Day two: Hitler's last days | Destruction of the Jews | The Berlin Olympics | Genocide

Life in the bunker

Hitler's bunker wrecked by shells
Photograph: AP

After his apartments in the Reich Chancellery were gutted by incendiaries, Hitler moved underground for much of the time, shuffling down the seemingly unending stone steps, flanked by bare concrete walls, that led to the claustrophobic, labyrinthine subterranean world of the Führer Bunker, a two-storey construction deep below the garden of the Reich Chancellery. The complex was completely self-contained, with its own heating, lighting and water-pumps run from a diesel generator. It provided a macabre domicile for the remaining weeks of his life.

The bunker was far removed from the palatial surrounds to which he had been accustomed since 1933. An attempt was made to retain a degree of splendour in the corridor leading up to his bunker. This had been converted into a type of waiting-room, laid with a red carpet and provided with rows of elegant chairs lined against the walls. From here, a small ante-room gave way to the curtained entrance to his study. This was a small room – around nine by twelve feet – and seemed oppressive. A door on the right opened on to his bedroom, which had doors leading into a small briefing room, into his bathroom, his bedroom, and a tiny dressing room. A writing desk, small sofa, a table, and three armchairs were squeezed into the study, making it cramped and uncomfortable. A large portrait of Frederick the Great entirely dominated the room, offering a constant reminder to Hitler of the seeming rewards for holding out when all appeared lost until the tide miraculously turned.

The first time he ventured down to visit Hitler, Goebbels spoke of finding his way through the corridors 'just like in a maze of trenches'. Over the next weeks, Hitler transferred almost all of his activities to the bunker, leaving it only for occasional snatches of fresh air to let Blondi out for a few minutes in the Chancellery garden or to take lunch with his secretaries above ground. From then on, he seldom saw daylight. For him and his 'court', spending almost their entire existence in the confines of the underground headquarters, night and day lost most of their meaning.

Hitler's day usually began around this time with the sound of air-raid sirens in the late morning. His valet was instructed to wake him, if he were not already awake, at noon, sometimes as late as 1.00 p.m. Often – probably affected by the unholy concoctions of pills, potions and injections he had daily (including stimulants as well as sedatives) – he had slept, so he claimed, for as little as three hours. The air-raids made him anxious. He would immediately dress and shave. The outer appearance of the Führer had to be maintained. He could not face his entourage unshaven and in night clothes even during an air-raid.

The afternoons were almost exclusively taken up with lunch and the first of the lengthy twice-daily military briefings. The evening meal, usually not beginning until eight o'clock, sometimes later, frequently dragged out until late in the evening. Hitler sometimes retired for an hour or two, sometimes taking a sleep until it was time for the second military briefing. By now, it was usually 1.00 a.m. By the end of the briefing – invariably stressful in the extreme for all who attended, including Hitler himself – he was ready to slump on the sofa in his room. He was not too tired, however, to hold forth to his secretaries and other members of his close circle, summoned to join him for tea in the middle of the night. He would regale them, as he had done throughout the war, for up to two hours with banalities and monologues about the church, race problems, the classical world, or the German character. After fondling Blondi and playing for a while with her puppy (which he had named 'Wolf'), he would at last allow his secretaries to retreat and finally retire himself to bed. It was by then, around five o'clock in the morning, though in practice often much later.

A piece of pure escapism punctuated at this time Hitler's daily dose of gloom from the fronts: his visits to the model of his home-town Linz, his intended place of retirement, as it was to have been rebuilt at the end of the war, following a glorious German victory. Bent over the model, he viewed it from all angles, and in different kinds of lighting. He checked the proportions of the different buildings. He asked about the details of the bridges. Looking down on the model of a city which, he knew, would never be built, Hitler could call into reverie, revisiting the fantasies of his youth. They were distant days. It was soon back to a far harsher reality.