesting stuff.

Eight a.m. I rise and bath and dress Jessica. She returns to school today; she has been a handful, very demanding, inquisitive (where do babies come from? when will you die, Daddy?).

I write this letter to the Data Protection Agency: --

I note that your agency has yet to respond to my letter, written some weeks ago, protesting at renewed refusals by the Board of Deputies of British Jews and its sub-agency the Community Security Trust to provide me with lawful access under the Act to their data on me.

2. Since the Board of Deputies of British Jews is hiding behind the (untruthful) pretence that the data concerned are manual, not electronic, can you please inform me when the new European directive is to come into force which will oblige data users to give us access to such files as well? And what the procedure in that event will be?

Mr S. phones. I wrote to his wife re Sir John Sterndale Bennett [wartime head of Foreign Office's Far East department]; his wife died last year, and as far as he knows all Sir John's historical and private papers were sent a few months after his death to a friend in the Foreign Office; Sir John was writing his memoirs at the time of his death.

Sterndale-Bennett the musician phones, comments on the wartime gap in S.B.'s entry in Who's Who. I say I suspect he was in MI6. He too. There are no war medals or decorations in the batch sent to his son, only a 1939 wartime telex sent to him in Berne, advising him to "get the hell out" because war was imminent.

I write to the F O Library asking if they have S.B.'s papers.

Rainy, and dark impenetrable rain-clouds obscuring the sky most of the day. What a dreary place London is in winter.

Four p.m. at Garfunkels, I wait outside in cold drizzle with Jessica; Josephine and her friend Spencer turn up -- he has pushed her wheelchair all the way from Covent Garden -- and we sit outside in the cold for an hour drinking tea. She sits in her wheelchair, thick blankets concealing her missing legs. Jessica is very well-behaved. Josephine, thirty years her senior, looks more and more like me; her face is very fleshy through lack of exercise. Spencer looks after Josephine tenderly and well. Where would she be without him, I wonder! What mysterious ways God does move in.

DIandJaN INTERESTING letter comes from The Observer's lawyers [Lovell White Durrant] …. [rest of sentence removed at their request]?

Bed at 2:10 a.m. At eight a.m. I am wakened by a rustle, and it is Jessica standing silently in her hat and school coat next to my bed, contemplating whether to wake me or not.

Taxi to Lovell White Durrant, taking two heavy boxes of 3,400 pp of photocopies. Then on to Euston station. At Wolverhampton Grammar School I speak to pupils about the writing of history. I take a copy of GOEBBELS. MASTERMIND OF THE THIRD REICH, and say I'll give it for the best question asked. I award it to a rather scruffy girl, Rose, in the front row -- turns out she is their history teacher.

She suggests that Jews attract envy because of their superiority at matters of finance, etc. I respond that to suggest any one people has a genetic superiority over others is a racist comment. But talk goes down well.

Up at eight a.m.; Jessica bouncy and boisterous. Wants more dresses for Barbie. I say we'll get them if she's good, after school.

K. arranges to finance a Website for us. The name "Focalpoint" has gone, but we get "fpp" which is as good.

Afternoon I take Jessica to Hamley's for Barbie clothes.

She has her interview at a new school in Bayswater; they are thrilled with her, and she wants to stay on right there and then. A most unusual child.

All day finalizing the Discovery list in my action against Deborah Lipstadt.

The Hewlett-Packard printer finally dies during the evening. What a clunker; I called it my "Handley-Page". Ink everywhere. I'll have to buy another printer, and money is running low.

Evening: I draft this letter to Ian Chapman, managing director, at Macmillan Ltd. [about extraordinary actions committed against me as their author in 1992]

I am enclosing, in confidence, one of the items of which I have become aware, and you may understand my sense of rage at your predecessor. I expect that as an honourable publisher you will share my sentiments. I think it would be undesirable, given the circumstances, for an author to be given no recourse other than through the courts against one of this country's leading publishers.

K. phones, about the new FPP Website. It is now up and running.


i WORK until two a.m. on CHURCHILL'S WAR, vol. ii, the Pearl Harbor mystery still. I deduce that WSC had another Tokyo despatch before him of the "winds-message" type, which was telexed to him via Air Intelligence and confirmed the next day; but only the latter confirmation is in the PRO [Public Record Office] files -- no sign of the previous day (December 7, 1941) telex which must have reached him. A neat discovery.

