The Danube River
Was Our
Salvation
A cartographic
reflection of
the flight in
October 1944
Submission
coordinated by
Eve Brown.
Published at
DVHH.org
14 May 2008 by Jody McKim
Pharr.
by Gerhard Banzhaf
Translation by
Annette Schwindt
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A
locomotive with
two passenger
cars pulled out
of the train
station at India
on the afternoon
of October 6,
1944. It was
headed towards
Ruma, but the
passenger cars
were left on a
sidetrack
somewhere
between the two
towns. This was
a dangerous
situation due to
the presence of
the Partisans in
the region. It
was not until
the morning of
October 8 that
another
locomotive
arrived to
complete the
trip to Ruma,
where the cars
were added to a
longer
train. The
platform at Ruma
was packed with
people and their
belongings, all
waiting to board
the train.
The journey
on this train
promised to take
us to freedom.
This is why I
called it "The
Freedom Train."
So what is the
price of
freedom?
Freedom has no
price tag. The
evacuation, or
perhaps more
accurately, the
mass exodus, had
begun. It
happened with
horse and wagon,
on the trains of
the German
Reich, and it
happened on
foot.
Unlike the
adults, the
young boys,
including
myself, took
this journey
into the unknown
in stride. For
us, this was "a
week in the coal
wagon." We
traveled to
Vinkovci, but
there was an air
raid alert just
as we arrived,
so the train
continued on to
Esseg, where it
could pull into
the station
under the cover
of darkness.
After a short
layover, the
train ventured
into the night
towards Hungary,
where by morning
there was straw
provided for the
passengers to
lie down on.
We arrived
in Pecs (Fünfkirchen)
on October 9.
Many passengers
disembarked
hurriedly
because of an
urgent need to
use the
restrooms. The
last remaining
porcelain
chamber pot had
fallen from the
train onto the
tracks. “Shards
bring luck,” as
the saying
goes. There was
a large crowd by
the pot of lard,
since everyone
was hungry. We
rested again on
beds of straw
since no one had
slept well the
previous
nights. A
tarpaulin was
stretched over
one end of the
coal car to
protect us from
the impending
rainstorm. The
autumn sun
raised our
spirits after
the rainfall and
we, the boys
from India and
the teenagers
from our
neighborhood sat
on the lard cans
looking out at
the wonderful
view of the
Alpine
foothills. We
knew that the
border of German
territory could
not be much
further. We
crossed Slovenia
and at "Slowenska
Bistrica," after
a sharp curve,
we saw the sign
"Marburg." It
was already dark
when we reached
the
Slovenian-Austrian
border. The
night wind
became ice-cold
as we passed
through Kärnten
and without
blankets
everyone in the
open car had to
endure a very
chilly night.
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When the
train came to
the next stop, I
boarded the
passenger car
where my parents
were. It was
much warmer
inside and I
discovered that
the Danube
Swabian artist
Oskar Sommerfeld
and his family
were among the
people in the
car. As luck
would have it,
they lived in
our neighborhood
in Grieskirchen
during the
post-war years,
prior to our
emigration to
the USA.
As we
passed through a
village on the
southern
outskirts of
Vienna, another
air raid siren
wailed. The
train came to a
halt in a
shunting yard
and everyone ran
towards the air
raid shelters.
A friend and I
sought shelter
between the
wheels of a rail
car. The air
was filled with
the piercing
sound of the
siren and the
thunder of
anti-aircraft
fire. A sentry
soldier spied us
hiding under the
train and yelled
to us, "Get out!
Get out of
there! You’re
not safe here.
The train on the
next track is
loaded with
enough munitions
to blow up the
entire yard!"
We ran to join
the others in
the air raid
shelter. The
bombers had
targeted another
nearby rail yard
and we were safe
to continue our
journey. |
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The
afternoon
was grey.
It was as if
ashes hung
in the air,
mingling
with the
fog. The
coupling of
rail cars
was in full
swing and
trash was
hurriedly
removed from
the trains.
It reminded
me of the
propaganda
poster at
the train
station
which read,
"The wheels
of victory
must keep
rolling."
Do you
remember
it? But
where were
OUR wheels
taking us?
Not one of
us knew the
answer to
this
question.
Our
train passed
through the
outskirts of
Vienna and
almost as
far as Linz
along the
Danube
River. This
mighty
European
river was
the obstacle
that the Red
Army faced
in the
southeast at
this
juncture of
history and
afforded the
refugees the
chance to
survive
their
flight. I
often
wonder, in
my adopted
language,
"What if?"
What would
have
happened to
us if we had
stayed in
India? The
words that
come to mind
in German
would
translate as
"banishment
and
tyranny,"
but the true
word would
be
"genocide."
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The train
took us ever
closer to our
destination. At
one point in
time it was
called "Kreis
Oberdonau," and
it was where the
train stopped
overnight
because Linz was
being heavily
bombed.
A week
after leaving
India, the final
destination was
Grieskirchen.
It was October
13, 1944. The
train station
was empty and
there was no
indication that
a war was taking
place. We were
the first
refugees to
arrive. The
German Red Cross
was in place and
a school was
there; vacant
and ready to
accommodate the
children of the
displaced
people.
Austria was now
my new
homeland. It
remained such
until 1951 when
I made the USA
my new homeland.
Photo: My voyage
to the United
States in 1951. |
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This passport
photo "Foto
Tomic Indjija,"
had been saved
in Holstein
during the war.
It shows me as a
pupil on
September 1,
1939 (just when
the war started)
attending school in Stara Pazova, a
neighbouring town
of India,
together with
other children
from India.
More than 60
years later, you
can see me and
my dear wife
Christel. We are
now living in
North Olmsted,
Ohio, USA.
I send warm
greetings to all
my "Indjemer
Landsleit" (compatriots
from India) all
over the world. |
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