Balder Ex-Libris - Irving DavidReview of books rare and missing2024-03-27T00:16:02+00:00urn:md5:aa728a70505b2fae05796923271581c2DotclearIrving David - True Himmlerurn:md5:d3e39cba143413be57147d1a83c422022021-05-24T13:31:00+01:002021-05-24T12:38:01+01:00balderIrving DavidFascismFührerGermanyThird Reich <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img4/Irving_David_-_True_Himmler.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>True Himmler</strong><br />
Year : 2020<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook3/Irving_David_-_True_Himmler.zip">Irving_David_-_True_Himmler.zip</a><br />
<br />
A Murder in Lüneburg. when lived to its full extent, a human life is a mansion of many rooms. That is what Heinrich Himmler had been brought up as a child to believe. But that was then, and this was now. To British eyes he cut a wretched figure, clad in an army shirt, socks, and underpants, and tripping over the grey blanket he clutched around his waist. Soldiers escorted him without ceremony up the six rain-soaked cement steps into the patrician house in Lüneburg in northern Germany, and bundled him into the octagonal front room. It was May 23, 1945. He was still young – only forty-four – but no fool: he may have sensed that this unseemly room, with its nineteenth-century red plush furniture, was the last room of all. Lieutenant-Colonel Michael ‘Spud’ Murphy, who was escorting him, would write that he had brought Himmler over to this house which he had had ‘prepared for such men as Himmler.’ Such men? Underlying the innocence of those few words there was something more sinister. Winston Churchill had himself drafted a secret directive for the Allied leaders to sign, proposing a list of fifty to one hundred Germans of high office, declaring them to be ‘world outlaws.’ They were to be executed immediately upon mere identification. ‘It would seem that the method of trials, conviction and judicial sentence is quite inappropriate,’ he argued, ‘for notorious ringleaders such as Hitler, Himmler, Goering, Goebbels, and Ribbentrop.’ The question of their fate was, he said, surely a political one. Only a few knew of the existence of this secret directive.* What happened next to Himmler is on the official record, and we can briefly summarise it from the words of those involved: Stripped for the second time that evening, naked but for his boots and stocking’d feet, and searched once more for the ubiquitous suicide capsule which all the guiltier “Nazis” were suspected of carrying, he stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by a dozen or so burly British officers and soldiers who offered various excuses to be present. The British Army medic, Captain C J L Wells – ‘Jimmie’ Wells to his pals – was ten years older than the former Reichsführer SS. He began a thorough body-search which needs no description other than that Wells concluded by asking the prisoner to open his mouth. Glinting at the back of the teeth, so he wrote, the doctor thought he saw a capsule with a dot, and he asked the prisoner to step over to the window so he could get a better look. Himmler’s back would thus be briefly turned to every other man in that room except the doctor. The doctor ordered the prisoner to open his mouth again, and tried to thrust his fingers inside to stop him crushing the glass capsule. That was it, the final moment. Himmler snapped his jaw shut and crunched the glass poison phial – wrote Wells; his head fell forward, and his face turned a deep purple. For several minutes the British officers tried to resuscitate him – holding him upside down, forcing his head into a water basin, even (according to Murphy) passing a needle and thread through his tongue to try to haul it out. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - Banged upurn:md5:7781a0b4a514021ba430f8d3aa97facf2013-11-27T01:52:00+00:002013-11-27T01:52:00+00:00balderIrving DavidAustraliaCodreanuFascismIron GuardJewRevisionism <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img2/.Irving_David_-_Banged_up_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>Banged up Survival as a political prisoner in 21st century Europe</strong><br />
Year : 2008<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook2/Irving_David_-_Banged_up.zip">Irving_David_-_Banged_up.zip</a><br />
<br />
A British historian spends four hundred days in solitary confinement in Austria’s oldest jailhouse, convicted under a 1945 Stalin-era law because of a lecture on history that he has delivered in Vienna sixteen years before. There is outery in the free world’s press. Soon he is faced with new charges, carrying a twenty-year sentence, for talking to the BBC. Then the case comes to the Court of Appeal. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - Churchill's War I The Struggle for Powerurn:md5:6d43ef47c315ab362a6af1020a4990752013-02-03T01:18:00+00:002013-02-03T01:22:29+00:00balderIrving DavidEnglandSecond World War <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img2/.Irving_David_-_Churchill_s_War_I_The_Struggle_for_Power_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Auteur : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Ouvrage : <strong>Churchill's War I The Struggle for Power</strong><br />
Année : 1987<br />
<br />
Lien de téléchargement : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_Churchill_s_War_I_The_Struggle_for_Power.zip">Irving_David_-_Churchill_s_War_I_The_Struggle_for_Power.zip</a><br />
<br />
Introduction. Winston Churchill trod carefully into the middle of the second floor clubroom and paused, deliberately surveying the dozen faces that had turned toward him. As he stood there, short and squat, in a tuxedo that had seen long and honourable service, it occurred to him that he was probably a quarter century older than any of them. Hosting this dinner at the Union Club in New York City was Henry R. Luce, publisher of the magazines Time, Life and Fortune. It was March 14, 1946: the uneasy interlude after the end of World War Two had ended, and everybody could sense it. Luces fellow editors and executives scrutinised the famous Englishman as if taken aback to find him so small, in the way that movie fans are startled to find that their idols are less than the twenty-foot giants of the silver screen. In the words of a lucid and penetrating memorandum that Charles Murphy wrote for Luces private files, there was just a dress-shirted cave where the chest should have been, and a swelling paunch that bore testimony to years of rich fare. Henry Luce, who had brought him in, turned to greet his other guests. As Churchill swayed alone and splendidly in mid-room, the image struck Murphy of the Cunard Lines Queen Mary at the moment when she cast off her tugs in Southampton Water heavy and loggy, drifting as the Solents current pressed her hull until her screws bit water and she forged ahead again. With soft rolls of flesh linking his head and body he looked to Murphy like a congenial, well-adjusted bullfrog. The frogs arms and legs were short and stubby, the hands small-boned and white. The complexion was pasty. Then Churchills expressionless and bloodshot eyes fastened on a portrait on the far wall. The liners screws began to thump and churn, he swayed across the clubroom and challenged: Whos that blighter? Luce guessed from the portraits dress that it was an eighteenthcentury Englishman; with the smug certainty of Charles Lambs wary connoisseur, he confirmed it by a glance at the brass nameplate and pronounced: William the Fourth. That it was that blundering and inept monarch took Churchill by surprise. He harrumphed, and said: Looks more like Lord Rosebery to me. Same heavy jowls. Behind them was a brooding sculpture of a bald eagle, carved in clear ice some hours earlier by the Union Clubs chefs. The wings of this symbol of American might were outstretched; its eyes glittered, and every crevice was heaped with black caviar. The clubs heating had been turned up, and rivers of iced water dribbled down its chest. Churchill leered. The eagle, he announced, seems to have caught a cold. He was hypnotised less by the sculptors art than by the caviar. He waved aside the genteel slices of dry toast an editor handed him, exclaimed: This stuff needs no reinforcement, and put words into action by shovelling a whopping helping onto a plate, and from there, with scarcely a perceptible interruption, straight and undiluted to his mouth seemingly unabashed at the appreciative belches that shortly emerged from that orifice. I hope, gentlemen, he apologised with little evidence of true contrition, I hope you dont find me too explosive an animal. Luce misinterpreted the remark. On the contrary, Sir, he said, you were only putting into words what was gravely in the minds of many Americans. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - Hitler's warurn:md5:c8a87172f160345c47aaba47cbcfc9632012-12-26T22:54:00+00:002013-12-07T03:14:27+00:00balderIrving DavidFührerGermanySecond World WarThird Reich <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_Hitler_s_War_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>Hitler's war and The war path</strong><br />