Three p.m. Dean A. comes and stays until 7, helping me to set up the connection to the Internet. It takes two calls to the Service Provider, who has omitted to tell us ninety percent of what we need to know, but we do it. I then get sucked into the maelstrom, and sit until two a.m. surfing. Download the Clausen Pearl Harbor investigation from one site. Pictures from the Smithsonian, etc. And search the world's press for garbage about me. Infuriating that I cannot answer them back, yet.

Jessica has a major fancy dress party this afternoon, which involves huge outlay we cannot really afford.

Dream that only two people show up for the Antwerp meeting.

11:54 AM unfriendly visit from the Inland Revenue, threatening to seize stuff if I do not pay immediately, which I do. An Irishman, from Cork ("Are you the David Irving?"), whose family has been "in Revenue service" for generations. I have a mental picture of his grandfather rowing out to a schooner anchored in a misty Irish bay, while her crew frantically toss barrels of bootleg liquor overboard.

A long discussion with A. on tactics against The Observer. We redraft my letter to [their lawyers]:

Dear Sirs, -- This letter answers your letter of January 6. It offers a counter-proposal, which you should answer within the next two weeks (i.e. by February 3) after which the offer will lapse.

I instituted these proceedings only after other approaches failed. I have been subjected over the years to an orchestrated crescendo of defamation, of which your clients have made themselves the willing executioners.

The article complained of contained libels, which your clients recklessly published without making any attempt to verify them. Let me single out some of the most serious:

  • the innuendo that I stole and/or damaged archival materials;
  • the allegation that I cheated a colleague out of the credit for making the initial discoveries [of the Goebbels Diaries in Moscow archives];
  • the allegation that I referred to Adolf Hitler as "our Führer";
  • the allegation that I lied to The Sunday Times;
  • the allegation in the final paragraph gratuitously inserted at the specific instance of the First Defendants [The Observer], that I am mentally ill.

If these proceedings cannot be compromised before February 3, it is my intention (after making the necessary amendments to my pleadings to include the obvious innuendo behind the word "borrowed" and the issue of the article's final paragraph implying mental illness) to proceed against your clients under RSC O.14, alternatively by way of an application for Judgment on Admissions, in respect of the above allegations, to none of which you have pleaded.

You should be in no doubt that if this action cannot be settled I am determined to take it to full trial to vindicate my reputation and refute in the most public way the defamatory allegations that your clients have made against me.

[The letter then sets out terms of settlement which would be acceptable. The newspaper's lawyers do not respond. The legal battle continues.]


aWHINY letter from Elise S Solomon, senior counsel for Random House Inc., demanding that I identify the libels in the John Lukács book The Hitler of History, and denying that they have any duty to identify their foreign licensee publishers to me. She earns this reply:

Thank you for your letter of January. I can only repeat the position in law, as I understand it, in this country where I shall bring the action to which I referred if the above book is published in unamended form. As I wrote, "It may be that these subsidiary publishers will look to you to indemnify them in that event, and if you have failed (a) to identify those publishers to me, as requested, and (b) to advise them that I consider the book to be libellous you will be the architect of your own misfortune."

My correspondence with your firm will be part of my Discovery in the action, and your house's foreign licensees will no doubt feel most aggrieved to learn that you were warned in good time that the book was held to be libellous and actionable. In those circumstances they would most certainly be able to seek an indemnity, and the costs of actions in the English courts are, as you will know, not small. Your reckless, and in any other circumstance admirable, defence of your author will not come cheaply to Random House, Inc.

10:21 AM phone call from my Paris literary agent; is having immense difficulty, as the French publishers are all now frightened of the new laws against free speech, etc. Can she act for me in the Moscow markets too? Indeed she can. Ironic, isn't it.

2 p.m. visit from North-West Television Productions, based in Neasden: a Mr Schwarz, of Hispanic origin, and his Spanish lighting technician, and three others; making a TV interview on "Islamophobia." I can not make out which side they are on. I am not an expert on this or any other kind of phobias, anyway. As I sit down in my desk chair, I notice on their TV monitor screen a big swastika behind my head. They have re-positioned an American textbook on the ledge behind me, taking down the family photos for the purpose. Little monkeys.

After they film the interview I notice that Theodor N Kaufmann's 1941 book Germany Must Perish is also on the ledge, and Van Pelt's book Auschwitz 1270 to the Present.

At the Public Record Office at 12:12 PM. The file released to me by No. 10 Downing Street is still not in the Office though.

On the answering machine, a message from a Boston television company, making a film about Fred Leuchter.

