PART 1  EAVING
MIAMI at eight a.m., I drive down in stages to Key
West, stopping at computer store in Coral Gables,
Office Max, etc. At three p.m. I phone Pittsburgh
-- James Rosenberg (ExpoMart's attorney),
then Judge Friedman's office, then the
prothonotary's office, then Friedman's office
again, then Rosenberg again. He reluctantly says
he'd take the Consent Order round this afternoon
(but I don't think he will).
Awake during the
night pondering the Pittsburgh bond problem; I
suspect Rosenberg is in league with G., trying to
drag out the settlement as long as possible until
G. can lodge his phoney claim on it. I might have
to drive up there just to see what I can do.
Horrible thought. This letter will go to Judge
Friedman in Pittsburgh, if Rosenberg has not acted
by this evening. I
regret that I again have to occupy your
attention with the release of the [$10,000
cash] bond posted on your Order on September
27 last year….I wrote you
on November 9 that attorney James Rosenberg of
Marcus & Shapira counsel, for the
Defendants, had just informed me that he had
assembled all the releases necessary to end the
above-captioned action, and had placed before
you the appropriate Motion. It appears that this
information was incorrect inasmuch as he had not
placed the Motion before you. I spoke with
Mr. Rosenberg on Wednesday this week (November
19) and he informed me that he could not place
the Motion before you as you were out of town.
This information was again incorrect, as I spoke
with your office a few minutes later at three
p.m. and your staff, after discussion with Your
Honour, informed me that you would make an Order
as soon as Mr. Rosenberg brought the Motion in
to you, which could be that same afternoon. I
notified Mr. Rosenberg of this by telephone and
fax; he agreed to act, but has again done
nothing to expedite this matter. It seems to
me that since I signed the Release, many months
ago, on the explicit understand-ing, stated in
writing to me by Mr. Rosenberg, that he would at
once make the said Motion ending the action, it
behoves him as an officer of the Court (a) to
keep his word; and (b) not to lie to me about
the absence of Your Honour, for whatever
motives. This does the
trick. At 5:30 Rosenberg's office faxes through a
sheaf of documents which appear to indicate that he
has now obtained the judge's signature. Now: the
last lap, to get that bond back. Is it by chance
that the fax comes after close of business for the
week? Or have I just a suspicious
nature? Cycle over to
the Rusty Anchor at 7, in pitch darkness;
fish-and-chips there. FedEx deliver
the US version of System 8.0 for my Macintosh; to
my rage, after spending two or three hours
installing it, Quark XPress still won't run. So
there. Then Microsoft Word turns out to be screwed
up by the reloading, which keeps me busy until
midnight looking for lost extensions. Read Sunday
papers at The Reach. Load OS.8 yet again, this time
wiping out every trace of the old British OS.8;
this time Quark XPress fires up without a murmur,
so that was the problem. But yesterday and today I
have done no constructive work at all -- just busy
with software problems. I phone the
prothonotary's bookkeeping office in Pittsburgh;
leave a message to call me, about getting the
$10,000 bond back. Supper at Rusty
Anchor. Howling headwind on the way out, and I bowl
back afterwards at about 50 mph! (Crash my bike
into a tree on the darkened boulevard on the way
out).  BAD
DREAM during the night. At 10 a.m. I phone the
prothonotary's bookkeeping office; she phones back,
discusses details of how to get the cheque she's
"cutting" today over to me. I shall not believe it
until I see it.
1:15 p.m. my
German lawyer Dr Schütz phones from Duke
Street, has the German court served any document on
me? Nothing. Discussion of what this all
means. Hope to resume
work on CHURCHILL'S
WAR, vol. ii
editing
in the evening, finally; but the flesh gives out
and I watch television instead. Breakfast at
Harpoon Harry's. Resumed work on
CHURCHILL'S
WAR, vol.
ii, at last. Bradley Smith
(CODOH)
returns my call. Reveals to me that D. is identical
to "Richard
Widmann",
and that B. is "Samuel
Crowell."
