Diary: February 15, 2013

Real History, and a Radical’s Diary

hebj
Documents on the First
They
no longer wear the jackboots and
armbands, but the heels still click
compliance, and they still jail people
on orders from above.

[Previous
Radical’s
Diary]

Tuesday,
January 1, 2013
Eton,
UK.

THE cold sunshine is sweeping the meadow behind this house. It has been raining solidly since I came back from Florida.
I only really resumed the writing of
Himmler when I settled into Key West last month at the end of the second US tour.

I wonder if J. is happy in Australia, and whether it will stay that way. The baby will provide her with a solid axis for her next few years.

My fan base has grown through my activism, and my closing timetable of life appears to be on track, provided God has no earlier plans for me. I should get the last three books (Himmler, Churchill vol. III and memoirs) off the stocks and down the slips into the public stream before the stoplight turns to red.

I do not forget brother John’s warning words a few years back: “You thought you could do it but when the time comes you’ll find that you can’t” — meaning that energy and brain batteries have drained too far. I shall not lose sight of the goal, provided that I don’t fall short of it.

I might even get down to Australia this year;
I shall start wheels moving in a few days. . . I shall carry Jessica back to University, and stay here until the end of January.

I inform Albert: “I fly to Miami Jan 31
arriving 6:20 pm; I have booked the ticket today.”

I spend much of the evening drafting a letter to the Australian prime minister Julia
Gillard, who is unfortunately known however to be heavily influenced by Israel. Her husband is a lobbyist for that sh*tty little country (to quote the French ambassador).

I have been reading interrogation reports, all day. This Himmler task is never-ending. Without the financial support from around the world the book could never make economic sense. No historian can otherwise afford to work fifteen, now sixteen, years on one man’s life. Over one-third as long as it took Himmler actually to live it.

Wednesday,
January 2, 2013
Eton,
UK.

A long dreamladen night. I was in Germany, looking for locations for future meetings.

Thursday,
January 3, 2013
Eton,
UK.

I WRITE to the Imperial War Museum:

back
in the 1990s the IWM acquired (as a gift I
think) from a friend of mine, a wealthy
American, Stanley H., the roll(s) of
negative 35mm film taken by Hitler’s
Luftwaffe adjutant Nicholas von Below,
found in the ruins of the Berghof in 1945. Mr
H. showed me some prints when he visited me
in the West End in 1985 and I advised him
that the IWM was a suitable
repository.

Can
I come and review those images please. . . I will probably be able to identify a lot of the characters for you, the generals and staff etc., many of whom I personally knew. I am curious to see whether
Himmler was at Hitler’s famous August
22, 1939 “plain clothes” meeting, one of the subjects of Von Below’s images, as his own
1939 diary (which I found and which I suspect is wrong) has him in Berlin that day, not
Bavaria.

3:45 p.m. I pick up Jessica from Kensington
Church Street. We spend three happy hours shopping, strolling through Harrods, and at the
Cadogan. Not been to Harrods since I took J. there in 2009. . . At one point Jessica says without prompting she is really happy.

Friday,
January 4, 2013
Eton,
UK.

THE letter to Julia Gillard goes in final form as follows: “Dear Prime Minister
Gillard,

Today
I applied to your Minister for Immigration
and Citizenship for a visa to enter Australia
in order to conduct seminars, research in
your national archives, and visit my daughter
who is an Australian citizen and lives with
her husband and my two grandchildren in
Brisbane; all are Australian
citizens. . .

I conducted successful nationwide tours of
Australia and New Zealand until 1992. I continue to lecture in other countries including the United States where last year I drove 24,000 miles and spoke in a hundred cities including some universities. . .

During my second tour of Australia and New Zealand, in 1986, my famous biography of Winston
Churchill held the No. 1 position on The
Sydney Morning Herald bestseller list.

I have been refused entry into Australia since
1993, purportedly for not meeting an ad hoc
“public interest criterion of good character,” based on a German ban. Yet your security authorities and the Australian
Police advised The Hon. Paul Keating that there was no security reason for me to be refused entry. (I have copies of, but am of course not allowed to publish those documents.) It is in fact a free speech issue.

The
Munich courts have recently ruled that the
German ban on me is illegal under European
Union Law and ordered it lifted as from March
21 (to allow time for a possible appeal by
Berlin. Permission for Berlin to appeal has not yet been granted.)

Saturday,
January 5, 2013
Eton,
UK.

A FORMER Colorado student writes me:

Once
I get my 2012 tax refund money in, I’ll see
about sending you a donation. In one of your
YouTube speeches you mentioned “incest” among
history books, and you’re totally right. As
an example, I wasted a few dollars recently
getting Auschwitz: A New History by Laurence
Rees and the bibliography is horrifying. He
works for the BBC and baldfacedly plugs his
network in his sources. . .

No
original research, hastily assembled, and
clearly written as minimal labor/quick sell
for profit. Total garbage, and somehow he won
an award and sold many copies?!

I bought a copy of Hitler’s War from you in
2004 when you came to speak on the University of Colorado campus in Boulder. There were a few idiots in the back with an Israeli flag and some angry bone-thin Jewish man glowering in the back with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes making weird accusations. I was impressed with how you quickly shut them all up. Skinny man also glowered at me when we were all waiting out front to get into the building.

As she’s clearly a nice female, she gets a personal reply. Alas, whatever Hugo says, I do miss the companionship of J. I hope she’s okay, and happy in Australia.

Into Eton, and I post the letters to the
Australian Government.

Sunday,
January 6, 2013
Eton,
UK.

FINALLY a Theresa
M Box asks: “Mr. Irving, I would appreciate you telling me what your racial mix is. Thank you.” — I reply: “What an odd question. Family line goes back to Robert the Bruce in Scotland.
No Jewish blood so far as I know, not that I have asked.”

She persists: “And your mother?” — Blöd. I do not reply.

Monday,
January 7, 2013
Eton,
UK.

GLOOMY, overcast day. I get a query from
South Africa:

I reply: “I have been working on “Churchill’s
War”, vol. iii: “The Sundered Dream” over the past years, it is already complete but needs to be polished; it will not appear until about
2015. I have to finish my Himmler biography first, which is taking far longer than I anticipated. I hope to come and speak in SA before then.”

