Flight over the Krimml Tauern Mountains - Alpine Peace Crossing

Flight over the Krimml Tauern Mountains
A personal account by Victor Knopf
The final stage and last stopover for the refugees who had left the American
occupation zone in Austria on their way to Italy was the Givat Avoda DP
camp in Saalfelden. At the end of 1946 I had offered my services to the
Bricha at this camp and worked for the Jewish refugees – on a voluntary
basis, selflessly and with much idealism, as it was our duty and responsibility
to help people who were in need of assistance. Not material help, but more a
physical and moral support, to enable them to negotiate without mishap
those journeys that were otherwise very arduous for them. They were
people who had never been in the mountains before, and were therefore
unaware of the dangers involved. In those days the route over the Krimmler
Tauern was no stroll around the park. The refugees were not particularly
well-equipped: they had no sturdy shoes, no protective rainwear, no hiking
sticks and very little to eat, for they had to carry everything themselves.
Other than what they wore, they had no luggage with them.
One other point: refugees from many different countries arrived in Saalfelden:
Romanians, Hungarians, Russians, Poles. How could you communicate with
these people? If you spoke to a Romanian in order to make a first contact, he
said “Nu stju” – in English: “I don’t understand” –; if you spoke to a
Hungarian, he said “Nem tudiom”; to a Russian “Nie poniemaju” and to a Pole
“Nie rozumie”. So how do you get them all to start walking? With a basic “Let’s
go!”, otherwise they just wouldn’t have moved. That was how things began.
You could only cross the Krimml Tauern mountains from spring to late
autumn, after the snows had melted and before the first snowfall of winter. In
the winter months – from November 1946 to May 1947 – we smuggled people
by train to Tyrol in the French zone. It was hardly possible by car or on foot,
so we tried using the railway. How did we do it? First of all I travelled by train
from Saalfelden to Bischofshofen or Schwarzach – that is, in the wrong
direction! Then I climbed into the post waggon, put on the ticket collector’s
uniform and, as I could speak German, suggested to him that, in return for
a packet of cigarrettes and a tin of corned beef, he should get some sleep.
We then pushed all the parcels forward, erected a partition and hid 30, 40
or 50 people behind it. The parcels were re-stacked up against the partition
and thus we arrived at Hochfilzen, the border with the French zone. The
French border guards searched the whole train thoroughly, looking for Jews.
I stood in my uniform either by the window or at the door and when one of
them asked: “Any Jews in there?”, I answered “No”. After that it was
important to move on quickly. I changed my clothes again in Kitzbühel,
assembled the people from the post waggon and said to them: “Listen
carefully! In Solbad Hall in Tyrol I’m going to get off the train on the right
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hand side. Watch me through the windows and as soon as I get out, you
get out too.” In a flash people would get out of the waggons; 20,30,40, as
many as were there. The Bricha’s American trucks – GMCs or Dodges –
stood waiting at Solbad Hall, ready to take us to the Gnadenwald camp,
which was the Tyrolean “launch pad” into Italy. This was our method of
transporting refugees during the winter months until the snows melted in
the spring of 1947.
Now I come to my favourite route, the one I came to love most of all and
which was beautiful but required great physical strength. Normally a few
hundred people would be living at the camp in Saalfelden. Each time we
removed 150 or 200 people, our good friend Marko Feingold from
Salzburg sent us another 150 so that the camp remained full and we
always had enough people to be moved on. We had to segregate the
refugees, however, according to their physical capabilities, as the route
over the mountains just didn’t come into question for pregnant women,
invalids or small children. In the afternoon, usually between 4 and 5
o’clock, we selected young people who looked particularly suitable and
able, who were to be ready for their journey by 10 pm. We usually had
four trucks at our disposal. Two of them, one GMC and one Dodge,
belonged to the camp; the others were hired from Geiger in Saalfelden
and Koidl in Mittersill. The drivers arrived in the evening, loaded up the
150 to 200 people and off they went to Krimml. Normally everything
went without a hitch.
Only once did we have an accident but there were, thank goodness, no
fatalities. As we drove with fully loaded trucks over a bridge in Wald, a
village in Upper Pinzgau, the tailgate of one of them, driven by Adolf Pichler,
a future Member of Parliament and Mayor of Saalfelden, fell open. A
Romanian girl called Stella tumbled from a height of around 3 metres into
the stream, hitting a rock and breaking her pelvis. She was the only one we
ever had to return to Saalfelden. There we had a small DP hospital, run by a
certain Dr Schubert, who was assisted by a nurse called Rosemarie. Stella
lay in plaster for 6 weeks before she could walk again. To avoid any
possibility of fear we did not try to lead her over the mountains again but
sent her on by train.
Having arrived in Krimml, we offloaded the people at the house
"Fernsebner", this being the last house on the right-hand side before the
Krimml waterfalls, where the first stage of our footslog up to the Krimml
Tauern Lodge began. From there, at a height of 1,600 m, our journey
continued to the Krimml Pass border at 2,600 m, and then down to Kasern in
the Aurina Valley on the South Tyrol side. There we handed over our charges
to our colleagues who were working full-time for the Bricha.