I lament this tendency among revisionists to hide
behind noms de plume. They should have the courage
to put their name and face where their mouth is, I
say. Smith says, "But
these are people who have careers." "So had I," I
point out. This fax to
Benté in London, so there's no
misunderstanding: A
reminder: do not on any account sign for any
registered etc. package that comes from an
unidentified source, Scotland Yard, the German
embassy, etc. All day editing
Churchill's War, vol. ii, another chapter
done. A chapter a day. I print out on paper, edit
in red ink, then transfer the corrections back to
the disc. It is ten or even twenty years since I
first drafted some of these chapters. They need
attention. Simultaneously the printer churns out
the addressed envelopes for the mail out of
AR.13
which I expect back on Monday or Tuesday. Canada
Post is on strike, which may cause
problems. The final
mail-out tally is: Inner Circle donors, 92
Canadian, 417 US, and 130 from the rest of the
world (not including the UK); other recipients, 202
from the main address lisst, then 44, 427, and 564
respectively (again not including the
UK). Up at eight a.m.
This fax to Benté (reflecting what I have
been brooding on for several hours during the
night) (with her subsequent scribble replies):
-- Has
there been a reply yet to my letter to Ian
Chapman, managing director of Macmillan
Ltd., protesting about their order to destroy
all remaining copies of my books? This is
important. [She doesn't think so but it
may be in mail she posted to me.]  AM
IS HERE and invites me to dinner alone at
Bagatelle. Pleasant evening, much gossip about
nefarious matters. We walk back in a steadily
increasing downpour, which drenches me to the
skin.
I send this fax
to Fredrick
Toben: I have
been in the United States for three weeks so I
have not heard from you or from [Immigration
Minister] Ruddock on my application for a
visa to attend your hearing. Good morning's
work on CHURCHILL'S
WAR, vol.
ii.
Continue editing work at The Reach, at a table next
to a girl whose breasts would certainly have gone
Bang if she left them in the microwave. Toben has not
replied, but there is a fax from
Benté: A
gentleman from New Scotland Yard telephoned here
this morning to inform you that the German
government has asked them to serve some papers
on you for the
court case
on December 11, 1997. I told him, that as far as
I was aware, you wouldn't be returning to London
before December 15. Ho-ho, so the
German government did it after all. But
Benté acted quite rightly, and I (a) fax the
above message to lawyer Schütz in Mainz, and
(b) fax to Benté congratulating her. In the
mail yesterday was a letter from the German Federal
Archives in Freiburg, asking for help on their
project locating records about Jews in Hitler's
army. What chutzpah. Cycle to Higgs
Beach; my knees now hurt when cycling. Getting
old. 6:30
P.M.
fax from Australian immigration
minister
Ruddock, refusing me entry for the
nth time, as I am of bad character (I had
applied to go as a witness for the Fredrick Toben
hearing). Quoi de neuf. 6:44 P.M. Toben
phones from Adelaide, Australia. I authorise him to
release everything including my proposed
witness
statement. Disgusting
wieners for supper. A (less than
diplomatic) press release by Toben, and a phone
message from Ed Wall in Australia: "David, I've got
some interesting news for you, will you give me a
call urgently." But his number has changed: it must
have a prefix he has forgotten to tell me
of.  AX
TO BENTE in London:
Pouring
with rain all night and day today, still doing
so, but warm. Trapped indoors. Spent yesterday
evening and this morning stuffing all the
ACTION
REPORTs,
but can't bike to Post Office with them
yet.Ed Wall
phoned during the night -- what else is new -- a
message that "something interesting" has
happened, and wants me to call. But the code for
Perth (West Australia) has changed, there's a
new prefix. Please get this from International
Inquiries. According to the
television, four inches of rain fell on us today.
After waiting in vain all day for the rain to
abate, I put on minimal clothing and pedal through
the downpour to the bank just before it closes. I
empty the bank account here to pay postage for the
ACTION
REPORT:
$350 is all I can draw. Coffee while I shelter from
the downpour, at the Croissant Shop, then on to the
post office, to buy hundreds of stamps. I find only
one sodden $50 bill in my pocket. I am frantic. I
phone the bank. Did they give me only $50, by
mistake? Later, the bank
phones back. Cashing up, they have found no
discrepancies today. The money is lost. Next morning, at
the Croissant Shop, I ask if anybody handed in any
money. They say, how much, and I say: three hundred
dollars. Yes, an English lady found the sodden
bundle of $50 bills on the floor and handed it in,
with her phone number. She lives in
Frances Street. It turns out to be the
orientalia-crammed house which I inspected for a
brief rental in 1995 but turned down because of the
little swimming pool in the sitting room; that
would have been the death of Jessica. She hands
over the six $50 bills and refuses to accept any
reward. I give her a copy of
CHURCHILL'S
WAR, vol.