Hugo writes: “The quack today confirmed that
I did not have a cold but bacterial bronchitis.
He has prescribed antibiotics which I hope will have me restored in a day or two.”

I say: “Sounds like you have a doctor who
knows how to humour you, Hugo.”

“What! Don’t you believe what he told me?
Should I therefore throw the antibiotics away
and let nature be my healer?!”

“I would, but then I am not you.”

Hugo replies: “Well, the doctor was white, male and English so I believe him.. Anyway, I want to get better so, if the antibiotics do that, then I’m satisfied. I’ve had it now for nearly two weeks and it has only got steadily worse.”

I say: “My health policy is to steer clear of every pill and tablet. You have set your sails differently. We’ll see who has the last laugh!”

MORE good writing done on Himmler all day. It is a gigantic project. It is now beginning to resemble one of those half finished skyscraper buildings along the Mediterranean coast of Spain — the ground floors all completed and already occupied, the middle storeys still needing windows put in, the upper floors still a mess of girders and scaffolding and pallets, with tower cranes abandoned and swinging in the winds.

The “top floor” has however been in place for three years already now: the mystery of how he really died.

Robert
H Jackson, Chief US Prosecutor at Nuremberg, delivers his opening speech, November 1946: from
David Irving, “Nuremberg, the Last Battle”

Tuesday,
January 8, 2013
Eton,
UK.

A PATCHY sleep. Sam
Wallace writes: “Hi,”

I
have been reading your book, “Nuremberg, The
Last Battle”. On page 99 to 100, I came
across the following paragraph:

” HOW
GREAT were those losses? inquired Jackson, seeking a figure to use at the coming trial.
‘Six million,’ responded Dr Robinson, and indicated that the figure included Jews in all Nazi-occupied lands ‘from the Channel to
Stalingrad.’

Jackson noted that day: I was particularly interested in knowing the source and reliability of his estimate as I know no authentic data on it.”

Can you please provide me with the reference as to where did Jackson make a note of this? I assume you have read this in his works so if you could please pinpoint exactly, where I can go and read this sentence in Jackson’s writings I would appreciate it. This piece of information I feel is very important. Thank you for your time. Keep up the good work!

I reply: “Sure, the exact quotation is from the private diary of Robert H Jackson
himself, with permission to me from his son
William. It was held at the time by Professor
Philip Kurland of the Chicago Law School, who was commissioned to write a Jackson biography but never did, to my knowledge.”

I HAVE trouble remembering names from the past.
Kurwald, Kurland? Looking in the rear-view mirror of life, I fancy I see a thickening fog rolling in darkly from behind, and beginning to catch up with me.

Somebody writes from Holland:

Wasn’t
[Michael] Bloch a
friend of yours in the past? I know his
biography of Ribbentrop is mostly
based on secondary sources, but for lack of a
better alternative… Good luck on the
Himmler book!

p.s.
Martin Mansson from Sweden once published a photographic chronicle about
Himmler, could be a source for some nice pictures?

Grrr. I reply: “You sure know how to wind people up. Månsson borrowed all my expensively researched original photos, offering to identify the officers on them, and then published most of them without my permission!”

Wednesday,
January 9, 2013
Eton,
UK.

HUGO phones to say that the German ZDF TV team arrived an hour early, got their times wrong. I: will come at once.

I drive to his apartment in Kew: Three
Germans there. Karl-Heinz Höffkes
whom I have not seen for twenty-five years, is there, and he plies me with questions about private film sources on WW2; M. the ZDF producer, and the cameraman with some expensive equipment.

Says he has a photo of Odilo
Globocnik and Gauleiter Friedrich
Rainer after they committed suicide together, which differs from the official version that Globocnik poisoned himself in
British captivity, May 23, 1945. Hugo had showed them his original copy of the antisemitic book Der Giftpilz, The
Toadstool.

One of the ZDF team says that Fips, the artist who drew the extraordinarily clever illustrations was in fact a Jew. Wikipedia identifies Fips as Philipp Rupprecht (4
September 1900 — 4 April 1975) and does not mention his religion, but says he married an
Erna Blom in 1921, and was sentenced to six years prison in 1945 for his caricatures.
The power of the pen!

Unusually, the sun has come out for the whole day. M. is well primed with questions on
The
Hitler Diaries Scandal but I am primed with answers and a dozen photos for his use including
Otto Günsche, who played his part in
October 1982. The interview is a rollicking success and M. pronounces himself well satisfied. — I treat the whole story as a comedy, and reel it off chronologically for twenty minutes, date- and name-perfect throughout.

Having found to my discomfort that the entire
German Historikerschaft had fallen in behind me, I said, I decided to try for the double and on May 3, 1982 announced that the diaries could be genuine after all — just to have a laugh at the disarray of the aforementioned Historikerschaft as they tumbled over each other like Bandsmen about-turning at the Royal Tournament.

Because after all, I pointed out, the whole thing was about Entertainment, not History. One word was written over the whole episode, I said:
Greed, Geldgier.

M. IS curious about what happened at the
Wiesbaden television discussion panel on May 4,
1982, a few days after the big Hamburg press conference (right)

on April 25, 1983; I can recall only the Stern editor Peter
Koch afterwards privately showing me the 62
identical volumes of the Diaries, and my surprise that Hugh Trevor-Roper, on the line to the discussion panel from England, could not understand or speak German; but I praise
HT-R, and said I had sympathy for the pickle in which he found himself.

Sitting next to me on Newsnight HT-R described entering the safe in the Swiss bank, and the smell of “old paper” greeting him. I know that smell, I said, from the archives, and it is in fact one test for document-authenticity: the document is put in a sealed tin for a couple of days, the lid then lifted, and — sniff!

M. tells me privately that that swine Professor
Eberhard Jäckel (left) is now in a bad way, suffering from dementia, so I go easy on him. M. is curious about whether I shall come to Germany for my birthday.

We film for a couple of hours, then some
English-village-green shots on Kew Green, lunch at the Rose & Crown at Hugo’s invitation —
a very tough sirloin steak –, and I drive back to Eton.

At seven p.m I write to my fourth daughter, who lives in Brisbane: “Hello ‘Smudge’

I
am applying for a visa to come to Australia
and NZ at the end of the year. Do not hold
your breath, it is unlikely to be granted
without a fight. I would bring Jessica
perhaps. I have had to give all the details
they asked for, which I managed (apart from
Roger’s birthdate, never knew it). It would
be nice to see your new home, but as said, I
think the chance is less than five
percent.

