I MAKE up a parcel of videocassettes to
send off for duplicating. The highly
complicated covering letter is just
complete when Jessica strolls in, decides
she wants to use the Macintosh, and calmly
zaps it off the screen. Five year olds!
But the new version of the letter is
better, so she is perhaps right.
To my huge delight it turns out that
Lipstadt's lawyers, Mishcon de Reya, have
inadvertently sent to us three videotapes
from their own research, namely the raw
unedited film taken by a Thames TV news
cameraman of my speech
at Halle for their documentary of 1991
-- precisely the tapes Thames TV denied to
me they had. I have been looking for these
ever since 1993.
A triumphant phone call to E. about
this blunder. He advises that I must issue
an immediate summons against Lipstadt,
demanding a new affidavit on her
discovery, sworn this time by a partner of
I suspect that the provenance of the
tapes is the Board
of Deputies of British Jews, because
one tape has an old pencilled label on its
Minister--programme about Jews
and Muslims." God, they are sensitive
Whatever; the videotapes should have
been included in their Discovery; there
has been possibly even a contempt of
Court, as Prof. Lipstadt manifestly swore
a false affidavit. I get the girls to
investigate a legal precedent in Lonrho
The counsel whom Lipstadt has at
present instructed is Andrew Caldecott,
QC, who is at One Brick Court
(chambers whose flagstones I have of
course trodden frequently in the past,
since it is "one of the two leading
defamation sets"). Caldecott was called in
1975 and took silk in 1994, which puts him
in the 47--50 age-bracket perhaps.
To Hamley's with
Jessica in the afternoon to buy stickers,
the latest craze. She now reads books
including the Bible at high speed. She has
taken to gazing around restaurants looking
for other families with children of her
age; then she boldly goes over and strikes
up a conversation with them. No fear, that
8:30 a.m. wakened by a phone ringing.
It is 2GB Radio, Sydney, Australia,
wanting to interview me tomorrow morning
on Fredrick Toben's arrest by the
The newspapers show the cruel
photographs, taken from television cameras
mounted in the nose cone of the Nato
missiles that blasted a Yugoslav train in
Kosovo. The newspaper explains that the
Nato pilot bravely launched the first
rocket missile from several miles away
(his nationality is not to be revealed
says the Daily Telegraph, adding
however that he is not British, which
rather narrows the field).
The first bomb-camera photo shows
scared human beings looking out of the
windows a millisecond before the high-tech
missile and its load of rocket fuel roast
them to a crisp; rather curiously, the
second picture shows the train a hundred
yards further on, a blazing wreck. Reading
the small print reveals that the American
pilot, realising he has missed the bridge,
has come round and launched a second
missile -- again hitting the train.
As I study the photo, the BBC is
broadcasting Britain's prime prat Tony
Blair announcing that all the "war
criminals" are to be brought to justice.
All of them?
Three p.m. train to [. . .].
Discussion with -- Ltd who will be
printing Focal Point's books. Tour of
their pre-press department. Useful
Ghastly news on our return of a fresh
Nato "mishap" in Yugoslavia -- the bombing
of a refugee column this morning has
killed seventy Albanians; the television
shows hideous scenes reminiscent of the
Falaise Gap in August 1944, with the
difference that the dead, mutilated, and
dying are not soldiers, but peasant men,
women, and children. Even so, it must have
been only a fraction of the suffering
inflicted on the German and Jewish
refugees from the east in 1945.
Television brings this holocaust into
the front rooms of ordinary people. So it
seems much worse. Blair wriggles and lies,
and suggests the Serbs shelled the
refugees themselves, to incriminate Nato.
Yeah, right. Simultaneously, the newsreel
has pictures of sobbing peasants
describing how the "Allied" planes had
come in and rocketed their tractors and
Let's see how Nato's street-porterish
spokesman "Jamie" Shea -- he
managed to split two infinitives in
one sentence yesterday -- slithers out of
this one at his press conference. He does
to the words of the English language what
the American airmen of US General
Wesley Clark now do to Yugoslav
civilians: he mangles them beyond
Hitherto Clark's airmen have only
proved adept at bringing down ski-lifts
and cable cars in Italy; so I suppose
hitting moving farm carts does represent
some improvement in their aim.
