strong – and had, of course, been one of the primary
wellsprings of Nazi support – but for most this meant stopping short
of war. The prospect of returning to the fray two decades on against
the same enemies was one that seems to have left most Germans in
something approaching a state of shock. As one Berliner wrote that
day, the mood in the capital was profoundly depressed. ‘The atmos-
phere here is terrible’, he said, ‘a mixture of resignation and mourning
. . . It could not be worse.’52
Christabel Bielenberg, as an Englishwoman married to a German
and living in Berlin, perhaps felt the pain of the new war more than
most. She recalled listening to Neville Chamberlain’s Downing Street
radio broadcast on 3 September, which contained the fateful words
‘this country is at war with Germany’.
I sat motionless on the sofa. The voice carried on with its message but
I was no longer listening. . . .
The room seemed very small, much too small, and I got up suddenly
and went out through the French windows into the garden . . . The air
outside was gentle and warm. A pungent smell of pine trees from the
Grunewald hung over the garden and it was very dark.
faith in the führer
29
I sat down on the low brick wall which separated our flower beds
from the lawn, and stared into the darkness. Ahead of me a narrow
shaft of light from the sitting-room window pinpointed my path through
the dew, some dahlias beside me, the rough bark, the shadowy branches
of an apple tree beyond. . . .
An electric blue flash from the S-Bahn lit up the blacked-out sky, our
little house, the billowing curtains of the room upstairs where the chil-
dren were sleeping. An apple slithered through the branches of the tree
behind me and fell with a soft thud on to the flower bed beneath. It
was very peaceful and very still in the garden.53
That peace, it seemed, was soon to be shattered.
After the Polish campaign was completed, in early October 1939, the
German people might still have imagined that the chances for peace
were good. After all, the Poles had been defeated and, with that –
cynics would have argued – the Allied casus belli had effectively been
removed. Moreover, as no open conflict had yet erupted on the Western
Front, it was reasonable to assume that a settlement was possible.
This certainly was the logic adopted in Berlin’s government circles,
even by Hitler himself. On 6 October, after returning from Warsaw, where
the last pockets of Polish resistance were being subdued, the Führer
stood before the Reichstag – once again assembled in the Kroll Opera
House – and made what became known as a ‘peace offer’ to Britain and
France. He began with a long, rambling piece of self-justification:
summarising the successful campaign in Poland, pouring scorn on his
opponents and praising Nazi–Soviet cooperation. He summed up his
own thinking by asking:
Why should there be war in the West? To restore Poland? The Poland
of the Treaty of Versailles shall never rise again. This, two of the world’s
greatest states guarantee. The final structure of this area, the question
of the restoration of a Polish state, are problems which cannot be
resolved through war in the West, but rather solely by Russia on the
one hand, and Germany on the other.54
Though he made it abundantly clear that any supposed settlement would
have to be on his terms, Hitler nonetheless proclaimed his readiness for
30
berlin at war
peace. He hinted vaguely at the possibility that an international confer-
ence might settle Europe’s problems and that a new Geneva Convention
might regulate warfare ‘among civilized states’: prohibiting the killing
of the injured, for instance, or the use of poisoned gas. He concluded
with the faux -pious hope that God might see to it that the Germans ‘and
all others [may] find the proper path, so that not only the German Volk
but all of Europe may rejoice in the new happiness
wellsprings of Nazi support – but for most this meant stopping short
of war. The prospect of returning to the fray two decades on against
the same enemies was one that seems to have left most Germans in
something approaching a state of shock. As one Berliner wrote that
day, the mood in the capital was profoundly depressed. ‘The atmos-
phere here is terrible’, he said, ‘a mixture of resignation and mourning
. . . It could not be worse.’52
Christabel Bielenberg, as an Englishwoman married to a German
and living in Berlin, perhaps felt the pain of the new war more than
most. She recalled listening to Neville Chamberlain’s Downing Street
radio broadcast on 3 September, which contained the fateful words
‘this country is at war with Germany’.
I sat motionless on the sofa. The voice carried on with its message but
I was no longer listening. . . .
The room seemed very small, much too small, and I got up suddenly
and went out through the French windows into the garden . . . The air
outside was gentle and warm. A pungent smell of pine trees from the
Grunewald hung over the garden and it was very dark.
faith in the führer
29
I sat down on the low brick wall which separated our flower beds
from the lawn, and stared into the darkness. Ahead of me a narrow
shaft of light from the sitting-room window pinpointed my path through
the dew, some dahlias beside me, the rough bark, the shadowy branches
of an apple tree beyond. . . .
An electric blue flash from the S-Bahn lit up the blacked-out sky, our
little house, the billowing curtains of the room upstairs where the chil-
dren were sleeping. An apple slithered through the branches of the tree
behind me and fell with a soft thud on to the flower bed beneath. It
was very peaceful and very still in the garden.53
That peace, it seemed, was soon to be shattered.
After the Polish campaign was completed, in early October 1939, the
German people might still have imagined that the chances for peace
were good. After all, the Poles had been defeated and, with that –
cynics would have argued – the Allied casus belli had effectively been
removed. Moreover, as no open conflict had yet erupted on the Western
Front, it was reasonable to assume that a settlement was possible.
This certainly was the logic adopted in Berlin’s government circles,
even by Hitler himself. On 6 October, after returning from Warsaw, where
the last pockets of Polish resistance were being subdued, the Führer
stood before the Reichstag – once again assembled in the Kroll Opera
House – and made what became known as a ‘peace offer’ to Britain and
France. He began with a long, rambling piece of self-justification:
summarising the successful campaign in Poland, pouring scorn on his
opponents and praising Nazi–Soviet cooperation. He summed up his
own thinking by asking:
Why should there be war in the West? To restore Poland? The Poland
of the Treaty of Versailles shall never rise again. This, two of the world’s
greatest states guarantee. The final structure of this area, the question
of the restoration of a Polish state, are problems which cannot be
resolved through war in the West, but rather solely by Russia on the
one hand, and Germany on the other.54
Though he made it abundantly clear that any supposed settlement would
have to be on his terms, Hitler nonetheless proclaimed his readiness for
30
berlin at war
peace. He hinted vaguely at the possibility that an international confer-
ence might settle Europe’s problems and that a new Geneva Convention
might regulate warfare ‘among civilized states’: prohibiting the killing
of the injured, for instance, or the use of poisoned gas. He concluded
with the faux -pious hope that God might see to it that the Germans ‘and
all others [may] find the proper path, so that not only the German Volk
but all of Europe may rejoice in the new happiness
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