Documents on the International Campaign for Real History
First posted Sunday, December 25, 2011
© Focal Point 2011 David Irving
She offered, but women's promises are notoriously brittle.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Key West (USA)
UP at six-thirty a.m. Too much on my mind and a lot to do today. I deal with bookstore and emails. I tell a South Africa customer: "J[aenelle Antas] has suddenly quit to get married in Australia, so I am handling the bookstore for a while, and I will get those books rushed to you as soon as I can. Perhaps even sign them."
The Daily Mail says Rachel Johnson has been sacked from The Lady. I tell Jessica, who's her daughter's best friend.
From London, Jessica replies haughtily: "Both you and Daily Mail are so misleading! She has just moved positions."
I reply: "Gosh, let that be a lesson to us not to believe what we read in newspapers. I am now back in cottage at Key West. Drove 650 miles since yesterday lunchtime [to West Palm Beach to visit a supporter]. There and back. Have you looked for driving lessons yet?"
Then comes a distinctly suspicious request:Dear Mr Irving, Several years ago we read an article that said that you were trying to authenticate some hair of Hitler that was in your possession. Can I ask whether this you still have this hair and whether it has been authenticated? With thanks, Gillian Mosely
I reply non-committally. I have the wisp of the hair, but I am not offering it for sale.
The Daily Telegraph's Tim Walker asks me: "Any view about whether Aidan Burley should step down as an MP after attending a party at which Nazi uniforms were worn?"
I reply, suitably tongue-in-cheek: "I always recommend to my friends that they avoid wearing Nazi Party uniforms if they possibly can. It is all so retro, and not usually a career-enhancing choice. Since his boss -- the Transport Minister Theresa Villiers MP -- approved of my 14-month imprisonment (2005-6) in solitary confinement in Vienna for an opinion I had expressed sixteen years earlier, he appears to be in good company however. It has inflicted permanent damage on my frame, and I am having to return to the UK on December 21 for major surgery in consequence. Not nice."
As for my online bookstore, I believe I have already found a replacement.
The US National Archives photographic agent tells me that he has sent me new scans of their photos which I originally used in my 1996 Goebbels biography, though not without some substantial cost; but they will be even better to reproduce than the second-generation prints I had to use for the first editions.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Key West (USA)
THE British Police Certificate is said to be on its way to me here. They have today replied: "Your certificate was dispatched on December 2." I am not sure that other historians need such certificates, but my German attorney requires it for our new legal action against the 1993 ban on my entering Germany: Even so, eleven days so far?
John Justice has written a beautiful letter about the photo gallery which I posted yesterday of three years with Jaenelle:[She] is a beautiful girl. There's hardly a photo there where she's not smiling. No doubt that is typical of all her photos. I recall one on your site somewhere, where she's on the edge of the water in a pink swimsuit and the laugh and smile which can be seen clearly on her face can't but make the viewer smile and laugh as well. These beautiful tall and healthy blue-eyed blondes are pure vivacity, pure vitality, as much in love with Life as Life is with them.
It's as if they have something of the Sun in them, like little walking bundles of pure radiance of Life, of Love, of Fun, of Happiness - all the good things that revivify the Soul, these most beautiful women have it.
Nothing of the moody temperament of their brown eyed, brunette sisters, who feign a greater intelligence by reticence, and demand a serious countenance in one and a respectful demeanour in all but the most private places.
But not these magnificent blondes!
They're so quick witted, sharp and playful, and their intelligence can be seen better in their efficient actions. They're also so intelligent that they can make fun of themselves seeing their mistakes and laughing at them. They can also laugh at others quite easily and their boldness is sometimes shocking in word and deed.
Life seems to come easy to them. They are in control of their situations, and where they are not, they mostly laugh as well.
So it seems good then that your beautiful assistant has been "picked" off the branch, so as to continue Life in its best phase, when it is healthiest. Or so is the intention. Her leaving will only have been worth it, after marriage and children.
Yes, given the right suitor, nobody could agree more than I. -- Hugo writes [in much the same vein]. I reply: "If you say so, Hugo." I add: "I am getting slightly nervous about the January 12 surgery, and feel the time has now come to make a Will. [ . . . ] Bad timing on her part."