Year : 1999<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_Hitler_s_war.zip">Irving_David_-_Hitler_s_war.zip</a><br />
<br />
To historians is granted a talent that even the gods are denied – to alter what has already happened!’ I bore this scornful saying in mind when I embarked on this study of Adolf Hitler’s twelve years of absolute power. I saw myself as a stone cleaner – less concerned with architectural appraisal than with scrubbing years of grime and discoloration from the facade of a silent and forbidding monument. I set out to describe events from behind the Führer’s desk, seeing each episode through his eyes. The technique necessarily narrows the field of view, but it does help to explain decisions that are otherwise inexplicable. Nobody that I knew of had attempted this before, but it seemed worth the effort: after all, Hitler’s war left forty million dead and caused all of Europe and half of Asia to be wasted by fire and explosives; it destroyed Hitler’s ‘Third Reich,’ bankrupted Britain and lost her the Empire, and it brought lasting disorder to the world’s affairs; it saw the entrenchment of communism in one continent, and its emergence in another. In earlier books I had relied on the primary records of the period rather than published literature, which contained too many pitfalls for the historian. I naïvely supposed that the same primary sources technique could within five years be applied to a study of Hitler. In fact it would be thirteen years before the first volume, Hitler’s War, was published in 1977 and twenty years later I was still indexing and adding to my documentary files. I remember, in 1965, driving down to Tilbury Docks to collect a crate of microfilms ordered from the U.S. government for this study; the liner that brought the crate has long been scrapped, the dockyard itself levelled to the ground. I suppose I took it all at a far too leisurely pace. I hope however that this biography, now updated and revised, will outlive its rivals, and that more and more future writers find themselves compelled to consult it for materials that are contained in none of the others. Travelling around the world I have found that it has split the community of academic historians from top to bottom, particularly in the controversy around ‘the Holocaust.’ In Australia alone, students from the universities of New South Wales and Western Australia have told me that there they are penalised for citing Hitler’s War; at the universities of Wollongong and Canberra students are disciplined if they don’t. The biography was required reading for officers at military academies from Sandhurst to West Point, New York, and Carlisle, Pennsylvania, until special-interest groups applied pressure to the commanding officers of those seats of learning; in its time it attracted critical praise from the experts behind the Iron Curtain and from the denizens of the Far Right. Not everybody was content. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - Uprising ! One Nation's Nightmare Hungary 1956urn:md5:7c84557a1ff45b63de7b7db5a0b1f60c2012-06-21T00:15:00+01:002014-05-07T20:48:06+01:00balderIrving DavidConspiracyHungaryJew <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_Uprising_One_Nation_s_Nightmare_Hungary_1956_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>Uprising ! One Nation's Nightmare Hungary 1956</strong><br />
Year : 1981<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_Uprising_One_Nation_s_Nightmare_Hungary_1956.zip">Irving_David_-_Uprising_One_Nation_s_Nightmare_Hungary_1956.zip</a><br />
<br />
IN The History of the Russian Revolution, Leon Trotsky wrote a chapter on the art of insurrection. In it he defined: “Historians and politicians usually give the name of spontaneous insurrection to a movement of the masses united by a common hostility against the old regime, but not having a clear aim, deliberated methods of struggle, or a leadership consciously showing the way to victory.” What happened in Hungary in October 1956 was not a revolution but an insurrection. It was an uprising. When it began it was spontaneous and leaderless, and it was truly a movement of the masses bound by one common hatred of the old regime. Yet it was an anti-Communist uprising like no other. Many of the rebels held Party membership cards. Most were workers or peasants. The uncanny feature was that it resembled the classic Marxist revolution, it was fed by conditions which Karl Marx had always predicted would result in revolution, and it was led by the workers, the very stratum which he had expected would take the revolutionary lead. The parallels with what happened in Poland in the late summer of 1980 are striking; the exception is that this summer the workers were subdued by blandishments and promises of reform, while in past decades the Marxist governments have invariably turned their machine guns on the workers from whom they villainously claim to draw their mandate. The Hungarian uprising of 1956 was crushed by a man who became instantly one of the most reviled men in his country. That same man is today one of Hungary’s most genuinely popular citizens, János Kádár. His life has sprung many contradictions, which cannot only be explained by his subservience to Moscow’s fickle whim. Initially, he identified himself with the uprising, served in its government, and referred to its origins even one month later, in a broadcast on November 26th, as a “mass movement”; but by February 2nd he had shifted to harder ground, and declaimed to Party activists at Salgótarján, “A counter-revolution began in Hungary on October 23rd, 1956, in exactly the same way as it did on August 2nd, 1919. ” He put the country through a period of savage repression, which culminated in the execution of the (other) “accomplices of Imre Nagy” in 1959. By that time, in fact, such a barbarity was quite superfluous, because the storm’s force was long spent: his subjects had finally accepted that there was to be no escape from the Soviet empire, that the Western powers had written them off and that they must make the best life they could for themselves under Marxist bureaucratic rule. Kádár played his part in this, declaring as his aim in the early 1960s, “We must win over every section of our people for the reconstruction of our country.” The Party’s monopoly on high office was abolished. Once, he told workers at the Ikarus omnibus plant in Budapest, “The West attacks us because of our one-party system. They are right. We Communists must work as though there was a twenty-party system, with a secret general election every day. That’s the only way to win popular support.” He made a clean sweep of a quarter of the Party funkcionáriusok – the “funkies” – for incompetence, and in 1962 he dismissed twenty-five former Party hardliners from the membership and began the rehabilitation of 190 victims of the Rákosi years. That year the Party published a declaration squaring up to the blame for the uprising. (Dr. Peter Rényi, editor of the Party newspaper, Népszabadság, and a close friend of Kádár, warned me: “But you will never, ever get to see the document on which it was based”.) The Central Committee ordered, “The criterium of a person’s social origin was a necessary tool in this last epoch. But today expert knowledge and competence are the only basis for assessing any person’s qualifications for offices and functions.” More important, Kádár’s party adopted a policy of ideological laissez-faire: “Anybody who is not against us, must be for us,” he said. In 1963 the last street-level participants in the uprising were amnestied. In 1970, the ministry of the interior gave notice that the police were no longer to act as “ideological watchdogs”, and nowadays most Hungarians are freely able to obtain passports and visas to travel to the West. In short, but for János Kádár as leader Communist Hungary’s lot could have been worse. True, but for Communism the country’s lot would have been much better. But the Marxist leaders are the first to deny this; there are none so blind as those who won’t see. A few months ago I recorded a long interview with the widow of Dr. Francis Münnich, Kádár’s chief executive in crushing the uprising, and subsequently, Hungary’s prime minister for many years. After two hours the widow pointed baffled at my midget recorder and asked if I should not long ago have changed the tapes or batteries. (She was only familiar with the Soviet bloc products.) She, and all the people like her, have been so thoroughly duped by the Marxist swindle that they are incapable of grasping that other