I. I had mentally
written off the money, imagining I had enriched
some worthless teenage tourist, who had already
passed it off in the bars of Duval Street. But the
finder was English, and she handed it in. To the
English, this whole scenario seems perfectly
normal. Before I preen myself too much I remember
however that Key West's new English-born mayor
Mullins has announced she will set up a "tent city"
to house, nay attract, homeless winter bums who
descend on the island each winter. This act of
charity does not delight the island's hardworking
home-owners. Long phone call
back from Mark Weber, after I called him. He
sounds very prickly on the Willis Carto affair. I
try to teach value of conciliation. As for the
March 27 meeting, I say why not invite
John
Sack. He
says he's holding him for a big meeting. The IHR
should survive that long! Mail out rest of
ACTION
REPORT
in two tranches. During the
morning, a message on phone: Jessica's voice. Later
she phones again (twice) and I am in, a rambling
talk ensues involving the use of the word "Barbie"
once or twice. Jessica's holding a party for her
little friends tomorrow, if I got the story
right. Editing
CHURCHILL'S
WAR, vol. ii
most of the day. Good progress. Up at seven a.m.
To post office and post all mail, including a 52
lbs box of FP leaflets to IHR. Fortunately the
Pittsburgh cheque came; paid it in. Account
otherwise empty. Paid all bills and left Key West
at one for Miami airport. Usual hassle with
overweight trunks. 6:55 p.m.
British airways flight Miami to London. PEND
MUCH of the night reading Barbara C.'s manuscript
on her father, the Auschwitz commandant Arthur
Liebehenschel. Plane lands around eight a.m.
Struggle through Customs and airport with the 300
lbs of baggage; get to wrong bus terminal,
appalling signposting, so stop a passing cab
(illegal) and take it through jams to West End.
£42 fare. At Duke Street around 10 a.m. I stay
on my feet for a couple of hours dealing with
things, then flop into bed until three
p.m. Supper at
Spaghetti House. Jessica is in tears because nobody
wanted to look at the two Barbie dolls she was
carrying. It's tough being four. Lawyer
Schütz phones: confirms that the German
action has stalled for many months. He has looked
at the court
file.
Bonn
admits
the crime is of a political Delikt nature,
and the British will therefore possibly refuse to
cooperate. As Schütz points out, this is
probably what lay behind the
BND letter we have.
The case went to the Bundesjustizministerium to
decide whether there were Bedenken "politischer
Art" against proceeding against me; the German
embassy was consulted, then the Home Office where
one Simon Watkin agreed they would serve the papers
on me. I ask Schütz to obtain copies of all
these documents for me -- all of use to decorate
the coffin lid, as FM von Richthofen said of
each new medal he was awarded. Very soggy all
day from jet lag. Slept about five hours on the
sofa, etc. , gradually got up and running again.
Jessica is very affectionate. Jumps around all over
me; we spent much of the evening playing with the
101 Dalmatians CD-Rom. In the evening
after Lovell
White Durrant
phone that they're coming tomorrow 10 a.m. to
commence inspecting my Discovery, I find huge gaps
left by Benté and Alexis. About 100 items
missing; I have to search for them -- usually they
are clipped to other pages and thus misfiled in the
rest of the Discovery. Work much of the night on
this. 3.50 a.m. phone
Ed Wall (whose dialling code in Perth has
changed); he says that - he
approached ten or twelve more lawyers in
Victoria, all finally refused to touch the libel
action against Howard; but
- reading the
newspaper accounts of what
Howard said,
it's plain we could get another judicial review,
particularly since I have just again been
refused
entry
to Australia. I authorise him to approach our
barrister Peter Bates at once. That would
be a solution.
Bed at four
a.m., after working six hours solidly concluding
the preparation of the Observer Discovery
files for tomorrow (today). I intend to sleep until
10 a.m. but am wakened several times during the
morning by phone calls: -- At 9:30 a.m.
