Documents on the International Campaign for Real History
Posted Wednesday, October 22, 2008
© Focal Point 2008 David Irving
Britain, a country which has survived and prospered for centuries without ministerial control of its justice, now goes the way of all the rest.
October 17, 2008 (Friday)
Windsor - London - Windsor (England)
INTO London at eleven for the court hearing at Horseferry Road. After an all-afternoon hearing, poor Fred Toben is again remanded in custody as a "flight risk." The female judge concentrates on his peripatetic life, the many stamps in his passport, the foreign countries still left on his air ticket, etc. She reserves judgment on the extradition until October 29.
A voice from the Past, Richard Morley, now a near-millionaire, writes to me from his new home town, Berlin. "Do tell us whenever you can visit Berlin -- so much to tell you."
He organised the Birmingham University function in about 1980: it turned very violent, and I had to be smuggled into the lecture theatre wearing fake clothes while somebody else went off in my suit as a decoy. The Left cannot debate; they understand only violence as a debating tool, and shriek foul when the Right responds.
October 18, 2008 (Saturday)
AN anonymous fan writes: "Hi David, -- I came across this little link: http://www.humanitas-international.org/holocaust/bios_p.htm. It suggests that one Moses Pinkeles, aka. Trebitsch-Lincoln, financed the Völkischer Beobachter. Is there any evidence to support this rumor?"
I reply: "I never came across that rumour before, but anything is possible with the Blame Deniers."
Blame Deniers. That is a phrase I dreamed up in the early hours of this morning; it is as meaningless, but as redolent of meaning, as their phrase the Holocaust Deniers. I suppose I am a Jack-the-Ripper Denier too. We could spend a lot of time attaching sticky-labels like these to our enemies; but we choose to do things more positively.
"It starts grey, then there are flashes of sunshine, but the temperature is early-autumn cool."
October 19, 2008 (Sunday)
FROM today, newspapers can review my new book Banged Up. In the old days I would have got up early to buy all the Sunday papers. My book would have been reviewed in pole position in half a dozen of the broadsheets. Today? What's the point? I have not changed; my writing quality has only improved. The editors are afraid.
Jae and Jessica prepare the house for the garden party. It starts grey, then there are flashes of sunshine, but the temperature is early-autumn cool. The bustle intensifies. Over the next hour or two, fifty or sixty guests arrive, and pack into the house and terrace outside. The kitchen warms to the smell of hot potatoes, stuffed with savory fillings.
Jae makes something she calls pinwheels, which are surprisingly good and in great demand. A Bishop comes, from Minnesota like herself, and my chief assistant S. quietly congratulates himself for not having worn his fake dog-collar today, a device that apparently impresses motorway police.
I have roped off the upper floors of the house, to keep the guests in bounds, and I hope I have left nothing compromising lying around below, because one never quite knows who has come slinking in with the crowd once the electric gates have opened.
"Jae makes something she calls pinwheels, which are in great demand"
Around five pm I call everybody into the drawing room. It is spacious, but we still find it a hard job to shoe-horn fifty people into the chairs and sofas. I shall have to buy a hundred stackable chairs, I think, for future functions. The space is so tight that there is no room for me to demonstrate Tom Wolfe's "pimp walk", which I adopted on my few visits to the prison yard in Vienna, to deter the rougher elements, rather as S. and his collar impressed the cops; there is much laughter and applause at the end.
"There is no room for me to demonstrate Tom Wolfe's pimp walk."
Jae and Jessica, who being family is not able to get in, hang around outside once or twice taking photos through the French windows, and ask afterwards what I have said.
As usual, my mind is a blank: about the Vienna ambush, probably, and my arrest at gunpoint, and imprisonment by Europe's new dictators; and then, the likely Reason Why.
I TELL them at the start my story of William Kimber's [my very first publisher] sudden summons to his office in Queen Anne's Gate in February 1968, and his warning to me about the conversation he had overheard behind him in the Garrick the night before, between two judges, plotting to destroy my name and reputation and to ruin me financially -- "There can be no compromising with Irving," he had heard one judge say. My book The Destruction of Convoy PQ.17 had just been published to wide acclaim.
There is much friendly laughter, for instance when I inquire whether Deborah Lipstadt, as she looks in her shaving mirror in the mornings, ever ponders on the reason why she and her friends are all so hated.
I tell my listeners that the European Arrest Warrant issued under the fast track procedure against Fred Toben alleges that he posted "anti-Semitic and revisionist" material on the Internet between 2000 and October 28, 2004 in Australia, Germany and other countries, and that he departs from the "generally accepted" version of history: is that not insidious, I ask?
There is incredulity. Why should anybody be arrested for criticising Jews? I challenge. Are they above criticism? Those who demand special treatment, I silently reflect, may not be surprised when they get Sonderbehandlung instead.
Are Rachel Corrie's parents to be arrested now as antisemites? What about the Palestinians in the Gaza Strip, are they entitled to be antisemitic now, or not? Even Mr Justice Gray, at the end of the Lipstadt Trial, said that I am entitled to be critical of the Jews who had used such evil methods against me, and that this cannot be termed antisemitism.
That our government has signed onto this nonsense is a scandal. I tell them that when I arrived back from that Austrian prison in 2006, and took a bus down Victoria Street a few days later, my jaw dropped as I saw the nameplate "Ministry of Justice" on some glitzy new building there.
Another of Tony Blair's great negative achievements during my absence -- what the Germans sardonically call his Errungenschaften: Britain, a country which has survived and prospered for centuries without ministerial control of its justice, now goes the way of all the rest. Was that, too, dictated to us by some nameless bureaucrat in Europe?
There is more loud applause at the end, twice, I forget why, and my guests pour out onto the terrace, now dark, and into the other rooms. One guest says he earlier saw a deer strolling across our lawns. Yes, a stately and heart-warming sight, but those Muntjack deer have munched through every single rosebush while I was away speaking across America: only the stumpy remains are left.
ANOTHER Hitler item comes up for sale -- a straw hat from 1936 with Adolf Hitler's signature. I warn Marie, the owner: "You will have to prove beyond doubt that it is genuine, with documents on its provenance." She replies: "I know whom my parents got it from. It was a Swedish wrestler who got it from Hitler himself when he was participating in the  Olympics in Berlin. He went up to The Führer, handed him the hat, and got the signature. My parents got it from their friend the wrestler. My father was also a sportsman."
October 20, 2008 (Monday)
A MAJOR Norwegian university has asked me to speak on free speech next year. I am proud to accept. ¡Vamos a ver!