systems – and in particular the capitalist system, with its handy profit-motive – work far better. Even after sixty years of full-scale experiment with entire nations, Marxism has never once succeeded, yet the swindle is still perpetrated in country after country. More and more gullible and unwary folk fall prey to its allures, like the citizens who innocently believe the crafty inventor who claims to have perfected a motor engine that runs on water. All human experience is against it. Scientists unanimously predict that it will not work. In country after country, the Marxist water engine fails to fire, but the inventor and his mechanics are growing richer and so the fraud continues. Each time the miserable passengers protest, their tormentors adopt knowing grins, and dismiss a prominent funky or even two: in effect, they have just changed the offside front wheel, to camouflage the fact that their whole scientific premise is unsound. Meanwhile they continue to sing its praises, because they know the fate of those who “deviate”. There is no justice in socialist legality. As Budapest’s own police chief during the uprising, Alexander Kopácsi, told me: “Which man is prosecutor, and which man stands in the dock, is purely a matter of casting.” Or, as his fellow Hungarians used to have it: “We are a three-class society: those who have been there, those who are there, and those who are heading there.” By “there”, they meant prison. This sense of public grievance, of impotence at the hands of the funkies, powered the initial phases of the uprising. It was obvious to me that the industrial workers, with their sense of deprivation and their unrequited yearning for better living standards and free trade union activity, had powered the uprising, just as in Poland in 1980 they have caused their overlords the biggest headaches. To delve into their minds at this distance in time would not have been easy were it not for the access I was granted to two revealing and broad-based series of scientifically conducted interrogations of street-level refugees. The Oral History project of Columbia University, New York, to which Professor István Deák granted me full access, consists of thousands of pages of such interviews; I am grateful both to him and to Professor Richard M. Stephenson, of Rutgers University, for access to the similar series of interviews expertly conducted by sociologists and psychiatrists on behalf of the CIA. These reports, compiled only weeks after the failed uprising, leave no doubt as to why these men and women, mostly in their twenties and thirties, conspired, organised, fought and indulged in other revolutionary activities, and finally fled their native country: the workers felt cheated, betrayed, deprived and persecuted by the funkies imposed on them by Moscow, by the speed-ups, wage frauds, unsafe and insanitary working conditions, and arbitrary penalties, by the burrowing of spies and informers and exhausting work methods. The University and Polytechnic students whose youthful eloquence and zest started the mass movement into the streets, did so out of a sense of justice, but also because of disgust at the degradation inflicted on their country behind a façade of cultural pretensions, and at the indigestible alien patterns of life being imported from across the Soviet frontier. The writers and other intellectuals joined the clamour later, belatedly making audible the long-suppressed rage of the workers and students. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - The War between the Generals Inside the Allied High Commandurn:md5:28dce8c247ad445aebc722ac967191e12012-06-21T00:12:00+01:002014-05-07T20:48:30+01:00balderIrving DavidEnglandJewNorth AmericaSecond World War <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_The_War_between_the_Generals_Inside_the_Allied_High_Command_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>The War between the Generals Inside the Allied High Command</strong><br />
Year : 1981<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_The_War_between_the_Generals_Inside_the_Allied_High_Command.zip">Irving_David_-_The_War_between_the_Generals_Inside_the_Allied_High_Command.zip</a><br />
<br />
May 10, 1945, two days after the surrender of Nazi Germany. Five generals sit around an oaken table in the Frankfurt headquarters of one of the most powerful men in the world, Dwight D. Eisenhower. On his shoulders are the five stars of his rank as General of the Army. The other four generals have sixteen more stars between them – they are the commanders of the four American armies that, in one spectacular year, have penetrated the French coastline at Normandy, have hurled themselves at the Germans at Avranches, have battled forward through rains and mud and snow to the German frontier, have recoiled under Hitler’s counterattack, and have finally, just three weeks before, shaken hands with Marshal Georgi Zhukov’s troops coming from the ravaged east. Five generals – Eisenhower, Hodges, Patton, Simpson, Patch. Their faces bear the congratulatory grins of men who have done a job they are proud of. But already there are worries clouding the minds of some. George Patton has relished the war, and he fears the peace that is now to come. He actually dreams of using the surviving German divisions in his army sector for a drive against what he now considers the true enemy – the Soviet Union. He is still furious with Eisenhower for restraining him, and for toadying to his particular bêtes noires, the British. The others in the room, while far more temperate, harbour their own grudges, disappointments, resentments. Alliance – with the British and especially the French – has often been an agony. So much misunderstanding, some of it wilful; so much outright hatred. So many decisions that, in the minds of the dissenters, occasioned so many hundreds of thousands of needless deaths. Indeed, the running contest between the Allies on the cruellest issue – whose troops should bear the brunt and thereby perish – has caused deep psychic trauma. These five chiefs and their close colleagues must live their remaining lives with knowledge too fierce to forget. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - The Virus House Germany's Atomic Research and Allied Counter-Measuresurn:md5:611d61234c4af9ebab6dbeea4e0b653b2012-06-21T00:09:00+01:002014-05-07T20:48:35+01:00balderIrving DavidGermanyJewNorth AmericaThird Reich <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_The_Virus_House_Germany_s_Atomic_Research_and_Allied_Counter-Measures_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>The Virus House Germany's Atomic Research and Allied Counter-Measures</strong><br />
Year : 1967<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_The_Virus_House_Germany_s_Atomic_Research_and_Allied_Counter-Measures.zip">Irving_David_-_The_Virus_House_Germany_s_Atomic_Research_and_Allied_Counter-Measures.zip</a><br />
<br />
Was there a wartimeGerman atomic research program? It seems hard to believe, for twenty years have passed and there is little reference to it in the established chronicles of the Second World War. In fact, there has up to now been no history of the German atomic research effort between 1938 and 1945, simply because of the thoroughness with which the Allied Intelligence mission under Dr. Samuel A. Goudsmit divested liberated Europe of almost every vestige of evidence that such a program had ever existed. For a historian it would have been - and initially it was - something of a nightmare to piece the story together from such scraps as remained. I can now understand the French Professor Joliot’s feelings when, having insisted that the German nuclear physicists at Hechingen should produce for him every remnant of the uranium metal that they must surely have concealed, he was solemnly handed a lump of uranium the size of a sugar cube that had been used for laboratory tests. (The British and American officers had removed all the documents and uranium from the French zone of Germany even before the war ended.) In the end, I went to the United States and searched for the missing documents there; and I ran them to earth in abundance, lying unused and neglected in a warehouse of the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission at Oak Ridge, Tennessee. I am grateful to Mr. Robert L. Shannon and Mr. James M. Jacobs for their assistance to me there. The most important German files, particularly on the political history, were provided to me by Dr. Goudsmit, to whom I am indebted for his hospitality at Brookhaven National Laboratory, New York; I must also thank his as sistant, Mrs. Peggy Homan, who took care of many arrangements for me during my American investigations. Too many participants in these events have assisted me - in conversations, correspondence, and commenting upon various sections of the draft manuscript - for me to be able to thank them all here. I have named all of them in my Notes on Sources. But three I must particularly thank: Lieutenant-Colonel Knut Haukelid, DSO, MC, who aided me during my researches in Norway into the SOE operations against heavy-water production; Professor Werner Heisenberg, who made time for several very lengthy conversations with me, and who has read the whole manuscript in draft; and Sir Patrick Linstead, FRS, who kindly permitted me to make use of the extensive facilities of the Imperial College physics library in South Kensington. Without their help it would have been exceedingly difficult to present in detail the story that follows. David Irving London, August 1966. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - The Trail of the Fox The Search for the True Field Marshal Rommelurn:md5:0360df19dc95953c63f9511b680e8bb72012-06-21T00:06:00+01:002014-05-07T20:48:38+01:00balderIrving DavidAfricaJewSecond World WarThird Reich <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_The_Trail_of_the_Fox_The_Search_for_the_True_Field_Marshal_Rommel_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>The Trail of the Fox The Search for the True Field Marshal Rommel</strong><br />