This further letter goes to Macmillan's Ian Chapman:

Can I take it that you will be making a substantial reply to my letter? It would be good to avoid having to issue proceedings which would bring the whole matter (namely the steps taken by Macmillan in 1992 to hound one of their own authors and secretly burn thousands of his books) out in public.

I expect that you will by now also have completed your inquiries into how your confidential files were delivered into the hands of third parties with this unfortunate outcome.

I am irritated, incidentally, that Macmillan appear to be holding out, without responding to my letters at all now: evidently realising that as the documents are privileged I am in a strait-jacket over them. Difficult problem to work round, except that if I take action against them those documents will be discoverable.


fAX FROM C., saying: "The secret's out" -- about the Antwerp meeting. Jewish protests, pressure has forced Holiday Inn to cancel the venue, etc. The traditional enemy of the truth.

I send this fax:

All understood. I shall be arriving by car. My driver is big, and one of us. He would like to attend the dinner.

This fax to our agents in Australia:

I am currently editing through the finished Churchill's War, vol. ii typescript yet again, having been swamped by the release to the archives here of thousands of new British [codebreaking] files which I could not ignore. We are advertising it in a whole page colour advert for the book in the spring Bookseller special supplement. however, which gives you an indication that it is very far advanced.

Focal Point now has a website (, though nothing on it yet. That will soon change!! Incidentally, can you mail or e-mail to me the names of every Australian M P? I'm going to write them.

Message by fax from Mishcon, summons for court January 30 to hear their application for an extension for Discovery by Lipstadt. Ho-ho. I shall ask for an Unless Order.

K. comes at 10:30 a.m.; we leave eleven p.m., in his heavily loaded Mercedes, and drive to Ramsgate.

4:30 p.m. out to the venue, a restaurant outside Antwerp city. Big dinner with wealthy Belgians. An Austrian woman tells me that Fritz Rebhandl [who organised my lectures in the 1980s] has been in jail for two years for alleged Wiederbetätigung, his wife is totally shattered, suffered a collapse. Austrian communist swine.

The dinner and meeting are organised by the wealthy Vlaams Blok, a really well organised function. Why cannot something like this be done in England? Well, the traditional enemy steps in to suppress free speech by whatever means they can each time. 7:30 p.m. spoke for an hour to 300-400 people. Huge response and much enthusiasm. Many business cards pressed into my hands.

Left Antwerp at midday, back at Duke Street five p.m.

1 p.m. Rebecca Sieff and Lionel Sackville West her fiance come for lunch. She sporting a large solitaire ring. Both smoke as though time is ending. She has her cocker spaniel Jasper with her. A pleasant enough two or three hours, but must they both smoke so much? I tell her Lionel has a real smoker's face -- sallow, black rings round his eyes, etc.; she does not notice it.

At High Court at ten a.m., but Lipstadt's lawyers Mishcon de Reya do not show. Back home at eleven a.m.

Phone calls from Mishcon, apologising, and setting a new date, February 3.

I send this letter to Macmillan's Ian Chapman:

All rights in at least one of the volumes which made up HITLER'S WAR had reverted to me before the extraordinary 1992 incident -- which included the right to expect that a publisher would not do the dirty on his own author behind his back! You will also find the scurrilous Mr [Roland] Phillips assuring me that of course I would continue to be offered all remainders (note his wording); not, of course, that it is true to describe the victims of this Book Burning as remainders -- they were sacrificed on the altar of God Knows What, at a time when the book was enjoying perpetual heavy sales.

To the High Court at 10 a.m. Master Chism gave Mishcon two weeks, a Final Order (I had asked for an Unless Order). I must now gear up for my next move.

Evening: fax from Mishcon, suddenly demanding £7,500 payment.

Then a fax comes from Davenport Lyons [lawyers acting for Penguin Books Ltd., publishers of the Deborah Lipstadt libels], wailing at me for my ultimatum and setting a court Time Summons to be heard on Monday 10 a.m. Another morning to be wasted.

I do not get much work done during the day in consequence, and slave away at The Backlog until midnight.

Up at 6:30 .m., tackling The Backlog.


wORK UNTIL 5:30 a.m. until I finally crack the technical problems of creating Web pages. But find I can not upload them to the FPP Website. At eleven a.m. I phone the service provider, and they explained the final snags.

I go to Court for Davenport Lyons's time summons at ten a.m. Master Chism grants them two more weeks, with a Final Order, at my demand.

Work more on the Website during the day and evening, taking no meals, until I have also posted chapters from the Goebbels, Churchill's War, vol. ii, Apocalypse '45 and Morgenthau manuscripts. A great start. The concept is also good, if I may say so.