Lovell White lawyers phone to ask if they can come
tomorrow instead. Then two phone
calls from Biddles printers: the date of delivery
is now December 23. I mildly (wearily) point out
that they have by their delay thus lost us the
entire Christmas market, as the original delivery
date was December 9 (bad enough). N H phones,
wants to invest in FP. Big Christmas box presumably
of cakes (Lebkuchen), from Ruth
Tz. 2:12 p.m. Biddle
printers phone, offering now December 18. A
Thursday. I point out this is little improvement.
They have lost us our entire pre-Christmas
sales. NOTHER
horrible jet-lagged
night. Awake at 1:20 a.m., potter around opening
mail, back to bed, awake until seven a.m. Sleep
heavily then, and awakened by Jessica jumping up
and down on me for half an hour insisting that I
get up and bath her. 1:02 a.m. I
phone Ed Wall. He says the Government changed the
law striking out the grounds of "natural justice."
I say the courts don't like that sort of thing, the
law is above us all, including governments. Peter
Bates is looking up the case law at this moment. We
have until the 28th to file the case, by affidavit
etc as usual. I say that if Bates will submit an
Opinion that we have a reasonable chance of
winning, that should suffice with my fund raising
circles. Up at 8:30 a.m.
Snowing. Today's The Times reports Alan
Clark's testimony yesterday in the High Court in
his "passing off" action against The Evening
Standard. He is questioned about me. Then an elderly
Norwegian couple show up, unannounced, having
thought this would be a bookstore, and delighted to
find me in person at the address; stayed for an
hour gossiping. Lovell White
write asking for hundreds of documents, photocopies
of my entire Discovery, and setting impossible (but
perfectly legal) deadlines. Up at midnight
and work for four hours, searching for the items
Lovell White demand to see. Better luck than
expected, but it will be a long job. Back to sleep,
feeling unwell, around 4:10 a.m.; up at 8:30, and
back to bed until 10:30 a.m. Meanwhile Biddles had
phoned, no delivery of books today, coming
tomorrow. The Times
clipping, dated December 17, comes: a report of
Alan Clark's sworn testimony to the High Court the
day before. "He
agreed that he had seen some merit in a
controversial account of the Second World War by
David Irving, the extreme right-wing writer, but
denied going to a book-launch party at his
house." The latter words
are missing from a different clipping of the same
newspaper, so their lawyer may have ordered them
excised. Or they may have been added. Either way, a
rather odd statement, but Alan may have been
misreported. A German whose
name I did not catch visits unannounced around two
p.m., stayed an hour talking, and generally wrecked
my afternoon's work intentions. At four p.m. a
Fiona of Blakeway Productions calls for an hour's
talk about sources on Ribbentrop, a film they're
making for a BBC2 television series. Breakfast at
Ponti's with Jessica. Jessica proudly shows
everybody her new black party shoes. T
THREE p.m. finally the load of books
arrives -- half the consignment only. I
unload it into the apartment, then Jessica
and I take two boxes of them to Foyle's
bookshop, who seize them all greedily as a
man thirsting for water in a
desert. In the
evening I carry one of the pallets of
books, a ton of paper, upstairs.
Accordingly I sleep well
afterwards. In the
morning I take sample books to Harrods
with Jessica by bus -- Mr. Blackman wrings
his hands, and says, "After Christmas" --
and then on to Hatchards, who ask for
twenty at once. Benté
and Alexis working all day on invoicing
and parcelling books. Sleep soundly for an
hour on the sofa. Then
until one a.m. on
CHURCHILL'S
WAR,
vol. ii. Toning down a few of my
hypotheses on Pearl
Harbor. To
make them fit the evidence. Alexis
comes at 10 a.m. and works packaging
books, and then five hours transcribing
Sereny handwriting notes. Don
Bustion phones, a new book on Speer
mentions me a lot. 9:15 to
10:30 p.m. two long conversations with
lawyer A., about ... and a possible action
against Macmillan
Ltd. He
says if the Macmillan contract was with
e.g. Hodder's rather than with me, it is
much harder to make a claim: they have no
statutory duty to protect the interests of
a third party. A fiduciary duty to protect
my interests is more difficult to claim
against than, say, loss of earnings from
the sale by me at 95% profit of the 3,000
copies of HITLER'S
WAR which
they destroyed. He says I must make all
copies Lovell's ask for, their demand for
everything is not unusual, indeed it is
evidence they are frantically trawling for
anything that might help them. I work
four hours until three a.m. transcribing
Sereny's notes. Up at
9:15 a.m. our artist Mark George
phones; I say that I sent him a cheque two
days ago. Phone
bookbinders; they expect to deliver
tomorrow. That makes it pointless to rent
the van today. A shambles, in
short. Carry
remaining pallet of books upstairs in the
afternoon. 11 p.m.
