R.I.P. Uncle George

My father’s youngest cousin died today. In three weeks he would have been 90, and he died peacefully in his sleep, so it was no early or painful death - thankfully.

Still, I feel very sad. He was the last one of his generation in my father’s family. His parents had sent him and his older sister on a Kindertransport to England in 1939. This saved their lives, and still left them traumatized. 

Little Georg was only seven at the time. He changed his name to George and learned English really fast, to avoid being bullied by other children (who only saw them as Germans and thought they were Nazis). 

He also forgot almost all his German. He was in his 20es when he met his parents again, who both had managed to survive with many difficulties and hardships. By then, he could not communicate with his father anymore, who didn’t speak English.

I met him last in 2014. More recent plans to visit got nixed by Covid-19. There are many chapters of his story that I don’t know, and now it is too late to ask. 

Ruhe in Frieden, Onkel Georg.