Year : 1977<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_The_Trail_of_the_Fox_The_Search_for_the_True_Field_Marshal_Rommel.zip">Irving_David_-_The_Trail_of_the_Fox_The_Search_for_the_True_Field_Marshal_Rommel.zip</a><br />
<br />
What will history say in passing its verdict on me? If I am successful here, then everybody else will claim all the glory. . . But if I fail, then everybody will be after my blood. From the unpublished Rommel diary, April 16, 1977. it is may 18, 1944. At Hitler’s war conference he is told that the enemy has carried out two spy operations during the night on the heavily defended French coastline. At one place, near Calais, German troops have found shovels and a flashlight lying on the beach after a shoot-out. At another, in the estuary of the river Somme, two British officers have been captured. “They came ashore by rubber dinghy,” General Alfred Jodl, chief of Wehrmacht operations, tells Hitler. “Their interrogations so far have revealed that they were set down by a British motor launch.” The scene changes to a French château built against a steep rock face overlooking the Seine valley. It is two days later. A small German army staff car swerves into the driveway to the château and comes to a halt. Two soldiers climb out, stiff from their 150-mile drive from the coast of the English Channel. They lead two other men, blindfolded and handcuffed, from the car. These two men wear no insignia, but the empty stitching on their khaki battle dress shows all too clearly where the purple Combined Operations badge and the narrow Special Service shoulder flash have been removed; they are British commandos. Their blindfolds are untied, and they blink in the sunlight. Their expressions are grim; they know that Hitler has given standing orders that all commandos are to be turned over to the Gestapo and shot. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - The Rise and Fall of the Luftwaffe The Life of Field Marshal Erhard Milchurn:md5:2c06939a790db5e16a8f7076ac7f14b12012-06-21T00:02:00+01:002014-05-07T20:48:42+01:00balderIrving DavidGermanyLuftwaffeSecond World WarThird Reich <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_The_Rise_and_Fall_of_the_Luftwaffe_The_Life_of_Field_Marshal_Erhard_Milch_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>The Rise and Fall of the Luftwaffe The Life of Field Marshal Erhard Milch</strong><br />
Year : 1973<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_The_Rise_and_Fall_of_the_Luftwaffe_The_Life_of_Field_Marshal_Erhard_Milch.zip">Irving_David_-_The_Rise_and_Fall_of_the_Luftwaffe_The_Life_of_Field_Marshal_Erhard_Milch.zip</a><br />
<br />
Of the story or more field marshals created by Hitler three, and one grandadmiral, are still alive. Most of the others were killed in action, committed suicide, or were hanged by Hitler or their captors. To have written a biography of Milch, least famous of the survivors, requires some explanation. When I visited them, most of his contemporaries were surprised to learn that he was still alive. In the last years of his life he closeted himself behind an anonymous front door in suburban Düsseldorf, looked after by a niece, writing reports for a foreign aviation company of international repute. I was intrigued by the man when I first met him five years ago. Erhard Milch, Hermann Göring’s deputy - his benefactor in time of poverty, his adversary in time of influence, his defender in time of trial - proved to be the repository of a thousand anecdotes of the war and its slow prelude. He was the senior of the surviving field marshals, and the highest-ranking of the surviving Luftwaffe officers. The Luftwaffe was a force which he, more than any other German, created. But more than that: the dapper, florid businessman sitting upright in the stiff armchair next to me, preparing to narrate the three score years and ten of his life so far, had already created for himself a niche in history, quite outside the world of politics, by the time Adolf Hitler first entered the Reich Chancery in 1933. It was Milch whose administrative cunning and personal dynamism fashioned the German Lufthansa airline from its beginnings in local companies into an international concern, while at the same time secretly providing and nourishing the industrial roots from which a future Luftwaffe would spring. This much is known. And yet the real story starts even earlier. During the First World War, Milch is to be seen with his hand camera, photographing Allied trenches from a German biplane; and if the wheel of time is allowed to spin, we catch a fleeting glimpse of the ex-Captain Milch, now commanding officer of a police air squadron in East Prussia, ordering a machine-gun to be turned on rioting strikers in Königsberg. He describes it as though it were yesterday. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - The Mare's Nest The War against Hitler's secret Vengeance Weaponsurn:md5:28e6220bc2a748464748c684ae3899f72012-06-20T23:59:00+01:002014-05-07T20:48:45+01:00balderIrving DavidGermanySecond World WarThird Reich <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_The_Mare_s_Nest_The_War_against_Hitler_s_secret_Vengeance_Weapons_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>The Mare's Nest The War against Hitler's secret Vengeance Weapons</strong><br />
Year : 1964<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_The_Mare_s_Nest_The_War_against_Hitler_s_secret_Vengeance_Weapons.zip">Irving_David_-_The_Mare_s_Nest_The_War_against_Hitler_s_secret_Vengeance_Weapons.zip</a><br />
<br />
Like all manuscripts based in part on official files, this book was submitted by the author, then aged 25, to the government for clearance. In July 1964 the GCHQ security officer wrote to him: “The new chapter beginning, ‘Just as the analysis of inconsistencies . . .’ must not appear in any shape or form.” With the official revelation of the Ultra secret and the Enigma story in 1974this prohibition no longer applies. Just as the analysis of inconsistencies has led to the most unexpected discoveries in the field of applied science, so the examination of apparently inexplicable contradictions in terms can illuminate history’s more jealously guarded secrets. The genesis of this particular story was a process developed and applied by a consortium of Intelligence officers in an establishment fortyseven miles from London, a process of such secrecy that neither Cabinet Ministers nor Commanders-in-Chief nor even our most gallant Allies could be entrusted with the burden of its knowledge. Three inconsistencies will be found to occur in the story which follows, of which only one is significant; these are the documentary clues which we can best label “the petrol form,” “the radar plots,” and “the bills of lading.” The three clues are to play significant parts in this narrative as they, respectively, established that Peenemünde was genuine and the second most important research station; identified certain structures in France as flying-bomb catapults; and established the probable existence of 1,000 German rockets. Of the three, the alleged existence of the “bills of lading” is the most questionable. Ostensibly, the bills were thrown up like chaff as the grinding mechanism of an efficient network of SIS agents meshed momentarily with the machinery of Germany’s secret weapon development programme. In fact, their provenance was rather different. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - The Destruction of Convoy PQ.17urn:md5:717d98dec37974c5f001a6795b7342512012-06-20T23:53:00+01:002014-05-07T20:48:50+01:00balderIrving DavidEnglandSecond World War <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_The_Destruction_of_Convoy_PQ_17_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>The Destruction of Convoy PQ.17</strong><br />