Reinhold
M. tells me the YouTube film of The
Independent Mind is blocked in Germany. I post that on my front page:

David
Irving on Free Speech – interviewed for Rex
Blooomstein’s award-winning documentary An
Independent Mind (11 minutes). But: Seemingly
not available to the Germans: “This video is
not available in your country.” World safe
again, phew!

Kevin comments: “I told you – its a very powerful piece – not one your enemies will find helpful as it puts your case and position in a very favourable light.”

Thursday,
January 10, 2013
Eton,
UK.

AN anonymous writer comments: “As an admirer of your striving for objective factual history
— I do see strongly anti-semitic flavors.
Unwise to arm one’s opponents, surely? Centuries of discrimination and restriction have made the
Jewish communities very self-reliant and vigorously active.”

8:20 p.m I reply, “Thanks for your comments, but as an Englishman I have long learned to defend myself. It is not anti-semitism.”

THE BBC News programmes are dripping with self-flagellation over the Jimmy Saville
case. It makes me rather uneasy, in a probably unpopular way. I do not and did not ever like
Saville: he seemed over-rich, overweening, over-oozy with his programmes. He died four years ago, and much adulation surrounded this needlessly famous entertainer (and his desire to be buried at an angle, so that he could cast his gaze out across the North Sea).

Then it began to come out that he was the subject of allegations of paedophilia, which the
BBC had for various reasons covered up. I have no reason to believe he was not guilty of the general allegations; but I am concerned about the posthumous hounding, this easy, cheap and undangerous witch hunt, as allegation is mounted upon allegation, piled high, as the sensation and publicity-seeking “victims” now come forward to point their podgy fingers.

In my eyes the victim now is Saville himself, dead, his reputation not just tarnished, but ruined, with no chance of repair. This is not the British way of justice, or if it now is, it should not be. By all means, pursue, hound and disgrace the BBC and its nasty producers for tolerating this insufferable man, paying him a fortune, and their climate of corruption and concealment.

But de mortuis nil nisi bonum: speak no ill of the dead, and somebody must belatedly stand up for that principle.

Friday,
January 11, 2013
Eton
– Wiltshire – Eton, UK.

I DRIVE down to Wiltshire, and back with half a ton of books from the warehouse.

Hugo has written, about J.: “……” — I admonish him: “You still don’t seem to have appreciated; she was a once-in-a-lifetime companion.”

Supper at the Palmer Arms alone; I order a sea-bass, then change it to a chicken escalope which arrives after half an hour: like cardboard with sauce over it, plonked on top of a mound of uncooked green vegetables, and small soggy recooked new potatoes. I could not believe the meal could be so bad. I take one bite, plonk a twenty-pound note on the table after the waitress has come and asked if it is okay and gone — no reply — and stalk out. Grim.

Saturday,
January 12, 2013
Eton,
UK.

I
READ the British Military Police report on the
Rudolf Hess death [August 1987]
again.

It does seem prima facie pretty conclusive, but then such reports usually do; but the handwritten “suicide note” is strange, as it uses the very old-fashioned hs
letters for ß which I have only ever seen before in the Aumeier manuscripts, and in none of the genuine Hess manuscripts which I had the privilege of reading; and the “suicide note’s” German is illiterate, which is not characteristic of him at all.

The handwritten original is not in the file, which is also noteworthy. I recall it was several days before the Berlin authorities revealed the existence of a “suicide” note. It is said to have been written on the obverse of a typewritten letter he had received, after censorship, in July 1987.

An awful lot of the report and enclosures has been redacted, blanked out, including what appear to have been two earlier altercations with an American guard soldier [Jordan]
identified only as “2”, known to have been a confrontational, in-yer-face Negro whom Hess disliked allegedly for two reasons which are also blanked out, and who was the only prison escort on duty at the time of his death by strangulation.

The electrical cable had been knotted over a window latch with a double knot. I doubt that
Hess, aged 93, could have done that with his arthritis problem. “2” is stated to have removed the cable from Hess, which is handy as it would explain his fingerprints being on the cord —
but the report admits that no fingerprint tests were even attempted on the cord.

I recall that
Detlev Mehlis (now Senior Public
Prosecutor in the Office of the Attorney General in Berlin) mentioned to me, when he called on me at Duke Street, that the Berlin police had been instructed by the British Foreign Office to cease its own investigation of the death.

That must have been on January 5, 1989 when I noted that at 11 a.m. “Det Insp Dennis, Scotland
Yard called with Detlev Mehlis, of West Berlin
CID, re BDC thefts. Helped as much as I could.”
— It turned out that the deputy chief of the
Berlin Document Center had been secretly selling off its treasures to autograph hunters, for which felony he was eventually prosecuted.

James
Watson writes froim California:

I
just ordered Hitler’s War from Amazon and I’m
really looking forward to reading it. Toward
the end of last year I read a book entitled
“The
Third Reich” [by Prof Richard “Skunky”
Evans, right] which was probably
contrived entirely from secondary sources. It
read more like a 400+ page lecture on
morality than an effort to report events as
they actually happened. The approach you take
to history is a breath of fresh air.

I also recently read with great fascination the story of your last lecture tour through the
US. The thugs that destroyed your property in
Minnesota certainly have no concept of freedom of speech or association, let alone human decency or lawfulness.

I happened to read part of a website belonging to an organization that opposes you and they made it clear on the homepage that the goal was to disrupt as many of your peaceful events and to destroy as much of your property as possible. It took me by surprise that they advertise these goals so openly and that this happens in what I (until recently) understood to be a free country.

I reply: “You are up late! Thanks for buying the book, but the ones being sold on Amazon were stolen from my warehouse in Illinois some years ago. Buy future books from my webstore — then I benefit! I shall return to S California in about a year to speak.
In the summer I shall speak on the east coast.”

Into Farnham to load up boxes of books, then on into the West End. The meeting room gradually fills, and then even more come until there are over seventy and standing room only. I speak on
Hess, then we have an interval, and Hugo, who was working for the British Military Government in Berlin when Hess died, gives a very cogent talk on the situation of the Four Powers in
Berlin and the Rudolf Hess case.