R. phones at 9 a.m., about photos of her grandfather (for the Deavin book). But suggests I try M&S archives first.

The Australian phones: Immigration Minister Ruddock has granted Louis Farrakhan a visa, what do I say to that! I say, "It is hypocrisy to let him in, giving his offensive remarks about the Jews." The Australian then sends round at 4:10 p.m. a photographer who shoots a reel of film. I hope to get the newspaper to refer to my Website, and spend the evening putting Australian materials on to it.

In the evening (at night, after I go to bed) Australian Channel 9 phones, they want me to broadcast in their "Today" programme Saturday morning, which is late Friday night here.

7:45 p.m. collected by taxi, taken to Millbank Studios, for satellite broadcast to Channel 9 Australia. Friendly enough, about the fuss over Farrakhan being allowed a visa (while I am not).

Up at seven a.m. Nasty letters from Biddle and Mishcon, as expected. And news of the German arrest of a professor accused of having written the Auschwitzlüge in a Latin script. Ad absurdum.

Worked until five a.m. on the Website. I am slimming down. About 20 pounds gone already, and the diet continues.

Up at seven a.m. During the last week I have found myself dreaming during the night several times about little Jessica. I miss her dreadfully. She was opening a cupboard in one dream, pulling out a toy and saying, "I need that, and I need that!" (instead of want).

Alexis came for six hours, and worked on filing boxes. We have started a colour-coded labelling system for my archives. But the flat is still littered with boxes and files.

Post a lot more stuff on the Website, including a corrected version of the Münzinger archive biography in German.

Flood of incoming e-mails, including some unwanted ones from right-wingers. How to choke them off without choking them negatively. Problem.

12:45 p.m. train to Milton Keynes. Bank manager Chaney; nice and affable, but I doubt he will help.


bACK TO London; arrive at noon, in the middle of an IRA bomb scare in Oxford Street. Nothing changes.

Jessica is looking very beautiful, and inches taller than when I last saw her a month ago. She crawled onto my lap during lunch at Spaghetti House and was altogether most insistent. Played with her games on the computer, etc.

Two Japanese journalists came at 10 am and wrecked my morning interviewing me about Rommel as a Man of the Century for Tokyo's Asahi Shimbun (Mr Jun Hagitani and photographer Ken Mizokoshi).

Newspapers full of Chris Patten's book being dumped by HarperCollins on Rupert Murdoch's orders. Much talk of freedom of speech. Nobody recalls what happened to my Goebbels in April 1996. Then a big laugh: Macmillan Ltd -- of all publishers -- announce that they will rescue his book! Little does he know.

In the morning a would-be author writing about Dr Hastings Banda, hoping to prove Rommel survived and went to Africa. I suggest that he not ventilate this idea to Manfred Rommel, who as lord mayor of Stuttgart no doubt has other preoccupations. He really tries my patience.

Work on the Website until midnight. I find that Nizkor, in posting the final Niagara Falls hearing preceding my deportation on November 12, 1992, has omitted all my objections, corrections, etc. The "judge" Kenneth Thomson holds the floor, unopposed!

Jessica is invited to a major party at the Waldorf in the Strand. Today. (Bought a plastic tiara yesterday). Moving in very high circles.

Taxi to Mishcon de Reya for inspection of Lipstadt's Discovery; New Oxford Street is dug up, but I get there at 9:33 a.m. Very plush offices. I hand in my name to front desk and reception, and am assured that Mishcon knows I am here. After fifteen minutes' wait, I walk out. Angry fax from them two hours later. I tell them I expect greater "precision". Fix a new date next week.

10:30 a.m. team of four Mishcon operatives come to inspect my documents. I remark to their Mr James Libson that I shall be leaving the country shortly for a while. He says, "I know -- March 26 -- you've said so on your Website." I have not, of course: not on the public portion, anyway.

4:48 PM phone Barclay's manager to arrange an interview. "What's it about?" "I want to try to screw a short term loan out of you." "That'll be difficult --," he says, adding, "--Joking." I don't think he is. The Times runs my job advert; phone calls all day from hopeful women, applying for the job.

In the late afternoon a call from one of them, a Miss Helen Sonnenthal, of Hendon, who is (ten pounds to a shekel says it) highly unlikely to prove willing to work for me. (Why did the Jews congregate near railway stations, and in later years near airports? An interesting sociological question.)

