Maria Mair nee Ghedina (1908-1990) and Dr. Josef Mair (1909 - 1986)

Historical Background: Maria Waldrast Monastery and the Rescue of the Gnadenbild

photograph: monastery Maria Waldrast. Online, https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Waldrast#/media/Datei:MariaWaldrast.jpg, (Access: 10.3.2026) 

High above the Wipptal Valley, at an altitude of 1,638 meters, lies Maria Waldrast Monastery – one of the oldest and most famous Marian pilgrimage sites in Tyrol. It was founded in 1407 after two shepherd boys discovered a carved Mother of God figure in a hollow larch trunk. This Madonna and Child (circa 1420) soon became the destination of countless pilgrims.
The history of the monastery has always been marked by upheavals: In 1785, Emperor Joseph II dissolved the monastery, the monks were forced to leave, and the Gnadenbild was taken to Mieders. It was not until 1844 that the Servite Order was able to buy back the ruins and rebuild the monastery and church by 1912. The Gnadenbild solemnly returned in 1848.
This eventful history repeated itself during the Nazi era: On April 8, 1941, the monastery was again dissolved and the fathers expelled. The Servite fathers were only able to return after the end of National Socialist rule in 1945.

The Rescue of the Gnadenbild from Maria Waldrast

After the dissolution of the Servite Monastery Maria Waldrast by the National Socialists on April 8, 1941, the valuable Gnadenbild—a late Gothic Madonna from the 15th century—was to be protected from the authorities. At the initiative of Bishop DDr. Paulus Rusch and Dr. Josef Mair from the "Glasnhof" in Schöfens, a daring rescue plan was developed. On an ice-cold April night, Franz Mair and Hans Madersbacher broke into the locked church, removed the statue, and initially hid it at the Glasnhof.
On the bishop's orders, the Madonna was then transported by Alfons Brands via train to the Lower Rhine region, where it found various hiding places—at times in the rectory of Nachtsheim in the Eifel and later in a bunker at the Dyckerhoff cement plant in Neuwied. It was only after the end of the war that Chaplain Karl Loven made the return possible. On November 11, 1945, the Gnadenbild solemnly returned to Maria Waldrast in a grand procession, where it is venerated to this day.

Photo: Maria Waldrast Mother of God – Mother and father talk about the Waldrast. In: Private archive of Mag. Mair, Hall in Tirol.

Dissolution and Confiscation of the Pilgrimage Monastery Maria Waldrast

It was a day that the people in the Stubai and Wipptal Valleys would remember forever: April 8, 1941. On that Tuesday, the Gestapo appeared at Waldrast and radically put an end to a centuries-old tradition. The pilgrimage monastery was dissolved, the buildings—both the monastery and the church—were confiscated. The Servite fathers, who for generations had overseen the pilgrimages and guarded the holy site, received orders to leave not only the monastery but the entire Gau of Tyrol-Vorarlberg within a few hours.
What sounded like a bureaucratic act was in truth a blow to the heart of the Catholic faith in the region. The fathers were only allowed to take the bare essentials with them; some of them ultimately found refuge at the Servite monastery in Vienna. What remained behind was an empty church, a deserted monastery complex—and a valuable Gnadenbild, the 66 cm high crowned limewood figure of the Madonna and Child, whose fate was now completely uncertain. The Nazis quartered an SS unit in the farm building; the church remained locked. Pilgrimages were henceforth forbidden.
Yet it was precisely this prohibition that truly ignited resistance. Just a few days later, on April 17, a gathering took place at the Glasnhof in Schöfens—ostensibly to celebrate the birth of little Michael Mair, but in truth to deliberate on the rescue of the Gnadenbild. What happened next is a story of courage and trust in God, of quiet heroes and a mother who, amidst fear and danger, held her family together.

Photograph: Maria and Michael Mair (1941). Held in private archive Mag. Thomas Mair Hall in Tyrol.

When Faith Became Dangerous: The Secret Rescue of the Madonna from Maria Waldrast

April 8, 1941, marked a sad turning point in Tyrolean church history. The National Socialists dissolved the Servite Monastery Maria Waldrast near Matrei am Brenner, expelled the fathers, and expropriated the monastery. It was part of the systematic persecution of the church that swept through the country after the "Anschluss" of Austria in 1938. Monasteries were closed, religious life was to be suppressed. Yet it was precisely in this darkest of times that something unexpected happened: Faith could not be silenced so easily.
In this tense situation, quiet but determined resistance formed. At the center of it were the married couple Dr. Josef Mair (1909–1986) and Maria Mair, née Ghedina (1908–1990) from the "Glasnhof" at Schöfens 7/8, municipality of Pfons/Matrei am Brenner. Josef Mair, a doctor of law and diocesan youth leader, had already come to the attention of the authorities several times. He had already been arrested twice and, upon his last release, had to sign a declaration that a third arrest would land him in a concentration camp. Maria Mair, a clever and level-headed woman, always stood by his side and would soon play a decisive role.
Together with Bishop DDr. Paulus Rusch (1903–1986) and the priest Michael Weisskopf (1891–1966), Dr. Josef Mair developed a daring plan: The valuable Gnadenbild of the Madonna from Maria Waldrast, a late Gothic 66 cm high crowned limewood figure from the 15th century, was to be brought to safety before the National Socialists could seize it. But the bishop and the clergy could not put themselves in danger. They needed brave men who were willing to risk everything.
These men were found in Hans Madersbacher (1920–1945) and Franz Mair (1921–1944), the brother of Josef Mair. Two young lads from the Wipptal Valley, fearless and courageous, who trusted themselves to climb up to Waldrast on an ice-cold April night and secretly take the Madonna from the locked church.
I have the great fortune of possessing unique audio recordings in which Maria and Josef Mair personally describe how they proceeded back then. In the following chapters, I will present these historical sound documents and tell the fascinating, almost cinematic story of how the removal of the Madonna was accomplished—a story of courage, secrecy, and deep faith in dark times.