Emails briefly, a fan letter from an Eastern European whose name I have lost:

OK.
Just to let you know that after reading your
books “Uprising”, “Banged up” I think that
you are not only a great historian, but also
a very good writer. I lived through German
occupation, Warsaw Uprising and Communism so
I know that your understanding of Communism
is exceptional and true.

Sunday,
January 13, 2013
Eton,
UK.

YET another inquiry: “I have been an avid reader of your work for quite a while, and I have always been amazed at your grasp of the
German language. . . The reason I emailed you is simply to ask you, as an
Englishman, how you came about learning the language. Did you take certain university classes or did you teach yourself. I have thought of taking college classes, unfortunately not many are offered in German, mostly in
Spanish of course, and the quality of those classes are up to debate.

I would simply like your opinion on what is the best way to learn this language. Thank you very much for your time.”

I reply: “I spent six or seven years at school 1947 to 1956 learning it to Advanced and
Scholarship level, then worked in a German steel mill, Thyssen’s, then had a year of it at the
London School of Economics in 1961; then had many German friends. Of course being banned from
German soil for twenty years has not advanced it for a while. Spanish, I had to learn phonetically, and I am still quietly shocked at the way some of their words like Hola turn out to be spelt.

The other four or five languages I learned different ways. I am still working on the American.”

HUGO, Kevin, and Jessica come for lunch; very pleasant, and I drive Jessica into Chiswick afterwards. Her vocabulary is astounding. She has put her cash into a savings account
. . . solid, intelligent girl. She does not get that from me, of course.

The other news today is that Austria has sentenced Gottfried Küssel to nine years in jail (the prosecutor demanded twenty) for running a right-wing Internet website: The charge? Wiederbetätigung. They can make that charge fit whatever crime they like.
That gives food for thought. They no longer wear the jackboots and armbands, but the heels still click compliance, and they still jail people on orders from above.

Monday,
January 14, 2013
Eton
– Lambeth – Eton, UK.

FIVE hours at the Imperial War Museum annex, reviewing after thirty years the Nicholas von
Below negatives found in the ruins of the
Berghof in 1945. Stanley H., president of
Chicago’s Hubbard broadcasting system, donated the rolls to the museum on my advice after visiting me in 1989.

My purpose was a simple one, to see whether
Himmler was at Hitler’s famous “plain clothes” audience of generals on the Berghof on August
22, 1939. His diary suggests, to my surprise, that he was not — that he saw Hitler alone the day before. He is not on the twenty negatives
Von Below took that day, in fact Himmler figures only two or three times among Below’s 310
negative frames, which seems to confirm it; nor was Karl Wolff present that day.
Hmmm.

To my delight however there is a series of ten or so pictures taken at Hitler’s Berghof conference of July 13, 1940, the one at which he decided to attack the Soviet Union, including the excellent picture I used on the front cover of Hitler’s War in 1977, given me by Alfred
Jodl‘s widow Louise with his handwritten note on the back: “Der Führer trifft eine wichtige Entscheidung, und es ist gut, dass man die Karten nicht erkennen kann.”

Back to Eton in drizzle and snow flakes, went online and back at Dawn’s at five p.m. I snooze for half an hour.

Tuesday,
January 15, 2013
Eton,
UK.

I UNLOAD nearly all the boxes of books into the storage unit, and leave the Pigmobile at a garage for the glow plug to be checked.

Wednesday,
January 16, 2013
Eton,
UK.

A READER, R. writes: “Are you still looking for money to publish a new edition of
Goebbels? That’s another book that I have just started reading (currently on his various girl friends). I am by no means wealthy; but, if you are asking for a loan of £8,000 I could manage that.”

I respond at once: “That would be great. Let me approach the printer for an up to date estimate and I will revert to you and we can discuss.”

A less-than well wisher Frank
Stone sends another hate-filled email.
It seems you can’t please them all.

I
read your recent complaint about how the
“crazed” gun lobby in MY country pours its
hate on you. I was one of the original
critics of the pathetic, Piers Morgan-like,
feel good, comment you posted after the Sand
Hook massacre. Since you took down the
idiotic, Jewish-spirited comment, I thought
that you gave it deeper thought and decided
to stay out of something that is none of your
business as a foreigner anyway.

While
I never contributed directly, I plan to set up a hedge fund exclusively for the benefit of persecuted historians, writers and activists. It seems that you became Judaized over time, like a prison guard who starts to become like the inmates he guards after a while. Jurgen Graf thinks that you have problematic personality traits.

Like the Jews, you seem to be unable to admit mistakes, you stick your nose into the business of others, especially in the light of our War of Independence against YOUR country’s oppressors.

He then sends two more emails which I delete, unread.

Thursday,
January 17, 2013
Eton,
UK.

LINDA
N. encloses a scan of the first part of In The Footsteps of
Livingstone by my father John Irving (published in 1920),
right, with my second daughter, in 1966.
It is the diary of my ancestor Alfred
Dolman, who was murdered and eaten by Blacks on his second visit to Dr Livingstone in South
Africa. I thank her:

Wow,
I have looked at the Dolman book scan. Can
you scan the rest so I can either post it
online or even reprint it? Are the pictures
in black and white? We (my late brother) has
them framed in colour.

She replies with some amusing news about
Dolman:

Turns
out he was something of a cad. Before setting
out on his final trek he stayed with a local
family — whites, of course. They had an
attractive daughter and you can guess what
transpired. There was a law on the books back
then that a man could have carnal knowledge
of an unmarried woman only if there was an
agreement beforehand that a marriage was to
follow immediately. Turns out he left without
keeping his end of the bargain and the
parents had him charged criminally.

Often
this was done to protect the family’s good
name if knowledge of the affair leaked out.
Naturally the case was dropped when he turned
up dead.

And there’s more bad news. Most of those drawings you attribute to Dolman were done by someone else. There was a British colonial bureaucrat of some sort in Cape Town who did the originals in his spare time. They were then reproduced and sold to tourists and other colonials. They’re fairly well-known. . .

No offense, but reading between the lines of his memoire, and with the other tidbits I’ve learned about him, I think he was a pretty nasty piece of work. He was crazy about guns and shooting things. He spent the entire trip by sea to Cape Town shooting at everything that moved — seagulls, dolphins, etc. Of course we’ll never know, but it wouldn’t surprise me at all if his African guide killed him after taking a bellyful of
Dolman’s abuse. And he always had liquor with him during his trek.