Benté tells me that her friend
David Wirt, No. 2 on the staff of
the US Naval Chief in Europe, has been
promoted on the strength of these
I ask what that means. A big pay-rise,
she says; and an extra gold star.
"A gold star?", I say. "That's what
Jessica gets at school for spelling
Some people never grow up -- unless
they are burning alive children of
Jessica's age, in the name of Nato's
Phone e., then this significant letter
goes off to Mishcon:
Further to my letter of
Thursday, April 15, 1999 we confirm
receiving all videos listed in the
first paragraph of your letter of April
8. . . . I shall shortly write you
again about the videos sent with your
letter of April 8.
Ho-ho. See them in Court! At three p.m.
I go down to the High Court, and get an
hour's appointment on Friday. We look
through our Australian files for the
evidence that Mishcon knew I was looking
for precisely those videos for years.
Heather T. comes today to use
the Big Mac. A stunning blond of thirty,
with high Slavic cheekbones and a megawatt
PhD intellect -- she speaks fluent Russian
and half a dozen other languages -- she
has been "seeing" a certain gentleman for
six months, who earns million-dollar
bonuses each year as a broker but, she
laments, he does not have much real time
for her; she just gets talk about money.
He squanders it like water, flies her
everywhere first class, etc. (By this time
I have guessed that he is Jewish.)
She has finally flounced out on him
last night, and this time it is final. He
called out, "What about all those presents
I gave you!" She asked, "What presents!"
"The sunglasses," he blusters, "the . . .
uh," but he could not remember any
H., Latvian-born (her grandfather died
on the Eastern front somewhere: she has a
faded photo of him in an SS-style uniform
-- can we tell from the badges what the
unit is?), said, "I never realised how
much those people network," meaning the
Jewish community. "Every Friday I cooked
dinner for him. The whole evening was
taken up with a round of phoning, around
the whole network."
She is an instructor at the Royal
College of Military Science at Shrivenham
in Wiltshire, lecturing on eastern
European security services.
The rogue Mishcon videos: I now infer
that the TV camera concerned was that of
Mathias Schmidt, an undercover
cameraman who figures on the Munich police
dossier against me in 1991, volunteering
his tapes as a "witness." Public-spirited
of him. One of Ewald Althans'
friends (which raises questions as to his
sexuality too, I suppose).
All day working on the necessary
research into the files. Mounds of paper
everywhere. The affidavit
is masterly, and at 1:43 a.m. I download
E.'s draft skeleton argument. It still
needs some work but I thank him in these
Having read the authorities I know many
of the tricks of the trade, but not as
many as you, o master! I could have done
half of it, but not the brilliant half,
and not the rhetoric. Many thanks. The
girls are going to enjoy this.
Bed around 2:30 a.m. Thus begins
another hard week.
Up at 8:30 a.m. I send S. to the Law
Courts to get the Summons
sealed; she serves it on Mishcon at three
then comes from them, timed 2:45 p.m.,
claiming immediate return of their three
"privileged" videocassettes. Interesting
to know on what grounds they claim
privilege (there aren't any). Later, a fax
comes repeating their demand, and
inquiring in wounded tones why I have
issued the Summons.
On Friday all will be clear to
A BBC Talk Radio producer phones: can I
appear on tomorrow morning's Drive-Time to
talk about Hitler's 100th birthday.
Although I do not share the BBC's custom
of celebrating that man's birthday, I
politely I point out that it is his 110th,
Never mind, they would like me to talk
about Hitler, the new Reichstag Building
opening in Berlin tomorrow (I wonder what
German history "scholar" overlooked the
significance of the date) and, no doubt,
the Balkans. They say they'll phone me for
the interview at 7:30.
I don't cancel any plans. I tell my
staff that it is odds-on that the BBC will
phone in an hour or two to cancel --
somebody'll be checking the card-index
right now, and he'll look up with an
"Uh-oh!" That's been the practice of this
great bastion of British democracy and
free speech over the last few years:
usually at the last moment, when it is
most inconvenient. A total broadcasting
blackout on me.
To help them along, I put this alert in
small print onto the front page of my
Website newsletter AR-Online:
"Listen to David Irving on BBC Talk Radio:
7:30 a.m. April 20."