Toward midday I tell one of Jaenelle's friends (who has written me): "She has always been a good friend, and I try to understand her even in difficult times."
Hugo then exclaims in Cockney dialect:Stone the crows, haven't you made a Will yet? . . . I will be in Germany by then otherwise I'd come to see you in hospital with a bunch of grapes which I'd then proceed to eat as I sat by your bed and watched 'Neighbours' on you hospital television set.[NAME] would do the same, while quietly waiting for the staff to leave. Then he would flick the switch on the Life Support system to Off. I am trying to persuade the Hungarian flight-attendant [my Vienna prison visitor, right] Réka to come for a few days. She offered, but women's promises are notoriously brittle. . . . I take it you are fluent in Cockney?
"Yes," replies Hugo, seamlessly, "Cockney was one of the languages I studied to get into the Foreign Office. I discovered afterward it had been a complete waste of time. I should have studied Caribbean pidgin English instead" -- a dig at the late Robin Cook, who protested on touring the Office on his first day as Foreign Secretary in 1997 that there were so few Blacks on the staff, only to be told by his embarrassed advisers that scarcely any could routinely pass the F.O. entrance examinations. Cook soon changed that (not by improving their education, of course, but by lowering the bar).
As for my (not yet complete) autobiography, Hugo predicts: "It will be a thumping good yarn, serialised in all the gutter press worldwide and outsell all your previous books put together."
"If I put in certain photos," I hint.
He misses the point. "I take it you are not referring to the ones of me up a ladder," he sniffs, alluding to the ones we took touring Hitler's headquarters in September.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Key West (USA)
ANY day now the London Press may get wind of this problem, and then guess who will be lynched. But there is better news from Europe: My attorney tells me the favourable outcome of today's court case in Kiel, Germany. After ten years, the publisher is forced to pay up, with interest.
Hugo has responded to me: "I am grateful to you for slightly amending the sentence: "He [Hugo] is full of mischief: 'Surely you know who is behind it? and he suggests a name."
I rarely humour other people's requests. I educate Hugo:I am effectively an online newspaper. Have you ever tried asking an editor to delete a name or a story! . . . She has dumped everything for this paunchy Australian.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Key West (USA)
I FORWARD one mutual friend's commentary to Jaenelle, and add: "I wish you personally every happiness, as always."
Still tight-lipped, I tell another: "I have forgiven her for dumping the bookstore without notice -- which was in fact unforgiveable at Christmas. Again, no more details than that."
Hitler with Helga Goebbels, the Propaganda Minister's oldest daughter and his personal favourite.
THE new Goebbels scans have come from the National Archives agent at College Park, and they are very good (see above).
My printer's black ink has run out already, and the replacement I have bought turns out to be an empty cartridge stuffed into its package by some cheating shopper. I have to cycle off up U.S.1 against a headwind after all. At Office Max, I get it exchanged without difficulty and buy another, and I buy wads of paper, cartridges, three large boxes of envelopes (because they are priced at three-for-two), and wobble back with some difficulty to the cottage, as this old bike's basket is so minuscule.
I have now also found a girl who will probably assist me while we are on the U.S. road in the spring. She will also do the donkey work in the office here for the next few days: the spitting image of her predecessor, with waist length blonde hair in a pony tail; she comes from what is now Poland (Stettin), and speaks almost accent-free English.
When I ask if she is really blonde, her answer is tailor-made: "I am not just blonde, I am Aryan." She asks if I know what that is. Ah, the innocent Poles. And she blinks large blue eyes at me.
I HAVE concluded that the London pharmacy gave me dud anti-inflammatories the last time: they are brown, rather than orange, and today the leg-pain is so bad (perhaps from biking on a too-small lady's bicycle) that I have taken four instead of my usual one. But meanwhile the days are slipping past, book sales seem to have collapsed, and nobody seems to know why. That is a real pain.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Key West (USA)
CHIP L., a mutual friend in Virginia, asks: "Was going to pre-order two copies of Himmler . . . Does the Paypal go to Jaenelle or someone else? I'll do it that way instead."
