Escape over the Pyrenees.(First Person)

FROM ALL SIDES, I was pressed hard to set a date for our departure; I knew I had to do it, yet I was not yet prepared to abandon a country to which I had come by my own free will, where I had lived for many years, where I felt at home and had passed the best and happiest years of my life. I was one of the few who were not refugees. I felt close to this country and was deeply affected by its disastrous misfortune, more so than all those who surrounded me.

Although nobody announced his real departure date, it was, if not known, still felt in advance. First the Werfels were gone, then Professor Paul Stefan, then Mrs Zweig with her two daughters and their husbands. What dispositions they had prepared in advance remained everyone's secret. But all had to cross the Pyrenees. They either had connections with Spanish Catholic institutions or were rich enough to order a vehicle and porters from Spain. Those for whom neither possibility was open had to walk, as trains were not crossing the border. The Pyrenees were the only exit from France, all ports and other borders out to the free Atlantic being blocked.

One afternoon a few people arrived in Marseille from the north and brought the latest news to us. They also told us they had travelled with Nazi police in their compartment and had seen a list of names the police were looking for in the south of France. One name near the top of the list was my own!

This triggered the long-awaited decision. Sophie agreed we should leave immediately. I called my sister Dele and our friend, Grete Freund, who had joined us for better or worse, and we took the train that evening towards the nearest point on the Spanish border, via Perpignan-Banyuls-Portou. Everything had to be done clandestinely. From 8 p.m. on there was a curfew, even on the railways. At Perpignan, we had to change trains; with no guides and no flashlights, to find the right train for Banyuls of the many trains coming from various directions was quite a piece of work. Our wandering over the tracks brought upon us an immediate police inspection as soon as we were installed in the new train. We did not show our Mexican papers but claimed only to be on our way to visit a family in Banyuls, some kilometres away from the frontier station at Port-Bou. They soon left us, cursing the untimely disturbance.

In marvellous southern sunshine we arrived the next morning in Banyuls, where we had to investigate how to continue on over the border and avoid the border controls. Sleeping quarters for one or two nights were easily found. By chance in Banyuls we met some Austrian socialists whom we knew from Montauban and who were usually well informed about the least dangerous ways to proceed.

As I saw some of them enter the mayor's office, I also went in and asked for a responsible person to direct us across the mountains to Spain. The man to whom I spoke seemed to be trustworthy. I asked for his discretion and told him that we were refugees who wished to flee from France without an exit permit. He indicated to me someone who was familiar with all the smugglers' paths, who knew the country inside out and could direct us properly. But we had to take a trial walk up the mountains with him, about two hours of climbing. I was ready to do it, and Grete Freund was willing to accompany me. The two others, Sophie and Dele, had to await our return.

When we reached a considerable height we saw a deep valley before us surrounded by ranges of mountains. Our guide pointed out a particular summit, on top of which was a big square cross which we should use as a landmark and towards which we should direct our path. That was the Spanish border. On arrival there we should immediately ask for the nearest Spanish customs office, an immigration place. If we missed this customs office, the Spaniards might well arrest us as illegal immigrants. Then he brought us back to Banyuls.