THE prison governor opens the door at 7 a.m., snaps almost imperceptibly to attention, and says: Mr Irving, we are deeply ashamed that this is happening. . .

December 21, 2006 (Thursday)
Vienna police prison (Austria) — London (England)

A LITTLE procession of officers into my cell starts soon before dawn, something of a pilgrimage even.

The commandant himself, the prison governor, opens the door at 7 a.m., snaps almost imperceptibly to attention, and says: “Mr Irving, we are deeply ashamed that this is happening. We do not agree with this at all. We will of course have to treat you the same as any other prisoner,” — and I smile and say I expected no different.

The Fremdenpolizei take me in for interrogations; no surprises there either. Dr Schaller’s middle aged daughter Elisabeth comes — he himself is already in Mannheim, defending Ernst Zündel in that mammoth-length trial, almost ignored by the media. The police announce that I will be held another one more two days, pending flight arrangements; she insists on today, and gets me onto Austrian flight OS 455 leaving at 5:15 pm. She says my supporters hung around Vienna airport for six hours last night waiting to wish me well. She also says that my appeal victory dominated the TV discussion panels in Vienna yesterday, with the Jüdisches Kultusgemeinde and all the other usual suspects expressing outrage — the Shylocks furious at being short-weighted on their pound of flesh.

(The British press is bemused that I am being detained two days “to speed my departure.”) She says that George Kádár has tried to reach me. On her cell phone, in the police interrogation centre, I take calls from the local BBC reporter, who asks if she can come with a TV camera to interview me in this building; the officer pinks, when I ask, and panics, and says no. I suggest therefore, try the airport here this afternoon.

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