As an equal opportunity employer, I would have been quite happy to consider her along with the other applicants; but after ten minutes enthusing about the job and her qualifications she inquires my name and when I tell her, there is a pause, then she gasps: "David Irving -- the author?" Yes. "The well-known one?" Yes. "The notorious revisionist?"

At this I say, "Madam, I think there is not much point our continuing this conversation further."

Alas, it means that I henceforth have to make a little note against the name of each applicant, that they may be a plant. That is how the traditional enemy of the truth works.

Next day: at 9:30 a.m. a blank phone call to the phone line that we used for the job advert.: hangs up as soon as I reply with the number. Sure enough, the exchange computer says: "The caller withheld their number." Now, I wonder who that can have been! Up to no good, that is for certain. But there were ten good job applicants before Ms Sonnenthal phoned, and I shall now interview them.

In the afternoon a Miss Sally A. phones on the other Focal Point number, asking about the job. I ask straight away why she has phoned that number. "But that is Focal Point," she says simply. She says she looked it up. (But our job advert did not say Focal Point either.) She sounds right and well qualified; her mother is Jewish, her father a Moroccan (or the other way round).

7:50 p.m. call from a Louise Israel asking for job details. I arrange to see her at ten a.m. tomorrow, but warn her that her friends will make it impossible for her to take the job. She does not see why.

Louise Israel does not show.


sALLY A., the questionable applicant (a plant?), arrives at one, a comely wench with an extraordinary handbag, winning ways, brown hair, clean complexion. She says almost at once, "I suppose you're going to ask how I found out about the job." I agree that I was, but I was going to wait until the end of the interview.

"A friend who applied but does not want it, told me about it." She refuses to identify the friend other than say that it is one of the girls I already interviewed. For various reasons, I do not believe her (the friend would have given her the proper phone number). She flirts and flaunts throughout the interview. A bit further down that road, and I would have woken up in Rome, bound for a Mossad prison, I suspect, like Mr "life-term-in-solitary confinement" Vanunu. She denies she is Jewish, though her mother is Jewish.

At 3:40 p.m. Catherine L. comes, the best candidate yet, but admits to smoking.

A long phone call from my brother [a scientist]. Has a problem: A Saudi conglomerate has approached him for advice on designing a machine that will automatically destroy Holy Korans without their ashes' touching the floor. I suggest he contacts HarperCollins or another big publisher, much of whose time is spent destroying large quantities of books in shredding-and-pulping machines. Or come to that Macmillan Ltd., who having destroyed thousands of copies of my Hitler's War in 1992, under unsubtle pressure from the Traditional Enemies of Free Speech (without telling me), must have developed some expertise as well.


I find that the Board of Deputies of British Jews in January 1993 issued this press release [see panel on right]

I also find in my hands an immensely detailed, and very readable, 25-page analysis of my life and works, by an anonymous British expert, evidently employed by the Board of Deputies of British Jews, written after the Goebbels 1996 débâcle; this analyses why my works are so plausible, hence dangerous, and adds sinisterly: "Given this accurate version of reality it is all the more clear why his [David Irving's] activities must be curtailed, and why his alleged legitimacy must be eradicated." Since they escaped libel action last year only by the skin of their teeth, the Board has been foolish to the point of stupidity.

In the afternoon, a fax from Mishcon, not very accommodating, about my protests about Lipstadt's insufficient Discovery.

In the evening, around ten p.m., I find a fax from them with a wail of rage about documentary items that have found their way onto the FPP Website. They demand their instant removal, and the removal of even the affidavit sworn by Michael Whine [head honcho of the Board of Deputies of British Jews] in which he admits planting the "intelligence report" about me on Canadian government files, with global catastrophic consequences for me, as Judge Toulson said on November 14, 1996.


The Nazi propagandist, David Irving, was yesterday fined 30,00 Deutschmarks (£12,000) by a court in Munich, German. The sentence was a dismissal of his appeal against an earlier fine of 10,000 Deutschmarks, imposed for denying the Holocaust at a neo-Nazi youth training cap in Munich, in April 1990.

The Board of Deputies of British Jews notes the trebling of Irving' fine as indicative of legal authorities' growing recognition that denial of the Holocaust is a moral obscenity, designed to further the evils of Nazism and racial hatred.

In Germany and Austria, Irving is a hero to ageing Nazis and mobs of sieg-heiling youths. In North America, he is feted by Ku Klux Klan leaders, and other notorious white supremacists. He was recently barred from Canada, and refused re-entry to the USA, where he planned to address Far Right extremists on the Holocaust. His proposed visits in early 1993 to South Africa and Australia have rightly outraged civil rights' campaigners and the Jewish communities in those countries.

