I remember the year of forty five, when Adolph and Benito saw their plans for conquest dashed – for them it was finito! What now of might? And what of power? Whose soul-corroding character can lose a man his dignity diminish him to … a Monster? Unforgettable! That year of forty five when Hell lay bare in Dachau! Adolph, bunkered, did his final act – whilst Benito’s cadaver hung upside down with Petaci’s, for ice-cold comfort! I remember the year of forty six, as the victors shared out in Potsdam – and the murdering enslaver, wily Joe, foxed the pompous Brits and the smart ass Yanks – he did by damn! At Potsdam!