draft a
three page letter
to Jack Straw, advising him not to
let his Home Office serve the German
government's documents on me. Registered
letter from Macmillan Ltd. They deny
everything, but seem puzzled that their
internal documents have got into the hands
of third parties. I write this
letter: Thank
you for your very full letter of
December 22, which shows that you are
taking this matter as seriously as I
do. I do not accept your arguments, and
you probably do not expect me
to.I am
taking High Court action against two
sets of defendants, as you may know
(Penguin
Books & Deborah
Lipstadt;
and The
Observer & Gitta
Sereny).
In the course of these actions, which
have both reached the stage of
Discovery, and elsewhere, certain
papers have come to light. In
particular the lawyers acting for
The Observer & Sereny have
obtained copies of substantial numbers
of original private letters passing
between yourselves and myself, and of
internal Macmillan
memoranda. | Today's
newspapers report the death at 86 of
Professor R V Jones, chief of
scientific Intelligence at M.I.6 during
the war. Another old friend thus shuffles
off this mortal coil -- in fact I assumed
he had died a couple of years back, as he
was very ailing when I last bumped into
him.  He
had dinner with us several times in
Paddington after 1963, when I was writing
THE
MARE'S NEST,
and came to Duke Street too. After I
stumbled across the Ultra secret, and
began asking him awkward questions, his
anguish became quite evident, as to have
talked about it was almost a hanging
offence in those days. I had
asked him how he got the data to do his
calculation of V-2 rocket (A4 Gerät)
production figures from -- the pilot
series rockets' serial numbers began, I
recall, with No. 17,000. He gave me the
standard answer, that British agents had
captured copies of the railroad shipping
papers relating to the test-rocket
fragments being shipped back from Blizna
(Heidelager), the proving ground in
Poland, to Peenemünde. But the
Peenemünde Abwehr-officer files which
I had seen laid down that as a security
measure, there were to be no railroad
shipping papers accompanying the fragments
whatever. Jones
turned a delicious pink when I confronted
him with this inconsistency, and went even
redder when I said that my own naive
deduction was that we were deciphering the
radio signals between Blizna and
Peenemünde, and extracting the serial
numbers from the intercepts. Bingo. But he
never admitted it (at the
time). When my
manuscript was ready in 1964, I had to
submit it to the Cabinet office for
clearance because of certain other papers
I had used. The opening chapter, titled
Enigma, revealed The Ultra Secret in all
its extraordinary detail, including the
use of electro-mechanical computers to
break the codes. The authorities threw a
fit, and my home and my publisher's office
were simultaneously raided by gentlemen in
belted raincoats who seized the
incriminating paperwork. I was summoned
before the Cabinet Office, and given a
stern lecture by one Geoffrey Evans (who
turned out to be chief security officer at
GCHQ) on my duties as an English
gentleman. Jones told me, twenty years
later, that Whitehall was trembling,
because I was one of the very people who
had come across the truth who had never
signed the Official Secrets Act. I kept
mum, and The Ultra Secret remained that
way until Wing Commander F W Winterbotham
published his book of that title in
1974. I did
not go empty-handed, however. A year or
two later, the Cabinet Office called me
out of the blue -- they had learned that I
was writing about Rommel, and had
something to show me. In that now familiar
suite of offices, I was shown a bulky
package on the polished mahogany table,
and invited to look inside. It was
Rommel's entire German Army personnel
file, in the original, from the very first
letters written by his father to the
Württemberg artillery, asking if they
had a vacancy for his young son, to the
final letters written by the field-marshal
after the Bomb Plot on Hitler's life in
1944. British forces had seized the file
from under the noses of their allies in
the American Zone of Germany in 1945, and
our government had quietly hung on to it
ever since. I was being given the first
privileged look into it. I
wondered why. Professor R V Jones
disclosed to me, a year or two ago, that
this was the government's way of saying
thank you to me, for keeping my mouth
shut. |
These
documents are, under the rules of the Supreme
Court, still privileged until they introduced
into court, at which time they come into the
public domain. That being so, I would prefer to
discuss my complaint personally, and I would
suggest a meeting with yourself or your legal
representative as soon as possible after your
return on January 6, to which I will bring the
papers to which I am referring. This will enable
you to prosecute your own inquiries.