Who knows what really went on . .

Sounds like I am a chip off the old block

THE verbal abuse from the gun-worshippers does not abate. Somebody singing himself only as Don writes to me: “Sixty per cent (60%) of 4,000 US high school and college students polled stated their intention to buy guns after graduating from school and establishing households. If you’re scared of guns, stay in Britain where you belong. The tide here is turning against you.”

I reply: “I understand American college students don’t show up too brightly in their exam ratings either.” It’s, um, like shooting fish in a barrel.

Friday,
January 18, 2013
Eton,
UK.

I TAKE the load of Banged Up round to the storage unit, in falling snow. It is now crammed full. The snow messes up the minor roads badly and it takes an hour and a quarter to crawl back. Driving back into Eton I see three flights of Canada geese migrating
northwards … I guess they got confused.

Saturday,
January 19, 2013
Eton,
UK.

MORE hatemail over guns and my OpEd about it in the last Radical’s
Diary.

I reply to one: “If only you could see the way the whole world now looks at the United
States! It ain’t pretty. I have said my piece about your country’s stupid gun-worship. History will say the same, I expect.”

At eight the geese fly low overhead, heading back the other way. — Bob, Dawn’s black cat, sits at the window and watches. Dawn’s four other cats venerate him. He is their senior. He has beaten up every other cat in town. He is a field-marshal among cats. He has been around for sixteen years — that’s a hundred and twenty in cat years. He knows he is near the end.

He dribbles sometimes, or stands on a stool, his head slightly bowed, pondering life’s momentarily vital question: Why am I standing on this stool?

Sometimes he rolls off, one stiff leg flails out as he falls and catches a claw in the fabric, and he miaows quietly until a human comes to release him. Then he tramples slowly over me to get to the window shelf, pressing a bunch of keys on the keyboard with his paws, and sits all day staring out at his domain. It is very quiet around here. Cold, grey, overcast, and quiet. Another flight of geese goes past, honking loudly.

A Ruby writes me:

Hello
Mr. Irving, lately I have had a huge interest
in your work and, being an open-minded
person, have found your research to be
incredibly eye-opening. I have heard tales of
a new book coming out, is this a false
report?

I reply: “My next and possibly my last three books are “Himmler,” “Churchill’s War”, vol. ii:
“Triumph in Adversity” and Memoirs. You can read more about them here, or even better download our latest illustrated catalog of my works.”

BUDAPEST would have been very cold, anyway, and my overcoat has gone mysteriously missing.

Another anonymous
American ladels out more mindless hate:

America
is the only English speaking country you are
allowed to visit due to our First Amendment.
The First Amendment is held up because of the
Second Amendment. You are attacking the very
basis of the freedom you enjoy when you visit
us. Using your daughter’s death, who was not
killed by firearms in the first place, as a
prop, is disgusting. Now the Vatican joined
the Jews, Piers Morgan and David Irving in
attempting to undermine our Constitution.
Stay out of America.

There is a certain sameness about these writers. “Stay out of America”. How does he know how Josephine died, God rest her soul?

4:51 p.m I reply to one:

Please,
please look at yourselves through the eyes of
the outside world. Sand Hook was a disgusting
scandal, and would never have happened if
that crazy woman and her son had had no guns.
Six guns including machine guns. What on
earth did she need them for? I am not going
to be intimidated into thinking differently.
We do not have the sickness; the
gun-worshippers in the United States
do.

Sunday,
January 20, 2013
Eton,
UK.

JIM Cain and Carl
McCloskey send me hate mail about guns, so they are also removed from my list. Somebody appears to be orchestrating this tirade.

Monday,
January 21, 2013
Eton
– Chiswick – S W England – Eton, UK.

I LEAVE for Eton — to post a book — and
Jessica’s at eleven a.m. On the way, I drop in on Hugo and spend forty-five minutes with him.
Jessica has blonded her hair more, but is dissatisfied with it. I drive Jessica down the
M4 to the south-west to return her to the university, and her illness evaporates as we draw closer to the university. Much of the time of course she is listening to music, but I do get a few thin words in, edgeways.

She forbids me to accompany her into the building, apparently the fact that I am wearing sneakers annoys her. I explain that the snow and salt would wreck my leather shoes.

Tuesday,
January 22, 2013
Eton,
UK.

8:44 a.m I send this message to Jessica:
“Dear Jessica

I
was so glad to spend a couple of hours with
you yesterday driving you back to Bristol. It
took an hour and a half of horrid winding
lanes and hills to get to Dilton Marsh last
night, rush-hour. The cottage is undergoing a
major internal refit, and there were just a
few of my mother’s paintings on the walls and
a photo of my brother ýJohn and his
family.

Six hours on the road, three hundred miles, yesterday! Your Hall does look rather gaunt and cheerless but I know you will soon make tons more friends. Don’t let them use you or exploit you. Don’t lend money! I think that financially things will turn round for us this year, as I shall expand the number of books on my bookstore — foreign editions, etc. — and finish Himmler. In the summer I promise we will have a house to live in again, you and I, one way or another.

You have been lucky with your Danish grandparents, but that comes from their being so very impressed with you — no surprises there. I wish my mother and father could have seen you! . . . I am so pleased that you are growing up into such a beautiful and brainy lady.

Another gun-worshipper hurls hate at me:

Looks
like the anti-gun comments have done you in.
Maybe you should apologize to the American
people for supporting the gun grabbers. The
pro-gun people who believe in freedom of
speech and the right to bear arms were your
main supporters. Remember those Gun Shows you
used to attend? I know because I know them
and they will not give you a thin dime again
without a apology.

Feel free to return to your third-world-overrun UK hellhole which is ten years ahead of the USA.
We can fight while the gunless White
Britain’s [sic] will be murdered in the street by their Jew ridden “Diversity” government and criminals. Great future for you over their [sic] when they enslave your children and ban your books.

A quick check shows he has never contributed.
He spends his money on guns and bullets, not
Real History.

At 9:07 p.m I send him my now standard reply:

If
only you could see the way the whole world
now looks at the United States! It ain’t
pretty. I have said my piece about your
country’s stupid gun-worship. History will
say the same, I expect.