We finalise the legal arguments for
Friday's hearing. The main precedent on
deliberately concealing documents is a
case called Landauer. The judge in
that case threw out Landauer's entire
defence because of the concealment.
Landauer was represented by one Eldred
Tabachnik, QC; now where have I heard
that name before? Oh yes, he's now a head
honcho of the Board
of Deputies of British Jews. It's a
Of course, being a lawyer is no
guarantee that a man is not also a crook:
seventeen of nineteen Watergate defendants
were attorneys; as were nearly all the
Nazi concentration camp commandants; and
Clinton and Blair. Need I say more?
This letter goes to Mishcon de
Responding to your query about
side (b) of the September
1992 microcassette, although I have
not had a chance to review its contents
again, I have now determined that a few
days after that function Mr Julian
Kossof of The Jewish Chronicle
approached me about the sequence of
events, and I voluntarily loaned the
tape to him for his newspaper to review
and use as it saw fit.
That characteristic act of
generosity seems to destroy any
privilege that I might have argued
existed in side (b).
I claimed that privilege because it
is not a tape of me speaking, so its
relevance appears questionable, and
that is still my position.
2. I have received by fax your
letters of today's date, timed
respectively 2:45 and 6:36 p.m., in
which you state that the three "rogue"
videos are privileged. Please state
your grounds for claiming privilege in
them. From their labels all three are
prima facie discoverable documents in
this action, and they clearly
originated before this action was
At 2:40 a.m. I phone H. in Hawaii, to
wish him well. His cancer has not taken
him down in body or spirit yet. I'm
delighted to hear he's going to be in
Seattle on the same day I am.
Up at 7:30 a.m. for the BBC phone call.
Nothing happens. At 8.00 a.m. female from
BBC Talk Radio phones: "Is that Mr Irving?
I am afraid we are not going to be able to
give you the time that you deserve on this
I say, "Thank you," and hang up.
Quoi de neuf. The BBC does not of
course do such programmes on the fly,
everything is mapped out hours in advance.
The Board of Deputies of British Jews or
some other traditional enemy of free
speech has no doubt monitored the front
page of AR-Online and rung the appropriate
It's an odd world at this fin de
siècle: Free speech for me on
Australian radio and TV, again and again
-- but unable to enter the country. Free
movement about the U.K., but nameless
gremlins stifle my access to the broadcast
media (or trick me into appearing in a
Heavy work day completing the affidavit
and exhibits; swear them at 5:30 p.m.
John Bennett phones from
Australia around three or four a.m.; I am
still working, but suitably abrupt. What's
wrong with these Aussie meatheads that
they can't work out the time difference?
Up at eight a.m. This fax goes to an
American who has complained about the
anti-Irving caricature [see top of
page] on my letter:
We [English] tend to
take attacks on the other cheek, with a
touch of whimsy like Noel
Coward. That cartoon attacking me
was published in 1977 in England's most
serious left-wing national newspaper,
The Guardian. My way of dealing
with it is to use it ever since (I
bought the rights). . . An American
would send in Apaches or Tomahawks --
we respond with different methods.
Finnish television showed the odious
Nick Fraser BBC film last night.
Friday, day of the court hearing on the
concealed videocassette evidence.
Exactly 200 incoming e-mails are
waiting for me to deal with. But I spend
all morning with the girls finalising the
argument, and authorities. I have
printed out colour copies of the video
labels [see above], just in case
Mishcon's fail to bring the originals as
they have undertaken.
the High Court at three p.m. with S. At
3:30 p.m. my opponents march up --
James Libson, a rather hushed
Anthony Julius, a female solicitor,
counsel, and a couple of trainees. No
hands are shaken; there are no
Boors, the lot of them. It's going to
be a costly day for them.
I lead off with our skeleton
argument. Master Trench has read
enough to recall that this raw videotape
footage includes my famous Nov.
9, 1991 open-air speech at Halle.
I begin by stating that much of what we
are to deal with is unrefined Style and
Hollander. I explain that that is a
text-book (tho' not an authority) which I
have found illuminating, as a layman, for
its disturbing advice to lawyers, for
instance on how to avoid helping opponents
to establish the truth of a matter.
