Berlin Diary: The Journal of a Foreign Correspondent 1934-1941

by William L. Shirer

  There was another factor. As most of the air battles took place over England, the British were saving at least half of the pilots whose machines were shot down. They were able to bail out and come down safely by parachute. But every time a German plane was shot down, its occupants, though they might save their lives with parachutes, were lost to the Luftwaffe for the duration of the war. In the case of bombers, this meant a loss of four highly trained men with each plane brought down.

  And so the first fortnight in September came and went, and still the Germans could not destroy the British air force and, as a consequence, wrest complete superiority in the air over England. And the great Nazi land army waited, cooling its heels behind the cliffs at Boulogne and Calais and along the canals behind the sea. It was not left entirely unmolested. At night, as I have described from personal experience earlier in this journal, the British bombers came over, blasting away at the ports and the canals and the beaches where the barges were being assembled and loaded. The German High Command has maintained absolute silence about this little chapter in the war. What losses in men and materials were sustained by these insistent British air attacks is not known. I can get no authoritative information on the subject. But from what I saw of these bombings myself and from what I’ve been told by German airmen, I think it is highly improbable that the German army was ever able to assemble in the ports of Boulogne, Calais, Dunkirk, and Ostend, or on the beaches, enough barges or ships to launch an invasion in the force that would have been necessary. Whether it ever seriously attempted to do so is also doubtful.

  The stories emanating from France that an actual full-fledged invasion of Britain was attempted on or around the middle of September and repulsed by the British also seem to be without foundation on the basis of what we know here. In the first place, the British, whose morale probably was none too high at this time, would certainly have let the news out if they had actually repulsed an all-out German attempt to invade England. Publication of the news not only would have had an electrifying effect on British public opinion and that of the rest of Europe but would have been of immeasurable value in rallying help from America. Washington in August, I’m told, had almost given Britain up as lost and was in a state of jitters for fear the British navy would fall into Hitler’s hands and thus place the American eastern seaboard in great danger. Also, the British would have had little trouble through short-wave broadcasts in German and the dropping of pamphlets in letting the German people know that Hitler’s great bid for the conquest of Britain had failed. The psychological effect in Germany would have been crushing.

  What probably happened, so far as we can learn here, is that the Germans early in September attempted a fairly extensive invasion rehearsal. They put barges and ships to sea, the weather turned against them, light British naval forces and planes caught them, set a number of barges on fire, and caused a considerable number of casualties. The unusual number of hospital trains full of men suffering from burns would bear out this version, though we have no other concrete information to go on.

  Perhaps the British have already put out information that makes this account of why the invasion attempt never came off superfluous. I note it down as the sum of our information here in Berlin, which is little enough. The only time the Germans give out information is when they are winning, or have won. They have not mentioned their submarine losses, for instance, for nearly a year.

  BERLIN, November 5

  If all goes well, I shall leave here a month from today, flying all the way to New York—by Lufthansa plane from here to Lisbon, by Clipper from there to New York. The very prospect of leaving here takes a terrible load off your heart and mind. I feel swell. It will be my first Christmas at home in sixteen years, my other brief visits having all been during the summer or fall. Went to a Philharmonic concert this evening. A Bach concerto for three pianos and orchestra, with the conductor, Furtwängler, and Wilhelm Kemp and some other noted pianist at the pianos, was very good indeed. Afterwards played my accordion—sacrilege after the Philharmonic and Bach!—but a gruff-voiced man occupying the next room did not appreciate my efforts and knocked on the wall until I betook myself, with accordion, to the bathroom. He is probably one of those Rhineland industrialists who come up here to get some sleep, since in western Germany they are visited by the RAF nearly every night. The hotel is full of them and they are very cranky.

  BERLIN, November 6

  Roosevelt has been re-elected for a third term! It is a resounding slap for Hitler and Ribbentrop and the whole Nazi regime. For despite Willkie’s almost outdoing the President in his promises to work for Britain’s victory, the Nazis ardently wished the Republican candidate to win. Nazi bigwigs made no secret of this in private, though Goebbels made the press ignore the election so as not to give the Democrats the advantage of saying that the Nazis were for Willkie.

  Last week at least three officials in the Wilhelmstrasse phoned me excitedly to ask if the Gallup Poll could be trusted. They had just had a cable from Washington, they said, that the poll showed Willkie having a fifty-fifty chance. The news made them exceedingly happy.

  Because Roosevelt is one of the few real leaders produced by the democracies since the war (look at France; look at Britain until Churchill took over!) and because he can be tough, Hitler has always had a healthy respect for him and even a certain fear. (He admires Stalin for his toughness.) Part of Hitler’s success has been due to the luck of having mediocre men like Daladier and Chamberlain in charge of the destinies of the democracies. I’m told that since the abandonment for this fall of the invasion of Britain Hitler has more and more envisaged Roosevelt as the strongest enemy in his path to world power, or even to victory in Europe. And there is no doubt that he and his henchmen put great hope in the defeat of the President. Even if Willkie turned out to be a bitter enemy of Berlin, the Nazis figured that, were he elected, there would be a two months’ interim at Washington during which nothing would be done to help the Allies. There would be more months of indecision, they calculated, before Willkie, inexperienced in politics and world affairs, could hit his stride. This could only profit Nazi Germany.

