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John F. Crossfield was a bloody legend in his lifetime. Well, to the people that knew him, that is.
Somewhere on some day back in history (John was never big on details), in the unforgiving Australian outback where nothing but spiders, snakes and howling dingoes live, he opened a pub.
It became a home away from home for all those roaming the endless lengths of the 5th continent, from cattle farmers, truckies, to the 5 locals (including one dog) that lived in the same town as the pub.
The Crossfield’s pub may have been just another dot on a pretty empty looking map, but for many, it was an oasis, a lighthouse on the flat steaming horizons of the land.
One day, a huge bushfire swept through the area, taking with it the pub. Devastated and heartbroken, John decided to turn his back on the Australian outback, never to return.
After moving back to the big city of Sydney, Crossfield’s worked behind various bars, until one hairy night involving one too many jugs of beer, he got chatting to an Austrian girl, Karo Querfeld, and the rest is history…ya know, they fell in love.
This Querfeld girl started to miss home, so they decided to emigrate to Austria. John didn’t see the move to the land of the Alps as such a big deal.
After all, Austria sounded similar to Australia.
When somebody would ask him how he ended up living in Austria, he’d always answer: ‘I accidentally bought the wrong ticket.’ Made them laugh, every damn time.
Many years passed, and they had kids, as people in love do, and John one day told his kids the story about his pub.
The legend slowly grew of their dad’s pub. His children, and his children's children continued telling the story about the Crossfield's Pub until one day, one of them eventually had the idea to open it once again, in all its former glory, in the heart of Vienna.
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