Notwithstanding what you say about Macmillan's
policy, prima facie it would appear that
Roland Phillips or your predecessor Ms
Rubinstein turned over copies from your
firm's files to outsiders, with the intended
consequence of damaging me; but I may be doing
them a grave injustice by even suggesting this
possibility. Take Jessica out
to buy Christmas presents for her mama. Fax message to
Ed Wall in Australia reminding him that our 28 days
are rapidly expiring; hope he doesn't let me down
again.  HRISTMAS
DAY: Wakened
repeatedly by Jessica during the morning, eagerly
asking if she can open the presents. Like old
times! It must be burned into their microchip. Work
most of the evening on Discovery, until 3:30 a.m.
(around seven hours looking for the additional
documents).
Don Bustion
phones; a book on the Chinese atomic bomb has
favourable references to my works. I ask for
photocopies.  Supper
at Spaghetti House. Jessica calls out loudly to her
mother, "Mummy, when are you going to get married."
A real head-turner of a question.
12 midday second
van-load of GOEBBELS.
MASTERMIND OF THE THIRD REICH,
rest of the second print comes from Kings Lynn.
Unload it with two drivers in record
time. Fax from Ed Wall
in Australia: Peter Bates says nothing doing after
all, on judicial appeal against ban. Drive to
Dartford at 9:30 a.m., Book Shippers Associates;
their forklift driver was there, alone on duty for
just one hour, when I get there. Loaded two pallets
for Los Angeles and Illinois. Then drive to
Brentwood, left books for South Africa. Then to
Norwich, arrive three p.m., left books at the big
UK distributors. Then to Sudbury, ditto. Drive back
to London, arrive at Duke Street around 6:15 p.m.
Sleep like a log on the sofa, worn out, for hour
and a half. New
Year's Eve. Rise
at 7:50 a.m.; set off in van with Jessica as
"driver's mate" at 9:30 a.m. Call at Hatchard's,
Foyle's, Blackwells, and Waterstones; deliver books
to Dillons warehouse. Get rid of van
at 4:30 p.m.; Jessica exceptionally well behaved
all day, religiously buckles herself in with the
seat belt each time we start (but gets lost in
Selfridges book department, after burying herself
in Children's Books. She loves reading). I sleep
exhausted on sofa for an hour to 6:30 p.m.,
interrupted by a phone caller from Australia,
somebody wanting information on Leon
Degrelle. Supper at a restaurant with new FP
author Mark Deavin who comes with girlfriend
Ulrike, a pleasant Franconian girl of 27. When
Jessica and Benté go downstairs for a few
minutes with Ulrike, I remark: "Floods of tears, on
and off all day, but that's the age when they
behave like that." Punch-line: "And Jessica's a bit
of a handful too." Durrant's sends
me a clipping: The Sunday Times humorously
names me as Father of the Year, for having said to
Jessica: No, you can't be photographed with your
Teddy Bear, Teddy doesn't pay the school fees.
Can't remember having said it -- it would have been
to the photographer David Gamble anyway, not
to Marianne Macdonald the journalist. But
let's not spoil their fun; it's harmless
enough. This offer to
Mishcon's: I am as
tired of this whole business as no doubt you and
your clients the Board
of Deputies of British
Jews
are. They will appreciate that by circulating
that libellous
document
to the Canadians and others they inflicted very
serious financial damage on me world-wide. The
consequences for me were, as the judge remarked,
incalculable. Your clients escaped the
consequences only on a technicality, namely that
I was out of time, and I have spent the last
months amassing fresh data relative to their
actions.2. I am
prepared in the interests of community relations
to undertake to commence take no further
litigation against your clients in relation to
the libels that they published in that document
(notwithstanding that they dispute that there
were any libels.) The agreement could be drawn
up in proper form between us. 3. The quid
pro quo is that they should now drop their
pursuit of their costs. I don't think
they'll go along with that. | CONTINUED
| | 
write to David Irving