I have zero sympathy, and nothing in common with, people who find phoney “Second
Amendment” excuses for the mad woman who
“legally” kept six hand-guns and machine guns which killed twenty innocent infants in
Connecticut.

Wednesday,
January 23, 2013
Eton,
UK.

TERRIBLY slow Internet connection at the cafe. One of the 125 messages this morning is from Australia, rejecting my application for a
Visa. They seem to have written me a letter dated January 10, but it has not arrived here.

Thursday,
January 24, 2013
Eton,
UK.

I MUST go into Windsor today to get some
Internet top-up for the dongle. (From
“some…” onwards that sentence would have been gobbledegook ten years ago.)

10 a.m I drive into Eton High Street, cross the bridge on foot and power-walk up the hill to
Windsor castle and NatWest bank, first time since the new hip. I buy top-up for the Vodafone dongle then walk back down to the van. The woman insists that five pounds is enough. I tried to get fifteen. Back at the house, the five pounds top-up does not work, it has to be fifteen.

AT seven pm Dawn’s son Terry comes. They have an appointment with the veterinarian for Bob, their old black cat. Terry kneels down and takes a last photo of Bob, who just glares at him in a senile kind of way, and they drive off.

After a while I heard a loud a loud honking outside, as flight after flight of Canada geese flap past in V-formation, perhaps two hundred of them, right over this house, heading north again
— what a spectacle, like Concorde, the
Spitfires and the Lancaster over Buckingham
Palace. I fear the worst for Bob.

Soon Dawn and her son are back, and I can hear her sobbing. Terry puts the empty cat basket up in a cupboard, and it is some time before Dawn comes into the sitting room, and tries to be her usual jovial self. I tell her how sorry I am. “He felt no pain,” is all she says.

My Florida historian friend writes: “I am also interested in your perspective on the
Longerich book. I find it terribly dry, but perhaps better than Padfield. Breitman’s book is brilliant, however.”

I respond:

You
will not be surprised to hear that I do not,
dare not, read other authors’ books. Reasons
in short:

(a)
depressing to do so, ones first reaction is:
I can never do as well as that;

(b)
accusations of plagiarism are worse than
being called a paedophile or holocaust denier
(Poor Stephen Ambrose).

(c)
risk of having one’s clean
think-outside-the-box ability polluted by the
errors, prejudices, bloody-mindedness of the
author concerned.

Longerich
is

deadly dull. He is dishonest. I could sing
a song about his bias and dishonesty. See my
dossier on him at /Legal/Penguin/experts/Longerich
and the laughable incident at
/online/98/10/RadDi271098.html

[You
may find those URLs are blocked on your
college systems].

Peter
Padfield’s “Himmler” I was commissioned
to read when it was a raw manuscript
submitted to Macmillans at their request.
(They never paid me). I hate to write reports
on other authors’ books.

Padfield’s was so
awful that after writing 200 pp of
double-spaced notes and suggestions, I gave
up, telling Macmillan’s “You are never going
to publish it.”

I
was wrong. It was based just on a dozen
books: That can be done — depending on which
dozen. He chose Kersten, Rauschning, Ciano
etc, and I gave up in disgust. His use of
German words was so random and erratic that I
assumed, perhaps wrongly, he had no knowledge
of the language.

When his book came out, I
saw he had adopted a lot of my material in my
comments. -I agree with your views on
Breitmann, though I have not read his book on
Himmler. The simple divide is always: Has an
author waded through T175 [a US National
Archives microfilm series], or has he
not.

My friend replies: “Your comments on Padfield make me laugh, for the book has the feel of being an early draft and one very disorganized.
The book is a mess, really. Longerich’s thick doorstop volume has barbiturate qualities. I can’t read more than a dozen pages without glossing over. Other than Breitman, there has yet to be a good Himmler biography. Good news for you.”

Friday,
January 25, 2013
Eton,
UK.

ONE overnight book sale, $105, and a $1,000
donation, which cheers me. Uh no, not a donation, it is a deposit on two more bookings for this September’s
Wolf’s Lair tour which is even better, two more Australians. I thank them: “I have applied yet again for a visa to come to Australia but yesterday I was refused yet again. Banned for the last twenty years. Go figure!”

I write to Jessica: “I read your paper this morning Jessica, and it is way above my pay-grade, which means I am terrifically impressed. My only comments are editing-type comments: break up some of the longer paragraphs perhaps, and do not centre quotes, but indent them (push them to the right a bit).”

My Florida friend sends me stuff on Himmler’s concubine, Hedwig Potthast, and I forward it to Hugo: “This American researcher has been useful to us; a fast and productive hod carrier”
— the latter remark being meant as a gentle prod.

Saturday,
January 26, 2013
Eton,
UK.

I AM busy re-transcribing the original
German-language diary of Frau Himmler today. The
American partial transcript is very
dürftig.

Sunday,
January 27, 2013
Eton,
UK.

A soggy morning, but the sun breaks through by nine-thirty. Another gun-worshipper writes me, no doubt from the USA:

Greetings!
I have the highest regard & respect for
the great work you do regarding historical
truth. Regarding your recent comments about
the right to self-defense in America: when a
300-pound gorilla and his 5 homeboys show up
on my doorstep, what should I do? Call the
police? Or put some lead in their Black
asses?

Jack
Stanley writes me from New Jersey: “I am a late bloomer in discovering Mr Irving. I live in
New Jersey in the USA and discovered Mr Irving 2
years ago. I have been buying his books and savoring them. As an historian who studied in a very different field. (Thomas Edison) I spent several years going through Edison’s papers and was told that my work was not right. Not like the other historians who use each others books.

I was eventually locked out of my own museum and job and spend a few years rediscovering myself.
This is when I discovered Mr Irving and saw someone I truly understand. . . I bought 2 leather bound copies of Hitler’s War. I would like to if possible purchase 2 book plates with Mr Irving’s autograph. These books are for my life and I wish to pass them off to my nephew in time as he is a budding historian.”

I reply: “I will be more than happy to oblige you in any way I can about my books. I am often in NJ (this coming fall probably on a speaking tour again).”

THE gun freaks don’t give up: Al
Bluestone writes from California:

If the person who claimed to be a past contributor was anonymous how would you know he never contributed? You shot yourself in the head and the balls with your utterly stupid, hysterical comments on guns. Thank God we are not yet a shitty tenth rate socialist police state like
Britain, no longer great.