How did a typical journey unfold? It all happened at night: we arrived in
Krimml at 2 am. Our motto was: disembark quietly and leave no traces
behind, as though no-one had ever been there. The commander of the local
Gendarmerie in Krimml, Helmut Kraut, knew what was going on. He slept
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through deliberately; the local inhabitants were also sound asleep. Our
groups consisted of 150 to 200 people, some mobile and others not so
mobile, accompanied by two Bricha leaders – one led the way, while the
other brought up the rear of the procession. As the first people were
reaching the first waterfall, others were still down in the valley. To make
sure we did not lose anyone, we always had to wait for the slowest to catch
up before advancing further. Our responsibilty was, after all, a massive
one. We reached the third and uppermost waterfall at around 5 am; some
were already rested while others were only just arriving, very weary. From
there the path into the valley and towards the Krimml Tauern Lodge was
almost straight and almost on the level. Eventually we arrived at the lodge,
having always had a few minor problems to deal with: someone had
stomachache, somebody else had some other complaint, but this had to be
taken in our stride. We did not need three hours for the walk from Krimml
to the Tauern Lodge, but rather five or six. However, we always arrived
with a complete headcount, and no-one ever went missing.
By about 7 am even the stragglers had reached the Krimml Tauern Lodge.
The innkeepers there were very nice and extremely kind to us. We had
brought food with us. Liesl Geisler, the innkeeper, who’s son now runs the
lodge, was in fact like a mother to the children, whenever children – no
babies, but some small children – were with us. She slaved away in the
kitchen, baking pastries ("Papperl"), making tea and stew for everyone, so
that they had something warm to eat. As there was not enough room
inside, some stretched out on the verandah while those most exhausted
rested on mattresses.
We were roused at around 4 pm: “Off to the Krimml Tauern crossing”. This
was yet another very arduous footslog, climbing steeply along by a
waterfall on a gravelly path towards the end of the valley. The route
through the Windbach valley up to the border took several hours, we got
there as late as 8 or even 9 pm. And then we had only reached the border,
on the pass over the main Tauern ridge. Ahead of us we still had to
descend to Kasern, which meant another three to four hours. The refugees
carried no lamps on this nocturnal march to Kasern. Even we from the
Bricha had no lights either. We would usually arrive in Kasern during the
night at 1 or 2 am. There, the people were accommodated in the
guesthouse “Kasern” and in a farmhouse which had been rented as a
rehabilitation centre by the organisation Joint, effectively the Bricha in
Merano. In the summer of 1947 there were always 40 “guests” officially
registered there. There were never any problems with the local
population, and in fact some good contacts were established. The
inhabitants of the Aurina Valley knew that the refugees were only ever
planning to stay for a short time. When the Bricha was expecting a new
group of refugees, the 40 people present at that time were moved on.
And so the 40 weakest newcomers could be accommodated in the now
empty house. The remainder were transported by the Bricha without
further delay in American Red Cross vehicles to Merano. If, upon arrival, I
asked them whether they would go through the same ordeal again, they
all replied “No, come what may!”
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Of course it would not have been possible to cross the border without the help
and support of both the Austrian border guards and Italian carabinieri. Two
Italians helped me on the South Tyrol side, who were later to become great
friends of mine. When I met them for the first time I stammered to them half
in German and half in Italian, asking them what they wanted for their help or
whether I could be of service to them in any way. They asked for cigarette
lighters and tins of sardines, so I stuffed my rucksack full of lighters and
sardines and walked back up to the border. The two of them were so grateful
that they helped us in any way they could: humping rucksacks and even
carrying small children all the way down to Kasern. These were men who were
sympathetic towards us and ironed out any problems before they could
develop. We also provided Austrian border guards with cigarettes and lighters.
I must recount one single episode that we deliberately provoked. As the
British found out that Jews were using the path to Italy via the Krimml
Tauern mountains, they posted guards up on the border. The caribinieri
informed the Bricha in Merano of this, who in turn told us. So we staged the
following: we selected 80 lads, really healthy young men, went up to the pass
with them and allowed ourselves to be caught, or rather, allowed ourselves to
be prevented from crossing the border. The British were waiting for us and
refused to let us past with a vehement “No, no!”. What should we do? We
simply returned to the Krimml Tauern Lodge and waited for two days. Two
days later the British were no longer there. So we then proceeded with 250
people across the border, thereby hoodwinking the British. You could trick the
French just as easily as the British. Thus we took on a constant stream of
people in Saalfelden and handed them over in Kasern, in good health and
complete in number, to the Bricha from Merano.
Finally, I musn’t forget to give a mention to all those who were particularly
helpful to us during the course of this difficult mission. There were not too
many: the future Member of Parliament and Mayor of Saalfelden, Adolf
Pichler; Herr Koidl from Mittersill; Herr Josef Gritsch from the employment
exchange in Zell am See, who occasionally also helped out as a driver. Herr
Prem, officer at the customs post above the Tauern Lodge, who often
offered me a lift when riding his motorcycle back down to Krimml: "Viktor,
d’you know what, climb aboard and I’ll take you down!" was his offer which
I could never refuse, bearing in mind I had to cover the distance from
Krimml to Kasern and back twice each week. I was able to accompany
several thousand refugees safe and sound across the mountains, and
that’s something I’m really proud of. The Bricha was disbanded soon after
the Declaration of the State of Israel on 15th May 1948, as Jews were
henceforth allowed to travel to their new homeland by fully legal means.
Viktor Knopf was born 1922 in Teschen near Ljublina (Silesia). From
1946 onwards he lived in Pinzgau/Salzburg. He died 1998 in Zell
am See.
The above text is reproduced from the book:
Thomas Albrich (Editor), “Flucht nach Eretz Israel. Die Bricha und
der jüdische Exodus durch Österreich nach 1945” (“Flight to Eretz
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Israel. The Bricha and the Jewish Exodus through Austria after
1945”). Publ.: Studienverlag Innsbruck-Vienna 1998, Pg. 193 – 198.
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