Year : 1968<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_The_Destruction_of_Convoy_PQ_17.zip">Irving_David_-_The_Destruction_of_Convoy_PQ_17.zip</a><br />
<br />
All books have something which their authors most wish to bring to their readers’ attention. Some authors are successful in this, and their readers remain prejudiced to the authors’ points of view for the rest of their reading lives; some authors are not, and when the last page, the last appendix and wearisome footnote have been scanned the reader asks himself: what was it all about? I fear that I fall into the latter category, and lest this book be misunderstood its readers should know before they enter into the narrative proper that the guiding light in deciding which incidents in this canvas of tragedy to dwell upon, and which to suppress, has been a conviction that gallantry is best portrayed in its real setting; the ships should be shown to be crewed by normal men with normal fears and feelings. Too often one has read histories of individual acts of heroism, and one’s appreciation has been dulled by the picture’s lack of relationship to normal human character. So The Destruction of Convoy PQ.17 is primarily a book peopled with ordinary people: we see how men reacted when confronted with a grim situation which meant certain disaster and probably death. But against this sombre background we shall find that the individual jewels of gallantry sparkle most, emerging unexpectedly to dazzle us by their now unaccustomed shine. Nor can there be any doubt but that in PQ.17 it is a sombre background; crews mutiny, and are confined in chains below decks; their Masters haul down the Allied flags and display signals reading ‘Unconditional Surrender’; they deliberately run aground and abandon their vessels; nine merchant ships are deserted by their crews even though still seaworthy, some of them before they have even been attacked; and American captains volunteer to scuttle their ships so that they can finish their voyage in safety. But it is this background which allows one fully to savour the heroism of the few brave men, faced with identical perils, who single-handed bring their ships and cargoes into port, often against the wishes of their crews, with officers like the British lieutenant who urged the Americans to drop their plan to scuttle their ships, like the Welsh rescue-ship captain whose gallantry was such that he was one of the first three Merchant Navy officers to win the military Distinguished Service Order. In the story of PQ.17 we find that there are indeed two kinds of courage in war—both the single and outstanding acts of reckless gallantry with which we have come to associate the individual units of the Royal Navy, and a quiet moral courage which alone can sustain an officer in acting against his every human instinct, when he understands from the orders given him that this is the only way in which he can serve the higher plan. The dogged manner in which Captain E. D. W. Lawford of the anti-aircraft ship Pozarica (afterwards awarded a D.S.O. for his rôle in this operation) carried out the instructions which had been given him in spite of the entreaties of the merchant ships, is an example of moral courage as worthy of our admiration as the more spectacular feats of the smaller vessels’ skippers. These are, I hope, more convincing brands of heroism than the synthetic deeds of valour of which the war’s propaganda media were so monotonously full. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - Nuremberg The Last Battleurn:md5:2aecd0dccace69eb5f09e7ccc097c5122012-06-20T23:51:00+01:002014-05-07T20:48:54+01:00balderIrving DavidConspiracyGermanyJewNorth AmericaThird Reich <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_Nuremberg_The_Last_Battle_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>Nuremberg The Last Battle</strong><br />
Year : 1996<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_Nuremberg_The_Last_Battle.zip">Irving_David_-_Nuremberg_The_Last_Battle.zip</a><br />
<br />
THIS BOOK is an intimate look at the origins and conduct of the first post-war trial of major war criminals held at Nuremberg from 1945 to 1946. It has as its nucleus a series of articles which I wrote for the German weekly Welt am Sonntag in the late 1960s under the title Nürnberg, die letzte Schlacht. These articles were then published under one cover by Wilhelm Heyne Taschenbuchverlag in Munich under the same title, which has long beenout of print. Much research has been carried out since then. In the course of preparing my biographies of Hitler and some of his principal lieutenants (Göring, Milch, Hess, Rommel), I had already met many of the participants in this final drama of World War Two – those, that is, who had survived the hangman’s noose – and I had had perforce to talk things over with several of their legal counsel too, in whose hands were still concentrated important historical records. In the years since publishing that German newspaper series I collected additional significant materials on the trial, including the diaries of several of the German defendants, as well as of the Allied prosecuting counsel and judges; and after the British archives opened, I was enabled to adjust the balance of what had until then been investigated primarily from the American archival angle. The richest quarry, and one to which I have returned several times in the intervening years, is the files of the American chief prosecutor, the late Justice Robert H. Jackson. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - Hess The Missing Years 1941-1945urn:md5:8a518286f84ec48f42e97aa2345a8b452012-06-20T23:41:00+01:002014-05-07T20:49:03+01:00balderIrving DavidEnglandGermanyJewSecond World WarThird Reich <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_Hess_The_Missing_Years_1941-1945_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>Hess The Missing Years 1941-1945</strong><br />
Year : 1987<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_Hess_The_Missing_Years_1941-1945.zip">Irving_David_-_Hess_The_Missing_Years_1941-1945.zip</a><br />
<br />
A Prisoner of Mankind. Semi-blind, his memory gone, he languished for forty-six years in prison, and spent over half of that time in solitary confinement. At first he was detained in cells with blackened windows, sentinels flashing torches on his face all night at half-hour intervals; and later in conditions only marginally more humane. Occasionally, mankind remembered that he was there: at a time when “political prisoners” were being released as a token of humanity, the world knew that he was still in Spandau, and timid souls felt somehow the safer for it. In 1987 the news emerged that somebody had recently stolen the prisoner’s 1940s flying helmet, goggles and fur-lined boots - and fevered minds imagined that these, his hallowed relics of 1941, might be used in some way to power a Nazi revival. The prisoner himself had long forgotten what those relics had ever meant to him. The dark-red brick of Spandau prison in West Berlin was crumbling and decaying around him, and the windows were cracked or falling out of mouldering frames. He was the only prisoner left - alone, outliving all his fellows, his brain perhaps a last uncertain repository of names and promises and places, grim secrets that the victorious Four Powers might have expected him to take to the grave long before. The prisoner was Rudolf Hess, the last of the “war criminals.” In May 1941 he had flown single-handedly to Scotland on a reckless parachute mission to end the bloodshed and bombing. Put on trial by the victors, he had been condemned to imprisonment in perpetuity for “Crimes against the Peace.” The Four Powers had expected him to die and thus seal off the wells of speculation about him, but this stubborn old man with the haunting eyes had by his very longevity thwarted them. Few questions remained about the other Nazis. Hitler’s jawbone was preserved in a Soviet glass jar; Ley’s brain was in Massachusetts; Bormann’s skeleton was found beneath the Berlin cobblestones; Mengele’s mortal remains were disinterred and reinterred; Speer had joined the Greatest Architect. Dead too were Hess’s judges and prosecutors. Hess himself was the last living Nazi giant, the last enigma, unable to communicate with the outside world, forbidden to talk with his son about political events, his diary taken away from him each day to be destroyed, his letters censored and scissored to excise illicit content. The macabre Four Powers statute - ignored, in the event - ordained that upon his death the body was to be reduced to ashes in the crematorium at Dachau concentration camp. The bulldozers were already standing by to wreck Spandau jail within hours of his decease, so that no place of Nazi pilgrimage remained. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - Goering A Biographyurn:md5:f104c77145413d6f856e6ff2aa0695592012-06-20T23:37:00+01:002014-05-07T20:49:09+01:00balderIrving DavidGermanyJewThird Reich <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_Goering_A_Biography_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>Goering A Biography</strong><br />