  But now the Nazis face Roosevelt for another four years—face the man whom Hitler has told a number of people is more responsible for keeping up Britain’s resistance to him than any other factor in the war except Winston Churchill. No wonder there were long faces in the Wilhelmstrasse tonight when it became certain that Roosevelt had won.

  BERLIN, November 8

  The British tonight, we hear, are giving Munich a bad pounding. It is the anniversary of the beer-house Putsch and therefore a timely evening to bomb. That Putsch was hatched on the evening of November 8, 1923 at the Bürgerbräukeller in Munich, and all the anniversary celebrations have always been held there. A year ago tonight a bomb went off in the place a few minutes after Hitler and all the Nazi leaders had left, but it killed several lesser fry. Tonight Hitler took no chance on Himmler’s planting another bomb on him. He held his speech in another beer cellar, the Löwenbräu. As with all his speeches since the British began to come over, he began it before dark so that the meeting was over before the RAF bombers arrived. His address today raised a problem for American broadcasters. Neither CBS nor NBC permit recordings to be broadcast on their networks. When the German Broadcasting Company called me up this afternoon to offer Hitler’s speech to CBS, I was a little suspicious at the time given for the broadcast—eight p.m. I didn’t think the Führer would dare speak so late—since theoretically, now that the long nights are upon us, the British could be in Munich by nine p.m. or so. So I asked whether it was a recording they were offering us. A high official of the RRG would not say. He said it was a military secret.

  “Nor,” he added, “may you cable your New York office whether you suspect it is a recording or not. If you cable, you must merely say that we offer a Hitler broadcast to America.”

  I have means of contacting Paul White in New York very quickly without using the German commercial radio
service, which first submits my messages to the censor. As a matter of fact, it was not necessary this evening. Before I could get in touch with New York, word came that there would be no broadcast of Hitler at all this evening. His speech would be broadcast only tomorrow. The British bombing has stopped the broadcast. Later in the evening I learned that the Germans knew all the time they were offering me a recorded broadcast of the speech at eight p.m., since the original talk had been made at five p.m. Must take this up with New York.

  Amusing to note of late, on the desks of the German officials I have business with, copies of cables which I have received from, or sent to, my New York office. I of course have known for some time that they saw all my outgoing and incoming messages and have had no end of fun sending absurd messages to New York criticizing these officials by name or concocting something that would keep them guessing. Fortunately Paul White has a sense of humour and has sent appropriate answers.

  BERLIN, November 9

  To record a few of the jokes which the Germans are telling these days:

  The chief of the Air-Raid Protection in Berlin recently advised the people to go to bed early and try to snatch two or three hours of sleep before the bombings start. Some take the advice, most do not. The Berliners say that those who take the advice arrive in the cellar after an alarm and greet their neighbours with a “Good morning.” This means they have been to sleep. Others arrive and say: “Good evening!” This means they haven’t yet been to sleep. A few arrive and say: “Heil Hitler!” This means they have always been asleep.

  Another: An airplane carrying Hitler, Göring, and Goebbels crashes. All three are killed. Who is saved?

  Answer: The German people.

  A man from Cologne tells me what he claims is a true story. He says there are so many different uniforms to be seen in the streets there now that one can’t keep track of them. Thus it was that a British flying-officer who had to bail out near Cologne walked into the city on a Sunday afternoon to give himself up. He expected that the police or some of the soldiers on the street would arrest him immediately. Instead they clicked their heels and saluted him. He had a ten-mark note with him, as, my friends say, all British pilots flying over Germany do, and decided to try his luck at a movie. He asked for a two-mark seat. The cashier gave him back nine marks in change, explaining politely that men in uniform got in for half-price. Finally, the movie over, he walked the streets of Cologne until midnight before he could find a police station and give himself up. He told the police how difficult it was for a British flyer in full uniform to get himself arrested in the heart of a German city. The police would not believe him. But they summoned the cashier of the movie house just to see.

  “Did you sell this man a ticket to a performance this evening?” they asked her.

  “Certainly,” she piped back; “for half-price, like all men in uniform.” Then proudly, espying the initials RAF on his uniform: “It isn’t every day I can welcome a Reichs Arbeits Führer. Me, I know what RAF stands for.”

  Molotov is coming to Berlin. For more than a year—ever since Ribbentrop flew to Moscow in August 1939 and signed the pact which brought the two arch-enemies of this earth together—we’ve had rumours that the number-two Bolshevik would repay the visit. Once during the summer I know for a fact that a lot of old Soviet red flags were dusted off and assembled in the Chancellery for a Molotov visit that failed to come off because, for one thing, Moscow insisted on sending a regiment of GPU plain-clothes men, and Himmler would agree to only a company of them. Then Hitler and Ribbentrop exerted all the pressure they could to force Stalin to send Molotov here just before the American elections. For some reason they thought that if ballyhooed properly, it would scare the American people and result in the defeat of Roosevelt. Stalin apparently understood the reason and declined. But tonight it’s official. Molotov is coming next week. The timing of the visit is still good. It will help make up for the slap of Roosevelt’s election, which the German people faintly realize was not good news for Hitler, and also for the waning prestige of the Axis caused by the failure of the Italians to make any progress in Greece.