I reply that those payments still come via Jaenelle's account: "I am quite content with that. She is very honest. She was a very fine assistant, and we all know how flighty women can be. One day she will come in smoothly to land again. I will mark you down for two copies immediately, Chip."
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Key West (USA)
GERMANY'S Axel-Springer press is slagging me off again: Today's Die Welt harrumphs about my late friend Christopher Hitchens above: "He called the Nazi-fan David Irving an important historian and received him in his Washington home, when Irving's history lies already stank to the heavens."
It turns out to have been written by their journalist Hannes Stein, and I am told that he is a Jew: No harm in that, but how did I not guess? I forward the article to my lawyer in Kiel and instruct him: "Das ist schon wieder eine Infamie von der Springer-Presse gegen mich. Wir müssen jetzt ein Vorgehen unter dem Pressegesetz vorbereiten."
There is a never-ending torrent of slime from the Journaille.
I pedal over to Office Max to buy more ink-cartridges. A pick-up truck pushes me off Eaton Street into the kerb, and I crash heavily off the bike onto my right (bad) side -- a real cropper, with the bike on top of me and a saucer-sized scrape gouged out of my right leg. Hey ho. I disentangle myself from the wreckage, haul myself upright with difficulty (naturally waving away offers of assistance), check that all other bones are intact, and find I am able to bike on okay. Spitfire-pilot "Rockfist" Rogan, RAF, would have said, "It's nothing Sir, just a scratch." The gash is more than unsightly however.
Supper with the Polish newcomer at Mangia-Mangia; she chooses the same as I always choose, Atlantic salmon. Seems keen to work with me next year. I have to start gradually shifting back to British time.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Key West (USA)
Tim Walker of the London Daily Telegraph now tells me that Member of Parliament Aidan Burley has been sacked from his Government post as an aide to Justine Greening, the Transport Secretary, for being at a stag party where a Nazi uniform was worn as fancy dress, and he asks for my comment. I reply with a soupçon of sarcasm: "Yes, a lot of people reported this sacking to me in tones of the appropriate hushed awe.I am happy to see that [Prime Minister] David Cameron has made his anti-Nazi credentials clear beyond peradventure. Sixty-six years after the war's end, this seems to be so important.
I finish paying our printing-bills, which were nothing like as bad as I had been told, and only two in number.
Lengthy chat this afternoon with our other newcomer, an old friend in Atlanta. She will run the online bookstore for a while. I have dumped a bed of nails in front of her. Her predecessor was, let's face it, irreplaceable, and knew it.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Key West (USA)
BREAKFAST with Albert. He finds the Pole cold and unapproachable; it is true, as an Eastern European she lacks the warmth, and is unlikely to change. He drives me to the Post Office to buy the remaining stamps, including those I need for mail to Canada.
Today's London Daily Telegraph runs the little gossip column item:
- Burley's champion
- David Irving, the historian . . . didn't join in the calls for Aidan Burley to be sacked after the silly Tory MP attended a Nazi-themed stage party.
- Now that Burley has been removed as an aide to Justine Greening, the Transport Secretary, Irving wonders if the Prime Minister has not over-reacted. "I am happy to see that David Cameron has made his anti-Nazi credentials clear beyond peradventure," says Irving. "Sixty-six years after the war's end, this seems to be so important."
- I should add that Irving has changed his mind about the Holocaust and no longer denies it happened.
Of course I never did in the first place, but we all know what forces drive these gibbering gentlemen of the Journaille.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Key West (USA)
I WRITE to a mutual friend: "Since I take it that Jaenelle is leaving for Australia today I am standing down both mobile telephone accounts to a stand-by rate. . . Wish her well on her flight from me, and remind her to carry the B+O earphones in her handbag for the long flight; I sincerely hope all her dreams come true."
The earphones were from me. I have sent her more than her final dues, and she will get anything else she may still be owed and more.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Key West - Miami (USA) --
FLYING back to England tonight. . .
I wrote to Jessica yesterday: "I will see you Thursday morning, God willing. I will think of something for Hugo. Your present-idea for him sounds good." I add: "My UK phone will work from about nine am tomorrow when Hugo picks me up."