Year : 1989<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_Goering_A_Biography.zip">Irving_David_-_Goering_A_Biography.zip</a><br />
<br />
Arrest the Reichsmarschall! The place reeked of evil. Standing in the wet darkness of this wrecked bunker in Berlin, Captain John Bradin of the U.S. Army snapped his cigarette lighter shut, scooped an untidy armful of souvenirs off somebody’s desk, and groped his way back up the dark, winding staircase to the daylight. In the warm sun the haul seemed disappointing: a brass desk lamp, cream-colored paper with some handwriting on it, blank letterheads, flimsy telegrams typed on Germany Navy signals forms, and a letter dictated to “my dear Heinrich.” Bradin took them home and forgot about them. Forty years passed. In Berlin the bunker was dynamited, grassed over. The lamp ended up dismantled on a garage floor, the yellow sheaf of papers moldered in a bank vault in South Carolina. Bradin died without knowing that he had saved vital clues to the last days of Hermann Göring’s extraordinary career - papers that reveal all the hatred and envy that his contemporaries in the Nazi party had nursed toward him over twelve years and their determination to see his humiliation and downfall in these last few thousand minutes of Hitler’s “Thousand-Year Reich.” The desk that Captain Bradin had found was Martin Bormann’s. Bormann had been the Nazi party’s chief executive - Hitler’s predatory Mephistopheles. The handwriting was Bormann’s too - desperate pages that mirrored the atmosphere of hysteria in the bunker as the suspicions grew among its inhabitants that Göring had betrayed them. The first telegram that Bormann had scrawled onto the cream-colored paper was addressed to SS Obersturmbannführer Lieutenant Colonel Bernhard Frank, commander of the SS detachment on the mountain called the Obersalzberg that was Göring’s last retreat: Surround Göring villa at once and arrest the former Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring at once. Smash all resistance. Adolf Hitler. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - Goebbels Mastermind of the Third Reichurn:md5:b4bd10e2b1542a40754a7507775da3242012-06-20T23:34:00+01:002014-05-07T20:49:14+01:00balderIrving DavidFührerGermanyThird Reich <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_Goebbels_Mastermind_of_the_Third_Reich_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>Goebbels Mastermind of the Third Reich</strong><br />
Year : 1996<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_Goebbels_Mastermind_of_the_Third_Reich.zip">Irving_David_-_Goebbels_Mastermind_of_the_Third_Reich.zip</a><br />
<br />
ARE man’s intellectual misfortunes visited upon him before birth, like some ineradicable mark of Cain, or is he born free of all attributes? Some basic instincts are inherent, buried deep within the cerebral lobes. That much is clear. Xenophobia; the urge to mate; the instincts to survive and kill, these are as much part of the human mechanism as the escapement is part of the clock. But how is it with the more subtle qualities which, we hope, distinguish man from the lower orders—his powers to persuade and lead, to cheat and deceive? In short, does the infant come upon Earth unable to avoid the destiny already implanted in the neurones of his brain? Is it a genetic lottery? Here, a minute virus ordains that this man shall compose nine symphonies; there, an excess of dopamine will have him hearing the devil’s whispered commands for the remainder of an adult life that may well be curtailed by the hangman’s rope. Every man has some say in his own fortunes. The tangle of nerves and ganglia is not just a rack which passively stores data and impressions. It is open to each brain’s owner to work upon it, to devise by intellectual training the swiftest path between it and the muscles and voice over which it is to be master. From the convolutions in the brain’s left frontal lobe springs forth the voice that commands other men to hate, to march, to dance, to die. Moreover, man can condition this controlling instrument. Man is what he eats, that is true. But his brain is more than that—it is what he has seen about him too. The operas, the great works of art and poetry, the ill-defined sensations of national pride and humiliation, all these impressions are encoded and stored away by the neurons of the brain. And thus gradually one man comes to differ from the next. Since prehistoric times the human brain has remained impenetrable and marvellous. Surgeons have trepanned into the human cranium in the hope of fathoming its secrets. The Greeks, the Romans, and the mediæval Arabs all opened up their fellow humans’ skulls to gaze upon the brain. In 1945 the American army took Benito Mussolini’s brain away for examination; they did the same with Dr. Robert Ley’s brain, and the Russians with Lenin’s. But no instrument has yet explained the brain’s capacity for evil. THE BRAIN which indirectly occupies us now has ceased its machinations one evening in May 1945. Here it is, punctured by a 6·35-caliber bullet, lying in the ruined garden of a government building in Berlin. Next to its owner are the charred remains of a woman, the metal fastenings tumbling out of her singed, once-blonde hair. Around them both, callously grouped for the photographer, stand a Russian lieutenant-colonel, two majors, and several civilians. It is May 2, 1945: five P.M., and the building is the late Adolf Hitler’s Reich Chancellery. The lieutenant-colonel is Ivan Isiavich Klimenko, head of Smersh (a Russian acronym for Soviet Counter-Intelligence) in a Rifle Corps. He has been led here by the Chancellery’s cook Wilhelm Lange and its garage manager Karl Schneider. It has begun to pour with rain. Klimenko’s men slide the two bodies onto a large red-andgilt door torn from the building. They scoop up a fire-blackened Walther pistol found beneath the man’s body, and another pistol found nearby; a gold badge; an engraved gold cigarette case, and other personal effects. All will be needed for identification. Driving a Jeep, Klimenko leads the way back to Smersh headquarters set up in the old jailhouse at Plötzensee. On the following day he returns to the Chancellery, still hunting for the Führer. Below ground, inside the bunker, he finds the bodies of six children in pretty blue nightdresses or pyjamas. He ships them out to Plötzensee too, together with the corpse of a burly German army officer, a suicide. The Russians bring all the guests of the five-star Continental Hotel out to Plötzensee, including a textiles merchant, a chaplain, and a hospital assistant, and invite them to identify the cadavers. Even if the receding hairline, the Latin profile, the overwide mouth, and the unusually large cranium are not clues enough, then the steel splint with its two ringlike clamps to clutch the calf muscles, and the charred leather straps still tying it to the right leg leave no room for doubt at all. The foot is clenched like a dead chicken’s claw: a club foot. This is all that remains of Dr. Joseph Goebbels, the malevolent genius whose oratory once inspired a nation to fight a total war and to hold out to the very end. The Germans carry all the bodies outside on tarpaulins, and a Red Army truck transports them to a villa some ten kilometres north-north-east of Berlin where the Soviets are equipped to perform autopsies. Soviet officers bring in Professor Werner Haase, one of Hitler’s surgeons, and Fritzsche, one of Goebbels’ senior deputies, to view the bodies. Haase identifies them; Fritzsche hesitates, but the club foot and the orthopædic shoe clinch it for him. ‘Check the Gold Party Badge,’ he suggests. The badge is cleaned of soot and dirt, and reveals the number 8762—Goebbels’ membership number in the National Socialist German Workers’ Party (the Nazi party). “It’s Dr. Goebbels,’ Fritzsche confirms. This is almost the last public appearance of Dr. Joseph Goebbels. A few days later the Russians summon Hans Fritzsche out to G.P.U. (secret police) headquarters at Friedrichshagen, in south-east Berlin and show him a notebook partly concealed by a metal plate: he recognizes Goebbels’ handwriting, and asks to see more. The Soviet officer removes the plate and reveals a diary bound in red leather. ‘We found twenty of these, up to about 1941, in the vaults of the Reichsbank,’ he says. The Russians arrange one final identification ceremony. In a copse near Friedrichshagen that Whitsun of 1945 they show Goebbels’ entire family, now resting in wooden coffins, to his former personal detective, the forty year old Feldpolizei officer Eckold. He identifies his former master without hesitation. AMONG the personal effects was a gold cigarette case inscribed ‘Adolf Hitler,’ and dated ‘29.x.34’. That was Paul Joseph Goebbels’ birthday. He had first opened his eyes and uttered his first scream at No.186 Odenkirchener Strasse in the smoky Lower Rhineland town of Rheydt on October 29, 1897; it was a thousand-year old textiles centre, set in a landscape of traditionally pious Catholics and hardworking country folk. ‘The daily visit to church,’ writes Ralf Georg Reuth, Goebbels’ most recent biographer, ‘confession and family prayers at home and their mother making the sign of the cross on her kneeling children’s foreheads with holy water, were as much a part of their life as the daily bread for which their father toiled at Lennartz’ gas-mantle factory.’ Their father Fritz Göbbels—that is the spelling in Paul Joseph’s birth certificate—was W. H. Lennartz & Co’s dependable, Catholic though certainly not bigoted bookkeeper. It is not over fanciful to suspect that he chose the child’s second name in honour of Dr Josef Joseph, a revered local Jewish attorney and close family friend; the child had often been sent round to talk literature with this neighbour. Fritz persevered with the Lennartz company almost until he died, struggling, through thrift and application, to provide a better life for his family than he had known himself. He himself had been born here to a tailor’s family from Beckrath south-west of Rheydt. He had the same bulbous nose as his father Conrad Göbbels and as his brother Heinrich, a paunchy commercial traveller in textiles with all the ready wit that Fritz so sorely lacked. Fritz’s mother Gertrud was a peasant’s daughter. From first to last his relations with his youngest son Joseph were strained. Aware that his own career would see little more advancement, he made sacrifices for ‘little Jupp’ (Jüppche), which were most inadequately repaid. He struggled painfully for promotion in the firm from errand boy to clerk, then to bookkeeper with a starched collar, and finally director in the obligatory stovepipe hat. As his father’s life drew to its close years later, Joseph would see in him only a ‘petty minded, grubby, beer swilling pedant, concerned only with his pathetic bourgeois existence and bereft of any imagination.’ Among his effects were found blue cardboard account books in which he had detailed every penny he had spent since marriage.Conceding grudgingly that his father would in all likelihood go to Heaven, Joseph would write: ‘I just can’t understand why Mother married the old miser.’He painted a picture of his father lying in bed three-quarters of the day, then reading papers, drinking beer, smoking and cursing his wife, who had already been about her housework since six A.M. His sympathies were all with her. ‘I owe her all that I am,’ he once wrote; and he remained beholden to her all his life. He had his mother’s astute features—the face perceptibly flattened at each side, the nose slightly hooked, the upper front teeth protruding. She had been born Katharina Maria Odenhausen in the village of Uebach-over-Worms in Holland, and occasionally she lapsed into Rhenish Plattdeutsch when speaking with Joseph. Her father was a muscular Dutch blacksmith with a long beard, a man Joseph would look back upon as the dearest of his ancestors. He died in the Alexianer monastery at Mönchen-Gladbach of apoplexy. Her mother had then moved into Germany to serve as housekeeper to a distant relative, a local rector at Rheindahlen; she had spent her youth there with all her brothers and sisters except for Joseph Odenbach, Goebbels’s architect godfather, who had stayed at Uebach. It was at Rheindahlen that Katharina had met Fritz Göbbels and married him in 1892. So much for Goebbels’ parents. Two sons had arrived before him, Konrad and Hans. Three sisters followed him: two, Maria and Elisabeth, died young, a third, also christened Maria, was born twelve years after Joseph. We shall occasionally glimpse Konrad and Hans, struggling through the depression until Joseph’s rise to power from which they too profited, being appointed to head Nazi publishing houses and insurance associations respectively. Maria remained the apple of his eye. Through living frugally, and thanks to a pay rise to 2,100 marks per annum, in 1900 his father was able to purchase outright a modest house at No.140 Dahlener Strasse in Rheydt (still standing today as No.156). There was no front garden; its two bare windows beside the front door still overlook a monumental mason’s yard. Young Joseph had his room under the sloping roof, his mansard window’s view limited to the skies above. This remained ‘home’ for him, the fulcrum of his life, long after he left it as a young man. He remembered his sickly earliest years only dimly. He recalled playing with friends called Hans, Willy, Otto (whom he knew as ‘Öttche’) and the Maassen brothers, and a bout of pneumonia which he only barely survived. He was always a little mite of a fellow. Even in full manhood he would weigh less than one hundred pounds. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - Churchill's War II Triumph in Adversityurn:md5:51e94ab78ca006cfdb07a7929380ac5f2012-06-20T23:27:00+01:002014-05-07T20:49:17+01:00balderIrving DavidEnglandJewSecond World War <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_Churchill_s_War_II_Triumph_in_Adversity_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>Churchill's War II Triumph in Adversity</strong><br />
Year : 1997<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_Churchill_s_War_II_Triumph_in_Adversity.zip">Irving_David_-_Churchill_s_War_II_Triumph_in_Adversity.zip</a><br />
<br />
Years after the Second World War, one of Winston Churchill’s wisest advisers would ask, ‘Why in 1939 was Churchill almost universally regarded as a gifted, if eccentric politician, lacking in judgement and better out of the government, whereas in 1945 he was regarded as a world statesman and the revered superman of the century?’ The possible answer – he won the war – is defeated by the equally possible observation: he forfeited Britain’s empire. He won the war, as we shall see in the final volume of this trilogy, in spite of himself. He had enraged every one of his military advisers on the way. He did not spare the cruel and crushing remarks about his own chiefs of staff: ‘You may take,’ he rasped, ‘the most gallant sailor, the most intrepid airman, or the most audacious soldier, put them at a table together – what do you get? The sum total of their fears!’ By Victory in Europe Day, in May 1945, the chiefs of staff would be so out of sympathy with their leader that when he sent for them on that day, and again when he said good-bye after losing the General Election in July, and had the whisky and soda brought in, they just sat ruminating. On both occasions the chiefs sat there ‘like dummies’ and did not even drink to his health. After the war the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Field-Marshal Lord Alanbrooke, was angered to find that Churchill had painted himself as a hero in his memoirs; the account which Alanbrooke, the former General Sir Alan Brooke, himself committed to posterity, in a leather-bound and padlocked diary, was less flattering. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - Apocalypse 1945 The Destruction of Dresdenurn:md5:de81aa8b6b64b09336fb947759b274322012-06-20T23:20:00+01:002014-05-07T20:49:21+01:00balderIrving DavidConspiracyDresdenGermanyJewSecond World War <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_Apocalypse_1945_The_Destruction_of_Dresden_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>Apocalypse 1945 The Destruction of Dresden The horrifying original account of the most devasting air attack in history. The book which at last told the outside world what happened in one German city in 1945</strong><br />
Year : 1963<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_Apocalypse_1945_The_Destruction_of_Dresden.zip">Irving_David_-_Apocalypse_1945_The_Destruction_of_Dresden.zip</a><br />
<br />