Pending legal advice as to the status of the Internet, and of such affidavits, in the public domain, I replace all three items with placeholders.


wORRY A lot during the night about the coming US tour. Up at 5:10 a.m. and resume work. This time I put my entire Community Security Trust file on the Website. [The CST is the private army of thugs raised and financed by the Board of Deputies of British Jews ] Warum nicht!

Immense fax from Mishcon, a wail of a wail. Talking of my abusing the documents. I shall give them a little lecture on that word "abuse."

March 24, 1998 Sixty years old today. At two minutes past midnight, I think of Mother, and all she went through until her death in October 1965. How old was she? How old was Father in 1967? Morbid thoughts, but I keep fitter than either of them -- non smoking, etc. A quiet day. Nice letter from [my twin] brother Nicky, with a genealogy of the Irving family back to Robert the Bruce. Other greetings come by mail, fax, e-mail, etc., including one from George Stern -- a cartoon in The New Yorker, showing a man reading the obituary page of a newspaper, with headlines like THREE YEARS OLDER THAN YOU. -- TWO YEARS YOUNGER THAN YOU. -- JUST YOUR AGE. Very funny.

Phone message from Channel Four, want me to participate in live debate about Enoch Powell on April 15. I phone them, say I'm leaving for the USA tomorrow; they can fly me back from Seattle for a day if they wish.

The Bookseller has published furious letters from Anti-Nazi League booksellers, greasy types the lot of them, protesting at it printing the adverts of "Focal Press". That's the way they operate.

Departure from Heathrow at midday for Los Angeles. Crowded flight, grab some sleep, then type until the battery gives out.

Land at 3:33 p.m.; rent a Lincoln Town Car -- the new one is smaller than the old one. Change!

Reach the Pasadena hotel around seven p.m., which is three a.m., London time. Malcolm W. has booked me in under the name of Ghengis Khan. He believes this will attract less opprobrium than David Irving. He comes round for a drink. I do not recognise him as, lost, I am ushered by a bellhop through the corridors to the hotel lobby. Malcolm inquires, "Mr Khan?"

I say, "I'm sorry, no," and walk on. I realise my mistake and swing round, calling out after him, "Yes, of course. I'm Mr Khan."

What the bellhop makes of this I don't know.

To Beverly Hills for a snack lunch at the Brighton Cafe. Surprising how little changes.

By midday I have fixed up access to America On-line. I -mail to Benté in London:

the first photos ever taken by JesscaDid Jessica like the pictures she took? A Jessica's eye view of the world [right, how she sees her Daddy and Mummy].

This letter to Mishcon de Reya, in response to a rude fax: --

Do your clients, the Board of Deputies of British Jews, maintain that a Press Release which they issued to every media outlet in the country is not already in the public domain? In other words, have they somehow found a way to un-ring, once rung, a bell?

From Los Gatos mountains, I phone Benté and chat with Jessica: "Do you know where I am?" "Yes, in 'Merica."

I tell her I'm in a house in the jungle surrounded by bears and tigers. She does not appear to believe it.

12:41 PM phone calls from Justin R. and M. about financial problems with the Washington State University meeting planned for April 13. They expect six hundred students to come, there is already uproar. I say I'm good for the lecture theatre rental ($420).

We drive further north. Check into a hotel on the Pacific coast at Mondecino, surrounded by racoons, all fighting with each other. Evidently a family.

This letter goes to Jessica:

I am living for two days in a house in the middle of the woods. Just like HANSEL AND GRETL. I am surrounded by bears and tigers. There are many wild animals in the forest. The trees all round are Redwood trees, and some of the trees are as old as the hills. The trees are so big, that you can drive a car right through the middle! I took a picture of my car driving through a tree. I have a big white car. I went to a shop and I bought these two wooden labels. One says B for Benté, and one says J for Jessica. They are made from the trees.


bENTE REPORTS that Da Capo Press Inc., the New York paperback publishers, have phoned finally turning down the Rommel biography reprint. It has taken them ten months to come to this negative decision. All rather odd; I suspect the hand of the ADL again. Well, my new Website enables me to fight back.

Set out further north and drove all day. Beautiful Redwood forests, rain much of the way, then brilliant sunshine, then more rain.

These huge trees stand like soldiers at the roadside, saluting us in the rising mists and falling drizzle as we pass. Drive off the freeway at Woodland, Washington, and after turning down one or two motels as too costly, too unfriendly, etc., find a cheap little fleapit called The Lakeside Motel -- just right. I plug in this computer and work on the Website for several hours, until three a.m.