As an old Jewboy myself and revisionist including the shoah business I say Good Riddance to you from our ranks. You come off like a candyass pseudo-Right version of Piers Morgan. After that stupidass lawsuit and your mea culpa in Vienna we don’t need you. Like Weber you are just another Communazi. —
F*ck
Off, Al Bluestone

He gets the standard answer, plus: “His email address is not on our database. Hence he has never contributed.”

— It is evident that some gun magazine has plastered my name and views somewhere.

Hugo phones, has just found that The
Sunday Times magazine has a lengthy (eight-page) article about me and our inspection of Majdanek concentration camp in September 2011
(above). It is by Will Storr, the journalist we allowed to come on the tour.

At 7:34 p.m there is an odd phone call on my cellphone from “No number”, a very North London
Jewish-sounding male, ca 40. “Is there a
landline where I can call you on?” – Who is that? — “I am from The Sunday
Times.”

I said: “You can call me on this line. You can speak to me on this line.” He said, “The line is bad, [It isn’t] I will call you again.”

Luckily, I don’t hold my breath, as he does not call again. He did not sound like a journalist. Why would he want my landline number if not to locate where I am actually housed —
and what kind of nuisance was he planning then?

Nice fan mail from a stranger, an Associate Professor in New
York:

I
just wanted to send you a note to tell you
how much I have enjoyed your books through
the years, and I hope to continue reading
your books into the future. I was wondering
why there is not a major book in English, (as
far I know), about Hans Lammers? I
would think he would be an excellent subject
for a book because of his knowledge, and
relationship to Hitler as head of the Reich
Chancellery. Imagine what we would learn from
any of his writings had he left any.

I have
always felt that Lammers would be a great
subject for a book. With your superior
knowledge of all the people in the Reich
government, you would be doing the history
community a favor for writing such a book. I
was wondering if you had ever considered
writing a book about him?

I reply, “I know one or two colleagues who have expressed interest in Lammers. I spent some time searching in vain for his diaries. They were looted in Berchtesgaden, May 1945. The
French Moroccan troops [Blacks] raped his wife and daughter also, and they committed suicide in consequence.”

Monday,
January 28, 2013
Eton,
UK.

I SEND belated birthday greetings to Beatrice in Brisbane, and the latest photo of
Jessica:

Hope
you are not being swept away by the rains . .
. Australia again refused me a visa, so I
shall proceed slowly to the next step. All
the best to you all, love, Daddy

Robert M writes: “Having just returned from a gloriously cold Berlin I read the article about you in The Sunday Times colour supplement. I wondered if you had had any suspicions that this fellow was a turncoat? I thought that despite its tone, your responses were as expected, concise and factual. I think, if impartially read the ‘Real History’ shared view is there for all who wish to see it. I had to laugh at his amateur Freudian explainations, one wonders what drives such people.

I just hope a little of what you said settled into the mind of that little rat.”

I reply at 8:20 p.m.

Yes
Robert, the guy – I don’t remember him using
that name – identified himself to Jaenelle on
the first day as a journalist. I hesitated.
He told me he was a wannabe book writer.
After chatting with him I saw little prospect
that he would write anything publishable, and
the article has confirmed my view. He has
invented names for our guests, and even
invented a guest on our tour with an SS
Leibstandarte tattoo on his neck (which is
quite untrue).

Tuesday,
January 29, 2013
Eton,
UK.

I ARRIVE at Hugo’s at two p.m. and spend two hours or more with him going through his research files.

A teacher near Munich writes to me:

I
teach history just outside Dachau and have a
student writing her research paper on whether
Hitler had suffered from Parkinson’s. In your
treatment of Dr. Morell no mention of this
conditionn appears to be made, whilst in the
The War Path you state that “Morell
diagnosed these tremors as the first symptoms
of Parkinson’s Disease.”

Given that this question has only apparently come up recently (certainly none in Hitler’s inner circle made any connection to this disease), may I ask for your take? Personally, I feel that if Htler is essentially being given a death sentence in 1940, this could explain his decision to attack the USSR when he did.

I reply:

You
do not say which book you use — In the
earliest book
Wie
krank war Hitler
wirklich
(Heyne Verlag) this may be true. But see the
latest edition of my The
Secret Diaries of Hitler’s
Doctor,
and there is no doubt, from Morell’s own
diaries (and Hitler’s desk diary — see the
final
chapters of my Hitler’s
War).
Both books are free downloads online.

He thanks me for taking the time to respond so quickly: “I visit your site frequently (at home as it is blocked at my school) and appreciate your taking the time out to respond to a request out of the blue. I grew up reading your books and my students now rely on them for their historiography thanks to their accessibility and focus beyond what is usually presented.

In fact, your seminal book on Dresden forms the basis of another of my seniors’ research papers this year, specifically the military considerations behind the bombing.”

Wednesday,
January 30, 2013
Eton,
UK.

TEN hour flight tomorrow, plusa four-hour drive, and Albert says the apartment is not available for another two days, so he’s putting me somewhere else for those. Grrr. I will have no summer clothes. Here that matters not, but in
Key West….

Thursday,
January 31, 2013
Eton,
UK – Miami – Key West, Florida, USA

DAWN drives me to Terminal Five at eleven-thirty a.m. and the plane departs about half an hour late at 2pm. We fly high over
Windsor castle, which looks very insignificant at this height, and then cross over Lake End
Road but the clouds envelope us before I can detect LEH. Unfortunately my chosen seat, which on their online airplane map has empty space in front of it, has the bulkhead, so it has less even leg room than normal.

A truly horrible ten-hour flight in consequence, as my knees gradually freeze into position with only about three inches forward and backward room to exercise them. At
Immigration in Miami the sweltering hall is packed with perhaps 5,000 arrivals in an endless serpentine. I manage to wangle myself into an express-connection line, and even then four or five late comers are shoehorned into it in front of me.

I hear my US phone ringing on in my pocket, and it turns out that Albert is in Miami to pick me up — with a U-Haul truck. I can hardly refuse, though I have prepaid a non-refundable
Avis rental car. It takes ninety minutes to clear Immigration and Customs and then half an hour (and ten more phone calls) for Albert to find me while I wait outside the terminal, swaying from exhaustion.

