John Gibson: Honest, he was as nice as apple pie

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Adolf wasn’t such a schweinhund after all. Not half the cad, the utter basket we made him out to be.

No, really! He was Mister Nice Guy. Just like you and me and the bloke next door.

Things we never knew about the mad man who vowed that he’d rule the world.

He blew it big time, of course, and today the whistleblower is a maid, Elisabeth, employed at his mountain hideaway in Bavaria.

Eva Braun, his mistress, ran the house, ensuring that His Nibs got his freshly-baked apple cake daily.

Left out in the kitchen so that Adolf could sneak in and snaffle a slab while he ordered more of his generals to Stalingrad.

Adolf insisted on a lie-in on Sunday mornings.

Nobody dared disturb him while he was engrosed in Oor Wullie. The penalty: death by firing squad.

I’m taking Elisabeth, the woman who has blown the whistle, at her word, it should go without saying.

Would the sweet-toothed Fuhrer have relished a cup cake, one wonders? With drizzle of cyanide in the mix. But thanks anyway, Elisabeth.

Afterwords . .

. . . from inexhaustible wordsmith Leslie Thomas, whose passing was marked here on Monday: “Nostalgia can be a great deceiver.

“I used to get a lump in my throat and possible a tear in my eye when I heard Eartha Kitt sing When the World Was Young.

“I could almost feel the apple trees blossoming.

“But nostalgia apart, I do appear – especially for one who has had a slightly roller-coaster life – to be relatively short on regret.’’