Up at 7:30 a.m. Phoned Benté and spoke with Jessica too. Set out at eight a.m. and drive to Seattle. Arrive at the Shoreline community centre at north Seattle at 12. Audience starts arriving early, including many friends from British Columbia, Canada, which is only half an hour's drive further north. I speak for an hour in the rather cheerless hall about Churchill.

After coffee at D's we leave for the Pullman Washington State university function around six p.m., rather later than planned. Beautiful drive into the dusk over the mountains, and we stop at Cle Elum -- strange name -- at around nine p.m. Snow flakes drifting round the car when I load it in the morning. Work some more, and leave around 11:30 a.m. for Pullman, a 250-mile onward drive. The countryside levels out in a way I have not expected, until finally we are driving across open, windswept desert, with tumbling, two-foot balls of vegetation blowing across the freeway.

The road map shows a connection before Sprague between I -- 90 and Route 230 which does not exist, which costs us a 30 mile detour. We are running out of time and I cover the last ninety miles in around an hour along totally, but totally, deserted desert highway. Pullman is a valley city, with several broad streets and fine buildings. Its main industry is the Washington State University campus (WSU) together with the attached stadium.

The boxes are transloaded, and taken to the Union Building where I have rented the main lecture theatre. It is 6:30 p.m. before we begin. The hall is packed, with hardly an empty place, around 600 students and several academics are there. The newspapers have been baying and braying for several days, which has of course added to the tension. As I begin speaking, I see about twenty people in the front two rows rise to their feet and stand with their backs turned to me.


aGESTURE of disrespect, which earns the comment from me: "I do not mind. So far as I know these people, they have their ears right next to their assholes." (A left-over morsel from Karlsruhe, 1984 or so, when the Communists and Leftists who had seized my auditorium used exactly the same tactic and got the same response: with the result that the police colonel whose men had manned the barricade rushed onto the stage and said, "Herr Irving -- if you use language like that again I shall close this lecture down!" Oi!) They then solemnly file out, to the general betterment of the rest of the proceedings.

I speak for an hour on the broad scope of revisionist history, not just the Holocaust (as I remind everybody at the end: everybody who survived WW2 is a Holocaust survivor; the real war crime was Innocenticide, not Genocide, which is only a part of it; and I am not a Holocaust historian, I leave that to the others.)

The audience is aloof at first, being largely "normal people." Within ten minutes however they have livened up, as I warm to the theme, and after half an hour they are lively, reactive, and listening with closest attention. Almost nobody leaves; all stay on during the ten-minute break that I announce.

The questions are the best part, as usual. A German girl student, a quiet, well spoken twenty-year old, the Federal Republic's equivalent, no doubt, of a Rhodes Scholar: she finds it highly desirable that I should be imprisoned, fined, excluded, and prevented from speaking; and even more praiseworthy that her country's government is suppressing Free Speech where it is used for ideas which she and they agree are unacceptable. I listen patiently, praise her command of the English language, and suggest with the utmost respect that in Germany this century so far Nothing Has Changed. There is little that the rest of the world can or should learn from Germany about Free Speech.

Several coloured students are there, mostly training to become teachers. They are bright and friendly; one tall, doleful man who identifies himself as a Jew takes over the floor microphone and tries to berate me using a handbill issued by an ADL-front organisation. He calls me "racist, anti-Semitic," and all the other tired old clichés. I correct him on these and other points, but it seems clear that nobody believes him anyway.

A law professor objects that while I discount the evidence given by Holocaust survivors as "eye-witness" testimony, I use the "eye-witness testimony" of General Walter Bruns. I point out to him that, as he surely knows, the courts attach far greater weight to evidence given against ones own interest (Bruns) than to self-serving testimony (Holocaust survivors); I forget the Latin tag attached to this, and the law professor does not volunteer it either.

One questioner addresses the issue that I had raised in discussing the Daniel Goldhagen thesis -- that if I were a Jew I would want to see an answer to the vital question: why the Jews are so hated within only a few years of their arrival in each host country; he points out that the Jews have now been in the United States in strength for fifty years, yet they are not hated.

I reply that on the contrary, my own perception is that they are moving into the same positions of predominance and influence (media, banking, business, entertainment, and the more lucrative professions like law, medicine and dentistry) that they held in Weimar Germany, which gave rise to the hatreds and the resulting pogroms; and that this being so, twenty or thirty more years might see in the USA the same dire consequences as happened in Nazi Germany. I sense that this is not a popular prediction.