  BERLIN, November 11

  Armistice Day, which in a way now seems like a great irony. There was no mention of it in the German press: In Belgium and France the German military authorities forebade its celebration. Roosevelt’s Armistice Day speech was completely suppressed here. We broadcast from coast to coast every utterance of Hitler, but the German people are not permitted to know a word of what Roosevelt speaks. This is one of the weaknesses of democracy, I think, though some people think it is one of its strengths.

  This evening I went to see Harald Kreuzberg dance. He’s getting a little old now and is not quite so nimble or graceful, though still very good. The hall was packed.

  BERLIN, November 12

  A dark, drizzling day, and Molotov arrived, his reception being extremely stiff and formal. Driving up the Linden to the Soviet Embassy, he looked to me like a plugging, provincial schoolmaster. But to have survived in the cut-throat competition of the Kremlin he must have something. The Germans talk glibly of letting Moscow have that old Russian dream, the Bosporus and the Dardanelles, while they will take the rest of the Balkans, Rumania, Yugoslavia, and Bulgaria. If the Italians can take Greece, which is beginning to look doubtful, they can have it.

  When I went to our Embassy today to get a tin of coffee from my stores, which I keep there, the box, containing a half-year’s supply, was gone. It had just disappeared. If I were not leaving shortly, this would be a blow. Coffee, ever since it became impossible to buy it in Germany, has assumed a weird importance in one’s life. The same with tobacco. Some times the Embassy takes pity on me, but for the most part I smoke German pipe tobacco. Of late it has made foul smoking.

  BERLIN, November 14

  We thought the British would come over last night when Ribbentrop and Göring were feting Molotov at a formal state banquet. The Wilhelmstrasse was very nervous at the prospect, for they did not like the idea of adjourning to the cellar with their honoured Russian guests. Instead, the British came over this evening—shortly before nine p.m., the earliest yet—while Molotov was host to the Germans at the Soviet Embassy. Molotov, we hear, declined to go to the cellar and watched the fireworks from a darkened window. The British were careful not to drop anything near by.

  According to the German radio and the Warsaw Zeitung, Mr. Hoover’s American representative here has offered his congratulations to Dr. Frank, the tough little Nazi Governor of Poland, on the anniversary of his year in office. He congratulates him for what he has done for the Poles!

  My information is that there will be no Polish race left when Dr. Frank and his Nazi thugs get through with them. They can’t kill them all, of course, but they can enslave them all.

  BERLIN, November (undated)

  A pleasant dinner and evening at X’s in Dahlem. Two well-known German figures present, one a high Nazi official, and they spent the evening telling jokes on the regime, especially on Goebbels, whom they both appeared to loathe. About ten p.m. the British came and we went up on the balcony to watch the fireworks, which were considerable. Once there came the familiar whistle of a bomb just before it lands near you. Automatically we all dived through the open door into a pitch-dark bedroom, landing in a heap on the floor. The bomb shook the house, but we got no splinters. Pitiful how few planes the British can spare for this Berlin job. There were not more than a dozen of them tonight. They have done comparatively little damage here so far.

  BERLIN, November 20

  Today was Busstag, some sort of German Protestant holiday. Feeling low, I went to a candlelight concert in the Charlottenburg castle and heard a string quartet play Bach nobly. I am definitely getting away from here by plane to Lisbon on December 5 if I can get all the necessary papers in time. The Foreign Office, the police, the secret police, and so on must approve my exit visa before I can leave. And getting Spanish and Portuguese visas is proving no easy job. Harry Flannery has
arrived from St. Louis to take over.

  BERLIN, November 23

  Was having a most excellent dinner and some fine table-talk at Diplomat G.’s about eight forty-five this evening when the butler called me away to the phone. It was one of the girls at the Rundfunk saying that the British bombers were about ten minutes away and that I had better hurry if I wanted to broadcast this evening. I dashed out to my car. An aid-warden who also had the advance notice tried to stop me from driving away, but I brushed past him. I was not familiar with the blacked-out streets in this neighbourhood and twice almost drove at great speed into the Landwehr Canal. I reached the Knie, about two miles from the Rundfunk, when the sirens sounded. To stop, obey the law, put my lights out, park, and go to a shelter, as the law insisted? That meant no broadcast. Better to have remained at the dinner and enjoyed an evening for a change. I had never missed a broadcast because of air-raids. I decided to disobey the law. I left my hooded lights on and stepped on the gas. One policeman after another along the Kaiserdamm popped out waving a little red lamp. I raced by them, at fifty miles an hour. It was a stupid thing to do, because several times I just brushed other cars which had stopped in the darkness and put out their lights, as the law prescribes. You could not see them. By a miracle I did not smash into any of them, but about three blocks from the Rundfunk I decided my luck had been good enough, pulled up my car, and sprinted to the radio before the police could snatch me into a public shelter.