They are advised: Never allow a third
party to bring documents to your office,
in which case they are discoverable --
always inspect them at the third party's
premises in case any of them may actually
help or even exonerate your opponent.
I make a jibe about the morality of
lawyers which has the judge murmuring,
"Quite, quite," and S. wincing and trying
to hide behind our mound of files. Being
the only non-lawyer in the packed room I
can afford the remark.
I point out that I am a small,
powerless, litigant-in-person, totally
ignorant of the law, up against a wealthy,
conniving, clever, cunning, and
unscrupulous firm of solicitors, so I have
to rely on the protection of the Court
from fraudulent methods such as these.
This is not the first time that
Lipstadt's lawyers have tried to hide
documents from me, I recall: I remind the
Court of the saga of Document
No. 500, and of the entire categories
of documents before that -- all of which
have only been produced after I served
summonses on her. Master Trench inquires
about No. 500 -- "What is that?"
"That is a secret 25-page report on me,
Master, compiled by a Canadian Jewish
body," I explain. Thus they have now
proven that I cannot expect a fair trial
(one of the prerequisites for the defence
to be struck out).
As for the three rogue videos which
have triggered today's action, I add, it
is an Act of God that has led the Enemy to
bounce their ball over my fence; now they
are pleading to have their ball back.
God had disposed that the ball
bounced my way; it is for Master Trench,
as God's servant, to ensure that these
wicked lawyers are punished and I am
protected from such machinations in
S. winces again. The pile of files in
front of her is not high enough to hide
Around 4:20 p.m. the judge looks at the
clock, and asks how long we expect this
hearing to take, as he has an invitation
to a party at four-thirty, to celebrate
the Issue of the Last Writ (as from
Monday, new Rules come into force). I
offer to withdraw for a while, but he
says: "No, I'd prefer to carry on here,
this is much more interesting.")
He is clearly angry that Lipstadt
failed to identify these videos in her
lists. "How can a litigant trust the
assertion of privilege if he does not know
what the documents are?" he asks. And:
"How is Mr Irving to know what documents
to challenge on privilege if you do not
even list them?" "I really think these
videos should have been listed," he
Then: "I can understand the Plaintiff's
suspicion, but I don't think it goes so
far as to say that the Second Defendant
acted in the way set out in the
That is, fraudulently. He will
therefore not order Lipstadt's defence
struck out, since James Libson in his
affidavit has successfully fudged the
crucial issue as to whether those videos
we obtained were "copies of originals" or
"originals of copies."
Instead he invites Mishcon to set out
in an open letter to me a list of any
other documents that they have up their
sleeve, to enable me to challenge
Anthony Julius leaps to his feet and
instructs counsel to request that the
Court state explicitly a finding that
Deborah Lipstadt has not sworn a
fraudulent affidavit. I interject that
James Libson has tried to the very 11th
hour to pretend that all three videos are
privileged, when they aren't; that he has
pretended that they are copies, and thus
privileged, whereas their type reveals
that they are clearly originals, from
inside the actual newsreel camera. I add
that Mr Libson has given an undertaking
only yesterday to bring the original
videos to the Court today, which undertaking
he has not kept.
That sinks them, and Master Trench
pronounces that he will not declare
that Deborah Lipstadt has not sworn a
false affidavit "fraudulently and with
intent to deceive me".
This is highly unpleasant for the
There remains the issue of costs.
Master Trench has already made plain that,
given what he has heard of Mishcon's
behaviour, "This will have a bearing when
it comes to any application for costs."
Mishcon themselves suggest that no order
for costs be made. My own costs are
minimal; theirs again probably of the
order of ten thousand pounds.
This complaint about Mishcon's goes at
once to the Office for the Supervision of
This firm of solicitors had
inadvertently sent three videos to me,
which they had not properly discovered
to me in the above matter. Prior to a
hearing of my application for a
suitable Order before Master Trench
today, they demanded the videos'
I wrote to them yesterday
(enclosure) stating my willingness to
return to them the original videos on
their undertaking to produce them in
Court today. This undertaking they
breached, and did not bring the videos
This is a serious breach which is
not without consequence for the conduct
of this case and I ask that you apply
the proper sanctions against this firm
and inform me of what steps you have
I work until two a.m. on paperwork.