For this evening only I have marked the books down to half-price for the student population, since I know they are even poorer than I. The book table is thronged, and I give several books away; in consequence we do not cover the $420 which the university administrator has extracted from us in cash before the function begins, as rent for the hall! Minus the petrol for the seven-hundred mile drive here and back yesterday and today. Minus wages, minus car-hire, minus, minus, minus.

We have not expected to make any cash surplus on the day, however, what matters is a far larger principle: establishing, or re-establishing, channels of communication to the thinking student population, despite every effort of the Traditional Enemies of Free Speech to abrogate them.

What a wonderful audience university students make. Still eager to learn, and curious about alternative opinions and interpretations (particularly those they are being "protected" from). Which in turn made me very conscious of the need to lecture to them with the utmost restraint.

I work on the Website until two a.m., and send off several e-mails.


uP AT 7:30 a.m. This morning's Spokesman-Review, the Spokane city newspaper, has the improbable (and less than accurate) headline: WSU SHOUTS DOWN HOLOCAUST REVISIONIST. Yes, the journaille: they have a lot to answer for. I guess that some journalist wrote that headline sometime yesterday afternoon, before the actual lecture.

I post yesterday's diary on the Website.

I invites some students over for lunch. One brings the university's Daily Evergreen. This has the headline story opening, "Nearly 400 people packed into the CUB Auditorium Monday night -- some intensely listened, clapped and even laughed at Holocaust revisionist speaker David Irving. About 20 people, who said they purposely sat near the front of the auditorium, interrupted Irving after his introduction by standing up and facing the back of the room. 'A number of people have turned their backs on me,' Irving said to the audience. 'It makes no difference to me because it is the First Amendment in the United States that I, as an English writer, most cherish.' [That's not quite what I said: see above].

I send this report to Benté in London:

I am working very hard here. I worked on this Website until past two a.m. this morning, and have been up since 7:15 a.m. this morning. The Great Journey probably continues today. Once again, it is a real pity that you and Jessica do not come on part of these immense travels.

Up at 6:30 a.m. I do not seem to need much sleep these days, which is a worry.

Hotel message light says there's a fax. It turns out to be quite serious, from a firm claiming to hold the trade-mark rights to the letter F and the name Focal Point, and demanding that we desist. Brings to mind the Story of the Two Wells: Well, well. They write:

The undertakings we require are:

1. Immediately to cease use of the name Focal Point or Focal Point Publications and the mark "F" and not to use any similar marks in the future (including any name which incorporates the word FOCAL or anything similar).

2. Immediately to amend your Internet site so that all references to the name Focal Point (or Focal Point Publications) or the "F" mark or anything similar to either are removed.

3. Within 14 days to destroy or deliver up to us all materials in your possession, power or control which contain the Focal Point ( or Focal Point Publications) or the "F" mark.

It seems quite clear now that (a) the "booksellers" writing to The Bookseller deliberately referred to "Focal Press", to "set FPP up" for this attack; and (b) the usual Traditional Enemies are behind this new attempt to destroy my publishing base. I respond robustly: -

I have no intention of desisting from using the upper-case Goudy Bold letter F in our logo and, without prejudice to any further advice I may receive, I would point out that we have in the ten years or more of trading as Focal Point Publications never once received any evidence of confusion between our trading name and those (different) names or trademarks to which you claim exclusive title; nor do you appear to have taken parallel action against several other corporate entities with similar names of which we are aware.

I also reply to Mishcon:

I have removed materials which gave offence to your clients from my Website. I do not accept that I can be criticised for publishing any other document especially one which your clients deliberately issued as a press release some years ago, no doubt publishing it to every newspaper in the U.K.

Set out from Hermiston at 12:30 p.m. beautiful drive along the Columbia river to Portland. Arrive at Portland in pouring rain at five p.m., and go straight to the hall, the Prairie High School library at 5:30. As I am sitting at the book table one of the "visitors" hands me a document, which turns out to be a Statutory Demand from the Board of Deputies of British Jews, from their lawyers Mishcon de Reya. An attempt at bankrupting me. Why not do that in the U.K.? They know what my dates are -- they have got this date off the Website however.

It is a good audience, around 100, they are enthusiastic, educated and middle-class, and listen with increasing volume of applause and laughter to my one-hour talk about historiography and Mr Churchill. I give a couple of books away to needy elderly folk who clearly don't have the means to buy them (and our prices are not low, by US standards).


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