I do not think I could have driven on, and I tell Albert that I cannot safely offer to share the drive down the Keys. The truck of course has no back-and-forth movement whatever on the very upright passenger seat, nor can it be reclined even half an inch. It seems to have no suspension either. I fall asleep at once, upright, waking occasionally as it pitches and yaws and thuds over every pothole down the
Overseas Highway.

At 12:05 a.m. we pull up outside the house.
That is five a.m. in UK time. Of course I now have no rental car for tomorrow’s errands —
picking up a huge wodge of packaging etc. from
Office Depot, which I can’t do with the bike. I plan, and Albert un-plans, but he means well.

Friday,
February 1, 2013
Key
West, Florida, USA

THREE hundred dollars donations online since yesterday. I thank the two donors: “I flew to the US yesterday, a ten-hour flight, followed by a three hour drive, and I will be writing here for the next six months, finishing “Himmler”.
Once again, thank you for your generosity.”

Hugo inquires: “Were there no pretty stewardesses to distract you from your discomfort — or were there only pretty stewards mincing to and fro and calling everyone love?”

I reply:

Stewardesses.
Yes, there was one, I chatted with her five
minutes as we stood waiting to get off the
plane. She asked how old my Globetrotter
suitcase is, it is battered but steadfast,
and I said: thirty-six, ten years older than
you. (She looked around 40).

He replies: “I take it you got her telephone number.” No, men are like ostriches, monogamous.
I don’t know if that includes those Down Under, though.

TO the Post Office then, and to my surprise there are substantial cheques in the box – two hundred dollars contributed by Thomas E., and
thirty thousand dollars from a Mike M. of
Rhode Island; hard to explain the latter, but then I read the covering letter: “Dear David, By the time you receive this letter, I will have .
. .” etc.

Oh dear, how sad. I now find also that the thankyou letter I mailed him on December 17 for his latest donation had been returned; I phone him but nobody answers. His magnificent final gesture will solve a raft of problems however.
We can get Goebbels back into print immediately, and much else.

Supper with Albert on Sugar Loaf Key. I have a bowl of corn and crab chowder. I discuss the legal position of a cheque from a dead man. He says he would not be surprised if the man’s bank has frozen his account. That had not occurred to me.

Himmler’s
concubine Hedwig Potthast drafted a
letter to her estranged parents on
Dec 2, 1941. We will pay a modest
reward to anybody who can transcribe
it. We have transcribed half so far. Click for enlargements.

Saturday,
February 2, 2013
Key
West, Florida, USA

NO book sales overnight. My Florida friend sends me the Hedwig Potthast letter (see above) dated Dec 2, 1941, which is in German shorthand, and says, “See what you can do with this.” I reply:

I
did, three years ago, see attached rough
transcript by my erstwhile secretary Jutta
P., who revealed to me after working for me
for nearly twenty years (!!) in 1977 that her
husband was the son of the July 20 traitor
General der Infanterie Georg Thomas of the
Wehrwirtschaftsstab OKW.

Monday,
February 4, 2013
Key
West, Florida, USA

A LADY in
Dublin writes: “Dear David,

I’m
very sorry that I never took the opportunity
to listen to your arguments before. If I had
I would have realised that you are an honest
man and an exemplary historian, using only
primary sources. I have finally stepped over
the invisible line that they put there to
scare people from revising history. And on
the other side I found brave solitary figures
like yourself. The internet will lead a new
generation to revising Allied propaganda.

There are many hours of your speeches online
which anyone can listen to as soon as they
decide that it’s time to ask questions. Thank
you for fighting for so long.

I bike out to Stock Island for supper. There is a strong headwind going out, which has completely dropped by the time I come back. Not a wisp stirs the palmtree-tops, the flags hang limp as a whiskey-dick. Grrr.

I write to Jessica, “Interested to hear from
Hugo that you are taking up drawing again.
Beatrice was very good at that, and so was poor
Josephine, God rest her soul. You may find there is an art club at the university, like the one I used to go to at Imperial College. Keep me informed please. Hugo was delighted that you asked him, very flattered.”

Wednesday,
February 6, 2013
Key
West, Florida, USA

I ADD add to Jessica: “Art materials. Buy a
putty-rubber. That is the correct stuff, not Blue-Tag. I used to use a putty-rubber all the time. You can knead it into a fine point, and re-knead it when it gets dirty.”

AT 10:33 a.m my local bank phones, the late Mike
M.’s $30,000 cheque has been returned,
” ACCOUNT CLOSED.” Not entirely unexpected, but rather a blow.

My lower back is hurting. At 9.16 p.m. a man phones from California, M.’s elderly father.
Yes, that was his son, he says soberly, he killed himself on December 15. I commiserate with him, I know how he must be feeling. He says he has still not got over it. Without going into any further details, I express my condolences.
How terribly sad, and how sad for the father.

Reminds me of the guy in San Mateo who left me his entire estate, two million dollars, over ten years ago. The lawyer who dealt with my friend’s estate confirmed it to me when I called at her office, ands added significantly: “I am not sure he got round to signing the will before he died…”

Fortunately
I am a Christian. The only gentleman into whose paunchy effigy I still stick needles is, uh, never mind.

My Florida friend has sent me his book on the
Malmedy “massacre”. I thank him: “Book is very handsome, I peeped inside already. It is roughly
‘where I came in,’ as I ordered the complete report of the Judge Edward L Van Roden commission of inquiry from the US National
Archives in 1963!”

In the evening I cycle over to the Rusty
Anchor. They have meanwhile stopped serving fish
‘n’ chips for supper, only for lunch. Greedy bastards. Back to the apartment by seven-thirty p.m. and I write more on Himmler.

Friday,
February 8, 2013
Key
West, Florida, USA

I READ The New York Times for a while, as I have written a lot this morning. — In the mailbox is a letter from the battling barrister
Doug Christie in British Columbia,
Canada. It has been slit open and resealed with a green-plastic official printed sticker reading, EXAMINED BY (and no name). Not seen those before.

Reminds me of those genuine Gestapo censorship labels I was once given given —
GESCHLOSSEN AM …

I printed up a few hundred in the 1960s and used them to seal letters to German civil servants, adding the signature Heinrich
Müller on the dotted line. The Gestapo chief has been “missing” since May 1945, but it may still have sent a chill down the odd Federal
German spine. If the Federal Germans still have one, that is.

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