U comes, uninvited; I toss him out
after ten minutes. I strongly suspect
who's behind him.
A Mr Leon Simmons also sends to
me persistent queries about the Holocaust.
Leon, -- I am up against a law
firm that is unscrupulous, cunning and
devious (as witness their attempts to
conceal video cassettes that would have
benefited my case).
I suspect that they are bombarding
me with e-mails from around the world
in an attempt to prise some incautious
remark from me which they can then take
out of context, splice together with
others, and use.
Rather than try to identify the
culprits, I place all such e-mails,
however innocent they may actually be,
in a folder marked: "agents
provocateurs", and give only the most
ON SATURDAY a nail bomb detonated in
Brick Lane, in the East End of London
where the street signs are written in both
English and Urdu.
According to the newspapers, a
passer-by saw the heavy sports bag
standing by itself, and picked it up and
placed it in the trunk of his very nice
red car and locked it.
We have this gentleman's word for it
that before the nasty shock of seeing his
car thereupon blow up before his eyes in a
ball of fire, he had taken the bag "to the
nearest police station" but found the
doors locked; whereupon, he says, he
returned, still carrying the bomb, meaning
to drive it to another police station with
more amenable opening hours.
I suppose the East End always has bred
rather odd characters. We must remark upon
the sense of public duty of this ethnic
gentleman, who finding a sports bag
identical to the one widely publicised as
containing the nail-bomb that devastated
Brixton, a Black community in south
London, only one Saturday before, did not
leave it well alone, but picked it up and
placed it in the trunk of his evidently
This gentleman is last seen in the
newspapers as being "interviewed by
police" -- in any other circumstances he
would be regarded quite improperly as a
pickpocket or bag snatcher. Being far less
brave myself, I confess I would have given
such a bag a very wide berth indeed.
There are however other noteworthy
features of this "Nazi nail bomb"
The news came at a convenient moment to
divert newspaper attention from the
increasingly shameful spectacle of Nato-
mangled civilians in Serbia, where Mr
Tony Blair's brave bomber offensive
has just wrought such famous victories as
flattening an evil TV make-up girl, a
dangerous tool of Milosevic's
propaganda weapon, beneath tons of
Belgrade television studio debris, in a
building-pancake oddly reminiscent of the
Alfred P Murrah Federal Building in
So who did plant the nail-bomb in
Combat 18, a fictitious "right wing
extremist" body which I believe has in
fact as much flesh on its bones as Mr
Abu ("they seek him here, there
seek him there") Nidal? After all
Combat 18 is evidently boneheaded enough
to phone-in its claim to having fathered
the Brixton Bomb from a pay-phone in the
street where Stephen Lawrence's
alleged racist killers lived. Duh?
Perhaps the Brick Street weapon was
planted by the U.S. Central Intelligence
Agency, trying to take the heat off
President Bill Clinton -- who that
very day was speaking of the school
massacre at Littleton, Colorado, a little
town in mid-America which I know well,
having spoken half a dozen times to
Ordinary Americans in a little bookshop in
its centre: Mr Clinton spoke in properly
measured presidential tones of people who
try to make politics by using violence,
even as his high-tech bombers were doing
precisely that to the Littletons of
Or are the real culprits of Brixton and
Brick Street to be sought nearer home: I
ask only, cui bono? Whom do such
"Nazi nail-bombs" really benefit?
A clue: pre-empting any outcome of the
police inquiry, our widely loved Home
Secretary Jack Straw has hinted at
tougher laws to clamp down on the right
wing, revisionists, and "extremists".
London's newspapers this evening announce
that a vigilante body of five hundred
"armband-wearing" young men will patrol
the streets of Southall, the Indian suburb
of London, from now on: would these
musclemen be a million miles from the
Security Trust, we wonder (and we all
know who are behind them).
Are these bomb outrages an uglier
manifestation of the synagogue-daubing
self-mutilation sometimes practised by
such bodies when they need to attract
attention to themselves?
Whatever: I am proud to offer from my
own pocket one thousand pounds to add to
the police reward offered for the capture
of the Brixton Bomber, if (and only if) he
should turn out to be a bona fide member
of "Combat 18." I feel my money is quite