Traudl Junge - Hitler's Last Secretary - A Firsthand Account of Life with Hitler [aka Until the Final Hour]

Hitler also awarded decorations to the men wounded on 20 July around this time. Several had now died of their injuries, including General Schmundt. The survivors were solemnly given the award for the wounded. The newsreels and photo-reports recorded this great moment. I saw that Hitler kept his left hand motionless behind his back all the time. He was very anxious that no one should see its constant tremor. I noticed that his state of health wasn’t very good anyway. He was taking any amount of medication. Either before or after meals Linge had to give him at least five different pills. One was to stimulate the appetite, another to aid digestion, a third to prevent flatulence, and so on. In addition Professor Morell, grunting and groaning, turned up in person every day to administer his usual miracle-working injections. The doctor had been suffering from particularly bad heart trouble recently. Once again he tried to lose weight by going on a diet, but his voracious appetite made it very difficult. When he came for tea in the evening it was usually only a few minutes before we heard his quiet snoring, which didn’t stop until Hitler went to bed. Then Morell would assure us he had enjoyed the evening very much, but he was extremely tired. Hitler was never angry with him, but as solicitous as if he were a child. There was much gratitude and something like pity in his eyes when he spoke of Morell. He trusted him so completely that he said, ‘But for Morell I might have died long ago, or at least have been unable to work. He was and still is the only person who can help me.’ However, no one knew what Hitler was really suffering from. No definite diagnosis was ever made.

We were sitting together at lunch again; this was the end of August [1944]. Hitler’s manner to me was very strange. He seemed almost unfriendly. He never said a word to me all through the meal, and when I happened to meet his eyes by chance they bent a serious, questioning gaze on me.

I couldn’t imagine what I might have done or how I could have annoyed him. I didn’t worry about it any further, and thought he was probably just in a bad mood.

That same day Fegelein phoned me. ‘Can I come and have coffee with you this afternoon?’ he asked. I wondered why he suddenly wanted to come and see me, he’d never done that before, but I said yes. Coffee time came and went but Fegelein didn’t turn up. Finally the phone rang again. He said the briefing had gone on a long time and now he had to get some work done, but could I just drop in on him for a moment? All right, I thought, I might as well take my dog for a walk, and I set off for Fegelein’s new hut, the last building in the headquarters complex. Fegelein greeted me. ‘Hello, nice of you to come, would you like a schnapps?’ Goodness me, I thought, what’s he after? I’d assumed he had something he wanted to discuss with me. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t want a schnapps at the moment, but you were going to come and have coffee with me, weren’t you? What’s up? I mean, why are you doing me this honour although you know I’m faithful to my husband?’ Then he came over to me, put his arms round me in a paternal way and said, ‘I’d better tell you straight out. Your husband has fallen. [82] Hans Junge died on 13 August 1944 as an SS-Obersturmführer in a low-flying aircraft attack in Dreux, Normandy. (For Junge, see also note 10.) The Führer has known since yesterday, but he wanted to wait for confirmation, and then he found he couldn’t tell you himself. If you’re in any kind of trouble come and see me, I’ll always help you.’ With these words he let me go and poured me a schnapps after all, and now I did drink it. For the moment I couldn’t think at all, and Fegelein gave me no time for it. He went on talking, and as if from a great distance I heard him saying what ‘a terrible mess’, everything was, this war and the Bolshevists and absolutely everything, but one day it would all be different… Funny how I still remember that, although I was hardly listening to him.

Suddenly I was out in the open air again. Warm summer rain was falling very gently, and I walked on down the road, out of the camp and over the fresh green meadows, and it was very quiet and lonely. I felt very much alone, and it was all so terribly sad. I got back to my room late. I didn’t want to see or hear anyone. I wasn’t anxious to hear any condolences and sympathy. Then a call came from the Führer bunker. ‘Are you coming to dinner today, Frau Junge?’ I said, ‘No, I won’t be there at dinner today.’ The orderly hung up. But the phone rang again. This time Linge himself was on the line. He said, ‘The Führer would like a quick word with you all the same, so come on over even if you don’t stay for dinner.’ Finally I thought well, the sooner the better, and then I’ll have it behind me.

I was taken into the little room that had once been Fräulein Schroeder’s living room. Now it was a temporary study for Hitler. How gloomy and sober the room looked now. Once Linge had closed the door behind me Hitler came towards me without a word. He took both my hands and said, ‘Oh, child, I’m so sorry. Your husband was a splendid fellow.’ His voice was very soft and sad. I almost felt sorrier for Hitler than for myself, because it’s so difficult to express sympathy. ‘You must stay with me, and don’t worry, I’ll always be there to help you!’ Suddenly everyone wanted to help me, and I felt like running away.

Soon I was sharing mealtimes with Hitler again. He was feeling very unwell, he was silent, and looked old and tired. It was difficult to arouse his interest in a conversation. Even when Speer was talking Hitler sometimes didn’t listen. ‘I have so many anxieties… If you knew what decisions I have to take, all by myself, no one shares the responsibility with me.’ This was the kind of thing he said every time we asked him how he was feeling. The doctors went in and out of the bunker. The senior doctor from Berlin was always there, and Brandt was consulted too and examined Hitler’s painful arm and trembling hand. Finally Professor von Eicken [83] Carl von Eicken, b Mühlheim, in the Ruhr 31 December 1873, d Heilbronn 1960; 1922 professor of ear, nose and throat medicine at the Charité hospital in Berlin; 1926 medical director of the ear, nose and throat hospital at the Charité, retired 1950. was summoned from Berlin. He had once carried out a successful operation on Hitler’s larynx, and had his full confidence. And Morell was ill himself; there was nothing for it, he had to go to bed and leave the care of Hitler to his deputy Weber. It was the worst blow in Morell’s ambitious life to find that Hitler was happy with his deputy. He suddenly realized that there were other doctors who could give injections as well as Morell. Hitler claimed it was positively a work of art to find a vein of his to inject, and it was rare for a doctor to be able to treat him well. Morell was wildly jealous and ambitious, but now he had to leave the field temporarily, just when Hitler needed him most. Dark clouds were gathering above his own fat head. Brandt and his colleague von Hasselbach had found out that the tablets Morell was giving Hitler contained a certain percentage of strychnine, which was bound to be deadly one day if Hitler went on taking such large doses.

No one checked up on the medicaments that Hitler took in the course of a day. Linge had a certain amount of supplies in his cupboard, and when Hitler wanted something Linge would take it to him without asking Morell first. Finally the two surgeons wrote a memo and handed it to Hitler. The result was an outbreak of fury on the Führer’s part and Brandt’s dismissal from his post as attendant doctor. He had lost Hitler’s confidence, although he had previously been quite friendly with Eva Braun. But it was a dangerous and almost hopeless undertaking to criticize Morell.