David Irving is the son of a Royal Navy commander, John Irving (author of Coronel & the Falklands, The King’s Britannia, Royal Navalese, The Smokescreen of Jutland and other works). Educated at the Imperial College of Science & Technology and at University College London, he subsequently worked in Germany in a steel mill to perfect his fluency in the language. Among his thirty books the best-known include Hitler’s War; The Trail of the Fox: The Life of Field-Marshal Rommel; Accident, the Death of General Sikorski; The Rise and Fall of the Luftwaffe, and Göring: a Biography. He has also translated several books by other authors. He lives in Mayfair, London, and is the father of five daughters. In 1963 he published his first English language book, The Destruction of Dresden. Translated and published around the world, it became a best-seller in many countries. The present volume, Apocalypse 1945, revises and updates that work on the basis of information which has become available since 1963. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - Accident The Death of General Sikorskiurn:md5:2b2eaf50cc48a461885fcca596d0c8612012-06-20T23:13:00+01:002014-05-07T20:49:25+01:00balderIrving DavidConspiracyEnglandPolandSecond World War <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_Accident_The_Death_of_General_Sikorski_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>Accident The Death of General Sikorski</strong><br />
Year : 1967<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_Accident_The_Death_of_General_Sikorski.zip">Irving_David_-_Accident_The_Death_of_General_Sikorski.zip</a><br />
<br />
Eight-thirty A.M. in Gibraltar. The silent crowds of early workers line both pavements of the narrow streets leading from the Roman Catholic Cathedral of Saint Mary the Crowned to the entrance to the naval dockyard. Spaniards and Britons alike shuffle in the rising heat and crane their necks to see past the troops lining the streets. The sun is rising above the Mediterranean, and high up in the tunnels of the Rock the British sentries stamp to and fro. In the distance the crowds hear the muffled tramp of marching feet, and the clatter of hard wheels on ancient cobble stones. In a simple pine coffin packed round with all the ice that the British messes can supply, its sides cracking and blistering in the heat of the sun’s rays filtering through the Polish colours, lies the body of Poland’s greatest son, General Wladyslaw Sikorski, roughly wrapped in a Royal Navy blanket. A six-wheeled tractor pulls the gun-carriage on which the coffin rests. Up in the Fortress, a gun booms out in a seventeen-gun salute, punctuating every minute of the procession’s journey to the docks. The British Government has promised that the Polish premier’s body shall be brought to Poland when once the war is won; but this is not to be fulfilled. A company of Somerset Light Infantry march behind the coffin, and at their head the Allied officers who only five days before had welcomed the General to the Rock. Immediately behind the gun-carriage walks the Catholic bishop in white mitre and full funeral robes. In the cortège are a hundred Polish soldiers in British battledress, their grim faces visible to all the watching crowds. The deep bell of the Catholic cathedral is tolling, and the warship’s crew in the dockyard know that the procession is on its way. A mile away in the military hospital lies the pilot who alone survived his aircraft’s crash. The newspapers say that he has suffered terrible injuries and that nobody can speak to him. Now the procession is leaving Convent Square and passing through streets of closed shops and shuttered windows, against a setting of Moorish scrolls and whitewashed walls. The gun-carriage passes through Southport Gates and is drawn up alongside the Polish destroyer that has come to carry Sikorski’s body away. Stalwart sailors push the flag-draped coffin of their dead Commander-in-Chief up onto their shoulders and carry it up the gangway onto the deck. A boatswain’s pipe wails and a British military band strikes up the Polish national anthem on the quay. Four Polish sailors mount guard on the coffin and Orkan heads out to sea. “Soldiers must die, but by their death they nourish the nation which gave them birth.” That is what Mr Churchill says to Poland in its hour of grief. Well, Sikorski is dead; and where stands his nation now ? <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - The War Pathurn:md5:6b05c4f5a3dc5044b30c85f9550e9aaa2012-01-08T20:38:00+00:002013-12-16T01:25:06+00:00balderIrving DavidGermanyThird Reich <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_The_War_Path_Hitler_s_Germany_in_1933-1939_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>The War Path Hitler's Germany in 1933-1939</strong><br />
Year : 1978<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_The_War_Path_Hitler_s_Germany_in_1933-1939.zip">Irving_David_-_The_War_Path_Hitler_s_Germany_in_1933-1939.zip</a><br />
<br />
Author’s Foreword. This book narrates one man’s path to war – Adolf Hitler’s. The narrative ends at the precise moment when the companion volume, Hitler’s War, begins: the evening of 3 September 1939, as he leaves his Berlin Chancellery for the Polish warfront. Like that volume, The War Path also tries to describe events from behind the Führer’s desk, and to see and understand each episode through his eyes. The technique necessarily narrows the viewpoint, but it does help to explain otherwise inexplicable decisions. Nobody that I know of has attempted this before, but to me it seemed worth all the effort: after all, Hitler’s war sucked in one country after another, left forty million dead and caused all Europe and half of Asia to be wasted by fire and explosives; it destroyed Hitler’s Third Reich, bankrupted Britain and lost her her empire, and brought lasting disorder to the world’s affairs; it saw the entrenchment of communism in one continent, and its emergence in another. I have approached the main narrative in logical chronological sequence. How Hitler actually came to power in 1933 is merely outlined here – the topic has been proficiently covered by others, particularly Karl Dietrich Bracher and Wolfgang Sauer. The focus of my research fell on his years of power, and from 3 February 1933, when Hitler tells his generals in secret of his ambition to launch a war of imperial conquest in the east as soon as Germany is able, the detail thickens and the colour becomes enriched. Fieldwork can be expensive and unrewarding, though it always carries with it the exhilarating hope of sudden revelation. It is an acquired taste. It means bargaining for years with governments like that of East Germany for permission to search for buried documents; it means long separations from wife and family, sleeping on overnight trains, and haggling with retired generals and politicians or their widows, to part them temporarily from their carefully guarded caches of diaries or letters. It means leafing through hundreds of thousands of pages of filthy paper in remote and chilly archives, intuitively registering egregious facts in the hope that some of them may, perhaps, click with facts found years later in another file five thousand miles away. <strong>...</strong></p>Irving David - The Secret Diaries Of Hitler's Doctorurn:md5:1c7f99933e3717f55fc70b647c9891bc2012-01-08T20:28:00+00:002014-05-07T22:03:30+01:00balderIrving DavidFührer <p><img src="https://balderexlibris.com/public/img/.Irving_David_-_Morell_The_Secret_Diaries_Of_Hitler_s_Doctor_s.jpg" alt="" /><br />
Author : <strong>Irving David</strong><br />
Title : <strong>The Secret Diaries Of Hitler's Doctor</strong><br />
Year : 2001<br />
<br />
Link download : <a href="https://balderexlibris.com/public/ebook/Irving_David_-_The_Secret_Diaries_Of_Hitler_s_Doctor.zip">Irving_David_-_The_Secret_Diaries_Of_Hitler_s_Doctor.zip</a><br />
<br />
Introduction. Obviously he had once been a corpulent and imposing figure, this elderly man lying on a stretcher in an empty room of the Red Cross facility at Munich railroad station. But now his hair was awry, his face was pale; he was sobbing quietly to himself, the figure which had once been clad in a magnificent uniform was kitted out in a cast-off American battledress, American socks, and a GI shirt several sizes too small for him. These were the clothes he had been allowed to take when thrown out of American civilian internment camp No. 29, better known as Dachau concentration camp. It was June 30, 1947. The Americans had no further use for prisoner number 21,672 – he himself had been cleared of war crimes charges, and the Doctors’ Trial at Nuremberg had ended without his giving evidence. So they had driven him to this railroad station, stuffed his discharge papers into his pocket and left him for the Red Cross to find. Two hours passed before a nurse, Eva Meier, spotted the pathetic figure. She arranged for an ambulance to take him to the auxiliary district hospital Alpenhof at Tegernsee. At the hospital his papers and possessions were listed. His passport showed him to be Professor Theo Morell, doctor of medicine, sixty years old. He looked much older. A discharge report drawn up by Dachau camp hospital on the previous day stated that he had serious cardiac trouble, that he was unable to work and was suffering from “aphasic speech disorders.” The papers also showed the reason for his internment: “Hitler’s personal physician.” <strong>...</strong></p>