Maria Mair's Night of Fear – And of Silent Heroism

While the men forged plans and the boys made their way to the locked church in the ice-cold April night, it was a woman who waited at home, expecting the worst – and yet held everything together.
Maria Mair, mother of five children, had given birth to her son Michael only five weeks earlier. The birth had been difficult, and the night of April 17, 1941, found her weakened, suffering from heavy bleeding and repeatedly plagued by nausea. Her husband Josef had gone to Innsbruck – not only to discuss the pilgrimage with the theology students, but above all to have an alibi. He had already been arrested twice by the Gestapo, and a third arrest would have meant the concentration camp.
Maria remained alone with her fear.
At 11 o'clock at night, Franz Mair and Hans Madersbacher set out from the Glasnhof. Their goal: the locked church of Maria Waldrast, occupied by the SS, guarded by the Gestapo. Their mission: the secret removal of the valuable Gnadenbild.
Maria waited. The clock in the parlor ticked, minute by minute. "I couldn't sleep a wink," she recalls in the recordings. "I was so sick with excitement that I had to keep going outside to vomit. I thought I couldn't bear it."
2 a.m. – no one came.
2:30 a.m. – nothing.
3 a.m. – silence.
3:30 a.m. – still no sign of the boys.
In her desperation, Maria began to pray – not for herself, but to the woman she was now trying to rescue. "I prayed to the Waldrast Mother of God; she stood by me during Michael's birth. I didn't think I would survive that delivery. So I promised her that I would help her if she was in need, just as she had stood by me in my need."
She had made this promise even before she knew what was coming. And now, in this endless night, it was being fulfilled.
As she prayed, new thoughts tormented her: What if the boys were discovered? The SS was up on Waldrast, a firing squad quickly at the ready. "Shot in the back while fleeing – how easily that happens," she thought. And then the other fear: If the policemen came now and found the open hole in the kitchen, the pit that Josef had dug for hiding the Madonna – what then? She couldn't even say she hadn't known anything.
At a quarter to four – it was still pitch dark, but morning was approaching – she finally heard footsteps.
The boys were back.
What she saw next made her heart stop once more: On his back, Franz carried the backpack, and the head of the Madonna protruded from it – visible down to the shoulders. "If anyone had seen the boys," Maria still thinks today. "Boys will be boys; they didn't think it through."
But they had done it.
In the kitchen, they placed the statue on the table. Maria poured them a schnapps. Hansl drank, Franzl didn't. Both were excited. They showed her the Madonna's wig – made of real hair – and the sky-blue silk robe with silver embroidery. "We'll burn these," they said. "So the police don't find anything."
But when Maria suggested hiding the statue as planned in the pit in front of the stove, Franz objected. "No, I'm not putting her in there. It's much too damp for her." Instead, he carried it up to the barn floor and hid it deep in the grain chest, completely under the grain. "No one will see her there," he said. And Maria, the mother who had already endured so much that morning, nodded. She couldn't refuse him.
Only the next day did they learn why the boys had taken so long: On Waldrast, a cow had calved, the veterinarian was there, people were moving back and forth between the stable and the inn. The boys had to hide in the forest for hours, in the freezing cold, waiting until finally quiet returned. No one had known that a calf would be born that night – not the boys, not Josef, not Maria. It was a coincidence that nearly betrayed them.
And when they were finally able to enter, the golden crown of the Christ Child fell to the floor. In the complete silence of the church, the clatter was deafening. But no one heard it.
Maria Mair had not only waited that night. She had prayed, trembled, vomited from fear – and she had endured. When the boys came, she was there. When the statue needed to be saved, she helped. And when the first arrests began the next day, when Msgr. Weisskopf and Msgr. Kolb were imprisoned, when the Gestapo combed through the entire valley – she remained silent.
In the audio recordings that I possess, Maria Mair speaks with a calm voice about that night. But between the words, one can hear the turmoil that has never left her. She was not a woman who mounted the barricades. She was a mother, a farmer's wife, a devout Catholic. And on that night, she became the keeper of a secret that could decide between life and death.
The Madonna of Maria Waldrast was saved. But without Maria Mair – without her fear, her tears, her prayer, and her unshakeable loyalty to a promise – everything would have turned out differently.

read more:

The Tyrolean Pilgrimage 1941

Maria Waldrast 1941

Msgr. Dr. Franz Kolb

Dr. Josef Mair

go here:

Maria Mair (German)