Eleven a.m. at Key West Post Office, but no mail has yet been put out. It has been when I go back at noon to pick up some priority-mail forwarding-envelopes. Martyna comes round to say goodbye, and I drop her off in her own street before setting off up the Overseas Highway to Miami.
6:45 p.m. Delta flight 260 takes off for London. In the circumstances, I have yesterday paid an eighty-dollars supplement for an extra-leg-room seat: it turns out to be a bulkhead seat with even less leg-room than the rest, and a non-retractable armrest. Not good. A most uncomfortable night.
The fat young Jewess seated just across the aisle (and I mean fat: barrel shaped) rests her boots on the wall in front of her throughout the night, leaving a pattern of black smears and scars.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
-- Heathrow, London (England)
FLIGHT lands at 8:35 a.m. Hugo is waiting there for me and, as a surprise, Jessica too. She is looking good, in fact a really beautiful eighteen-year old now, and at once bums £80 off me to blonde her hair and cut it, "to look like her mother's."
That's nice. I tell her my haircuts in Key West cost eight dollars; but ladies can apparently be charged more, a seemingly global phenomenon.
I have been awake during most of the eight- or nine-hour night flight, and I shall certainly pay for that over the next days.
MY LAWYER in Kiel has now obtained the entire secret German government files on me, from their court system. Over 1,650 pages. That should make for interesting reading -- if we can discover just who was behind my 1993 exile from the "democratic" and "free" Germany. Under the law, as my lawyer he is entitled to see them. Can I however legally publish them? Just an idea. I ask him: "Zwei technische Fragen: Ist das vertraulich, versiegelt irgendwie? Urheberrechtlich geschützt? -- Ich bin jetzt in England zurück."
He replies: "Im Prinzip ist Akteneinsicht immer vertraulich, das sind Behördenakten."
An American physician has sent me a modest cheque for our new appeal fund. "My dad (a Nuremberg-born orthopedic surgeon, now passed) would have certainly performed your surgery free of charge. He was a big fan of yours." He adds: "As a young doc from Jersey City in the Spring of 1937 [May 6, 1937] he was in one of the first ambulances at the scene at the Lakehurst Airbase on that terrible day," -- namely when the airship Hindenburg blew up on landing (above). "He told me that he and a few of his cronies tried to get part of the smoldering tailpiece with the swastika off the field and onto the roof of the ambulance as a souvenir . . . but it was too big!"
Friday, December 23, 2011
Kew, London (England)
THE appeal is running well. A cynic might say it would be more sensible to run appeals for the rest of my life and forget about the writing -- the writing nowadays brings in so little money in real terms, given the global vendetta and boycott. But writing real history is my life, and it will eventually profit my children and theirs too, and indirectly others around the world.
Shopping with Jessica. We buy flowers for Bente, her mother, but Jessica forgets to take them to the West End with her. Hey ho.
I drive off to Bayswater to visit K. and give him the £100 he urgently needs for Christmas, as he is skint. The Hammersmith Flyover [US: "overpass"] is closed all day for emergency repairs, and an immense tail-back clogs the M4. It takes two hours to reach the Hogarth Roundabout from Kew -- a distance of about two miles. Back home at nine p.m. we abandon plans for supper, and I just warm up some soup.
A long chat with Hugo. He recites from memory details of Jaenelle's recent correspondence with him. In one message she described how she had just spent the nicest day ever with me, the shopping trip to the Pentagon Mall on November 17. I am glad she enjoyed it.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Kew, London (England)
SOMEBODY has stolen the two brand-new front wheel-discs off our little Skoda parked outside. I bought them in Madrid, the old ones were so tattered. I just noticed. Oh well, they're brightening somebody else's Christmas, somewhere.
William H., born and raised in Phoenix, Arizona, writes to ask about Heinrich Himmler's Final Solution and Adolf Hitler's Madagascar Plan which it replaced, and why was the latter not adopted?
The short explanation is one word: logistics. The war over-ran. I answer: "The Madagascar plan was abandoned in 1942 after (a) Madagascar proved unreachable, and was occupied by Gaullist forces anyway in May 1942; (b) territories in the East became available, where however other forces adopted different, lethal, methods of solving the Problem. My Himmler biography tackles this knotty issue."
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