Underneath 77 Wilhelmstrasse, February 14th, 1945
As Russian guns pound Berlin into rubble, Adolf is hoping for a pounding of his own. But Valentine’s Day in the Fuhrerbunker is proving trickier than he imagined…
8:00 am – Woken up by Goebbels clattering a breakfast tray around and singing ‘Love can build a bridge.’ Scheisse! Just realized it’s Valentine’s Day! Why do I always forget? Fortunately Eva and I maintain separate bedrooms in the bunker. Imagine if rumours got out of the Fuhrer sleeping with a cheap hussy while his country is in need. People would think I was a monster. It is laundry day today as well, and all I have left to wear is my Third Reich footsie jammies. This branded clothing line was a mistake. I must remember to tell Goering to stop ordering the stuff, a pity as the finely embroidered slippers were made by enslaved hands. Woe is Adolf.
9:00 am – I need a card. I don’t know why you can’t just buy one anymore, apparently women find this thoughtless. Fortunately, I still have all my old art materials.
9:15 am – My glitter glue has dried up! Those damn Goebbels children have left the lid off. Schweinehunds!
9:30 am – Drawing a beautiful picture of my dog Blondi and I. We look so happy together, frolicking in the Anschluss. We make a great team; sometimes I wish it was just the two of us. Forever and always. I lie back in bed and dream of that day.
10:00 am – My dreams are becoming more disturbed; I think maybe I have taken on too much work. I need more me-time. I should get a holiday, perhaps in Orlando, Florida. Must write to Walt, have not heard from him of late.
10:30 am – Verflucht, I have ruined my Valentine’s card! One too many strokes of the brush and the whole drawing turned from affectionate to tyrannical.
10:45 am – I have a fantastic idea, building a beautiful papier-mâché heart from the old European maps. I doubt anyone will notice if Poland and Czechoslovakia are to disappear into this craft.
11:30 am – This was a terrible idea. I am completely coated in wallpaper paste. To make matters worse, the Goebbels children have been sticking tiny pieces of paper saying ‘Soll ich dir einen blasen?’ to my footsie uniform. One day those little Hudellumps will get their comeuppance!
1:00 pm – Lunch-time, so could not avoid Eva, she stared at me plaintively the whole way through the meal. Why can’t she just say what she’s thinking, instead of giving me the cow-eyes and making me feel guilty? Gott im Himmler, she looked so upset, you’d think I’d slaughtered her family or something.
2:00 pm – Just remembered I actually had Eva’s family slaughtered a while back. Anything to stop rumours of our relationship getting out. I don’t think her mother used to like me. Meh, no matter, she was so bitter her sauerkraut could have pickled a dumpling.
5:00 pm – I have completely run out of sequins, crepe paper, construction paper, brads, pipe cleaners, cotton balls, beads, pom poms, uhu glue and stick-on eyes. The ravaged remains of twelve half-finished presents lie around me. Blondi is chewing on a dried macaroni mural of the SS marching on Stalingrad in Spring. Something tells me Eva won’t appreciate any of this.
5:30 pm – I try to write some poetry about our fabulous love-making, but nothing rhymes with ‘urine dripping from your chin’. Maybe Frau Goebbels will be able to think of something.
6:00 pm – Very strange, Frau Goebbels has a huge supply of cyanide and tranquillisers which she suggests Eva might enjoy. We discussed my relationship at length. The Frau dissuaded me from starting a family before breaking down in tears. I do dislike it when women cry for no reason.
6:30 pm – That’s it, there is nothing in this bunker I can give her. Blondi and I have searched every nook and cranny. I can only give her what I have in my possession, a devoted and loving heart. I will make her a voucher for one hour of Aryan-luvvin’.
7:00 pm – Eva seems distraught with my choice. She keeps banging on about Mussolini. “Mussolini takes his girlfriend out, the Mussolinis don’t have to live in a bunker, the people adore Mussolini’s girlfriend, Mussolini has the balls to be open about their relationship.” I’m so sick of hearing about Mussolini!
8:00 pm – Donnerwetter! Why does Valentine’s have to be so awful? I blame commercialisation. Nevermind, it is her birthday at the end of April, and I have got her a lovely handgun. She says she wants something called a rampant rabbit, but this bunker is no place for happiness and bunnies. I’m sure she’ll love the gun, it only has two bullets, but it’s a fine piece of metal.
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