A Tribute to My Great-Uncle, George Summerfield

3rd June 1933 – 31st March 2025

Twin Brother of my Grandad, Peter Summerfield BEM

It’s hard to put into words the quiet strength, wisdom, and warmth that George Summerfield carried with him throughout his life. To many, he was a survivor, an educator, and a gentleman. To us, he was family—deeply loved, endlessly admired, and never forgotten.

George Summerfield was born Heinz Günther Sommerfeld in Berlin in June 1933, just months after Hitler came to power. He and his twin brother, my grandfather Peter, were the sons of Margot and Franz Sommerfeld. Their father, once a respected civil servant, lost his job under Nazi racial laws, and it was their mother Margot, a talented haute couture dressmaker, who carried the family through those increasingly dark days.

George’s earliest memories are imprinted with a chilling sense of foreboding. On 10th November 1938—Kristallnacht—George and Peter, just five years old, looked out of the window of a tram on the way to their Jewish kindergarten and saw the Fasanenstrasse synagogue in flames. The sense of dread was overwhelming. Only days earlier, they had stood inside that very building for a children’s Simchat Torah celebration.

Their parents had been desperately seeking a way out of Germany since 1935, and finally, in 1938, they secured a visa to the United States, sponsored by a distant relative. While preparing their belongings for shipping, a Gestapo officer came to supervise the packing of their crate. They were meant to leave on 30th August 1939—but it was George and Peter’s grandmother, who had secretly listened to BBC radio, who urged them to flee sooner, convinced that war was about to break out.

Their parents wanted to take her advice but couldn’t afford the train fare to the UK. In an extraordinary act of kindness, the caretaker of their building, Mr Rolf Schädler, gave them the money—expecting nothing in return. Thanks to his selfless generosity, the family boarded a train that very evening—Saturday, 26th August—and reached safety in the UK just days before war began. Though the debt was later repaid, the gesture was never forgotten.

The family was initially housed by the Central British Fund and settled in Chiswick, where George and Peter attended school before relocating to Eastbourne. But even in safety, life wasn’t easy. Their father was interned on the Isle of Man, and George, Peter, and Margot moved back to London—classified as 'enemy aliens’ and no longer permitted to live on the coast. They spent each night sleeping in the Tottenham Court Road Underground Station during the Blitz.

Despite being bullied at school for being “German,” George thrived. He and Peter were later offered scholarships to the Hall School in Swiss Cottage, and they found community at Belsize Square Synagogue, where they were the only children their age. There, they began performing—singing and tap dancing for the synagogue, the Blue Danube Club, and even for American troops stationed in London.

George’s academic promise was clear early on. He and Peter both won scholarships to study at Oxford University—an extraordinary achievement for two boys who had arrived in Britain as refugees. After completing National Service, including active duty in Egypt and Malta, their lives followed parallel paths for many years. But while Peter pursued a legal career, George used his exceptional language skills to forge his own way, working first in tourism and later as a career consultant.

George married Giselle, with whom he had two children. After her passing in 1991, he later found love again with Marion, who brought him joy and companionship in his later years. Throughout it all, he remained close with Peter and Peter’s wife Marianne—my grandma—and the bond between them only deepened over time.

Even in his final years, George continued to shape the world around him. In 2021, he appeared in the BBC series Saved by a Stranger, where he was reunited—over Zoom, due to the pandemic—with the son of Rolf Schädler. George was deeply moved to reconnect with the family of the man who had helped save theirs.

George’s legacy is one of resilience, intellect, generosity, and heart. He never let trauma define him, but instead used his story to educate and to inspire. To me, he will always be more than a historical figure—he was a living bridge between past and present, and the gentlest soul you could hope to meet.

Though he and Peter were twins, each had his own light. And George’s light, steady and full of grace, will never dim.

I just feel very lucky to have known him, to have been related to him, and that he lived a long and full life to the age of 91. He—and my grandad—were always so deeply grateful for the opportunities the UK gave them as German Jewish refugees. That gratitude shaped everything they did, and it's something I carry with me too.